#//please note though - she does have screaming night terrors

[korn-y-copia]

Popia at Disney World (feat. the ghouls, Sister Imperator, Papa Nihil, and Mr. Saltarian)

So I am at Disney this week, but the Copia brainrot is so real he has seeped into every thought and every scenario in my head, so here are some headcanons I came up with while in the parks!!!

Starting off with Epcot: on “living with the land,” the ghouls (Aether specifically) go wild.

There’s a section of the ride where produce is being grown, and there’s always a banana tree. Aether gets a little hungy, and jumps out of the boat to absolutely devour the fresh fruit. The ghouls follow behind, climbing out of the boat, eating edible (and inedible) plants alike until they are promptly escorted off of the attraction

Meanwhile, Copia remains seated pinching the bridge of his nose like a disgruntled chaperone.

Copia absolutely loses his shit on “Remy’s Ratatouille Adventure.” I mean, ‘nuff said, the guy loves his rats, and the idea of sitting in a rat-shaped ride vehicle while being (literally) surrounded by rats, is just the neatest concept to him.

He would definitely be all “oh, haha!”—kind of like how he is at the beach house in Chapter 13. It would definitely be his favorite ride (because, as part of the fandom has headcanoned, I wholeheartedly believe “ratatouille” is his favorite movie, or up there in terms of his favorite movies anyway)

On that note, he probably sings the song from the movie—“Le Festin”—to his rats before bed every night, but definitely stops when he finds out the meaning of the song, and sobs.

Magic Kingdom: I think Copia would get a set of Mickey ears—like the classic ones (with “Cardi” or “Cardi C.” Embroidered on the back)

He also buys all the snacks: popcorn, Mickey ice cream, you name it—and yes, it gives him tummy aches, but it heals the inner child in him who didn’t to get to have these kind of experiences with, well, anyone 🥺

Haunted mansion: enough said, this is the ghoul’s favorite ride—Copia too enjoys it. (Ghosts dancing in the mansion? Call that “dance macabre” 🥴🥴🥴)

Hollywood Studios: While it’s no longer there, Copia would’ve loved “The Great Movie Ride.” In this ride, you got to go through recreated scenes from classic movies (I’m still not over them getting ridding of it, so maybe I’m projecting just a little bit?) and I could just see him being so excited, and epically misquoting them with not a care in the world ❤️❤️❤️

In the “alien” portion, where aliens would pop out of the ceiling and the walls, I could def see the ghouls screaming their heads off, Copia too probably.

This one is kinda mean I am so sorry, but I feel like Copia doesn’t like roller coasters and I could see the ghouls convincing him that the “Tower of Terror” is not a roller coaster, despite the screams that are coming from it as they approach.

He is totally inconsolable afterwords and refuses to talk to the ghouls so they have to buy him a Mickey ice cream or a churro to make it up to him (which it does) but now he just has another tummy ache again.

Okay, now let’s add Nihil and Imperator + Mr. Saltarian to the mix (briefly)

Even though Nihil is a “phantasm,” he’s complaining about all of the walking he has to do, so he makes Copia wheel him around instead because he wants to spite him or hate him or both idk what the fuck is up Nihil

Imperator makes Copia put on sunscreen every two hours because he has sensitive skin

She also maybe, but definitely does (albeit begrudgingly) carry around snacks for Copia and the ghouls—probably Scooby Doo fruit snacks or some shit

Copia is definitely internally screaming because he can’t just get one goddamn vacation without Nihil or Imperator inserting themselves

Saltarian is there too probably, but what is he doing? I have no idea, the man is an enigma.

I hope these are okay. If they are so absolutely ooc, please let me know! I just thought of them and wanted to share, thank you for reading!

[mcuntainbcrn]

@lorddiiavolo​ said: ☾ - to stroke my muses hair while they fall asleep / what if,, he invited her out of the garden and into his castle,,, and is just looking after her :eyes:

Her nerves had been obvious when led from the gardens - not that she hadn’t anticipated being ejected eventually...but this apparently wasn’t the case; a bath and a fresh set of pajamas later, she was feeling more bewildered than anything, especially when presented with a room...and a bed; the usual reaction from anyone else would have no doubt been instantaneous gratitude...she instead felt fear pool in her stomach.

She didn’t want to sleep...she didn’t want those who dwelled within those castle walls to be privy to her bloodcurdling screams; the entire situation as it unfolded had left her thrown almost entirely off balance, her posture tight and rigid and the first of many fissures appearing the stoic expression she wore so well as she shifted her halved gaze towards the demon who would be king making no move to settle beneath the blankets, instead, standing at it’s edge like a statue before quite literally being ushered under the plush covers by surprisingly gentle hands.

Silence reigned as the soft bedspread was tucked beneath her chin, wincing at the contact that same hand made with the top of her head, feeling a strange sense of calm beginning to spiderweb through her body, the tension her body gripped so tightly beginning to ebb and uncoil, which inspired a fresh wave of terror - she didn’t want to sleep; she didn’t want to remember again...didn’t want to see it again - why couldn’t she recall their faces when they weren’t contorted in anguish? ...sounds of their voices when not raw with fear?

As sleep finally began to ensnare her in it’s grip, once again she managed to catch Diavolo’s eyes and hold them, tears gathering on her eye lashes as she struggled to keep them open, “...please don’t leave...don’t want...don’t want to dream.” the words were spoken thickly as exhaustion finally won, lids sliding heavily closed and her entire body relaxing from the crown of her head where that large hand continued to pass through soft blonde locks, to the tips of her toes as she lost her fight with consciousness and drifted off into a rather troubled sleep.

[hansensgirl]

please don’t take him (even though you can).

summary. | She can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him.

warnings. | Major angst, cheating, nightmare mentions, anxiety, yearning, nail-biting, insecurities, mental heath issues, mentions of violence, abandonment, implied smut, talk of death, grief, some religion stuff (not major), loneliness, mentions of torture, PTSD, split personality disorder i think, this is really angsty and possibly triggering so please be aware of the warnings! 18+

word count. | 12k.

pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader, Winter Soldier x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff.

a/n. | THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 6K!!! i love each and everyone so much like serious i will kiss you all!! happy valentine’s day as well!! based off of jolene by dolly parton and love by daughter. thank you to my love @mypoisonedvine for beta-ing and listening to me talk about this fic every now and then! ilysm! this fic is very near and dear to me, so please reblog it 🥺

The Soldat’s sentences are broken, just like he is. The words fall apart as soon as they roll off of his tongue. So much to say, so few words, so little time. His hands are as cold as the bitter Russian winters, as cold as his stare. The Soldat doesn’t know what to feel. He’s as numb as when one’s entire body has been bitten by frostbite.

His voice is deeper than it was for the man he once was. From the screaming, from the crying, from the torture. He has no control, not even over his own voice. He keeps quiet and thinks. He thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks. Something has dawned on the Soldat. He does have control. But for how long? He only has it for a few minutes, maybe even hours. But it’s enough. He only has it until the soul of his mission’s body has left. He only has it until their eyes hold no life in them.

It’s 2014, and the first sentence he has completed is “I love you.”

You can remember it well. November 17th, the snow had fallen early and neither of you were prepared. Milk intended for hot chocolate boils on the stove and the crackle that the fire brings was the only sound in the room. He watches you from afar as you slowly stir the milk with a wooden spoon — the only one that he hadn’t accidentally snapped.

He doesn’t like the cold, he never has. Though he’s always warm, the cold haunts and taunts him. Memories and nightmares come with the snowfall and ice. “Are you okay, Winter?” you ask him, and he snaps out of a blank trance.

Winter. He likes being called Winter, although he loathes the season.

He nods his head after some careful thinking. Through the mess that is his mind, he manages to ask himself if he’s okay. Is he? No, he isn’t. He’s not sure why he nodded, but damn is he grateful for that smile you give in return. One in a million, you’re a burning star. The brightest there is, and the shiniest diamond ever. You’re rare, the person who poets write about and singers cry about. But you’re the only one for him. Only his.

“What flavours, Winter? Would you like to try something new?” you ask him, bringing the heat down and taking the milk off of the stove. Winter gets up from his spot near the fireplace and strides over to you. He likes the way you don’t choke in fear when he walks towards you.

You show him the numerous flavours of cookies you had baked that morning, and allow him to take as long as he’d like to choose. “M…” He struggles to say the word, scared that he’s being too demanding and that it’s a trick. HYDRA often did that. Fooling him just so that they could harm him, even though they never really needed a reason. “You can have anything you want, Winter. Anything.”

You reassure him, hesitatingly putting your warm hands on his warm face. He looks up at you, and you give him a soft smile that makes him want to cry with love. “Macadamia?” he requests politely. You hand him the macadamia cookies and smile, before grabbing one of the chocolate bombs you and he made the other day.

“Would you like to pour the milk, Winter?” you question him, grabbing his favourite mug. It was white and had a cheesy pun that always made him smile. “Yes.” He keeps his answers short, scared that he’ll say the wrong thing, or that he’ll abuse his privileges. The stories… The harsh stories they tell about him contradict him. He looks just like that feared soldier; the one you should run from.

But God, he’s just a broken man. Not too far past repairing, but just enough that it takes certain special tools to fix him. He towers over you like a brute, a powerful stare that would make anyone but you cry. He takes the carton of milk for you, cracking a slight smile when he remembers that you were so weak that your hands would shake when lifting it.

Your heart warms as his lips stretch. Before, you weren’t sure if you even had a favourite sight. But now… now you know. He’s your favourite sight. He pours the milk with shaky yet careful hands, and you envy his strength through your admiration. He stops just at the right time without having you tell him. Independence. He’s learning.

You break pieces of chocolate into the cup and let the hot milk melt the sweet treat, before adding a dash of cocoa powder. You both watch in wonder and awe as the milk turns into hot chocolate. Winter takes his cup from you, and thanks you. “You’re welcome, Winter,” you say, placing your cold hands on the mug.

He watches as you sigh at the warmth, knowing that your body doesn’t radiate as much heat as he does. “S- Share?” he offers you, taking note of how you’re slightly shivering. You nearly choke on your hot chocolate as he proposes the utmost tempting action ever. “My blanket…” He adds on, making you take note of the blanket your father gave you that rests on his shoulders.

It’s not necessary, but it gives him a type of comfort that only you can give as well. “Please?” you ask, shivers crawling up your spine and goosebumps rising on your skin. You walk closer to him, padded feet barely making any noise as they rest on top of creaky wooden floors.

He opens the blanket like wings and takes you under his arm like a bird. Ready to show you the world, even the nastiest bits and pieces of it. He wraps the majority of the blanket around you and he’s infatuated with the relaxation that you radiate. No threats, no impending dooms. You stand side by side, not so silently sipping on your hot chocolate because you love the little smile he gives at the slightly loud slurps.

Winter doesn’t know what comes over him. Courage? Cowardice? A spur of love? His mind is too messed up to think that clearly. He turns you around to face him, the blanket falling to the floor with a slight thud. Who knew wool could be so heavy?

Heavy like your heart. Heavy like the tension that lingers.

Perhaps it’s not courage or cowardice, and in fact, it’s Bucky who used to flirt like a maniac with every girl in the neighbourhood. He bends down and plants a kiss on your lips — at least that’s what he thinks it is. You’re easily goo beneath his coarse hands as they cup your cold face. He doesn’t move his lips and you don’t either. You’re both content with the simple yet unique kiss.

He pulls away and you have to admit — you’re breathless. From both the lack of air and from happiness. It’s rare to have such feelings be reciprocated. “I love you,” he bluntly admits, and never in your life have you been so shocked. “W- What?” you ask incredulously, taken aback yet you can already feel your body, soul and mind taking off to cloud nine.

“I love you.”

He repeats himself and God knows he’s willing to say those three words and eight letters over and over again just for you. “You do?” you ask him, feeling tears well in your eyes. “Yes. I love you. Love has immense, yet measurable effects and changes in the biochemistry of the brain. I mean- my brain? The three basic parts of love are driven by unique blends of brain chemicals…”

He pauses to take a deep breath.

“Every time I look at you, I have the term, ‘butterflies in the stomach.’ It’s caused by a reduction in blood flow to the stomach. I have the strongest urges to protect and love,” he explains with more words than ever.

Never in your life have you ever heard the words that are pouring out of his mouth. “Do you…?” he nervously questions, feeling his heart palpitations speed up at such a rate, it’s like he’s having a heart attack.

“I love you, even more, Winter.”

It’s 2016, and your Winter is almost a different person.

His name is Bucky– James, he tells you. You call him Jamie. Information discovered from trips to the museum and paragraphs of articles and textbooks fill out the blank spaces of his life. Apparently, students learn about him and the rest of the Howling Commandos in school. But you haven’t been, so you wouldn’t know.

The night terrors are tough, but they’ve been slowly improving with you by his side. You’re both broken in your own ways, but you have each other, and that’s enough. He doesn’t mind it when you call him Winter, but you know it makes more sense to call him by his true name. You’re fine with anything, as long as you have him.

“My, my… Did you wake up in a good mood?” you ask him, hugging him carefully from behind because you know that sometimes he doesn’t want to be touched. That’s fine. “Maybe… I was thinking of going out today. Alone. Will you be safe?” he asks you, handing you the best meal he can scrounge up. Biscuits and tea. “Always, because I have you,” you tell him, making him give you a sad smile.

You don’t have a table, so he lifts you up onto the counter that is next to the sink. Inside, there are stacks of dishes. Neither of you have the energy to wash them, but today you will, to keep yourself busy. He’s already dressed; tight red henley on top of two more sweaters that are stretched out over his broad chest.

Jeans that barely fit his thick legs, combat boots that he stole and a cap that conceals his identity from wandering eyes. He watches as you eat, just in case you accidentally bite your tongue, burn yourself or choke. He’ll always be there for you. “Did you eat?” you question him, breaking your last biscuit and handing the bigger piece to him.

At first, he refuses to take it. Doubts from HYDRA still linger, they never can go away even with the most reassurance and love from you. “Please? You can lie and you can choose to not answer, but at least take this,” you beg, placing the half in his gloved hand. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips; the taste of orange pekoe tea making him sigh.

He’s always been partial to green, even though he can’t recall ever drinking it. He reluctantly eats the piece and you stare him dead in the eyes as he does so. “You know I’ll always love you, right?” you speak up once he’s finished. You know all the proper manners like they’re written on the back of your hand. When you were younger, they were.

In loopy cursive. Black Sharpie ink settling into your skin and you can remember the way your father scolded you for doing so. The memory is fresh, fresh like the tears you notice in Bucky’s eyes. He nods, and you down the rest of your tea. You never had a preference between tea and coffee. You were grateful to have either.

They both had their flaws, and they both had their strengths. “And I’ll always love you, лунный свет,” he whispers, closing the space that divides you both. His lips — slightly chapped yet so soft — are pressed against your cold forehead. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, but it’s not one of surprise.

No.

It’s of satisfaction, and you find yourself doing it more often than once. “What does that mean?” you ask him as you trace the teacup with one of your fingers. There’s still a bit of tea inside of it, but it’s barely anything. Not enough to quench a thirst. But since it’s come from him and since his murder-scarred hands made it, it’s enough for you.

Your finger dips, and it’s only then when you notice there’s a small chip. You don’t resent the cup for it, no, not at all. In fact, you find yourself a bit more enamoured with the piece of cheap china in your hands. “Moonlight,” he bluntly tells you, before taking the cup from your hands. You don’t even realize it until he replaces it with his hands.

Oh… He doesn’t like it? Now– now you hold a little bit of resentment towards it because if James doesn’t like it then maybe you shouldn’t. “Why?” you ask as you wrap your hands around his. You lace your fingers together and you can feel the stark contrast. On one hand — your right hand — your skin is comforted by the cotton glove he wears.

On your left hand, your skin is comforted by his bare, rough hand. “Well, лунный свет, what do you think it means?” he asks you in return as you trace the stitches on his glove and the grooves of his hand. “I… I’m not sure. I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Your head ducks down in disappointment, but not with him. It’s for yourself, as always. “Don’t be, sometimes we don’t know everything,” he tells you softly, “and that’s okay.” His words reassure you as always.

“You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you,” he monologues to you, and you find yourself at a loss of words. “James…” You whisper, looking up at him.

His eyes are still a bit bloodshot, but they’re glassy and you can see right into his soul. “I love you, лунный свет, until the end of love,” James whispers to you, and he places a chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you, even more, Jamie, until the end of love. Until the end of time,” you whisper back, shutting your eyes. Bucky squeezes your hands, and you do the same in return. His head slightly knocks yours as he places his forehead against yours.

“Until the end of time, лунный свет.”

It’s still 2016, and you’ve lost your Jamie.

And it’s not like he’s somewhere in a sea of people, or some nook of a large building. No, he’s gone and you don’t know how to get him back. He told you to wait in the park that nobody usually goes to. Well, if you count both yourself and James as nobodies. You watch from afar as destruction and terror rips your home apart, and you pray that James is okay. You need him.

Surprisingly, nobody notices you. You wear most of James’s clothing, as it all couldn’t fit in the two backpacks he packed. You don’t mind, because you’re trying to forget about the small gun that’s in your boot. You don’t even know how to use it, and he knows that. “It doesn’t matter, лунный свет, once they see you with a gun, you’ll automatically be the strongest person there.” His words echo in your mind and so do his actions.

He dressed you in a rushing manner. His eyes kept locking with yours. Through his soft, almost scared complex, you can see the soldier you met two years ago –– only murder in his eyes, ready for a mission.

You bite your nails and try to ignore the screams from passersby “Until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time, until the end of time…” You repeat the phrase over and over, hoping the Gods above can hear the plea in your voice. “Please don’t take him, even though you can, please don’t take my Jamie,” you beg out loud, looking up to the sky that greys the same way old memories do.

He’s not okay, he's probably dead… And you left him there to suffer. How selfish could you be?

“Shut up.”

I’m not wrong, I never am. I wasn’t wrong about Father, was I?

“I… That’s different.”

Is it though?

You bite your tongue, whatever snarky remark you just had has now lost itself in the mess that is your mind. You’re conflicted as always. Should you stay, and let Jamie get hurt? Or should you help him? You spend a good few minutes repeating those questions over and over. You feel like you have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. You let out a satirical laugh, and you know that you seem insane.

Two days ago, you had brought up a saying to Jamie.

“My father… He had this saying. When someone has lived their full life, but it still seems to go on and on, it means that God and the devil haven’t come to an agreement yet,” you tell him, pulling at a thread that hangs on his jacket. “An agreement about what, лунный свет?” he asks you, looking up from the pamphlet he stole from a museum in a town near Bucharest.

It’s crumpled, but everything is legible still. “Who has to take them,” you smile up at him, and he returns it. “Perhaps, that's what's happening. They’re still arguing, still negotiating. That’s why you’re still here. If one of them were ready to take you, they would’ve done so already. But they haven’t,” you explain to him in your usual soft voice. He once told you that your voice is one of the best things to listen to.

Better than music, better than laughter, better than the admissions of ‘I love you’ you tend to trade.

“Maybe you’re right, лунный свет. You know, you’re different from the rest of us– them,” he whispers to you, taking in the way your face creases in certain spots when curiosity takes over. “How so, Jamie?” you ask him, setting down the needle, roll of thread, and jacket. “You have hope, faith,” he starts, “it’s both dangerous yet helpful. It’s what separates you from the demons of the world.”

“лунный свет!” James calls out. You look up from the ground and the movie of your life with James pauses. “Jamie…” You whimper, taking in his form. He’s bruised and battered, cut up and injured. Just like when you found him on the porch of your home. “Oh, Jamie… What happened?” you ask him, feeling yourself begin to panic. Your heart quickens, and you rush to him like he’s about to die.

“We have to go, лунный свет. It’s a hideout, it’s for your own safety,” he briefly explains to you and he grabs your arm. His grip is perfect. Not too tight, but not too gentle. You can tell he’s scared, but you know he’ll never admit it. “I have to go fight, but I’ll be back for you. Do you know the Avengers? It’s– Argh– We don’t have enough time. But I’ll tell you all about it later, лунный свет.” James is all business and nothing else.

You’re worried, so worried. But you have hope, and you have faith, and you know everything will be okay in the end. “But you’ll stay safe, right, Jamie?” you question him. He doesn’t respond, the only thing coming from him are grunts of pain and puffs of determination. “Answer me, Jamie. Promise me you’ll stay safe,” you demand of him in a strong voice. Never in your life have you ever raised your voice like this, but when it comes to James’s safety, you no longer care.

“I promise, лунный свет, until the end of time.”

It’s still 2016, and your Jamie is going away.

He’s leaving this world, but it’s for himself. You hold back all the pleas, all the begging you have in your body because you know he wants this. He needs this. His train is going to depart soon, off to a faraway land. A cold one, to be exact. You feel tempted to remind him how much he hates the cold, but you choose to keep your mouth shut. You’ve learned a lot in the past few days, more than when you were in high school.

Steve, Jamie’s past, what HYDRA is, the Avengers, the types of evil in this world–– They’re all things you’ve learnt. Your Jamie isn’t a different person, he isn’t. He just has more to him now. You replay the horrific memories of the past days in your mind over and over, even though you hated them. You look through the glass doors, and ahead of you is James in all his beatific glory.

In front of him, though, is the Black Widow. You don’t know if she’s from Jamie’s past, but you know they have a connection. The way they speak to each other; low and soft, just like summer rain. It’s almost the same way you speak to Jamie, but it’s not quite like it. He smiles up at her, and you remember how much you love his side-profile. It’s envious, really. But then again, Jamie is perfect in your eyes, despite his horrors and his scars of his past.

Of Winter’s past.

Your Jamie and Winter have their similarities. You’d make a list, but it would go on forever. You keep your eyes trained on his face, one of your favourite things to look at. Dare you say, he looks at her like no other. You’ve never seen this look on his face. But then again, your Jamie is going away and maybe it’s that impending nervousness. She looks at you. Her green eyes –– ones that just encapture you in the best way possible –– lock with yours. You feel insecure, almost as though she’s judging you.

But one of Earth’s mightiest heroes would never do such a thing.

She’s judging you, you know. Probably thinks you’re some nobody, some pathetic little girl who can’t even defend herself.

“No, she isn’t,”

And how can you be so sure?

Right. How can you be so sure? You watch as she gives James –– your Jamie –– a pat on the shoulder. She walks out, through another door and you feel as though she did that just to avoid you. And honestly, you don’t blame her. You walk in, hesitatingly of course. Each step of yours is wary. Your old, beaten-up sneakers barely make a sound against the floor. Your Father always said you walked like a ballerina and spoke like a princess.

“H– Hi, Jamie,” you quietly greet him. He looks up, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips are puckered in thought. He gives you a small ‘hi,’ and you smile at him. “Are you hurt anywhere?” you ask him, taking his form in again. His cuts and wounds are all bandaged and healed up. You recall the marvel that is the explanation of how he heals so quickly. The super-soldier serum, curated by HYDRA just for Jamie.

“No, Shuri and Helen fixed me up. And now, they’re gonna fix my mind,” he tells you, all while letting out a light-hearted chuckle. You smile again, just to ease the tense a bit. But even you can’t fix it. “I may be back to my old self, but I’m a walking time bomb. I’m dangerous, and I need to heal. For the sake of myself, and others,” he tells you sadly. He looks up at you and he gives you a grin that isn’t his usual happy one.

Yours falls, and his follows. “It’ll only be a year, maybe even a few months. Everyone here is smarter than Tony Stark, they’ll probably figure it out,” he reassures you just like how he used to whenever you got worried. You nod, and it’s just a farce. You’re not sure if you hope he can see through your façade or not. He sighs and looks at the door. The same door that Natasha walked out of just a few mere moments ago.

You don’t look back. You don’t follow his gaze. Why waste your time on something that will hold no meaning in the future, when you have the love of your life in front of you? You tilt your beard and swallow, just the way your mother used to. At least that’s what your father told you. “I love you, Jamie. I’ll always love you, until the end of time,” you whisper to him.

“And— And I love you too, лунный свет.”

It’s 2017, and along with your Winter, they’ve taken James’s love for you.

You don’t blame them. You don’t hate them. They’ve helped James heal, help him be better (even though God has already curated such perfection). The past seven hundred and thirty and then some days have been painful. The past seventeen thousand, five hundred-twenty hours have been slower than ever. It’s not like you’ve been keeping count. No, but Friday has.

The team — the Avengers — don’t allow you to come with them on their trip to Wakanda. You expected it. Ever since Steve and Tony put their differences aside for the sake of the world, you knew you’d be shunned from the team. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey have tried to be friends with you, but after a debriefing with Tony, they couldn’t even lock eyes with you.

Once again, you don’t blame them.

You stay locked in your room, and you don’t mind it. It’s nice. It is true that people really do look like ants from such a height. You know the glass is bulletproof, but it feels like it’s seconds away from breaking. You love seeing the rain patter against the glass, just like how you love to see the snow melt as soon as it touches the clear surface.

You wonder if they’ve cut his long hair. You love his locks. Strands of brown mixing, the occasional lighter brown strands standing out. You love the length of his hair, too. Reaching just at his shoulders, and even past them. You love the way it tickles your face, especially when he bends down to kiss you.

You love everything about him. You always have, and you always will.

Your room is small. You can’t handle big spaces — Friday tells Tony, and he scoffs. Truthfully, you’re content with anything. He could’ve given you a broom closet to live in, and you wouldn’t complain. But you like small spaces. Big spaces make you feel a bit overwhelmed. Stark Tower has many wonderments to it.

For example — the technology. If you don’t like the scenery of the concrete jungle, you can change it to the view from Tony’s vacation home in the Hamptons. You always did have the wish to travel the world. From the streets of France to the lovely waterfalls in the Philippines. But the thought of being high up in the sky, with the small chance of crashing. It may be one in five million, but you won’t take the risk.

Even air crafts have their faults and flaws. Like having only two or three backup plans, the bathrooms, the limited space, the fact that if you pay extra you get better treatment, and the food options. But everyone looks past these things and they’ve been reduced to small issues that just don’t really matter. As long as the big picture looks perfect, the small details don’t matter.

You wish you could see yourself that way. A beautiful person at first glance. Where your details –– your flaws –– don’t mean anything. Because as long as the big picture is perfect, the details don’t matter. But you’re a detail-oriented person and every single thing matters. Even the little things that nobody will see. If only you could see yourself the way both Jamie and Winter see you. They know you have flaws, like the way you don’t like listening to helpful advice sometimes.

“Ms… Mrs. Barnes?” Friday calls out. You look up to where the voice comes from. Up above you, and a little to the side is a speaker. It’s small, barely noticeable. “Y- Yes, Friday?” you ask her, setting down the old mirror that was once your grandmother’s. It has a few cracks, but they aren’t serious enough to mess with anyone’s reflection.

“The Quinjet with Ms. Maximoff, Mr. Stark, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Rogers, Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Vision, Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Barnes is arriving,” Friday tells you. You swallow thickly — nervously. You may have been preparing all week, but all that effort goes down the drain. Will he act differently? Will he be ecstatic to see you? You ask yourself all these questions, and the answers to them just seem to taunt you.

“Will you be waiting at the entrance for them?” She speaks up after a few beats of silence. You nod before you remember Friday doesn’t have eyes. She can see, but she can’t see. “I will, Friday. Thank you,” you tell her. You set down the mirror with its face on the top of your dresser. You look around and you can just feel as though there is something missing.

Truthfully, you aren’t used to your room. You miss the wooden walls that held scratches from the furniture. You miss the coziness the fireplace emanated. You miss the view of the hills covered in snow. You miss it all. This concrete jungle isn’t made for you — you aren’t made for it. You stand up and with short steps (intentionally short), and the feeling of marble underneath your feet instead of wood works up your nerves even more.

You can hear commotion –– more so people whisper shouting at each other. “God, Rogers, get a grip! You look and sound like an old lady worrying about her grandchildren,” Tony snaps at Steve, before calling out for Friday. “Friday?” he yells, shoving one of his hands into the pocket of his pants. “Yes, Mr. Stark?” she answers back.

“Is the room ready?” he asks her, and the rest of the Avengers take a seat in the living room. “Yes, Mr. Stark. Welcome to the Avengers Compound, Mr. Barnes. If you need any assistance, just call for me.” Friday’s voice is always lovely. She reminds you of an aunt who is always ready to take care of her relatives.

You don’t hear Jamie’s lovely voice and you’re worried. You can see some parts of the living room from your spot in the hallway. “Just try not to kill any innocent people, okay?” Tony sneers, earning a smack on the shoulder from Pepper. Pepper always seemed nice to you, but your encounters with her were usually a bit awkward and short-lived. Steve is ready to throw his shield at Tony and so do the rest of the Avengers who were on the Captain’s side.

“’S fine, Steve. I deserve it anyway,” Bucky whispers loud enough for you to hear. Your heart jumps for joy — your Jamie really is back. You take another step, carefully, of course. “You don’t deserve that… Are you okay, Buck? Do you need to lie down? Drink water? Fresh air?” Steve attacks your Jamie like a mother and you can see why they got along so well in the past.

“I’m fine, Steve. Really. I just want to take a tour of this… this place,” Bucky admits to Steve, and Tony just can’t pass up the chance to roll his eyes. Bucky turns his head around as he takes in the large room. The television was so huge, he feels as though he is at the cinema. He doesn’t turn all the way around, so you must deal with the sight of his back. His clothes are nothing like the clothes he used to wear back in Romania.

He looks like he just attended his own funeral.

“You sure, Buck?” Steve asks him for reassurance. Bucky nods and he thinks about how much he misses his goats. “Alright, but remember to call for Friday if you get lost.” Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder and Tony is the first to walk out of the room, as usual. Pepper follows him, knowing how Tony gets whenever he sees Bucky. “Can I see my room first?” Bucky quietly asks Steve, making sure nobody else hears.

“Of course, Buck. It’s upstairs, is that fine?” Somehow, Steve believes that Bucky has a fear of heights. Though Bucky fell from a great height back in 1940-something, he’s not scared of heights. He’s more terrified of the cold and of trains, especially ones that run between mountains.

“Everything is fine, Steve,” Bucky snaps, growing tired of his best friend’s constant worrying. Steve raises his hands in surrender and you can tell Bucky doesn’t like that. “Hi, Jamie,” you greet quietly. You immediately regret ever leaving your room as everyone whips their heads around to face you. Bucky’s lips fall open in a gasp.

“Doll,” Bucky whispers beneath his breath. You take in his face and he’s just as beautiful as ever, if not more. Wisps of his hair fall and frame his face. He has a slight five-day-old scruff, one that is clean but also slightly messy. You remember the way you would sit in his lap, razor in hand, as you clean up the edges of Bucky’s beard.

He pushes past Sam, past Wanda, past everyone — hell, even past Steve who doesn't take the shove lightly. He nearly trips over the white couch that stands in the way. He comes up close to you, and you look up at him. You watch his eyes — but you don’t look into them. For some reason, you can’t seem to lock eyes with him. “Oh, my doll… I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers softly as he cups your face with his murder-scarred hands.

“Jamie…” You easily mimic his look of shock with a mix of adoration. You’re not sure how you ever said goodbye to the man in front of you — no, the man he used to be.

Now, he’s different. He’s not your Winter, your Winter is gone. They’ve taken him from you, and if it weren’t for the circumstances, then you would’ve fought them until the last tooth and nail. “I’m back, Doll, and ‘m all yours,” he whispers, bringing your face forward to his. You close your eyes and you think he’s going in for a kiss, but he stops when his lips are inches from yours.

“But I need to get better first, Doll. I need to get used to everything, is that all right?” He asks even though he should already know the answer. Right? You don’t know what they did to your Jamie. The rushed explanation filled with words you don’t understand only left you a confused mess. “Of course, Jamie. ‘Until the end of time,’ remember?” You whisper back.

He keeps quiet.

It’s still 2018, and you’re at an impasse.

You loathe impasses. You may persevere every now and then, but impasses just seem to love you. The saying, “you attract what you fear,” is terrifyingly true. You’re scared of impasses. You know they love to knock you down and kick you until you’re sputtering with blood leaking from the corners of your mouth that rarely ever turn up anymore. But they still occur.

It’s been a year and five months since Bucky came home, and each passing day has its difficulties. Whether it be nightmares, panic attacks or intrusive thoughts. But you’ve been there with him for every step. When he didn’t want to go to therapy alone, you went with him. When he couldn’t sleep after a rather gruesome nightmare, you told him some childhood stories. It feels like nothing has changed, truly.

But Jamie isn’t Jamie — and you don’t know what to do. “Jamie, do you want anything to eat?” You ask him, holding a plate of pancakes you whipped up once you knew nobody would be in the kitchen area. “Is– are those pancakes?” He asks you, turning around from his desk. You nod and look down at the impressive stack. Dr. Cho told you to make sure Bucky continues to eat. Sitting on the small table next to you – the ottoman – is a cup of steaming hot tea.

It’s not orange pekoe, it’s earl grey, Your father loathed it, saying that it’s meant for the elderly even though he had a head full of greys and aching joints. You’d laugh him off, but then pour him a cup of green tea. “Yes, some of them have blueberries,” you tell him, stretching your full arms out at him. You see that look of contemplation in his eyes again. “Would you like to eat with me?” You ask, knowing how he can get when those thoughts pester him.

“Of course, I’m all but a gentleman,” he jokes, and you give him a smile. “That you are, especially when it comes to the ladies,” you add, and he blushes. Bucky looks down and tries to hide the shy smile from you, and you allow him to do so. It’s not like you haven’t memorized every bit of Jamie, even down to the small things. “Is there any syrup? I’ve been craving sweets all morning.” Bucky grabs the second plate and he almost hesitates in grabbing a few pancakes.

You turn back around to get the tea, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t feel as embarrassed with taking food. “Here’s some tea, you don’t have to drink it, though.” You set the filled China cup on the glass table and the clink it gives lasts for a split second. “Remember when we would buy about three boxes of orange pekoe tea? Even though it wasn’t the best — especially since it was for so cheap — we’d still drink it like it was water,” you reminisce to him out loud as you take a pancake off of the stack.

There’s silence, and you swallow thickly. “It’s okay if you don’t remember, Jamie, I myself forget a lot of memories too,” you quickly reassure him, fanning the flames before they could even start to burn. “No, it’s not okay… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, gripping the specially made fork tightly. He hates it. It makes him feel like some sort of danger. Someone that breaks people and things so easily.

“Don’t be sorry, Jamie, or else I’m going to have to start apologizing for things that aren’t my fault,” you threaten him, and he cracks a smile. “Alright, only because I know you’re going to become annoying.” He grabs the syrup and drowns his pancakes with sticky delightfulness. “Yeah…” Your voice is all but monotonous with a hint of sadness.

He probably thinks you’re already annoying, you follow him around all the time… Do you ever let him do other things? Without you? Like hanging out with friends, healing on his own, cooking his own food… You’re so clingy.

“Shut up.”

You only want me to shut up because you know I’m right.

“What are you doing today?” you suddenly ask him. You haven’t dug into your pancakes yet, so you stare at the food in front of you with a strong glare. “Uh, well I’m not sure,” Bucky admits, and you only then realize how much you’ve held him back. “You should hang out with Sam, or Steve, or maybe even accompany Banner in the lab,” you suggest to him, looking at his plate. It’s nearly clean, with some streaks of syrups and a few occasional crumbs.

“Sam’s busy training with Steve, and I know Banner works best without someone hovering over him like a hawk — well, more so a raven. I’ll probably just hang out with ‘Talia, she’s been of great help with my healing.” Bucky takes the tea from your side and slowly sips it. “‘Talia?” you ask him. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but you’re sure that it’s a nickname. “Natasha, she went through something similar as me, so I’m hoping she can give me some advice,” he clarifies quickly.

“Oh, that’ll be great for you,” you exclaim to him. “I know… You don’t mind, do you?” he asks with one of his eyebrows raised. He’s never done that before. “Never. Go enjoy yourself, Jamie,” you urge in a soft voice, looking at him from the brim of his teacup. The sight reminds you of when you first moved away from the city.

The sun was rising in the distance. A few clouds shrewd over the lovely sight, but the yellows and oranges were stronger than the greys. From over the horizon, the sun made its way up to the sky. You watched from the porch with a blanket wrapped around your body. You miss those simpler days.

The ones where the only problems you had were the cold weather and the homework your father had given you. Sheets of paper sat on the table in the living room, with your multiplication tables written on them. Your sevens and eights always messed you up, but your father knew you could do it.

“Do you have any plans for today?” He questions, staring into the half-full cup. “I might go to that huge library Tony has, one of the agents was saying they have these seats called ‘bean bags,’ isn’t that funny?” You let out a harmless giggle, one of those small ones a protagonist would have that would make their love interest swoon. “I’ve sat on one. Not very nice. Natasha and I are the only ones on the team who hates them,” Bucky says as his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

The other day, you caught him with a mouthful of blood. It wasn’t from a punch in the face or a knife in the guts.

“Oh, maybe I’ll join you two,” you playfully tell him, wiggling your eyebrows to the best of your abilities. Bucky just stares at you, a small glint of humour in his eyes but it slowly disappears and your smile goes away along with it. “Hm.” He downs the rest of his tea and you wonder how he isn’t wincing with pain from the heat. Oh, right, he’s a super-soldier.

Bucky begins to stand up and moves to take the dishes to the kitchen but you quickly stop him. “It’s alright, I can take it,” you reassure him. Without realizing it, your hand strokes the wrist of his bionic arm. You look up at him and smile, instinctively giving him that look you used to give Winter. Bucky hesitatingly shrinks away from you, and your smile drops. Nononono– Too much…

He smiles and walks out the door, not even sparing you one of those lovely second glances. Sighing, you settle the plates upon each other and the tension leaves the room behind him. You’re careful to avoid the syrup on one of the plates. The feeling of stickiness against your dry, cold hands will be unpleasant.

The thought of it has you shivering. A small electric shock climbs up your spine and you’re glad that nobody is there to watch you shake it off. You carefully pluck the fork from Bucky’s plate and place it next to yours. “Hey, Friday?” you call out into the empty room. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers, ready to be at your service.

“What books are there in the library?”

It’s been around 92 days since Jamie told you about him and Natasha, and you can feel reality slip through your fingers.

Bubbles of giggle erupt from the common room. Never in your life would you ever have called a living room the common room, but words always seem to stick. Just like the syrup on these plates that just don’t seem to go away. You don’t mind cleaning up after the heroes. You’re glad.

You have something to occupy yourself with, or else there’d be holes in the floor for your incessant pacing. You run semi-lukewarm water over the plates, hoping the dried syrup would melt. You recall the way your father would terrify you into loathing sweets. He’d show you the way syrup would ‘harden underwater’, and he’d tell you that’s what occurs in your blood.

It’s too bad that a few days later, you learned that blood is thicker than water and the world is filled with nothing but lies. It’s scary, really; trusting someone with your whole life while they toy you around like seeing you be oblivious is a pass time.

Your hands warm up under the water and suddenly you wish you hadn’t left your bed this morning. “Bucky, stop, my face is all red,” Natasha demands through her laughs, and James snorts. “So? I like seeing you red, it’s my favourite colour,” he retorts and Natasha rolls her eyes.

You can’t see the playful, friendly banter, but you can hear it. It makes you smile. You love knowing Jamie is having fun, he deserves it. “Hey, you,” Sam greets, walking into the kitchen. “H- hi, do you need anything?” you ask him, halting your movements.

“No, just got done training those new recruits and I’m already fed up,” he complains and you giggle. You know Sam is being light-hearted, so you don’t take his words too heavily. “Well, a busy man like you needs a big breakfast. There are some pancakes over there, help yourself.”

You wait until he busies himself so that you can continue to wash this plate. You look at it — it’s covered in a mix of suds, syrup and water. You notice there’s a small chip on the edge of the plate and you can’t help but wonder where the piece went. If it were a piece of clothing, you would accuse the washing machine. But it isn’t, so you suppose it just went missing.

You place the plate back in the sink and sigh, before grabbing a sponge. The colours always confuse you. How can two contrasting colours go so well together? It’s beyond you, truly. Maybe your grandmother would’ve known, she always did know a little bit about everything.

Maybe she’d know what’s wrong with you.

You don’t say anything, knowing that you might weird Sam out. You roughly scrub the syrup off and it’s a bit too joyful to see it all gone. “Hey, Sammie,” Natasha chirps, patting her fellow teammate on the shoulder. You halt your movements. “Hey, Nat. Are you doing anything today?” Sam asks her, his eyes following her.

“Other than hanging out with Bucky, no, not really.” She tells him. She stands right next to you, a little too close for your personal liking. She opens up the cupboard and you continue to wash the dishes. You ask yourself if she’s watching you, or if she’s judging you.

Looking up, you accidentally make eye contact with her. You quickly look away and you’re not sure if she does the same. “‘Scuse me,” she whispers, stretching over to the cupboard on the other side. You stare straight at the sink, but your eyes fail to miss the locket that hangs from her neck. It’s slightly opened, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. The gold is slightly aged, perhaps a gift from when she was younger. Or maybe she got it recently, and a battle in the fields damaged it slightly.

On the outside of the locket is an engraving. You squint your eyes to read it, as the shaking from her movements messes up the text. “Until the end of time…” You read in your mind, and you drop the plate in the sink. Everyone in the room flinches and Natasha steps away. Sam stops eating and you’re utterly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you quickly apologize, picking up the plate. It’s not broken at all, but you still feel so guilty.

Natasha looks at you for a brief moment and you look back at her. She darts her eyes to your still hands. If she focuses just a bit more, she could see the way they shake. You look at the locket one more time, trying to see the inside of it. You need to know who’s a photograph she cherishes. You need to know who she cherishes in her heart, until the end of time.

The black and white photo of Jamie moments before he was shipped out reveals itself, and your heart drops.

“Friday?” you call out, setting your book down onto the bed. You place your makeshift bookmark –– a polaroid of Bucky — into the page. “Yes, Mrs. Barnes?” she answers. “Isn’t it a good thing that Jamie is socializing with his teammates?” you ask her, sounding like a worried mother. “It is. It’s just what the doctor prescribed,” she jokes, adding a mechanical laugh to her words. “Well, more so his psychiatrist. Dr. Cho is the doctor he gets his medication from. And his psychiatrist suggested socializing,” she clarifies.

You wonder if she’s against the joke mechanism Tony added to her system.

You laugh, just to ease the tension but it doesn’t do anything since she’s an A.I and you’re the only person in the room. “Thank you for laughing, Mrs. Barnes,” she graciously says as much as she can. “If it’s a good thing, then why do I feel so…?” You trail off because you don’t know any words to describe the emotion you’re feeling. “Anxious?” she completes, and you sigh. “Yes, anxious,” you admit.

“The other day, I was washing the dishes. I could hear James and Natasha laughing. Jamie’s laugh was music to my ears. It was like that song you hear on the radio occasionally, you know? But he doesn’t laugh like that with me, he doesn’t laugh like that with anyone else,” you solemnly tell her. “He spends so much time with Natasha — and usually I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t even bat an eye — but it just makes me anxious, Friday.”

Your voice is filled with concern, and Friday herself has never heard you so worried. “She… She had a locket. It was gold and heart-shaped. It had a very special phrase engraved on it, and the picture inside is Jamie.” You swallow thickly as even you can’t fathom the words that are falling past your lips. “I held back from telling you this, but Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes had a past together,” Friday admits.

“Pardon?” you ask incredulously. “Back in Hydra, Mr. Barnes trained Ms. Romanoff. They had secret romantic rendezvous and were in love. Then, when the Red Room and Hydra found out, they were separated,” Friday tells you. “It’s probably why they’re so close, Mrs. Barnes. She’s his most recent relationship before you,” Friday reasons to you. It makes sense, it makes so much sense. “Should I be worried, Friday?” you ask her, smoothing your hands over the sheets that you lay atop of.

“No, Mrs. Barnes. Would you like to know why?” she asks you. “Yes, please,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. They’re sweaty, yet so cold. “Because that was in the past, Mrs. Barnes. Mr. Barnes is in love with you, he’ll love you until the end of time,” Friday sweetly tells you. You smile and then dip your head. Bucky loves you just as much as you love him.

It’s been a month since the talk you and Friday had, and you’re starting to doubt her words.

You lie awake in your bed. Caffeine-provided adrenaline pumps through your veins. This isn’t the first time you’ve stared up at the ceilings since you’ve arrived. Ever since Sam made you a cup of coffee from the new machine Stark bought, the bags under your eyes have gotten worse. You warned Bucky about it and he laughed. Just not as hard as you wanted him to. At least he heeded your advice.

Bucky lays asleep next to you. He lays on his right side, even though laying on his left side would make more sense. Bucky always gets better sleep when he lays on his left. You crack your knuckles quietly, even though you can’t wake him up. He used to be such a light sleeper, only because of the vivid nightmares he would get. You hate when he would get his nightmares. The terrifying images that taunt him would always cause him to have a panic attack.

It’s been over a few months since his last nightmare.

You want to turn on your side so badly–– and you can. But your mind can’t help but make you wonder if he’ll wake up. You look to your side when you hear a snore escaping Bucky’s mouth. You let out a coo, even though you used to think snoring was annoying. Your father’s snores would always bother you. You used to joke and say that one night, he’ll wake the sun up.

You gently turn on your left side and a small part of you hopes he’ll do the same. Maybe then you’ll get some warm cuddles to make your sleep. You shut your eyes because the city lights are far too bright at night. The sheer curtains obviously can’t hide New York’s bustling and liveliness. You slow your breathing down and relax your body. Hopefully, sleep can come to you soon.

Next to you lies Bucky. He’s quite literally in dreamland and he doesn’t want to ever wake up. Everything is so realistic, almost as though he’s living another life when his eyes are closed. He has a smile on his face, one that can charm almost anyone. The last time he had a dream like this wasn’t back in the forties — no. It was last night, and now sleeping is a lot better for Bucky.

Natasha giggles, loudly. It’s a cacophony of different sounds. It’s not fake, like the ones you hear on television. It’s real. It’s so vividly real that it makes his heart swell loudly. He looks to her first, making sure she’s enjoying herself before facing the judging stares from Tony and Rhodey.

His hand is intertwined with hers. He rubs his thumb on her skin and he knows what’s running through her mind. She shoots him a look, one that he chooses to ignore. He gives her a smirk and then brings her hand up to his face. He closes his eyes and presses a kiss on the diamond ring she wears.

The scenery changes.

It’s some time in 1992, and he’s holding onto her tightly. She’s asleep, with her locks of auburn hair spread out against the floor. She lays on his chest, and he makes sure she’s comfortable enough with him. Sure, his spine may ache and his under-eye bags may have deepened but he doesn't care.

“Natalia?” he whispers, checking to see if she’s asleep.

She’s knocked out cold and he’s glad. After what he just put her through, he doesn’t blame her. Hours upon hours of what they both like to call ‘training’ has her sleeping like a baby. He chuckles, and he hopes the rumbles in his chest don’t wake her up.

“Hi, Winter,” she hums, rousing from her sleep.

He curses and she giggles. Natalia rubs the tiredness from her eyes and she stretches as much as her body allows her to. “How long until they come?” she asks him. He looks to the make-shift alarm he stole from a mission and sees an hour marked on it. “One hour, Natalia,” he says.

She hums in delight. “Do you think this one hour will take a while? Or will it go by as fast as light?” she questions. Her accent is heavy, but it’s so beautiful. “Fast. Time well-spent goes by fast,” he tells her. “And how do you know this will be time well-spent?” she looks up at him.

“Time spent with you, is always time well-spent, Natalia.”

You hold your breath. Bucky mumbles sweet nothings to Natalia — Natasha. You want to cry so badly but then again, you don’t want to wake Jamie up from his dark paradise. You try to tell yourself it’s just a dream, that everything will be okay and that there’s nothing to be worried about. But even your thoughts fail to reassure you about the man lying next to you. You don’t know whether you should wake him up, so you bite down on your bottom lip and hope that this whole thing is just a dream.

“Did you sleep well, Jamie?” you ask him, folding his laundry for him. He looks up from the book he’s buried in and nods. “Amazingly, I’m so glad I can finally get some shut-eye now,” he tells you. You hum and Bucky looks at you. “Is everything alright?” he asks. “Yeah. Just peachy,” you say. He mumbles a quick okay and goes back to reading his book.

Jamie has a wonderful attention span, so there’s no reason for him to be stuck on the same page for around ten minutes. You have an idea as to what’s on his mind. Well, more so who. Natasha. “Any weird dreams?” you ask him after a few seconds. This time, you’re pairing up Bucky’s socks. “N– No, I don’t think I dreamt of anything.” He lies through his teeth and you know this because he has a tell.

Whenever he lies, he stares out into the distance. It’s usually to your right, but that doesn’t matter.

“But that’s good, right? No more nightmares.” You hold a pendant in your hand and it’s not yours because you broke your necklace a few days ago.

“That’s true,” he dryly agrees. It has the letter ‘N’ written on it. It seems like it’s new, unlike Natasha’s locket. You place it on the dresser softly. “You know, everything has a meaning. Nightmares, dreams, even dreamless nights,” you start. “I know, some are worse than others, though,” he follows. “Sometimes, nightmares mean change,” you continue.

He nods, but you don’t see it. “When you dream, it might be that you have some wishes or conflicts that have been suppressed,” you sweetly tell him. Bucky looks at you, but your back faces him. “And even not dreaming means something. When you don’t dream, it might mean that your mind is free of all the bad things,” you roughly shut the filled up drawer and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the loud sound.

“Sorry…” you sheepishly apologize. “S’ alright,” he smiles. “Well, my burning question relates to that, I guess,” you admit. He raises an eyebrow and you turn around. Your fingers tap against the oak wood of the dresser. Sweat that has built up for the past morning or so leaving an imprint of your fingers on the wood. “Do… Do you remember when you used to call me ‘moonlight’?” you ask nervously.

Bucky pauses whenever small movements he was making and you make direct eye contact with him. You look away immediately, though. “A– As a nickname?” he asks. “Yeah… You’d say it in Russian. There was beautiful reasoning and meaning behind it…” you explain to him. Your voice carries more hope than anything. He stays silent and you shakily exhale.

You know exactly how to pronounce it. “лунный свет.” You look up at him. “I… What was the meaning?” he asks. “I– I have it written down. Just wait, don’t go.” You move towards the bed and reach underneath your mattress. Your father would always hide things like that. Sometimes, you’d catch him placing your works of finger-painting underneath the bed.

You lift it and retrieve your little notebooks. It’s not much, but it’s something. You flip to the page that you wrote on two years ago. You smile once you reach it and turn back around. Jamie hasn’t left. “This page. I wrote it down when you left to go to the market. I remembered each word and I still do,” you cheerfully tell him. He smiles up at you and you hand him the book.

You’re just like moonlight. You’re wise, the brightest of them all. No matter how small you make yourself, you always manage to make everyone marvel at your beauty. You’re mysterious, always a surprise, but only for some. Your aura– your brightness, it never ceases to amaze people. It helps me through the darkest times. The world needs you, I need you.

The words are beautifully written. They’re traced over in black pen and even have little stars scribbled around them. “I said this?” he asks, in an almost incredulous tone. “Yeah, word for word,” you assure him. “This is really sweet, and I probably said this, but I don’t remember calling you moonlight, Doll. I’m sorry…” He sadly admits to you. Your heart drops, but it’s alright. He may not remember it, but you do. Maybe one day he will.

“It’s okay, don’t apologize,” you tell him in a sad tone. You take the notebook back from him and place it underneath the mattress. Jamie watches you as you do so. “Are you sure?” he asks on more time, just to be sure. “I’m sure. Dr. Cho and the others said this is normal, Jamie,” you assure him. “Alright.”

Everything is alright. Everything was alright. Everything will be alright.

You carry the laundry basket against your waist and you can’t lie and say you didn’t just bury your hands between the clothes as soon as they came out of the dryer. The common room is mostly empty. Wanda and Clint are out on a mission. Tony, Rhodey and Pepper are on a trip. Steve and Sam are training recruits. Vision and Bruce are in Dr. Cho’s lab. You assume Natasha is in her room and James is in yours.

But even assumptions can be wrong.

You hear that laugh that’s as soft as summer’s rain — Natasha’s laugh. It’s beautiful, just like her. But you can’t compare her beauty to anything, it’s beyond that. You walk up to the room where you can hear her, and pear through the small crevice the door has. She looks at Bucky with those emerald green eyes of hers. In them is absolute love and adoration.

“лунный свет, you look so pretty when you laugh,” Bucky tells her. She smiles and blushes, before giggling again. “You’re too sweet, Buck,” she whispers. Bucky grabs a hold of her hand, and his thumb rubs against her ivory skin. “Can never be too sweet when it comes to you, лунный свет,” he counters.

Your heart cracks, especially at the seams.

It’s been a week since Jamie called Natasha “лунный свет,” and you’re determined to get him back.

She must know she can have anyone she wants, but you can never love again. Not without him. That’s why you’re wearing a dress you borrowed from Wanda. You bite your red-stained nails nervously. It’s an improvement since your last date night with Jamie. Last time, you both shared a box of macarons that he stole from the grocery store. Underneath the moonlight, he once again professed his love for you. But this time, he gave you his dog tags to wear.

You have them on. They clink with your each and every movement but you don’t mind the sound at all. You spread a blanket onto the wooden floor. It has some similarities to the two sleeping bags you used back then. They were similar colours and took up the same amount of space. You throw some pillows on top, arranging them in a circle. The record player in the corner plays “‘Till the End of Time” by Perry Como.

You hum along to the melody of the song. You remember when Jamie said it was one of his favourites. You jumped in joy because it’s also one of your favourites. You carefully light the candles that are scattered around the room. Friday is already on alert in case one of the flames gets a little too big. You open the box of macarons and place them inside the little circle you have going on.

You set down other food items — such as croissants and a charcuterie board. It was all for cheap, mostly due to the bargaining you did with the old lady at the store. As soon as you dropped the words “date night’, she immediately went with whatever you had to offer. You turn back around and try to search for the scrapbook you have been making for the past two years. You always saved it for something, but that something doesn’t seem to be in your future.

“Where are you, little book?” you ask out loud. Your voice is in a sing-song melody, just like how your father would have his. You search around the dresser. You check in the drawers and the jewelry box but you can’t seem to find it. You decide to check the desk, because if it’s not here then it has to be there. You scan the top of the desk but don't find anything.

Carefully, you grasp the golden handle of one of the drawers and pull it open. The drawer glides easily, and if your father were here, he would’ve marvelled. You don’t find it, so you lift some stray sheets of paper. “Please be here…” You beg out loud. But it doesn’t turn up, and you pout like a little child. You drop the sheets of paper, but something grazes against your finger.

If you weren’t so out of it, you’d probably squeal in fear. Twine that’s pulled at the ends tickles you and you giggle. Your eyes follow to where it comes from, and you find a sealed envelope. You frown out of pure, ingenue curiosity. You pick it up and spin it around in your hands. It’s a beige envelope, one of the many you gifted Bucky on Valentine’s Day.

The twine wraps around it with no useful purpose. Only for the aesthetics. On the back has your name, written in cursive scrawl that belongs to one James Buchanan Barnes. You turn it back around, and carefully open it. Your father taught you that there’s a specific trick for opening envelopes. It was one of the many secrets your family had. And by family, you mean Jamie, your father and your grandmother.

It may not be much, but it’s more than enough.

Inside is a letter. More of Jamie’s handwriting fills your view and you don’t mind it at all. You pull the letter out and unfold it. You start to read it, only taking in the way his handwriting looks. You sit down on his chair and your eyes take in each word.

Dear лунный свет,

I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. You can hate me, you can be disgusted with me. You can do whatever you want. But promise me, you won’t let what I’m about to say hurt you. I’m in love with Natasha. I’ve fallen out of love with you and listen, it’s not your fault. How can it be your fault? You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.

But I’m in love with Natasha. I have been for the past year or so. When I saw her again two years ago, something inside me happened. I got butterflies, as stupid as it sounds. She’s everything I want, everything I need. We go way back, and she knows me like the back of her hand. I’m sorry, лунный свет. I am so fucking sorry. I know writing this letter isn’t the best way to do this, but I feel the need to do so.

Love,

James Buchanan Barnes.

You can die right here, right now. You wonder if this is some kind of sick joke Bucky is playing on you, but after sitting there for a few more minutes, you realize it isn’t. Suddenly, the candles burning around you are pointless and so is your entire being of existence. You sit there, stupefied and filled with hurt. You let the letter fall into your lap and slip down to the floor, where it meets the wood with no sound.

The record scratches but you don’t even wince. Now, the voice of Perry Como is all warped and haunted. You hate it. You hate everything. You shut your eyes and sigh quite loudly. She took Jamie from you — your Jamie. Your throat tightens up and you feel like time slows down. You break down, the dam crashing down as the water flows at high pressure. It’s all so much at once. Tears leak from your eyes and drip down to the desk.

You hang your head, almost in shame.

Why are you crying? This was bound to happen.

“Can you just shut up for once?” you cry out.

“Mrs. Barnes, is everything alright?” Friday asks. “Yes, Friday. Do you mind leaving me alone, please?” you politely request. Your voice nearly cracks from the tears. “Of course, Mrs. Barnes,” she says, before dinging away. Mrs. Barnes… You’re not Mrs. Barnes, were you ever? She was always Mrs. Barnes, and she always will be. You let out a choked cough, one that uses all the strength in your body that isn’t destined for your crying.

You look down to the opened drawer and then to the letter on the floor. A groan escapes past your lips. It’s one of pure hurt and pain. You can feel your heart shattering into pieces. Each shard cuts your insides and you struggle to calmly breathe. You grab a sheet of paper from the drawer and pluck the pen that lies on the desk. You take a deep breath and begin to write your heart out.

Natasha,

Please, please don’t do this. I know you may be in love with him (which is the best feeling ever, I know), but please don’t take him just because you can. I also know that nobody can control their feelings. But even love disappears one day, right?

You could have your choice of man, Natasha. But I don’t think I can ever love again. Not without him. If only you could see the way Steve, Sam and Bruce look at you. You can have any of them, so why did you choose Bucky? Why are you taking my Jamie from me?

He dreams about you. He calls your name in his sleep. He calls you moonlight and I’m sure you don’t know the true meaning of it. But if you ask, he’ll probably tell you. This is coming off as rude — I know. It’s not what I want but I want you to ask you one thing only.

Please don’t take him, even though you can.

You scribble your name at the bottom of the page. A tear drops from your eyes and soaks into the paper. You re-read each sentence, and with every word, you hate yourself even more. You throw the pen at the wall, not caring that it breaks at the impact.

You want to send it to her so badly, but your father always told you to never fight fire with fire. Would she even listen to you? Probably not, so why try? Jamie isn’t coming back because Jamie doesn’t love you, he hasn’t for a while. You look away from the letter and to the candles that decorate the room.

You’re so foolish, thinking Jamie could ever love you. He did once, but this isn’t your Jamie. Your Jamie is gone and so is his love for you.

You fold the letter up until you’re satisfied. One end slightly overlaps the other but even the smallest things that would usually bother you doesn’t matter now. Nothing does. You bring the letter to the burning candle and let it light on fire. Along with the paper goes your instinct to fight for the love of your life.

You can never love again. Not without him.

[opalsdarkreadings]

✰𝙅𝙪𝙟𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙪 𝙆𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙎/𝙊. 𝘽𝙤𝙣𝙪𝙨: 𝙎𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙍𝙮𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣✰

Pairing: Gojo, Yuji, Fushiguro, Nobara, Sukuna x gender neutral reader

Warning: angst, depression themes, mentions of blood

Notes: I love the smell of saddens and crying in the morining, great starter of the days. lol I hope you all enjoy, there’ll be some grammical errors so please just ignore and I’ll try to fix them when I spot them. And I’m addicted to this series and characters so I’ll be releasing a bunch of others stuff regarding this show soon.

✵𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘂✵

You were going to get up, you always did. The two inseparable prankster would be back at it agian like always. Like old times. You....you were fine

But the pit of his stomach twist and churn, his heart aching with a new found sense of despair. He knew, so why didn’t he just accepted it.

NO! You were going to get up, you just liked to joke around that’s all. So why did he feel a surge of rage so deep, so painful that ach his very core. Even destroying the special grade left nothing but dissatisfaction.

For the first time in his life he felt... hesitant.

Your body unmoving from the blow dealt by the curse demon. The curse being dealt with in seconds afterwards. The stillness felt eery, his heart pounding against his chest as he makes his way to you unmoving body

He crouch and pulled the slik blind off his face, beautiful bright blue eyes scanning over you body. Sadness being reflected in them but he kept that signiature smile of his

“S/o...can you still move?” He asked hoping, silently praying you could at least answer him.

...nothing.

“Cutie-chan~ quit playing around...get up so we can go home....” the weak laugh that left his lips felt more like whimper, as you continue to not answer him.

He doesn’t even know why he’s trying, he should be use to it. He’s lost thousands of friends in battle, time and time agian. One of his students wouldn’t come back, a coworker that didn’t make it, a close friends that died tragically. He’s heard it all.

So why did it hurt so much?...

Droplets fell over you color ridden cheek, you body being lifted into a broad chest. As Satoru buried his face into the crook of your neck, that awful perfume he hate infiltrating his nose, a choked laught left him.

“God I hate that perfum..”

That smile of yours as bright as the evening star, flooded his mind, your words ringing out as he cradled your dead body.

“I know you do, but you still love me~.”

✵𝘆𝘂𝗷𝗶 𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗶✵

That face, you always made that face whenever you did something stupid. Honestly, he couldn’t talk much, seeing on half the crap he’s done was on impulse, however...god you were an idiot.

You Could’ve lived, left him there on the cool slab of the concrete, the beast that was too far over their heads coming his way. He could’ve handled it, Sukuna was a stubborn bastard, but wouldn’t let him die.

You were and utter fool and he cursed about it to this day.

But it all felt like slow motion, the pounding of your footsteps hitting against the ground, his weak shouts trying to get you to go back. The drop in his stomach as that sickening crack echoed out the domain.

There was so much blood, the walls were splattered with it, the floor painted a sea of red, your body nothing more than crushed remembrance of what it used to be.

He’s never felt such a feeling of rage so strong before. All his actions a blur until late on. When he’s bound by a cursed rope and set aside near the school where the cursed demon was located.

A stretcher hauling, what’s once was your body. Your hand peeking out from under the blood covers. That’s all it took for him to lose it.

The rope keeping his struggling body from moving as he sobbed hysterically.

“S/O! S/O! Answer me please..please! Why would you do that?! You’re such an idiot damnit, don’t you dare leave me...you promised.” He fell over the harsh ground, tears cascading down from his cheek to the floor.

Fushiguro and Nobara gazes lowered to the ground. Effectively trying to hold back their friend as your body was carried off.

His sobs turning into quiet whimpers. It dawned on him, he’s was official alone now. You and his Grampa being taken from him unfairly. He had no one, you would never smiles at him agian

Slap his head whenever he got a little to handsy or tease Him relentless when he slipped up and blurtted out random things

Your sweet laugh would be distance memory of the past, something that made his heart squeeze with hurt.

“That’s no fair...it’s not fair.” He mumbles soflty to himself

Sukuna for once, was eerily silent.

✵𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝗼 𝗠𝗲𝗴𝘂𝗺𝗶✵

He still couldn’t believe it. It all happened so quickly. One minute you two were sharing a passionate night, basking under the moonlight as you kiss and bodies dance together.

And the next, he’s cradling your bleeding body, words stuck in his throat and horror swirling on his eyes. Trembling hands trying to stop the blood from gushing out from your neck.

The bastard had got away but he could care less. “S-s/o..just...just stay awake for me okay...c-can you do that for me?” His words trembled off his lips, your eyes shifting over to his. The dullness setting in.

Weakly, your fingers brush over his cheek, his hands reaching up and taking hold of them as he kiss over the knuckle. “You’re....you’re gonna be okay! I promise the others are coming.” He hadn’t realized it but tears had already started falling from his eyes.

He was lying out his ass, the culprit behind this, another cursed user, has been terrorizing this part of town for months now. They weren’t letting him getaway, so you’re mostly his responsibility till the aftermath. He knew you didn’t have that long.

He went to move you but you grunt in pain, more blood pooling out from the wound. He cursed and held you on the bloodstained ground.

“I’m sorry...I-I’m so sorry..” he mumbles into your neck, uncaring if his face was stained with blood as his quiet sobs racked his body.

With as much strength you could muster, you raised your hand to be lazily placed over his head and stroked it over it like you always did.

“I...I l-love you..” you whispered to him, your body becoming slack and your hand falling to your side.

He didn’t need to check, he didn’t need to see whatever expression your face was making to know that you were gone. His grip over your lifeless body tightens, his cries reaching into screams.

This felt all too familiar to him.

He wanted to blame you for breaking his defense, to inching so close to his heart. For making him so happy and attached, but he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t enjoy the moments that came with it.

The memories that’ll forever stay replaying like a broken record in his mind. This is why he didn’t try to make friends, he didn’t try to get close, he hated that he loved you so much.

✵𝗡𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗮 𝗞𝘂𝗴𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗸𝗶✵

Maybe she was too mean to you, not caring enough, She mishandled you to many times, to many fights and arguments over tedious things that should have been left as it was.

Was this her punishment? She allowed for such actions to boil and fester, and now what? A dumb argument over a stupid past that no longer connected to you and the exchange was your life. 

Even though you said you sorry’s, I love you’s, there was still tension before you both part. Nobara saving to say all those mushy things she felt for when you were back in her arms

Oh, the deep regret she felt.

The way her teammates came back quieter than usual and more seemly more sluggish then earlier

“What are you idiots standing like that for, that cursed demon shake you that bad. Hmph, simple enough what would you guys be with me?” She teased her sly smile spreading over her lips before it falter

They didn’t even try to agrue much less protest, they just seem distraught, stunned even. Then I dawned on her, they were missing someone...they were missing you.

“Where’s...where’s s/o?” She asked them soflty. A look of guilt overcame Yuji's features as he fished for something out of his pocket.

Confusion ran across Nobara face before it morphed into horror. A single scrap of a school uniform being held out in his hand.

“We...we couldn’t get their body..” Megumi finished his gaze meeting her’s before falling back to his feet. Fist clenched tightly to his side.

She barely heard anything after that, her eyes fixated on the single scrap of clothing. She inched to Yuji taking it and stroking her thumb over the material.

She bites her bottom lip, this was fates cruels joke. She didn’t deserve you from the beginning, it seems like everywhere she went someone had to leave her.

But why did it have to be violent? Why you out of all people. Maybe she should have told her how much you meant to her.

How much of a rock and pillars you were in this crazy life of hers. A beam of reassurance and love that she could always depend on whenever she needed you.

How does she continue now, that beams were gone, taken from her so harshly. The only things she could cling so desperately to have been the last thing she saw you in.

What a cruel world she lived in.

✵𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚✵

There was always some form of a catch when it came to huamsn. No relationship or friendship was formed without a common goal or another interest being taken into play.

The sweet smiles, honey-coated words, and gentle touches were always a facade...wasn’t it?

He could care less about what happened to you, what became of you. After all humans are dirty devilish creatures so even more so then cursed beast.

But he didn’t understand... he didn’t understand why he felt such strong stings of anger, sadness, and a bit of shock bubble in him as you push him out the way.

Did you place some sort of technique over him, that made the king of curses catch such disease as emotions? Laced your words and touches with magic that only you could see and undo....no that’s not it.

Possible it was this damn vessel's fault. Always hanging off your words and embraces like a lovesick fool. Opting to distract himself with your praise and love then rather focus on what’s important at hand.

though denying that he didn't enjoy your persevere, from time to time would make the ping of guilt worsen.

Your body hit the floor with a loud thud, the gaping hole through your chest made the anger and feelings of anguish flow in him.

He didn’t even notice when he had taken over Yuji's body, destroying the very thing that took you away from him. The slaughter more animalistic and erratic as his state of sanity seems to be blown out the window.

He cares not for the look of horror and fear that clouded Yuji's teammate's face. Not concerning much of his attention to them, he came over, plucked your dead body from the ground, and disappear.

Appearing back to that place you talked with Yuji so dearly about..what was it again. He couldn’t recall the name, only knowing about the large wisteria trees that guard the scenery. 

“Dumb human...surely foolish beings you are.” He mumbles you head was press into his chest as he looked out from the Cliffs view.

“Look what you have done, making me feeling things for you..” his voice soft as he pushed back small strands from your face. Yuji memories of this morning playing back

“You two better make it out of here alive or I’m kicking both of your butts.” You proclaimed earning a whine from Yuji and scoff from Sukuna as he appeared on the other’s cheek. “Dare I ask how you’ll be able to deafest me, don’t bite more than what you can chew.” He threatens but only succeeded in making you laugh, “Mhm..yeah you’re right I’m just worried about my two favorite boys.” You had told them, leaning in and kissing a flustered Yuji, “I love you both so be safe.” Okay and no stupid actions.” You scolded Yuji plucking the boy's head.

A weak laugh fell off from his lips, “Looks who’s talking, you’re the one that’s gone and died on us..” he spoke aloud. Moving to crouch by the tree and sit your body against the bark.

He let one finger trail over your lips and down your features letting them be engraved in his memory as he gazes down at you.

That disease having still affecting him, even as you lay dead in front of him. These feeling of sadness and heart ach and most of all loneliness suffocating and clawing at his throat

He dare not shed a tear, Yuji would do enough of that for the both of them. Instead, he let his hand gently cup over your cold and colorless cheek. The warmth he remembers oh so clearly, know felt like something that occurs ages ago.

He leans his forehead against yours and shutting his eyes, and allowing Yuji to take control.

You’d never heard him say, though he wished you are hear so he could that dazzling smile as he did

“I love you... S/o.”

[chocominnie]

One Last Time — 05

⇢ pairing: Jimin X Reader

⇢ Genre: Idol!Jimin, Exbf!Jimin, model!reader, sad au, fluff, tons of smut, angst

⇢ Synopsis: Your idol ex boyfriend Jimin cheated on you. You two have been broken up for a while now and the media has been keeping track of you and him. You’re trying to get over him, but the things that happen inbetween makes you re-think the entire breakup, and so does Jimin…

⇢ Song : xxxxx

⇢ Previous : 00 01 02

⇢ Word Count : 3k

⇢ Warnings: dominant jimin, makeout sessions, this is honestly a sad angsty au, cheating, pregnancy, unprotected and protected sex, a bunch of sex, no really a LOT of sexual themes too, I know I’m forgetting some but sorry in advance!

⇢ Copyright: please do NOT repost, translate, or modify my works in any way, shape or form, on any platform. If found doing so , it is considered as plagiarism and appropriate LEGAL action will be taken

⇢ Authors note: This is my mini series for the summer! Get your tissues, things to take your anger out on, and sit back and watch the drama unfold. Shall we begin?

The scent of vanilla with a hint of cinnamon is what wakes you up from your sleep. Hair and body tangled in-between the blankets, which lets you know you you had tossed and turned once again. The frizzball on your head is definitely going to be a challenge to work with. Stretching your limbs, you let out a small yawn only for your hands to drop back down and feel nothing but cold emptiness.

Was it a dream? Dream? You didn’t even have one of your night terrors for the first time in a year. The dream to you seemed rather pleasent. Jimin tangled up in your arms as he holds you tight while you breathe into his bare chest. The warmness is something you had longed for once again and it all felt surreal.

‘‘ You awake yet?’‘

The voice startles you, making you drop your phone onto the comforter and turn your head towards the bedroom door where it came from. His blonde hair and small smile peep through the door, hoping to atleast get a better reaction out of you. 

So it is real.

“ You’re really here? Did I bump my head too hard to where im imagining things?” You pull the covers close to you for security. Just as in your dream, there he is barechest and all.

He lets out a squeaky laugh followed by a smile as he comes towards your bed, tapping them to give you a signal to open. You raise an eyebrow but oblige, spreading them a bit only for him to sit inbetween them. It feels as if you’re heart might explode with the sudden flirtacious moves from him. Something you have been wanting but still aren’t used to.

‘‘ You slept so good that you don’t remember last night?”

You look at him eyes wide and then down to your body, “ Please tell me we didn’t-’’

‘‘ As much as I would of love to, No.’‘

A shot of relief flows through you but sadness soon comes over. He isn’t yours to be thinking these sorts of things. He isn’t yours in general. It wouldn’t be right for him to say things like that to you, while still entangled with another female.

‘‘ Why so sad?” His hands comes to your face to caress your cheeks. You shake your head softly then grab his hand to slowly lower it back down.

Jimin sighs, “ Baby just tell me whats wrong.’’

That word. That word you know always messes things up with your thoughts. Your emotions, hell everything in your body too.

You slowly make your way off of the bed, not interested in the conversation anymore. It’s not like you don’t want to continue, you do, but the guilt of everything that comes with it is enough to stir you away.

‘‘ Jimin don’t use that word. You technically still belong to Isabel.”

‘‘ Is she here at this very moment?” He cocks his head to the side with a smirk. You roll your eyes in response to his cockiness.

‘‘ No. That doesn’t change the fa-”

‘‘ Alright then. Now are you going to tell me what’s really on your mind or do I have to force it out?” He raises his hands and scrunches them with grabby motions. You don’t fall for it though. 

You make your way to the doorway, “ That’s all Jimin. I promise. Just call me by  my real name okay?’’

But that’s not what you want. What you want you know you can’t have. It’s not because you can’t have it because you want too. It’s just that it would make you feel like a terrible, horrible person. The look on his face when you say those words almost make you give in. Those puppy eyes caught yours and for a split second you almost consider it but don’t. It’s hard for you, it really is. Having something dangling in your face but you’re too concious to have it.

He’s still not yours. 

With the morning being spent eating a good breakfast Jimin made your favorite pancakes. You watched him carefully, the way his hair bobbed up and down a bit while his right arm whisked the batter quickly. He seemed so natural and comfortable as if he was used to doing this for you. With your elbows on the island counter and head in your hands while you’re seated, you can’t help yourself to stare at the back of him and let the memories float in your mind.

Memories that never fade from you. It’s cute of him to steal glances of you here and there when pouring the batter into the pan. The small winks he gives you makes your heart flutter and the blood rush to your cheeks. It feels rather good to you to have his presence here. Despite the guilty feeling in the pit of your stomach.

 The rest of the day you two decide to lounge around. Endless movies and tv shows throughout the day as you’re cuddled up next to him with a pink colored blanket for the two of you to share. Clara seems to enjoy her time with him too since she won’t let him put her down. She meows loudly with every movement of him. Such a drama queen.

‘‘ Jimin it’s getting late..” You pause, looking up at him. He gives you a small frown when he sits up in hopes you won’t finish your sentence. “ She might begin to worry you’re not home yet.”

Jimin ignores your comment only to latch onto your body a little more rougher, arms not wanting to let go. You giggle before running your fingers through his hair as his head lays softly onto your chest. You wan’t him to leave mentally, but your body wants to hold on to him for way much longer.

‘‘ Your heartbeat is soothing to me.”

It always has been. Anytime he just wanted to talk when you were in a relationship, he would lay you down and then lay himself on you with his ear pressed against your chest. Some days he would have been happy to talk, others, he just wanted to lay there to fall asleep.

‘‘ Seriously Jimin. You should leave.” 

He shakes his head, ‘’ Shhh. Jungkook is coming soon and I would love to sit here and have you to myself.’’

You raise an eyebrow is confusion, “ Why is he coming here?’’

‘‘ I kind of sort of lost my keys to my home. Isabel came yesterday to give the copy’s she went and made when we were at Ryan’s office.  I left the house key with Jungkook while going after you instead of putting it on my keychain right away.”

So that explains why she came. It also would of been better to have touch pad, or even facial recognition to enter the home. Anyone can just copy the key to your home. The fans are already crazy enough after that time you two saw one trying to follow you into your used-to-be shared apartment. It didn’t end so well either.

“ Why don’t you have touch-pad?” You say, sitting up with a disappointed look.

‘‘ Funny story. When the house was made I thought keys would be better than touch-pad on the outside because any paparazzi who manages to get through the front could snap pictures of the code. So why not use a key right?’‘

You just sigh and shake your head in disappointment, not even wanting to explain why that would still be a dumb idea. “ Whatever makes you happy.”

‘‘ But if you were there you would of stopped me.. right?”

Your eyes shoot down to him only to see him staring right back up into yours. The butterflies in your stomach begin to flutter once more. It’s been so long since you felt those.

‘‘ Yes. Yes I would have told you it was a dumb option because nobody can make it past security without calling you first.’‘ You whisper, both of your faces inches away from each other.

‘‘ I thought so. Can I make another dumb suggestion?’‘ His voice says, faint enough for you to hear making the hairs stick up on your neck.

You swallow slowly as chills run down your spine out of anxiety, ‘‘ What?’‘

‘‘ This.’‘

It all feels surreal to you. His lips against yours moving in sync together it’s all just surreal. Within seconds his tongue is swiping against your lips begging for entrance in which you comply. The way his hands rub up and down your thighs is sure to make you moan against the kiss, grabbing them to lead it to your core. He obliges and traces the outline of it outside of your clothing, laying you down gently on the couch in the process.

Until that painful doorbell rings loudly causing you both to groan. Jimin pulls away with a plop noise and give you a wink before lifting off of you to go see who is at the door. Your clothes are ruffled up a bit and that small wet spot between your legs seems to not too noticeable when you fix yourself up quickly.

Sex with Jimin. You almost had sex with Jimin. You feel wrong about it but at the same time you want nothing more to have him make you a screaming moaning mess. You miss him, the way his stroke game is, and everything about him dominating you in the bedroom. 

He’s still not yours though.

‘‘ Who is it?’‘

You sit up and fix your hair to at-least look presentable. That kiss meant everything to you. Your feelings and body enjoyed it but your mind did not. It slipped your mind that you should of pulled away. Nothing can replace how it felt to have his lips on yours again.

The door opens revealing Jungkook who’s face is a little red and breathing hard. He runs inside and shoves Jimin out the way before slamming the door shut and locking it with his back against the wall. You furrow your eyebrows and get up from the spot you’re sitting in.

‘‘ Jungkook what’s happening? Why are you run-”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

‘‘ Open the door now! I know you guys are in there! Jimin get your ass out here now!’’

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Your eyes go wide. That voice. That oh so familiar voice is standing right outside your apartment door. 

‘‘ I tried telling her you went to practice with Seokjin for some new choreography but she knew I lied. Im sorry I tried to run as fast as I could to my car to get away from her. She followed me here in her car and then I had to run some more up to your apartment.’‘ He breathes hard, handing the new set of keys to Jimin.

Shit! You have no words to say. This wouldn’t of all started if you wouldn’t have been so stubborn yesterday to just take a taxi. You wouldn’t of passed out, he wouldn’t have been here with you all day today.

That doesn’t excuse the fact that this girl is batshit crazy for following Jungkook and showing up at your actual fucking apartment. Jimin looks at you with sorriness in his eyes. You look at him with anger and cross your arms to prove your point as to why he should have left in the first place.

 ‘‘ Im going outside to talk to her. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

Jimin’s hand pushes down the handle to the door and as soon as he cracks it open, the force of the door pushes open harshly hitting the wall next to it, making him stumble back a little.

‘‘ So you think it is okay to go to your exes apartment? I would never disrespect you like that Jimin, you know that!”  Rage has taken upon her, face red and it doesn’t already help that her facial expression is beyond pissed.

Slap!

You watch in horror as her hand connects with his left cheek. Jungkook’s eyes go wide, but then frown into anger before walking over to her. Stomping with each step he takes.

“ Watch what your fucking doing okay? That’s my brother and I certainly do not hit girls but with one click of a button Ryan will be on her way to beat your ass got it?’’ 

‘‘ Jungkook stay out of this! This isn’t your battle. Now you, you have some nerve letting him inside here. Obviously you were not enough for him to go cheating on you.” Isabel says, stepping away from Jimin and leaving him there at the door.

That one hurt. She does have a point though, you should of made Jimin leave regardless of what he said to you. You got caught up in the moments that weren’t meant to be yours. Its true, she has every right to be mad.

‘‘ I don’t appreciate you being around Jimin..” She inches closer to you, hands on her hips. You begin to back up, eyes to the ground of guilt. If only things wouldn’t have unfolded like this.

‘‘ Your relationship to him is starting to be inapropriate.” Isabel’s eyes make contact with yours when you look up. She looks at you as if you’re disgusting, and you can’t blame her.

‘‘ Isabel..’‘ Jimin warns, coming behind her.

On the heel of her feet, she turns around shaking her head. “You don’t deserve to talk. You care so much about her, but did you forget we are a couple? We may just be cooling things off between us, but you are still mine as I am to you.’‘

Jimin sighs, stopping just behind her, ‘‘ Isabel look..”

“ Jimin..” Jungkook starts, uneasy of what his brother is to say next. You know what’s coming and you know that tone of Jimin’s voice all too well.

The same one he used when breaking up with you. You see the tears well in her eyes. Some part of you feels bad for her because you know those words well. You know that feeling all too good.

‘‘ Are you really breaking up with me because of her? We were doing just fine until she showed back up in the picture. Are you seriously doing this?” Her voice cracks on the last words. That made your heart sting a bit. This isn’t right.

Jimin sighs looking at the two of you back and forth. You are the one for him, it’s no doubt. It was a stupid choice for him to cheat on you. It was a stupid choice for him to leave you in the dust like that. You gave him everything. A loving relationship, a home, happiness, you are the highlight of his days. He misses you just as much as you miss him.

“ Isabel we are through. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the man to your expectations. It’s my fault. All my fault and I shouldn’t have let you belie-”

“ Fuck you. Fuck you Park Jimin.” Her words slice through the air, piercing Jimin right in his heart. It hurt for him to hear that, but he deserves it.

Jungkook doesn’t look so shocked, but he does wish Jimin would have did this else-where other than your apartment. Isabel looks at you with envy, reaching into her small chanel bag for something. Jungkook gives her a warning look to just leave before grabbing your arm to make you stand behind him.

“ Isabel I’ll walk you down. It’s best to just leave it be. Please.” Jimin begs from behind her. You watch the tears roll down her eyes and you still can’t help but to feel guilty.

You are the cause of their breakup. Maybe you really should have minded your business about Jimin. Maybe you shouldn’t have entertained his charming ways at all. Looking back down at her hands, you see a small pocket knife she grips tightly. You tap Jungkook and point which makes him push you behind him even more. 

“ It’s a bad idea. You can hurt me but you wont hurt my brother or her.” He says, daring her to make any type of movement towards you. 

Jimin comes behind her and attempts to grab the knife in which she slashes his palm on accident trying to push him away. In that quick second, Jimin hisses in pain while pulling away giving Isabel all the time she has to get to you while Jungkook is already across the room for his brother, forgetting you hiding behind him.

‘‘ Shit! Jimin are you okay?” He asks, but then quickly turns to you, “ Quick! Go hide! Hurry! “ Jungkook screams.

‘‘ Isabel this isn’t what he wants. He wants you to be happy and getting back at me will only upset him more!”  As if your words would even convince the crazy girl in the slightest. 

She just laughs as your words, fastly walking to you who’s, running towards the living area thinking it would cut time shorter if you cut through there to your bathroom.

You aren’t fast enough. She tackles you to the ground where you two rumble around trying to get away from her until she putting all her weight on you as she sits directly on your chest making it hard for you to breathe. 

“ Maybe a little mark on your face will tell you to stop home-wrecking people’s relationship.” She raises the knife up high and you watch in horror before she raises it back to in attempt to make a slash on your forehead.

You block each attempt at her trying to slash anything on your face. Your dad always told you to protect your face in self defense and fighting and thats what you do. Only until with one last thrush, the knife connects with your forearm, making a nice sized gash on it.

‘‘ Fuck!”

The voices in your area fade in and out. You look to your left to see Isabel being dragged out by a pair of cops. But the puddle of blood forming around you rapidly sends you into panic. Only you cant panic. You cant speak. Your vision is slowly loosing faith in you.

Open.

Close.

Open.

Close.

Open.

Cl-

[rax-writes]

Enchanted - Part II

Fandom:  The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina Pairing:  Caliban x Reader Warnings:  Violence, death + resurrection Notes:  Part I ♥ Here’s part two! Hope you all like it!

Your relationship with Caliban did not remain a secret for long. Your sister was the first to know.

As you jogged over to her at the carnival the following weekend, you said, “Sister, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I know how the Plague Kings’ plan to overthrow you. They’ll be keeping an eye on you for any missteps, and once given probable cause, they will force you and Caliban to embark on a quest to retrieve the Unholy Regalia.”

She was visibly stunned, and understandably so. “That’s great! But how did you find all that out?”

“That would be the bad news.”

As if on cue, Caliban then materialized, and wrapped an arm around your waist – which was immediately noticed by Sabrina.

“What did you rope my sister into?” she snarled at Caliban, but you held up a hand to silence them both before the bickering began.

“Caliban came to me and stated that he wished to court me. I first tried to convince him to end the coup in exchange for courtship, but he explained that even if he wanted to, he is unable to stop the Kings. So, instead, the exchange became useful information for courtship.”

“Mhmm,” Sabrina mused disbelievingly, glaring at the man at your side. “And for how long does she have to date you?”

“The only requirement to fulfill our agreement is a single date, hence our presence at this mortal affair,” Caliban answered, then smiled warmly at you. “After that, the status of our courtship is up to my lady.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not so bad,” Sabrina muttered, then shrugged as she turned to you. “At least you can get this night over with and never have to see him again.”

“In all honesty… I am not entirely opposed to seeing him again,” you admitted hesitantly, and Sabrina’s jaw dropped slightly as her brows furrowed in agitation. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sister. For Satan’s sake, have you seen him? He’s more than a little easy on the eyes.”

Caliban chuckled, both at your compliment and your sister’s obvious annoyance. “Come, little dove. Let us explore this fanciful event.”

Though the evening had been a delight, and you enjoyed your time with your date, you couldn’t help but notice that Caliban seemed slightly on edge all night. After the sun had gone down, and you’d surveyed the majority of the carnival, Caliban requested to take you to dinner in a nice restaurant. You agreed, and he thoroughly surprised you by taking you to a quiet, romantic rooftop restaurant in Italy, having remembered you stating that Italian was your favorite food. It was the following morning before you realized that he’d been sensing the impending danger of Herod’s attack. Coincidentally, he had disappeared for a short while during dinner, and although he’d claimed to have gone to the restroom, you learned from Sabrina the following morning that he’d actually returned to Greendale to collect King Herod's crown.

Naturally, the two of you had bickered about him cheating your sister the next time you were together, but his soft lips and skilled hands had done wonders to dissipate your anger. Although you refused to admit it, you were positively hooked from thereon out.

You told yourself that you continued the dates and the trysts simply because it was merely an enjoyable pastime. But in truth, it was because you were slowly falling for the prince. Knowing it was a mistake due to his allegiance to Hell, and his position as the enemy of your sister, created a forbidden nature to the romance, and it only made you crave him more.

Little did you know, Caliban felt the same for you. Your smile set his soul aflame, and your laughter made his chest tighten with affection. The sight of your hair fanned across your pillow, mouth slightly agape in pleasure, was not one he would ever grow tired of. He had fallen well and truly in love with you.

This information was kept secret from one another, because both of you were scared to admit such a thing and risk scaring the other away.

It wasn’t long after your mutual realizations that he met your aunts and Ambrose. Although they were all pleased to have met the object of your affection, and they remained civil with him, it was evident that each member of your family distrusted him, and questioned his intentions with you.

Their distrust turned out to be short-lived.

Immediately following your coven’s Hare Moon celebration, one of the Pagans had developed a very intense dislike for you. All it took was for her to sense that you were a very powerful member of your kind – that is, until your powers faded – and she, being a harpy, notorious for their insatiable hunger and lust for torture, had decided that she would feast upon your witch flesh as her next meal.

It was that evening when she appeared. You had been relaxing on the front porch of the Spellman Mortuary, and at first, you thought she was merely a mortal woman – then her wings spread out from behind her as her glamour faded, bird-like legs sprouted from her torso, and her face became hideous, decayed and rotting. You had instinctively tried to run, but it was futile. After all, harpies were originally thought to be the personification of wind, so it was unsurprising that you were in her clutches before you even made it to the door.

The harpy’s sharp talons dug into your shoulders, and you screamed for help as she launched you into the yard. You fell flat on your back, which knocked the wind out of you, and she was on you again in the blink of an eye. As you felt the most impossibly intense, agonizing pain across your abdomen, you screamed again as you glanced down and realized she had torn you open. She began feasting on your flesh and organs, blood dripping from her claws as she ravaged you.

You were vaguely aware of a horrified scream from Sabrina somewhere behind you. She had just swung open the front door of the Spellman household to see the ghastly scene before her, Aunt Zelda, Aunt Hilda, and Ambrose right behind her. With a roar of pure rage, Ambrose charged at the harpy with his blade drawn, which drew her away from you. Sabrina and Hilda then kneeled beside you, the former with tears in her eyes and a terrified look on her face as she held your hand, and the latter clearly trying to hide her panic as she unsuccessfully attempted to heal you. But your injuries were far too extensive, and your loved ones’ magick was far too weak.

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot pierced through the night air, and you weakly turned your head to see Aunt Zelda holding a shotgun, Ambrose a few feet from your attacker, and the harpy lying dead on the ground. The two then ran over to you, both dropping to their knees at your side, their faces just as solemn and fearful as Sabrina and Aunt Hilda.

It was then, looking upon the panic-stricken faces of your family, that you knew you were going to die.

Darkness began to cloud your vision, and you vaguely heard your sister sobbing, and aunts and cousin begging you to stay conscious, giving you empty promises that they would find a way to fix this, and that everything would be alright. In the midst of all their hysterics, it seemed an idea donned on Sabrina.

“Caliban!” she screamed desperately into the night, her voice breaking from the force as she put behind it.

He appeared instantly, the usual vortex of flames escorting him onto the scene. He opened his mouth, no doubt to make a smug retort to Sabrina’s unceremonious summoning, before his eyes fell on you.

“No,” Caliban whispered in disbelief, still frozen on the spot. Blood poured from your abdomen, and the sight of you torn open and half-dead filled him with a sense of gripping terror and worry he had never before experienced. He ran over to you, skidding to a stop on his knees and gently cradling your head in his hands.

“Do something!” Sabrina begged, a sob raking her body. Caliban panicked for a split second, then a solution came to him. It was a last ditch effort kind of plan, but seeing as your eyes had already drifted shut, and your body was growing colder by the second, he knew that he must do something that would absolutely ensure your survival.

“With a desperate heart and no time to waste, I call upon all three Fates!”

In a cloud of smoke, three hooded figures appeared. Each had clouded eyes, long white hair, and greenish-gray, wrinkled skin.

“Fates, I beseech you to save this woman’s life,” Caliban pleaded.

“In exchange for our aid, you must give up the fate you have been pursuing so fiercely.” The Fates spoke in unison, their voices raspy and eerie. “You must cease your pursuit of the throne of Hell, and no longer seek to make Earth the tenth circle.”

“I shall. Here and now, I end my quest to become King of Hell, and remake the Earth as the tenth circle,” Caliban vowed. The lack of hesitation and conviction in his voice astounded each of the Spellman’s, although that was but a minor thought in the back of their minds at the moment. “Just save the woman I love, please.”

The Fates disappeared without another word in another cloud of smoke, at the same moment that a ragged, desperate gasp tore from your lips. The Spellman’s and Caliban all snapped their eyes back down to you. The fatal wound had been healed, and even your clothing was fixed. You sat bolt upright, as if you’d just been necromanced back to life – and, technically, you had. As you looked around at your loved ones, the realization that you were alive and safe sunk in, and you immediately began to cry.

“I saw Dad. I saw him,” you sobbed pitifully, and your family took you into their arms. You despised how weak you sounded, but seeing your father was something you were entirely unprepared for. Caliban rubbed his palm up and down your back, not wanting to interfere with your familial embrace. Still crying into Auntie Zee’s chest, you explained, “I died. I died and Dad was there waiting for me. He hugged me and told me that he was happy to see me, but it wasn’t my time yet.”

It was several minutes before you were able to compose yourself, although you supposed that was somewhat to be expected for someone who had just died then came back to life. After your aunts wiped your tears, you turned around to look at Caliban.

“I know you had something to do with this. We’re all powerless right now, so that is the only explanation,” you whispered. “What did you do?”

Caliban hesitated a moment, so Ambrose answered for him.

“He called upon the Fates. They demanded that he give up the fate he has been pursuing, in order to save you. So, he vowed to give up the throne of Hell, and said it was to save the woman he loves.”

You looked slowly from Ambrose back to Caliban. He appeared slightly perturbed that Ambrose revealed what he’d said in that moment of fear-fueled vulnerability, but didn’t bother to deny it.

“Caliban… is that true?”

“As I’ve told you before: anything for you,” Caliban answered, giving you a soft smile. You threw your arms around his neck, and he immediately wrapped his around your waist.

“I love you,” you murmured, your face buried in his neck. Caliban held you tightly and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“And I love you, little dove.”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Hello Wendy!!!! Congratulations on your 1k! You deserve it and I hope for many more followers for you. May I request a Priest Suguru x Goddess (pantheon) f! reader with sinful touch? I would also like to write something for your event if you allow me to ❤️❤️❤️ Once again, congratulationnnns

I love this idea! Here goes nothing (Thank you for requesting bby)!

Beloved: Priest!Geto Suguru x Fem!Goddess!Reader

wc: 1.3k

tw: fluff (based on the second part of your request in my inbox)

1K Follower Event Masterlist

"You're quiet tonight," you whisper, trailing your fingers along your favorite priest's jawline. "You're not even playing the lyre. What's on your mind?"

Suguru takes your hand and kisses each one of your fingers, then touches your nose with his index finger.

"Nothing," he lies, and you frown, humming softly.

"You're not being truthful."

"I know." You raise up on an elbow and look down at Geto in the moonlight, your hair falling over your shoulder. "I'm not sure I want to discuss it right now." You sigh, leaning down to kiss his lips before the stars begin to call your name, their twinkling like chimes in your ears.

"I'll wait for you to talk about it when you're ready." And with those words, you vanish into thin air, becoming a mass of shimmering particles that Suguru always reaches out to touch after you've gone.

And you don't tell him where you go. But you do tell him when you'll go.

It's always been this way. Ever since Suguru was a child who washed up on your temple steps like a lost piece of a ship and you were just beginning your eternal existence, you'd been attached at the hip.

From friends to lovers, it had all been so seamless. He was your human lover, and you would spend your days with him, exploring all of the things humanity had to give you. Which admittedly, wasn't much, but he still managed to make life exciting. And at night, you would whisk yourself back to the palace of your father, sitting at his feet while he grew old and lost his sight to the endless years of watching over his subjects.

"Y/n," your father whispers this night.

"Yes?"

"I am growing old. Soon, you will take my place as the goddess of humanity, and I will retire to the Fields of the Aged, like my father, and his father before him." Your first thought is of Suguru, and the idea of abandoning him is akin to the taste of metal in your mouth. Unpleasant.

"Father, why not allow Minerva to take your place?" you wonder, placing a hand on his wrinkled knee. "She is wise, and older, and much more equipped to be--"

"You are more beloved among the people. Minerva is also a wife, and a mother." And you are neither of these things. Your father does not say it, but you know that's what he is implying. And even though you are sitting at his feet on the heavenly dais, you cannot find the strength to argue that you're merely a goddess of dance and festivals, not an omnipotent ruler.

_____________________________________________________________

And when you return to Suguru, it seems he is more withdrawn than usual, his eyes never once looking at you as he goes about his chores in the temple.

At the fifth hour of this treatment, you stand, walking over to him and placing a hand on his back.

"Look at me." Suguru turns his head, but his eyes do not connect with your face at all. "Please, look at me." And he does for a brief moment, his hands dropping the towels to the freshly cleaned floor. "What is the matter?"

"You know the Oracle speaks for your father here on earth." You straighten up, walking over to his side and looking into his dark, brooding eyes. "And I heard what he is planning." You swallow hard, then grip both of his arms with an intensity you've never expressed to him in your current form.

"It will all be okay," you reassure him as his eyes cloud with sorrow. "I am not leaving you." He politely removes your hands from his bare arms, shaking his head.

"But I will die. And you will only be able to watch from the heavens."

"My father is not changing power to me for another thousand years," you mention nervously. Your hands shake as Suguru backs away from you, his hair blowing in the wind coming in from the open window.

"You don't know that. You don't know that." And he turns to leave the temple, hurriedly walking away with only the clothes on his back.

_____________________________________________________________

You lay at the foot of your father's throne, eyes welling up with tears for the third time in an hour.

"Father, please! I need you to help me find my priest. He has gone missing!"

Your father wets his lips, beginning to speak, but your sister cuts him off.

"For what? For him to die? Loving a human is not wise, little sister. They all have such short lives." You want to snap at your older sister, but your father speaks, his voice old and worn like an oft-read scroll.

"If I give you the power of the Sight, you will not be able to revoke it. All of the things that come with it will be granted to you in time, but the All-Sight is a powerful gift only to be used when it is necessary."

"Please," you choke out. "I need him." Your father stretches his hand forward, and without touching you, a ball of white light floats from his fingertips to your forehead, soaking in slowly. You don't immediately feel anything, eyes remaining unchanged, but then you begin to see everything. Everything.

The world is a blur, but you can see the gods of the past roaming around the heavenly halls, the future gods bumping into each other and starting fights, and the present all at the same time.

You scream out in terror, crawling back on your hands and feet and backing into a wall, still hollering in fear.

"Y/N!" a voice calls to you, and you can see fragments of your sister floating around in your field of vision. "Y/N! Focus on me, focus on the sound of my voice. Bring yourself back to the present. Bring yourself back."

But the images do not cease, and endless versions of the future play out while the past is unwoven and rewoven over and over again at the same time. You're stuck there, eyes flicking back and forth between the scenes before you can't tell what time is anymore. Then, it all goes dark.

_____________________________________________________________

A song is being played.

It's soft, and the sound of the stringed instrument is familiar...

In what life did you become accustomed to hearing the lyre?

The past? The present? Or--

Words drift into the ether, and you find your lips mouthing the love song, and your fingers twitch along with the plucked notes. When the song is over, you gather your strength to open your eyes but find them sealed quite shut.

"I love you." A kiss is placed on both of them, and then a kiss is placed on your lips with care before your lover stands up to leave.

"No..." you moan, and a sharp inhale is heard.

"What did you say?"

"Stay." Suguru walks back, then touches your cheek.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you." When your eyes can finally open, you take in the absolute normalcy of your vision, and your head swims as you try to focus on Suguru's worried face.

"You came back..." you croak, and Suguru looks away sheepishly.

"Your sister came to get me. You were in terrible shape when I arrived, but..." He holds up the lyre. "Music seemed to help."

"Where did you go?" you wonder, but the throbbing headache stops you from inquiring further. "Nevermind. My head hurts..."

"Rest," Suguru encourages you, pulling your sheets around your figure. It's only when you lay back on your pillows that you realize you're not in the temple. You shoot up in the bed, eyes wide.

"Wait, you cannot be here; you'll d--"

"Die?" Suguru wonders, raising a brow. "Good thing that's not an issue for us." Us?

"Suguru, what--"

"Your father is very gracious," he murmurs, smiling widely. "I suppose being your favorite priest is enough to grant you eternity." You lay back on the pillows again at Suguru's guidance, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. "Now, seriously. Rest. We have all eternity to figure out, and I'm not wasting a single day."

[missinghan]

caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence 

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret. 

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han​ : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner. 

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

“Kid, I wanna have Chinese for dinner today.”

“Okay, and I should care because…?”

“Because I’m housing your ungrateful ass.”

No. No!

You drop the plastic bags in your hand, your muscles move before your mind can register what’s happening. The next thing you know, you’re racing to the heart of danger, utterly unfazed about the fact that fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. Powerful. Destructive. Heartless. In mere moments, everything you love can be reduced into nothing but sheer ashes.

“But we always have Chinese!”

“Who’s paying again? Was it you? No, I don’t think so.”

Tears blur your vision and you elect to ignore every white noise buzzing at the back of your head. Each step you take is rather a negotiation than an order. Your limbs move like they never belonged to you. This agony has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach and searing inside your rib cage. Your body concedes to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into consideration. The entirety of your existence yearns to curl into something fetal, something primeval, and all while the pain burns and radiates.

“Officer! Stop her! She’s running into the fire!”

“Child! What are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

But what you’re going through is nothing compared to his torment. He’s in there. Writhing and suffering alone. It must be so painful, so cold despite the enraged flames around him. 

When a strong pair of arms slip around your body and every motion comes to a stop, there is a scream of the mouth and lungs, the sound of his name lingers on the tip of your tongue. Because a response is impossible, there comes a scream of the eyes and soul, the kind that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart. 

You forget how to scream from that day on because you are either left with dead silence or punished with cruelty. 

Because you couldn’t save him.

one.

The housekeeper wakes with a tight knot in her stomach. Her body topples the sheets over to reach for her nightstand, flickering on some source of light. Only silence accompanies the hard throbbing inside her chest until a loud thud comes from the hallway. Her body jolts up instantly, a hand over her chest as a soft string of melody saunters into the emptiness of the night.

“When the night is falling, and you have lost your way.”

Her quivering figure quickly exits her room with a flashlight. Her right hand clutches at her other one as an attempt to stop the shaking as adrenaline sears through her vessels. With dreaded steps, the housekeeper manages to reach the staircase, approaches the end of it, and proceeds toward the living room.

“When the rain is storming, and your world’s turned to gray.” 

The voice smoothly slips through the chilling nightfall like an allure yet there’s nothing musical about it. The lullaby sometimes goes off-tune or comes out in broken waves as though whoever’s singing genuinely doesn’t care. They sound more dead than angry, more tired than irate, making her innards shift uneasily. 

“When the wolves await outside, and you feel like you’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, just remember. Remember when I said.”

And they stop. The housekeeper musters up every bit of courage left. A breath in. A breath out. 

In the darkroom, even the ticking clock has a relaxed feeling, as if it’s merely a heart-beat at rest. She feels as though the air moves like cool water and the aroma of the house owner’s scented candles infuse her far more deeply than it did in the light of day. The hollow space is etched with charcoal, the fabrics are muted hues as if they too await dawn to ignite their colors for all to see. The moment she heaves a sigh of relief, her eyes make the mistake of averting to the ceiling, unveiling a scene of unimaginable terror.

Fear floods her system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. Her heart might as well explode right now because even her jaw is shaking non-stop. Her body urges her to either run fast, away from the horror laid out flat in front of her eyes, or to stay quiet and do the right thing, calling the police. But instead, she remains where she’s standing. 

There is Mr. Yuuki, the house owner she’s been working for over three years, hung upon the crystal chandelier. His limp body lets its limbs stick out awkwardly, white eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood drips to the floor, forming a dark pool. The flashlight drops to the floor, and so does her trembling gaze. She gasps sharply when a thick smear of crimson is splattered across the wooden tiles, sinking into the cracks like poison. 

Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down on her forehead. At some point, she’ll have to move and risk the chance of getting herself killed.

Just then, a shadow comes into view and her legs go weak, letting her body collapse to the ground like a crooked puppet. Incoherent pleas pour from her lips as she screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever comes next. “Please! I’ll do anything! I won’t call the police! Just don’t kill me, please! Please!”

Footsteps are advancing toward her, getting louder by the tick of the clock. They echo listlessly until the sound slowly fades away, only a soft response comes afterward.

“Greetings to his boss for me.”

two.

The mansion has been his home for decade upon decade, embraced by nature on the outskirts of the city, away from all the noises, the buzzing flow of time people have signed their souls up for. It is all concrete and tall glass windows that give overlooking views of the clear horizon, a chance to relax and take in the changing of the seasons from the comfort of an easy chair.

Yet coming from the hollow building is a strange sound, a melodic voice of pain and sorrow, of heartache and loss. The tune is soft, like grass on a summer day, or the tenderness in the air in which only spring possesses. It can fill one with warmth while weaving a sad tale of indescribable, rather forgotten memories.

“Darling, close your weary eyes. Everything will be fine.”

“Let the breeze wipe away your tears. There is no need to cry.” 

He’s seated at the edge with his back straight, he no longer feels dwarfed by the grand piano as he used to as a kid. His fingers are limber as they glide on ivory first and ebony after, his neck slightly bent down, tousling his hair to the front while his eyes flutter shut in serene. 

“You can lay down. No one will hurt you.”

The music stand lies empty, has been so for years. He only ever reads the notes within his mind because he goes as far as playing the instrument to this day for this peculiar lullaby. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and the cracks in the walls, while at the source trembling fingers dance sweetly on.

He knows that he needs to calm down. 

“Let your fears be carried by the streams. The twilight gleam watches over you.”

In his head, he reads through the music scrupulously as though he’s practicing during the old, innocent days, beat by beat, bar by bar, note by note. His fingers know precisely where to go and how each key reacts when he applies the same, adequate amount of pressure. It’s as though he can make the hammer hit each string in a way to resonate with the most beautiful of sounds. 

The thought of playing as a kid eases the spike in his heartbeat and clears his mind. He can still vividly remember the first time he got lifted onto the bench on his sixth birthday, his tiny legs dangled over the edge and his figure completely overwhelmed by the mammoth-sized instrument. His arms could barely span the length of the keyboard, his feet could only do so much as graze the pedal below.

“And when the morning arises…”

He recalls the mounts of sheets cluttering his father’s old bookshelves in such ways that he himself can’t remember their initial color. He recalls the tall figure seating beside him each time, guiding his hands across the keys, ones that were unfamiliar to music and the swell it can bring to one’s chest. He recalls those starry eyes staring down at him, the outburst of laughter, and the cat-like smile that brings love and harmony to his fragile soul. 

“I shall be by your side…”

Yet he never recalls a proper goodbye, only tears.

“Minho.”

The melody pauses sharply, his body stiffens at the name. Minho isn’t here.

“Minho, is that you?” Minho isn’t here, a voice inside him snaps.

A deep breath. He elects to ignore the strings that are bound to break inside his chest before pushing himself off the wooden bench. With a swift turn, he sees Mrs. Lee standing by the door with her hair in her face, her soulless eyes lighting up once they graze the sight of him. “Minho, my sweet child. You’ve come home. You’ve finally come home!” Her voice echoes in joy, a hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes brim with tears.

Minho isn’t here! His heart yells aloud, yet his mind can’t comply.

He doesn’t know what’s urging him to approach her, to let her lean on him. Perhaps, it’s guilt. Or the yearning for the warmth of a mother who abandoned him long ago. “Yes, mother, I’m home,” he sighs softly when she clutches at his shirt. “I’m never going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

Hurried footsteps flood the hallway rapidly until the housekeeper barges through the door, simply breaking the agonizing silence. “Good gracious, Mrs. Lee! Goodness, she must have forgotten about her sleeping pills again.” She then hastily rushes to his side, supporting Mrs. Lee by her waist while bowing continuously. “Young Master, please, allow me.”

“It’s alright, you’ve done enough,” he waves his hands with a small smile. “I’ll tuck her back to bed, today is my day off anyway. You may go home and rest now.”

He can’t forget how much lighter Mrs. Lee has gotten, how paler her face has been. He’s afraid that one wrong movement and he might send her frail body flying to the floor. Only when she’s fully covered by her blanket, the stars come out to play and the evening takes on the aroma of a breezy night. He likes this, the softness, the quietness of the sense of resting. Moonlight is streaming through the windows yet his mind, clouded with grey, throbs uncontrollably when he realizes the sudden pang inside his chest. 

It’s been fifteen years…

His phone rings. “Sergeant Lee Felix, Seoul P.D,” he keeps his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “I’ll be there.”

And I still couldn’t do anything for you.

three.

Light fog seeps into the depthless night when Felix exits his car, throwing on his blazer in a hurry as he staggers toward a water fountain. There’s barely any vehicles operating at this hour, leaving the streets chilling and empty. He quickly checks his watch one last time. One AM on the dot. Another sleepless night.

“Lix! Over here!”

His blank expression breaks into a grin when two familiar faces come into view. “Changbin? Hyunjin? You both got called in too?”

“Yeah, can’t believe the Chief had the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep for a simple homicide,” the taller officer, Hyunjin, has his face contorted in faint annoyance, brushing through his long locks of hair with his gloved hand.

“The night duty squad is handling another case on the other side of the city. We know the neighborhood like the back of our hands,” Changbin gives him a hard smack on the chest, only to wince quietly later to himself. Ugh, I’m so out of shape. “If anything, we have the best chance to catch up to the culprit.”

Hyunjin protests with a forced smile, “Shut up, Lieutenant, I know that.”

“Alright, let’s review,” Felix hops into the conversation, clasping his hands together in feigned excitement. “Someone dialed 911 with a murder case on the line. The culprit, escaped or not, we’re still uncertain of. But they did leave behind a witness.”

His coworkers nod simultaneously as he recaps what Seungmin told him on the phone earlier and the three of them find themselves standing right before the provided address.  The house seems oddly quiet for someone getting murdered. “Right, chances are they’re still in there. We’d better-”

The front door comes flying open. A woman dressed in her nightgown collapses to the ground instantly, fear echoing through the rumble of her voice. “Help! P-Please! Mr. Yuuki! He-He’s dying! Please, I beg you! Save him!” With her face buried in her hands, a wave of laughter bubbles up her windpipe, shaking her core tremendously. “They did it again! They’ve claimed another victim!”

Changbin is the first one to step up, helping the housekeeper to her feet. “Miss, please try your best to stay calm. Everything is alright now, we’re here because you did the right thing of calling us. You’re safe with us,” he gently supports her by the shoulders, his voice soft but serious. “If it’s okay for me to ask, what exactly happened to Mr. Yuuki? Is there anyone else inside?”

The housekeeper seems to still be shaken. Tears are threatening to fall but she bites them back, shaking her head to answer the second question first. “N-No, Mr. Yuuki has a son but he’s currently studying in Europe so I’m the only one other than…” 

Her voice trails off, the pools of tears in her eyes are clouded with those moments of horror she wishes she could erase forever. “It was horrible! I-I was having trouble sleeping before a strange sound woke me up completely. Someone was singing. Th-The culprit was singing. And there was s-so much blood. Mr. Yuuki was hung upon the chandelier when I went downstairs! So-So much blood. I didn’t know how- or why- I- I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Miss, please try to stay calm. I won’t ask you any more questions, I am not here to interrogate you,” Changbin exhales deeply, looking over at his underlings. “Hyunjin, go check up on Mr. Yuuki. Felix, look for the culprit. I’ll call Seungmin for more back-ups.”

The two officers comply, “Roger that.”

Entering the house, Felix is bathed in a whirlwind of chilling silence and utter darkness. The smell of blood makes something inside him twitch, prompting him to look over at his friend. “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down here and handle the body until Jisung or Seungmin comes.” 

The Sergeant advances up the long flight of stairs with his gun clutched between his hands. Almost immediately, he takes notice in the stream of moonlight illuminating the end of the hallway and rushes toward the wide-opened door. His figure barges into the room with caution and is met with the night breeze kissing his face and white curtains fluttering gently. 

Just then, a loud bang is heard in the distance. 

Felix feels himself tense up, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of finding- there! On the rooftop from across the streets. 

In a heartbeat, he picks up his transceiver and speaks, “I have eyes on the suspect. Pursuing on foot.” With his feet on the window frame and his arms on the tiles of the roof, he manages to lift himself while his muscles contract in pain. Facing forward, Felix begins to sprint. 

The wind screams into his ears, his feet flying over steel and leaves. His shoes pound heavily across the hard surface, causing what’s remaining of the downpour this morning to slash up his legs. From one rooftop to another, his calves burn tremendously yet he keeps darting past houses, buildings, and trees with his eyes glued onto the shadow before his eyes. 

Adrenaline courses throughout his system; he can feel his whole body working, his leg muscles running warm, a thin layer of sweat covers his nape. The cold air keeps biting at his blood and lungs but he keeps his breaths as steady as he can, pushing harder and going faster. For a split moment, his foot slips when his mind is frantic with cloudy thoughts. How is it possible for one to move this fast?

The hooded figure a few feet ahead of him speaks volumes in the silence; they’re running. They’re running like the devil himself is in pursuit. Only it’s worse because the felon is flesh and blood and means to send people straight to hell just the same way. His breathing quickens at the thought process, trying to appease his need for oxygen. 

Several thuds of footfalls later, he finally decreases the proximity although fresh air now shocks his lungs, making him want to spurt and pass out in exhaustion. His body trembles from the consistent pace he’s forced himself into, yet his hands lift the firearm swiftly, his gaze shaking with the pounding inside his chest. 

It only takes so much strength to pull the trigger. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. Felix stops himself completely, regains his composure, and raises his gun once again. He elects to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, the throbbing of his anxious heart, and squeezes the trigger. 

The bullet cuts through air and comes flying toward the wanted figure, missing them by a strand of hair. His face contorts in anger as he mumbles out a curse word. He missed. He shouldn’t have. He can’t miss. Missing isn’t an option. 

Felix pumps his legs, gaining momentum with each push. But it feels gut-wrenching all of a sudden after a few thrusts forward—his body is giving in. He watches the culprit quicken their pace until their steps turn into leaps. Just a few more feet and they’ll jump the other side of the neighborhood. 

He won’t make it in time. 

Three. Two. One. The figure gathers enough strength and takes one final leap into the night. His heart immediately drops to the pit of his stomach, every movement comes to a full stop like the sudden stretch of silence within his rib cage. 

“Shit!” He perks up at the scream and glass shattering. “Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ugh…” And...dogs barking?

“Oh come on!”

four.

His feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, his breaths coming out in spurts, hot and nervous as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. Perhaps jumping off someone’s rooftop in a time crunch wasn’t the smartest decision. 

“Give me a break. Do you have any idea how much time it took me to outrun those dogs?”

“I won’t let you slip away. It’s best for either party if you cooperate. Don’t do anything foolish and mercy might be an option,” Felix clicks a bullet into the chamber, gaze falling onto the hooded figure.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Moonlight lights up the pathway for him, making it easier to back the felon up into the corner. 

“One more step, officer, I dare you.” A warning like poison pours into his ears.

Although something seems different this time. They sound more frantic. Is there something that’s bothering them? “You just committed murder, you filthy scumbag. One more step, I dare you.”

“Oh, you’re so unoriginal,” they clutch their right arm and chuckle lightly. Felix squints his eyes with the limited source of light; inevitably, they go wide upon seeing crimson dripping to the ground. But as the second ticks by, less and less blood pour from the wound as though the muscles and skin are simultaneously closing up the seams. 

What the hell am I looking at?

A smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.”

What are they... Wait, shit-

At the kind of speed he never thought humans could acquire, the hooded figure approaches him in what seems like seconds. The sudden whiplash blows the hood back and allows them to bathe in the moonlight raw.

 “Say, what are you going to do with a filthy scumbag like me again?” Something sharp and shiny comes into contact with the warmth of his flesh but he can’t bring himself to register or counter it.

Your features flash before his eyes, glowing from within, leaving him in complete awe. Although you’re talking nothing but venom, pain is evident in the crease of your lovely brows and the way your lips are pressed into a straight line. Your eyes are deep pools of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. There’s something so damn familiar about you. Felix almost finds himself resonating within your agony. He almost gasps.

In this growing light, your dark silhouette becomes full colors. 

But why aren’t you moving? He’s completely open like this.

“You!” Your voice suddenly trembles and so do your pupils. “You-You’re-”

Snapping back to his senses, Felix leaves no time for you to finish your sentence and grabs your armed limb with one hand while striking a harsh blow at your stomach with the other. You let out a hushed wince at the impact, falling to the cement ground along with the blade in your palm. He swiftly flips you over, cuffs your hands, and puts his gun at the back of your head. 

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Oh, spare me, Robin,” you involuntarily snort. “I’ll be gone before you can finish reading my rights.”

He nearly sneers, “Move an inch and I’ll put a bullet through your head. Your hands are cuffed, don’t you try to make your face worse than it already is.”

“I’m an Ace, darling. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me.”

His grip on the gun grows a fraction tighter, his heart starts beating faster at the name. “You work for the House of Cards?” The name rolls off his tongue bitterly, leaving a lick of fury consuming the rational side of his brain.

House of Cards—thieves, terrorists, assassins, dealers—the largest criminal organization that has been the dread of the country for decades. Just like the playing cards, the organization consists of four main groups: Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, and Spades. The Kings and Queens lead these groups for they’re either new or incompetent for the higher ranks. The Jacks come second in commanding and are often advisors while the Jokers remain anonymous to all as messengers. The four Aces are the most trusted by the chairman and only take orders from him themselves.

“I do,” you reply flatly, a sigh going unnoticed. “Shouldn’t you be fleeing by now upon receiving this information?”

“A murder. A gunshot right across the street. A living witness,” he grits with a timid smile. “All that and you call yourself an Ace? We’ve encountered worse than amateurs like you. You’ll be rotting behind the bars before you know it.”

“I like your optimism, officer. Genuinely, it's a blessing for you to bring us light in this time of darkness,” you turn sideways, smirk, and make sure that he sees it. “Ignorance is truly bliss sometimes.”

Something inside him snaps, water overflows the cup and he instantly grabs you by your head, burying it further into dust and cement. “I don’t know who you think you are. But you clearly don’t know what I’m capable of and the fact that I will stop at nothing to bring your boss down. I will make him face justice as you’re hearing it from the news in prison. I’ve promised. I’ve sworn.”

“Oh?” You dare to glance at him again. “I never knew cops detested my boss so much. Or is it just you? Is your hatred personal? You’ve broken a protocol from the get-go, haven’t you? Is it the reason why you even became an officer in the first place?”

Shit, Felix curses inwardly as your words stab him in the chest, twisting the tip of the blade deeper and deeper as though you’re not allowing him to breathe properly. His hands start shaking; the vibration against your nape makes you exhale, drawing yet another grin on your lips. “Tell me, who did they kill?”

To hell would he ever tell you.

“A family member?” Focus. 

“Your loved one?” Cover your ears. 

“Or a close friend, perhaps?” One wrong move. 

His shaking freezes midway, his voice comes out monotonous. “Shut up.” And you’ll die. 

“Bingo,” you feign excitement before clearing your throat. “Also, I wouldn’t pull the trigger if I were you. Because I am your best asset to get to my boss. You and I aren’t so different, trust me. After all, we both want his head.”

He yelps in surprise when you twist your back slightly, swinging your arm and elbowing his jaw while disarming him simultaneously. With a swing of your leg, he loses his balance on the knees and lands harshly on his back. 

With your knife pointed at his neck, your orbs bore onto his like you’re about to set him on fire. He gulps nervously, “What? How did you?”

“Listen up, I have a deal for you.” 

You were injured, how could you risk tearing your wound up like that? His chest rises then falls inconsistently, eyes darting to your forearm. It’s no longer bleeding. There’s no way! 

“...what are you?”

“Call me what you want. Murderer. Killer. An assassin. A monster.”

Felix squirms under your grip, spatting in aggression, “If so, you’re daydreaming if you have the audacity to believe that I will get my hands bloodied with you.”

“I’m not telling you to pick a side, officer. I’m just trying to say that I know something you don’t and you know something I don’t. If we pool our information we might actually have a good shot at capturing the bastard. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me. But if you pretend like our encounter never happens, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

“What feud do you have with your boss so bad that you’re willing to work with a police officer like me?”

“I never considered him as my boss. I never considered the organization as a place that I belonged to. No one knows who the leader is. I’ve been tracking him down for years already.”

“...what? That’s-“

“They killed someone very important to me, too.”

five.

Chan murmurs tiredly at the knock on his door, “Who’s there?”

“Sergeant Lee’s present to report on the assassin from last night, Chief.”

“Come in.”

Chan fixes his collar as Felix closes the door shut, strides straight into his office, and collapses on the nearest armchair. Usually, he’d be complaining about the lack of sunlight in the Chief’s working space. Because like any other civil office, there are enough windows for one not to choke to death but Chan has made a habit of keeping them close. Now, he decides to open the blinds and lets the light in completely, prompting Felix to throw an arm over his eyes dramatically. 

“Shut it. The lights are killing me,” he groans aloud, forehead creasing in frustration. Focus. 

Chan says pointedly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, “But you look like shit.”

“Of course I look like shit. You should try chasing down an Ace yourself some time. Really, it’s been a pleasant distraction from my unfinished paperwork and impotent stress,” the junior officer mumbles, dropping his arm and staring blankly at the space ahead. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chan sighs, sitting back. “It just makes sense, you know. Yuuki and his neighbor were moles the Yakuza planted in that filthy organization. No wonder their leader had to send one of the four Aces to finish him off.”

Felix closes his eyes for a moment, resting his arms on his knees, the muscles are still aching from last night’s incident. His fingers unconsciously reach for his bare neck, tracing the shallow cut as goosebumps bubble upon his skin. Focus. “Enough being mopey,” Chan grins and slaps something cold against his cheek, causing his friend to jolt up in surprise. “Aren’t you here to report?”

He flashes Felix a cheeky smile when the younger clenches the cold towel on his face in annoyance. Nonetheless, there’s a twinge of faint nostalgia and affection lighting up inside his stomach—the kind that comes from long-time friends. “Alright, I gotta come back to my desk before Changbin goes off about my productivity anyway.”

“Good, elaborate,” Chan whips out a pen with his crusty notebook, eyes narrowing and turning serious. 

“The Ace escaped,” Felix starts, “After checking in with Yuuki’s housekeeper, Hyunjin and I went inside the house. He handled the body while I was heading upstairs. I pursued them as soon as I heard the gunshot from across the streets. I only managed to wound them from afar, but it’s not enough to slow them down. They were too fast so I was outpaced at the end.”

The Chief raises a dark brow, eyeing the cut on his throat, “I can see that you’re injured, too. Did they shoot you? Seungmin only found a semi-auto pistol next to the second victim.”

“No… I did this to myself during the chase,” Felix touches his wound again, gulping, “They only carried a knife, of all the things.” Don’t be obvious. You can’t risk getting them to suspect you. 

“You couldn’t get close enough to see if we’re dealing with a man or a woman, right?” Chan then casts a meaningful look at the mountain of unfiled paperwork upon his desk, feigning interest in the light reading that awaits him for the rest of the day. 

“Unfortunately, no. They have a good physique, clearly well-trained and more skilled than the little fries we’d managed to throw behind the bars,” Felix shakes his head, eventually pushing himself off the black armchair. “What about the housekeeper? According to what I’m able to recall, she did, in fact, see the Ace.”

Chan wants to scream at the mention, fingers massaging his temples. “That woman is far too traumatized to even speak a word right now. She’s been giving Seungmin headaches all morning.”

“Yeah, about that...sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” Felix bites his lips as he can feel his own lies suffocating the space around him, filling his lungs with water and squeezing at his windpipe. He needs to get the fuck out of here. 

The Chief chuckles lightly and waves his hands, “No, no, we’re all kinda impressed, actually. No one has ever been able to propose a mere chase with them before. It’s already a miracle that you came back alive.”

His heart instantly sinks, his fists curl up unconsciously. Felix could have died. He should have died last night. But you hesitated. Why? Why would you spare him? And why were you looking at him like that? “Hey.” A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Don’t worry about it. You should take a day off today. You look unwell.”

“But-”

A figure lands soundlessly on Chan’s balcony, swiftly turning around to face Felix.

His brain stutters for a moment and his eyes take in more light than they should, still, they widen when shock riddles his senses. Every part of his body tries to catch up and his thoughts go on a dreadfully long pause. It’s you. Standing in broad daylight without anything to cover up. Distanced a few feet from his grasp. 

One shout and you’ll be cuffed in mere moments. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me. His precinct has been desperate, ramming into one dead-end after another for a single lead to House of Cards. 

Felix can turn you in right here. Right now. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me.

“That is an order, Sergeant,” Chan grins, not noticing how pale his friend has gotten in such mere moments. “You’ll collapse the moment you head out for patrol, trust me.”

“No, Chan! You don’t understand, I-”

“Do it,” you mouth, sealing his lips instantly. 

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll take a nap in the infirmary.” You slap on a devilish smile at his words, wiggling your phone high enough for him to see.

As soon as Felix closes the door behind him, the spike in his heartbeat finally falls with the stiff smile on his face, his breaths short and uneven. The urge to punch something is cut short when his phone vibrates timely. A message from an unknown number: “Ten PM. The waterfall in Yellow Woods. You’ve got one chance.”

six.

Felix has underestimated the cold since nightfall. His muscles ache and shiver all at the same time, momentarily yelling at him to turn around to head back to the comfort of his family’s mansion. Yet the dark Yellow Woods seems to silence time and space, only leaving him with the urge to march forward. 

He lied to Chan about your encounter, lied to Changbin so he wouldn’t have to go on his night shift, lied to Hyunjin that he’d go home and rest like his friend always told him to. Humans have been taught not to lie but deception still exists and one cannot escape its grasp. Even Felix never knew there would be a day where he’d become this desperate. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit, utterly disgusted. 

Clutching his gun tightly, he begins walking faster into the light fog. 

“My my, look who it is.” His frantic steps come to a halt, his head snapping back immediately. “Someone was so hellbent on giving me a headshot the last time we met. What changed?”

Felix raises a brow in confusion. “What the- Didn’t you ask me to meet up at the waterfall?”

“The waterfall is the other way, you fool,” you jerk your head back, clearly unimpressed. 

“Cut me some slack, my phone was dead! Wait, how did you- were you stalking me?!”

You can’t help but stifle a chuckle; his face is priceless. “Tracking sounds more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You-”

“You’d better pick up the pace if you want to survive this little partnership of ours, officer.”

Eventually, he complies and stumbles through the woods with you, his feet feeling like they’re being dragged across cement. During the day, Yellow Woods is alight with the serenity one yearns for at their lowest, birds chirping and leaves rustling to one united song of Mother Nature. In contrast, it is now hollow, colorless, almost empty to a sense with all this darkness around him. 

“I never said that we had a deal,” Felix says while trailing after you, cautious not to trip over any branches. 

You turn around for a meager moment, giving him that sly grin of yours. “Suppose that you do, we need a contract. Some simple protocols between comrades. What do you expect from me? Keep it simple. Excessive details bore the shit out of me.”

“First, no with-holding information. If you know something, I need to know it and vice versa. Second, no personal questions. I don’t want you in my life nor do I want me getting my hands dirty with you.”

You hum in response, “Hmm, short and sweet. But I have my own as well.”

He gulps, “Go on.”

“I don’t work with dogs. I don’t care if it’s licensed as emotional support. I won’t hesitate to shoot if you even let one do so much as breathe in the same room as me.”

“...that makes way too much sense.” So that explains why-

“What about you? Afraid of the dark?”

“I wasn’t born this morning.”

To the East lies the waterfall you’ve mentioned this morning, which you lead him down a dirt road and right behind it, straight into a small cave. There are two paths diverged that catch him by surprise but there’s nothing he can do other than taking the left side, hastily following the source of light from your phone. Your final destination unveils before his eyes as a small, underground lair.

Felix suddenly feels cold for no reason. “How do you even sleep?” He scrunches his nose while rubbing his hands together. 

“I don’t,” you say without looking at him, exhaling and shrugging off your coat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go heat up some tea before you freeze to death.”

Not knowing what to do with himself, his eyes roll around the seemingly confined but commodious space in curiosity. Your working desk is as big as the one in the conference back at headquarters, mounted with an overwhelming amount of files. To the right, the wall is lined with weapons, target boards, and rag dolls; you seem to prefer blades over firearms. The whole place is lighted up with candles all around, giving it that eerie feeling like something straight out of an old movie. 

Still, not bad.

His careless feet drag him across the concrete, subconsciously reaching out for the files on your desk. He can’t fight the urge, he can’t resist it. Before his mind can register and his conscience can yell at him, the plastic binder is already yanked open. Experiment #180108–Y/N, it reads. “What the hell… Enhanced strength and agility… Instant self-healing… Metamorphosis? Is this what they’ve been doing under our noses all this time?”

“No, only my parents.” Your voice snaps him out of it, prompting him to drop the files. “Your office was giving me anxiety, by the way. Thank god for home sweet home.”

“What the hell were you doing in my-“ A dagger flies past his head, missing him by a strand of hair and ending up embedding itself on the bull’s eye of a nearby target. “Daughter of a bastard,” he breathes out in disbelief, eyes boring holes on you. “What kind of tea was that?!”

“Lee Felix. Only son of the Prime Minister. Ranked Sergeant at the eighth precinct, Seoul P.D. The precious heir to one of the five great families.” Words leave you. You only stare into those bright, brown eyes burning with anger, his heart almost falling silent. “Gosh, you’ve got quite the profile. Shouldn’t you be worried about the image of your family instead of shaking hands with the devil like this?”

Felix clenches his jaw, everything is slow and warbled as he looks down, shaking violently. “And yet you still thought I’d be crazy enough to make a deal with an Ace?”

“You’re not crazy,” you sigh, grinning internally. “Just extremely desperate-“

“I am not desperate!” A lie spats out, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I have no reason to be.” Focus.

A mocking shrug. “Right, you’re not desperate. You just followed me all the way here without taking out your gun or rambling on with your boring death threats. Like a little, perfect pet. Exactly what I needed.” 

“Death threats don’t work on monsters,” he croaks, fists balled and eyes wide. Even so, the way you gaze darken still goes unnoticed. “I’ve seen your kind kill anyone without hesitation. Getting blood on your hands without even blinking. You, all of you, aren’t humans anymore. You’re all a complete write-off of a species.”

Felix lifts his head, pupils trembling at the sight in front of him. For a moment there, you look sad and broken. Raw, naked, and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. It makes him ponder, how can humans be so weak yet so cruel at the same time?

“...why? Why are you doing this?” he inquires shakily, head racing with a thousand thoughts. “I don’t understand. Actually, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.” No! Focus, you idiot!

“You don’t have to.” Finally, you speak after the long dread of silence, combing a hand through your hair tiredly. “You know. It’s funny how the same thing happened to us. And now look at where we ended up individually.”

His brain pauses and chokes up. “What are you saying?” Cover your ears. Do not be misled!

You look away, simply knowing that you won’t be able to hold it in if you’re making eye contact. “I know you’re not the rightful heir of the Lees. You weren’t part of the bloodline in the first place. You’re simply a replacement. A second option. Nothing but an afterthought-“ 

“No! Shut up! Just shut u-“ Cover your ears. Do not trust anyone!

“—the real heir supposedly went missing during the Eiji Station tragedy where my organization ordered a bombing fifteen years ago. It’s been over a decade and they’ve already concluded his death even though a body was never found. Am I right, officer?”

Choose the wrong path. 

Felix buries his face into the palms of his hands as streaks of silvery tears burn his cheek. His exhausted shoulders shake in each rake of emotion through his frame, the fire of anger and despair boils past the seams he can no longer hold together. With his knees weak, he can only sob and drops down on his knees, screaming with all his might. 

And you’ll die. 

But even you, the devil itself, can’t save the man who’s drowning himself in his own tears of hell. 

“Welcome to the team. The name is Y/N,” you offer him a hand, blankly eyeing his quivering figure. He finally picks himself up with difficulties, eyes glowing with tears and fury. After a split moment of hesitation, his hand reaches for yours, firmly clasped and sealing your deal. 

Because he’s falling down the same bottomless abyss with you. 

Because you both couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Minho. 

epilogue.

__ fifteen years ago

“Hey, Minho, you’re really good at playing the piano. Are you gonna be a musician?”

“Hmm, I do like music. But I’d rather become a police officer. 

“Why? Didn’t you say that you like music?”

“I’ll become anything for my mother.” 

“Then, I’ll be a doctor when I grow up! And we can save people together.”

“Okay. It’s a promise, Lix.” 

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember Prompt # 27: Blankets

Title: Sick Day Spells

Fandom: N/A

Based on an ask box prompt. The prompt: “It’s all well and good until the cleric gets really sick.” 

What does a party of adventures do when their cleric is forced to take a sick day after a battle? Featuring a Halfling Rogue, a Dwarf Fighter, an Elf Sorcerer, and a Human Cleric.

(Author’s note: Holy crap this was fun to write, and I’m thrilled with how it came out! I can’t believe it took me so long to write a D & D-based story. This is the first time I can say with confidence that you will almost certainly see these OCs again. I loved them way too much to let them go. And there's three more people here for me to whump in all ways magical and physical. So keep your eyes peeled for them again soon!)

They say pride comes before the fall, but most people like to think that applies to everyone except them. Still, perhaps the adventuring party should have kept their pride in check, or else watched more vigilantly for the possibility of falling. 

The party of four were riding out of the village they had simultaneously saved and partially destroyed. True, they had fought off a school of necromancers that were terrorizing the local area and destroyed the necromancers' constructs, but the fireball they had used to wipe out the zombies had also wiped out the entire market and half of the residential district. Still, collateral damage was to be expected, and the slightly-singed foursome were in high spirits as they left the smoking town in their wake.

Their calamity came from a very unexpected source, and it started with a sneeze. The party always traveled in pairs of two, with the fighter and the sorcerer in front and the cleric and the rogue in the back. This meant that Filius and Kandry were generally surrounded by a cloud of dust while on the road, but they didn't usually mind, both being the hearty sort.  

Today though, the dust began to make Filius sneeze even before they'd left the town. After two sets of three sneezes nearly back to back, Lorellyn turned, looking at him with concern.

"Are you all right, Fil? Your cold is still bothering you, isn't it?"

"I suppose. Honestly I'm so tired I barely notice it right now. I just want to get back to camp and sleep for a day or two," said the cleric, congested and hoarse, trying not to cough.

"Well yeh certainly earned it. It seemed yeh were everywhere at once ou’ there, throwin' out healin' spells left an' right, an' destroyin' th' zombies in droves, plus flingin' necromancers here an' there with tha' mace o' yourn," Gundor said.

"He's right. We couldn't have done this without you," Lorellyn said earnestly. "You're the hero of the day."

Filius smiled tiredly, but before he could reply, a sickly green bolt of energy hit him in the back, making him spasm. He froze, then slowly his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward on his horse. 

The other three jumped into action immediately. Kandry leapt off of her mount and onto the back of Filius’ with flawless acrobatics, somehow managing to prevent him from falling off of his horse and take control of the steed immediately, though she couldn't reach the stirrups. 

Lorellyn whipped around, immediately shooting a firebolt from her palm, aimed at the bush from which the offensive spell had come. The dry bush caught fire immediately, causing the pair of tiny goblin mages hiding inside it to run out shrieking, heading toward the smoking village. Gundor was already off of his mount and chasing them down with rage in his eyes, ending them with his axe before they knew what hit them. 

Gundor and Lorellyn were at Kandry's side as soon as the threat was eliminated. The halfling was anxiously checking Filius over for visible injuries.

"He's burning up!" she cried. "What did they hit him with?"

"It was a wimpy Ray of Sickness. I saw it out of the corner of my eye," Lorellyn said, taking over assessing the cleric. "Those mages were barely second level. I'm surprised they were able to hit him at all. There's no way this is just from that. There's something else."

"Well can't you figure it out?" Kandry snapped.

"I'm trying! But divination is Filius' specialty, not mine!" Lorellyn snapped back. 

"Let's jus’ get ‘im back ta camp. We need ta get off th' road. We're too exposed, an' distracted ta boot," Gundor said, looking around worriedly. "Yeh can look ‘im over there just as well as here."

The other two quickly agreed. They hastened back to their base, with Filius slumped in the saddle in front of Lorellyn, and Gundor leading Filius' horse behind his own. 

The ride was somber, the high spirits from their successful battle all but forgotten. Filius had a raging fever and was dead asleep, unable to be woken, but seemed to be in the throes of terrible nightmares, for he writhed and cried out the whole time they were moving. Whenever he would yell, it would send him into an awful coughing fit that left him panting and sweating. Lorellyn tried her best to soothe him, but she was clearly distressed, especially when it seemed to have no effect, and she had tears in her eyes most of the trip.

Arriving at their camp, they made a makeshift stretcher for him from a blanket, gently carrying the tall man to his tent and laying him down on his mat. They lingered at his side, unsure how to proceed.

"Why don't you do a healing spell on him or something?" Kandry snapped at the sorcerer. "There's got to be something we can do!"

"I don't have any spells left after that battle," Lorellyn hissed. "I need to rest my magic! And anyway, sorcerers can't do healing spells. Our magic is too chaotic. Bad things would happen if I tried. Do either of you have any healing potions?”

"I never waste time with that. They're too heavy to bother with. You all always carry them... Or Filius takes care of it," Kandry mumbled. 

"I gave mine ta th’ villagers tha' got hurt in th' blast," Gundor said sheepishly. "Filius planned ta brew some more, so I wagered I wouldn't need 'em."

"Some adventurers we are," Kandry groaned. "We can't even take care of our cleric."

Lorellyn wrapped Kandry in a hug, which the halfling immediately tried to wriggle out of, but the elf was stronger. 

"We'll figure something out. It will be fine," Lorellyn said bravely. 

At that moment, the party heard a commotion on the highway, with many people screaming and yelling loud enough to be heard at the camp, though they were well away from the road. The three healthy members of the party gave each other worried looks. Lorellyn attuned her hearing to better assess the situation while Kandry and Gundor waited breathlessly.

"It's a green dragon," Lorellyn gasped after a moment. "Something angered it and now it's flying around, attacking randomly. It's already killed dozens of people." 

"It's all well and good until the cleric gets really sick," Kandry groaned, covering her face.

They didn't have time to make any sort of plan, for immediately they heard the sound of running footsteps approaching their camp. A young man with wild-looking eyes dashed into their midst.

“Adventurers!” he gasped. “Have you heard? There’s a dragon terrorizing us! We need your aid to defeat it!”

Gundor stepped forward. “We hadn’t heard o’ this trouble. O’ course we’ll do what’s necessary in this time o’ danger.”

“So you’ll come? We must go right away!”

“Give us time ta make our necessary preparations. Leave us fer now.”

The lad nodded, hurrying away again. 

Gundor, Lorellyn, and Kandry shared a look. Without a word, they quickly began to break down their camp, hastily packing their things and snuffing out the fire under cover of Lorellyn’s disillusionment cantrips, and taking full advantage of Kandry’s stealth. In minutes they had packed their belongings on their horses and were heading in the opposite direction of the main road, deeper into the forest. Through it all, Filius remained unconscious, mumbling and sweating and weak with fever. 

After another hour or two’s ride, having hidden themselves deep in the forest, Kandry found a secure cave in which they could hide out. The party was in no shape to fight a dragon right now. Here, they wouldn’t be in danger, or be run out of town for not assisting with the dragon. Gundor secured the perimeter while Lorellyn attended to the sick cleric, laying him out gently on his bedroll once more and bathing his sweat-slicked face with a wet rag while Kandry saw to the rest of the camp preparations. The cool water slowly brought Filius to consciousness, with much coughing and trembling. However, wakefulness did not bring awareness with it. He looked around dully, his eyes heavy-lidded and fever-bright, but seemed to take in little of what he saw. He closed his eyes again wearily without acknowledging his companions hovering over him worriedly. Shivers wracked his body.

“ ‘m so cold,” he coughed. “Thirsty….” 

Kandry rushed to get him a mug of water while Lorellyn snatched the blankets off of each of the other bedrolls and brought them over, covering him in all of them. They seemed to have no effect though, and he continued to shiver violently. Gundor built up the fire frantically, but it took a while to catch, and the smoke only made the sick human cough more. After drinking two mugs of water, Filius fell back asleep, which was somehow both a relief and a worry to his friends. His fever never changed, neither going lower nor higher.

“I’ll run ta th’ village ta get ‘im some kind o’ potion,” Gundor murmured over supper. “I can’t watch ‘im suffer like this.”

“And risk being seen, or worse attacked by a dragon?” Kandry scoffed. “After all the trouble we went to to find this place and stay hidden? Please don’t.”

“She’s right,” Lorellyn said. “That’s at least two hours' ride, and one of us will be left alone and vulnerable. At least wait until morning, when our health and spells are back up. If he’s the same or worse, then go. We’ll see how he does through the night.”

Once night fell, with nothing else to do, the party tried to sleep, rotating 6 hour shifts keeping watch, as usual. However, even when not on guard duty, the party members found they couldn’t settle, and kept lifting their heads to shoot worried glances at their cleric, or make sure he hadn’t worsened. Gundor had had the first watch, and when it came time for him to rest, he settled on his bedroll, but then tossed and turned for a long time. He was usually snoring like a bear within moments of shutting his eyes, so this had the ladies on high alert. Finally, the dwarf got up with a huff, picked up his bedroll and carried it over to Filius’ side, dropping it there. When he lay back down, he was close enough that his shoulder touched the cleric’s. The dwarf then pulled a corner of one of the blankets over himself and rolled to his side, pressing up against the human, and immediately falling asleep with a weary snore. 

Lorellyn had the second watch, and she kept shooting tender, but envious looks at the sleeping men. Filius never woke, but he seemed to sleep more peacefully after Gundor had joined him. As soon as her watch was finished, she followed the dwarf’s lead, pushing her bedroll up against the other side of the sick human, sliding under the blankets, and resuming her meditation. 

Kandry was not so easily swayed, and tried to ignore the thoughtless sharing of germs happening behind her as she took her turn at the watch. However, when no one was looking, she surreptitiously slid her bedroll around to the other side of the fire, placing her closer to her companions.

Had Gundor and Lorellyn been aware of their surroundings, they would have noticed that in the wee hours of the morning Filius began to sweat profusely. He had hardly moved after the other two had settled in with him to share their body heat, but he began to mutter and toss a bit once more. Finally, just as dawn was creeping over the horizon, he woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright with a hacking cough. Lorellyn and Gundor were instantly awakened as well, and Kandry was at their side in an instant. Filius tried to catch his breath, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. 

“Where ‘m I?” he croaked. “What happened?”

Lorellyn leaned over to press the back of her hand to his forehead, then his neck. “We’re safely hidden in the forest. Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

“Awful,” Filius groaned. “Sick. How long have I been asleep?” He yawned hugely. 

“Almost a day,” Kandry said, pressing a mug of water into his hands. “You scared us half to death. You got hit with a Ray of Sickness and you just… passed out.”

“I did?” he said worriedly, looking confused. “I don’t remember that….”

“Yeah. Did you have some poison in your system too or something? I’ve never seen Ray of Sickness do that,” Kandry said accusingly. 

“Not that I know of. Might have to do with me already being sick when it hit me. Just exacerbated everything, made it worse temporarily.” He coughed roughly into his shoulder, wincing, then downed the mug of water. 

“Well your fever is much better,” Lorellyn said happily. “Let’s hope you’re on the mend now!”

“I’d be on the mend faster if I got some whiskey,” Filius sniffled, looking meaningfully at Gundor. The sleepy dwarf readily got up and shuffled to his pack. Finding what he was looking for, he returned with an amber-colored bottle and handed it to the cleric, who took several unceremonious gulps. 

“Good ta have yeh back, mate,” Gundor rumbled happily, reclaiming the bottle and taking several swigs of his own. 

“What are you all doing over here anyway?” Filius said after a moment, yawning again. “This cave is plenty big enough for all of us.”

“You were freezing, so we shared our blankets with you,” Lorellyn said.

“Really? You mean you slept here all night?”

“Tha’ we did. ‘Twas a mighty fine night’s rest, too,” Gundor said. “Matter o’ fact, I could use some more shuteye if it’s all th’ same ta you lot.” With that, he lay back down right where he was, pressing up against Filius once more and closing his eyes. The cleric looked surprised, though not unhappy with this development. 

“Some more rest would be nice. Filius, are you able to put up some protection spells so we can all relax for another day? I hate to ask so much of you--” Lorellyn began.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, coughing chestily. “I can manage.” He grasped his talisman of Njord and closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. After a moment, an opaque barrier appeared over the cave’s entryway. No creature, magical or otherwise, would be able to pass through. Looking exhausted now, he lay back down alongside Gundor and shut his eyes, a tiny smile appearing on his face as the dwarf shifted cozily against him and Lorellyn too pressed closer. 

Lorellyn was also grinning. “Come join us, Kandry.”

The halfling rolled her eyes. “I don’t cuddle.”

“I don’t either, but here we are,” Filius mumbled, almost asleep. “Just call it team bonding.”

Kandry almost declined again… but it really did look very cozy to be surrounded by blankets and pillows and teammates. With a little sigh, she shuffled over and slotted herself in, with Filius’ long legs on one side of her, and Lorellyn’s on the other. 

They spent the rest of the day just like that, sleeping and eating and talking, content to take a day to simply enjoy each other’s company as they let their cleric take a sick day.

[potatoqueensays]

Okay okay so I may have wrote an Irondad drabble. It's kinda like a character study or something, idk I just came up with it and was like yeah let's do this. I hope you enjoy!!

_______________________________________________

My World Isn't Perfect Without You In It

3,004 words

It started as a simple feeling.

Tony was in his lab with Peter on one of their lab days, as they always were on Fridays. He would work with the kid after Happy picked him up and they would work on whatever their genius hearts desired.

Tony didn't really find himself looking at Peter with pride until Pepper pointed it out to him, she would comment on how he seemed like a Dad all of a sudden with the kid hanging around more.

He would always deny it with that Stark charm of his of course, deflecting was one of his main traits when it came to his feelings.

"Pep, motherhood may look nice on you, but fatherhood isn't kind for me you know." Flattery was said to get you places, but Pepper was known for never taking his BS.

"Tony, I can tell the way you look at him, you love him, whether you want to face it or not." She grinned at him, she was always right, even if he didn't like to admit it sometimes.

He thought back to her words frequently, picking up on how his heart swelled with pride and warmth when Peter looked at him for approval, or whenever he would get a question right, or even when Tony himself was having a bit of trouble with an equation, and he was Tony Stark, he could do anything!

The kid wormed his way into Tony's cold heart, thawed down his icy walls with a flamethrower and melted his heart into a puddle of goo.

The billionaire could never understand how he became so fond of the kid so quickly, but he always knew the reasons he liked the kid. He was so selfless, kind, and brave. A true hero at heart and much better than Tony even thought he would be, he was everything Tony wasn't and more.

He wasn't even jealous at the kid when he would steal the light, his own best friend becoming fond of the kid and mentioning how he was practically his kid.

"Platypus, he's not a Stark, in any way shape or form."

"He may not be blood related to you Tones, but he's your son in everything else, he has your brains even, maybe even smarter than you!" Rhodey teased.

"I'm wounded, Honey-Bear." He placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt.

"Oh hush, you know it better than anyone else."

And if he did, he would never say it up front.

He was proud of the kid even in his worst moments. He would try to console the kid when he came to him for help when close to a panic attack (which broke the hero's heart, the poor kid didn't deserve any of the unfair treatment the world had, it was too cruel for such a pure hearted kid like Peter.) or when he had a nightmare when staying over at the tower.

Tony wasn't always the most physically affectionate, he would give pats on the shoulder or back, arms around shoulders to keep the person close, and side hugs, even if he didn't do full ones.

When it came to Peter however, he slowly broke out of his shell of that. He kept a hand gently over the back of the boy's neck, sometimes playing with the curls that rested there, occasionally giving a reassuring squeeze when Peter seemed a bit nervous or highstrung. It always got rid of a little of his own stress when the boy would lean into his touch, side hugs and pats on the shoulder were gladly accepted.

Even the occasional hand holding when the kid was kept in the med-bay after a stressful mission or patrol, he would keep his hand over the boy's pulse point to reassure himself that the kid was alive and well. He would keep one hand over the kid's wrist while he worked on his suit, improving how he could make sure the current problems never happened again, whether it be even a scratch or a stab wound, he wouldn't let Peter get hurt on his watch.

He would always keep an eye on the kid, letting Peter know that he could call whenever he felt he needed something, maybe even just to chat, the billionaire found himself even endeared to the chatter that came from the spider-kid, it was a nice comforting constant to fill the silence in his life, even if he worked in his suits with FRIDAY blasting AC/DC, he seemed to have a better preference for the chatty kid. He would invest himself in listening to what happened in his day, to what him and Ted did over the week, and even hearing about how Aunt May burned water when trying to boil pasta.

He was fond of the kid, the feeling that was so simple at the start but steadily increasing over time and getting fiercer and stronger with each visit to the med-bay or after every movie night that eventually had the boy cuddled up to him. It grew into a surge of protectiveness, a very parental feeling and yearning to make his the kid happy.

So yeah, he was fond.

He was in too deep, as he wanted the kid by his side for as long as he could have him in fact, he begun to realize that yeah, he liked the kid and was fond of his company, but even more so.

He loved the kid.

He loved Peter.

Tony had a crisis when he was having a revelation about his feelings towards the younger hero.

He felt parental, even if he kept denying the fact when everybody knew how he felt before himself. Even if he tried to hide his grin whenever the kid's smile lit up a room, even if he kept rolling his eyes affectionately and ruffled the kid's curls when they bantered.

So yeah, he loved him.

Loving was dangerous however, loving got you in difficult situations where you don't think and sometimes your actions get out of hand with how much you care.

He cared about Peter with his iron heart, he cared about the boy so loudly in fact it would almost creep those three words up into his throat when he loved too fiercely with kid.

That's how he found himself in a very dangerous situation.

Peter was hurt, badly.

And it was his fault because he loved him, he was someone he got too close to and now it was his fault.

He stayed too close even when he should have remained at arms length, but the kid had to get close.

The bullet was supposed to be for Tony, not Peter, but the kid saw it coming from a mile away and pushed the iron clad man away from the aim of fire and taking the punishment with all the confidence of a self sacrificing idiot.

Peter was laid up in the med-bay as Cho and her helpers ran around to try and nurse the kid, while Tony was trapped in his own mind with how much he let Peter get too close, how he didn't notice that the kid obviously loved him too, so much in fact that he took a bullet for him, when Tony specifically told him not to if something like that happened.

He couldn't find it in his heart to be angry at the kid, no matter how much he wanted to be, he wanted to scream and shout and punch the walls, blame the universe for giving him someone so precious and kind that he would ruin completely, to rip apart a kid's life. It was his fault that the kid was by his side now, wanting to be an avenger because he took him to Germany just to win a fight against his own team, his own family. Or what he thought was.

He was pushed out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, Rhodey's comforting voice making it's way to the man in armor, ridding him of the terrible thoughts and guilt that went through him.

"He'll be okay Tones, he's tough, he can handle it, he always does." Rhodey reasoned, trying to take Tony down from his tower of guilt.

"But he shouldn't have to."

"He did what he did because he cares, I know you would do it in a heartbeat if he was the one about to be shot."

"Because that's how it should be, I'm the adult, and he's the kid. He's just a child, Rhodey, a child." The older hero sighed, his face visible as his helmet was open, anyone could easily see his terror and distress. He tried to tear his eyes away from the frittering med staff, but he could only think of Peter. His Peter. His self sacrificing kid that he loved too much, and now it had gotten him hurt, the panic gripping his chest like a vice and not letting go as he feared what worse could have happened to his kid.

"Listen, he'll be okay, I know it." There was no room for argument with his tone, even if Tony wanted to, he needed to be at Peter's bedside, he was always there no matter what, even if he was mad or trying not to think about his guilt, the boy's presence always seemed to calm him.

The hero sighed softly, nodding even though panic rested comfortably in his chest.

He had cleaned himself up after the fight, after seeing Peter taken away from his side as he bled out and was in pain, even under the mask for the spider-suit, Tony could tell by the way the white eyes of the mask were pinched. It haunted him how he thought of Peter's bambi eyes shining with unshed tears and pain under that mask, those bright doe eyes filled with innocence and brilliance.

He remained stationary by the kid's bedside as he was finally left alone in his room, his accelerated healing luckily used in this moment. Helen had said the bullet hadn't hit any major arteries or organs, so that was a plus, but it still was agonizing to think of the boy in any sort of pain, or to even think of Peter leaving his side. If that happened, he didn't know what he would do. If he didn't have Pepper he would certainly lose it.

He just loved the kid too much to let him suffer.

He had his Stark-Pad resting in his lap as he held onto Peter's wrist, the feeling of the pulse underneath his fingers much more reassuring than the beep of the heart monitor. He kept his eyes focusing back between the notes he had down for what he could improve on Peter's suit and on the kid himself, eyeing his chest to check his breathing and checking the face of the boy in case he was going to wake up anytime soon.

He looked at the features of the boy, taking in the curls swept over his forehead, they were always gelled back no matter how much Tony joked about it. He never had a problem with it, but it was always pleasing to know how the boy liked a hand combing through his curls, whether it be his aunt to Tony himself. His face always bright with a smile that reached to his chocolate doe eyes, shining with talent and excitement for everything and anything. From Star Wars to how the Iron Man suit worked, he was always so smart and inquisitive. The boy was a ray of sunshine in Tony's bleak life. Yes he had Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy, he loved them all to bits and they made his life so much better, but loving Peter was different. He was his son in everything but blood, and that didn't even matter. He was a bright light that warmed up even the coldest of hearts, thawing right through to make anyone wrapped around his little finger.

Tony loved him.

He realized he was looking too much at the boy and swiftly changed to reading the schematics of the spider-suit, although he didn't read far when he heard a small sigh coming from in front of him. He looked up to see those bright and beautiful doe eyes looking up at him with that same amount of adoration that made Tony's heart want to burst, he didn't deserve the kid in the slightest, but here he was with him.

"Good afternoon, bambi." He said softly, aware of how Peter was sensitive his surroundings after waking up in the med-bay, the lights always at a dimmer power than normal to accustom to the spider-boy.

"Hi Mstr' Strk'." The boy slurred, still tired from just waking up and having pain reducing drugs in his system. The man carefully let go of the boy's wrist to hit the button that alerted Helen that her patient was awake, he almost missed the small whine that came from the younger hero at the loss of contact, it cut right through his heart.

"I'm here kiddo, don't worry." He held onto the boy's wrist again, fingers resting over the pulse point with quick muscle memory at this point.

"M' srry.." The boy mumbled, relaxing slightly as he registered the touch again, wide bambi eyes drooping sightly in relief.

"What are you sorry for, kiddo?" The man wondered. Peter always apologized, whether it be for something as small as dropping a pencil or bumping into a dog. He had such good manners.

"Ar' you mad a' me?" The boy's speech improving only a little as his enhanced metabolism burned through the painkillers.

Ah, so that explains it, he was worried the billionaire was mad at him. He gently rubbed a circle into the boy's wrist with his hand, comforting the kid into relaxing and not stressing when he needed to heal and get rest.

The man softly sighed and put the Stark-Pad away on the side table, scooting a little closer to the cot as he could look the kid better in the eye.

"No bud, I'm not mad, anymore. But you worried me a lot, I have a heart condition you know." He moved his free hand to go over the boy's front curls that hung in front of his eyes, getting to see those baby browns even better as the kid leaned into the soft touch.

"I knda' had to, you'd do it too.." The kid had a point, as it was similar to Rhodey's, even Pepper would say something like that, and she was always right, so that had to mean that Rhodey and Peter were too.

"That's different Pete. You're a kid and I'm an adult, we seniors kinda have to take the bullet. Figuratively and literally." He chided gently.

The boy let out a small huff of frustrated air, which was absolutely adorable as his nose scrunched up and he eyed Tony with what was presumably a glare that equalled the look of a puppy.

"But we gotta prtect' each other, otherwise you'd get hurt much worse." He brought up matter of factly.

"Well, maybe that's a risk I gotta take for spider-babies like you." Tony provided ruefully.

"Nt' a baby."

Well you're my spider-baby. He almost wanted to say.

Luckily he was saved by Helen Cho coming in to do a small checkup on Peter, looking over his vitals and smiling softly at her patient.

"Hello Peter, how are you feeling? Any pain?" She eyed over her clipboard presumably to check over his vitals and wounds again, being very perceptive to how Peter responded.

"M' fine, jus' a little sore." At that, Helen nodded and worked on administering a little medicine into his system, making the boy sigh gratefully at that. Both Cho and Tony knew when Peter said he felt a little pain it meant more than he played it as.

"I'll be back in a couple more hours, get some rest okay?"

Peter nodded at that and watched as she left the room, now alone with his father figure mentor once again. He looked over at Tony with a dopey smile, looking very tired now, he was bound to fall asleep. He sightly tugged on the man's arm, they both know that was to invite the man to cuddle, which they never brought up out loud, but they both knew the other enjoyed it greatly. It helped assure Tony that Peter was safe and there, while Peter got comfort and protection.

The man sighted good-naturedly as he stood up to get beside Peter.

"Alright alright, scoot over, this isn't gonna be nice on my back later." He joked. Although he said that, he would gladly take a little pain if it meant having Peter safe in his arms.

The boy obeyed and scooted over quickly, allowing Tony to climb in and get comfy, then let out a small "oof" as the kid rested his head on his shoulder and clung like a koala.

The man chuckled, a hand coming up to cradle the boy's head and play with his curls, knowing that helped Peter sleep much faster.

"Okay cuddle-bug, you heard her. It's nap time."

"Nt' a bug." Peter mumbled, blissfully unaware how Tony's heart practically melted with how easy Peter fit in his arms. He was so small. They were like two pieces of a puzzle, father and son, mentor and mentee. They belonged together and they wouldn't have it any other way as they needed the other.

"Right, arachnid." Tony corrected himself, hiding his grin in the kid's hair as Peter let out a pleased hum, slowly drifting off to sleep.

"Night." Peter mumbled, slowly lulled to sleep by the soft rumbling of the older hero's chest as he responded in kind.

"Goodnight bambino." He mumbled, pressing a small kiss to the boy's hair as they soon both drifted off to sleep.

Yeah, Tony loved him, and he needed him in his life like Peter needed him.

Thank you to @polaroid15 for reading this before hand and your lovely comments!! 🥺♥️

[candycityy]

RIVETRA AND 51.

Note: Hey anon! I already did 51, you can check it out here <3 But in the similar spirit of husband!levi, I did 63 instead ("Can you just man up and change his diaper?"). I hope you enjoy it still!

(You can also read this on AO3!)

Petra Ral, without a doubt, is the person he trusts most on the planet. From subordinate, to comrade, to lover, and finally, wife, she has always demonstrated nothing more or less than an unerring sense of judgment.

This trait, of course, is what made her the most reliable person on his squad back in the day, and what allows him to entrust his life—and the life of his daughter—to her.

But. Still.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Levi asks, for the fourth time that night. His wife doesn't even bother with an exasperated glare this time, just idly turns the page of her book. "And why won't you tell me who you got to babysit? I swear, Petra, if it's Hanji—"

"It's not Hanji, relax," she says lightly, tucking a neatly curled lock of hair behind her ear. "And yes, I'm sure. We haven't had a date night in ages. I think I've forgotten what it's like to actually do an activity that doesn't involve crayons or nursery rhymes."

"But if you'd just tell me—"

"No, Levi." She stands up and smooths down the fabric of her dress—a silky, knee-length sheath the colour of honey. He's seen her in it before, but it still makes his breath catch in his throat; although, to be fair, it's been a while since he'd seen her in something other than a t-shirt and sweatpants.

She glances at the clock, and then at the cot, where Ava is still dozing peacefully—for now, anyway. "They should be here any second."

"They?" he's about to say, when two hesitant knocks come at the door. He starts to get up, but Petra shoots him a warning look and sweeps towards the door. He sits back down.

"Boys, thank you so much for agreeing to babysit today." Petra beams down at their guests, her voice like melted sugar. "Come in." Levi glances up just in time to see...of all people, Eren Jaeger and Jean Kirschtein, wearing twin expressions of wariness.

Oh fuck no.

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. "Petra, you're not serious. Jaeger and Kirschtein? You might at least have tried for one of the girls."

"Mikasa wouldn't come," Eren says helpfully, and then blushes, looking a bit awkward. "She has...uh, a bit of a grudge against the captain still, I think."

"Historia was busy, and I don't think you'd want Sasha anyway, sir." Jean, who's crisply attired in his military wear for whatever reason, looks mildly offended at Levi's brusque comment.

Levi tries to be polite.

"It's nothing personal. It's just that the pair of you don't have any experience with infants," he says, attempting to rearrange his features into that calm, reassuring expression Erwin makes whenever he's faced with agitated civilians.

Judging by their faces, he's still pretty far off the mark.

"Actually," Petra intervenes, "they do. Well, Eren does." She shoots him another warm, cinnamon-sweet smile, and he blushes again. "He said he used to babysit the neighbour's toddler with Mikasa. And Jean...well, it was between him and Connie." When the teenager chafes at the comparison, she adds hastily, "and he's always been perfectly responsible and conscientious, hasn't he?"

"We can handle one infant, sir," Eren pipes up. His face is a picture of anxious enthusiasm, reminding Levi sharply and uncomfortably of a particularly eager-to-please puppy.

"I mean, we kill Titans with no problem, and they're a heck lot more troublesome than a baby, I would think," Jean adds, casting a skeptical look over at the still-silent cot.

"You would think," Levi mutters darkly, and is about to put his foot down, no, absolutely, not, when Petra firmly loops her arm through his and begins to steer him towards the exit.

"See? Everything's fine. We'll see you in a couple of hours, boys! Thanks for doing this again!" she chirps, and frog-marches him out of the door.

"Bye, captain! Bye, Ms. Petra!" Eren calls cheerfully, waving. Levi turns (with some difficulty, considering his wife's very firm grip) to glare at him.

"She's a Mrs. now, you brat," he manages to snarl before the door slams shuts in his face.

==

Despite everything, they have a nice date.

It takes about four glasses of wine and a threat of bodily harm from Petra before he finally stops fretting about Ava—but, truth be told, the rest of the night goes as well as it possibly could have, considering.

"See, didn't you have fun?" Petra teases. There's a blush high in her cheeks from the cold and the wine, and with his thick coat wrapped around her slight figure, Levi figures she looks pretty damn adorable.

He grunts in reluctant assent, feeling unusually relaxed. It's been a long time since it was just the two of them, after all, and he's almost forgotten what it feels like without the constant stress of being responsible for a very small, very fragile human being who he loves with such fierceness that sometimes he feels as though his chest will burst.

He's still revelling in the niceness of it all—the cool night air, Petra's small hand in his—as they walk up to the door of their house. He's seriously contemplating if he should actually get Jaeger and Kirschtein something nice for their trouble—maybe a day off or something, he doesn't know—when he hears a sound that makes him freeze in his tracks.

Next to him, Petra stiffens. The sound fades momentarily, only to re-emerge with a vengeance, and there's no mistaking it: it's a scream.

Levi doesn't remember sprinting to the door and wrenching it open, his heart pumping so fast he can barely breath and Petra hot in his wake, but he supposes he does at some point because in a matter of seconds he's in the house, staring straight into the face of absolute chaos.

The living room is littered with toys and scattered pillows and, for some reason, a lone shoe. The stove is smouldering in a vaguely menacing manner, heavy smoke rising from the burnt remains of something completely unrecognisable. Meanwhile, their beloved daughter crawls quite cheerfully across the floor, beelining for Jean, who's slowly inching away on the ground, his face screwed up with equal parts terror and disgust. A familiar stink wafts through the room, and Levi instinctively wrinkles his nose.

And the perpetrator of the scream: Eren Jaeger, who's hunched over the basin, scrabbling blindly at the trickle of water from the tap, feverishly attempting to wash what appears to be spit-up out of his eyes.

Clearly, none of them have yet noticed their arrival.

"HORSE FACE, CAN YOU JUST MAN UP AND CHANGE HER DIAPER?" he shrieks across the room, his voice coming out noticeably higher than usual.

"WHY CAN'T YOU DO IT?" his comrade yells back, his eyes not moving from the effervescent infant, who giggles at the sound of all the shouting.

Behind him, Petra stifles a laugh.

"BECAUSE THANKS TO YOUR SHITTY BURP TECHNIQUE, I'M NOW BLIND, YOU—" The teenager proceeds to cuss him out quite colourfully, and Levi chooses that moment to intervene.

"What," he goes, lowly, "in the living fuck do you think you're doing?"

The effect is instantaneous, like the firing of a gun. Both boys instantly scramble to their feet and thump their fists to their chests in salute (Eren still blinking furiously).

Petra just giggles and strides across the hall to Ava, who's now babbling happily at the arrival of her parents. "Thanks for babysitting, boys," she goes, taking a cautious whiff of the baby's diapers and reeling at the smell. "Whew. I'll take care of this. Levi, be nice," she warns, before hoisting their daughter onto her hip and strolling away.

He can't help but notice there's a little amused bounce in her step, and his glower darkens.

"Captain—" Eren begins, but Levi lifts up a hand.

"I don't even wanna hear it," he barks. "You—for fuck's sake, go wash your face in the bathroom, the water flow is better there. And you..." he rounds on Jean, who gulps nervously. "You're dismissed. Just...go. Bye."

The boys slump over, looking at him with the big sad puppy eyes (although the effect of Eren's is somewhat diminished by his pained squint). And maybe it's the wine, maybe age or marriage or parenthood has made him soft, but he adds, with utmost reluctance, "Wait. Uh...thanks." He clears his throat. "Take a day off next week. If you want."

It takes a while for them to realise that it isn't a trap of some sorts (seriously, he doesn't get it; why do cadets always think the worst of him?), but eventually, he manages to shoo them off with wide eyes and thank-yous and maybe some mild trauma on Jean's part, but hey, this is the Survey Corps, after all. When he goes back to their bedroom, he finds Petra waiting for him, Ava sleeping peacefully in her arms, a mischievous, smug grin on her face.

"Don't even say it," he snaps.

Drabble challenge!

[supercorpkid]

Coping mechanisms.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Kelly Olsen x Niece!Reader.

Word count: 1516.

You’ve been having nightmares ever since Lena was attacked and you destroyed her entire office at L Corp after a panic attack. Now, you’re left trying to handle them. And by handling them, you’ve been waking up in the middle of the night and running to your moms’ bed. They are not complaining. Rao, no. They would never.

Lena always holds you tight and tells you she is fine, safe, and that you can relax. Kara always kisses your forehead and tells you she’s got you. And they cuddle you in their arms and you usually fall back asleep.

“So, baby.” Lena says one morning after a very particular bad night for all of you. You could not fall back asleep, even with them by your side, and you almost froze their room with your uneven breathing. “I was talking to Kelly, and she mentioned there are some coping mechanisms for the panic attacks you’ve been having.”

“You want me to go to therapy?” You ask in shock. “I’m ok. I just have some nightmares where you are dying and I can’t save you and I’m covered in your blood like Carrie. But it’s fine.”

They look at each other in shock. It takes them a while to move past the horrible image you just planted in their heads.

“Right. Totally fine.” Kara is the first one to break.

“Look, there are just some things you can do before bed that can help you sleep better.” Lena holds your hands.

“Is this because I’ve been sleeping in your bed? Because I don’t have to.” You try to defend yourself. “I could stay in my own room. Totally alone. Haunted by the ghosts of the terrible visions of you guys dying and leaving me alone forever.”

“It’s not because you’re sleeping in our bed.” She squeezes your hands, reassuring. “It’s because I don’t want any ghosts terrifying my baby.”

“Come on, little one.” Kara puts breakfast in front of you and you almost forget what was the conversation in the first place. “Just give it a try. Go see aunt Kelly after school, and just hear what she has to say.”

“Fine, fine.” You dismiss them with your hands. “Now more bacon, please.”

So that’s it. You’re going to see aunt Kelly and her list of ‘coping mechanisms’.

“You know, what really helps sometimes is just talking about it.” Aunt Kelly says looking at you while you pace around the room, nervously.

“You can’t be my psychologist. You know, I’ve read about it. It’s against the law or something.”

“It is not against the law, but you’re right, it’s not recommendable.” She raises her eyebrows and you adjust the frame of your glasses. Oh no, you’re nervous. You’re doing exactly what your momma does when she is nervous. “But I’m not here as your therapist. I just want you to know ways that you can deal with that.”

“Fear of the imminent death of a relative that you weren’t able to prevent even though you have superpowers?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Ok, let’s hear it. Coping mechanism number one, talking about it. Doesn’t work. I have been telling everyone what’s going on inside my brain and I still wake up every night in terror, so… what’s number two?”

“Relaxation.” Aunt Kelly says, you look at her in doubt. “You can try to meditate. Or sit in nature for a while. You can try progressive muscle relaxation.”

“Hm, except the world is loud.” You finally sit down and look at her. “Aunty, what do you hear now?”

“Well, I hear our breathing. The AC is on. I hear cars from afar.” She puts her notebook down and looks at you so deeply you feel like she’s staring at your soul. “What do you hear?”

“Oh, Rao. What do I don’t hear, that’s the real question, isn’t it?” You throw yourself back in the chair with a huff sound. “Sirens, explosions, there’s a car chase downtown, a baby is crying, there’s a man yelling at the donuts shop. What a jerk. Oh, a pipe just burst in some poor woman’s house and she’s blaming her husband.”

“I see.” She stops you before you go on and on.

“It’s just very hard to relax when you have to try very hard NOT to, so you don’t hear all the noises in the universe.” You sigh. “Shall we try number three?”

“Physical activity is always good.” She picks up her notebook again. “It’s a natural form of stress relief.”

“I mean, do I have to tell you why physical activity won’t work on Supergirl’s daughter or do you think we’ve got it covered?” You don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, it’s just none of this would actually work on you. Kelly just stares at you for a while. She then puts her notebook down, and you can almost feel that she is giving up. Did you just break a therapist?

“Ok. Let’s think about what works for you.” She inhales deep. “What’s one way you use to shut the voices out?”

“Loud music usually helps.”

“Great. Before bed, put on your headphones, listen to very loud music. Shut out every other sound, shut out every other thought.” Kelly moves closer to you. “Honestly, it might not work. But if it doesn’t, we’ll think of something else, ok?”

“Sure. Yeah.” You stand up ready to leave. “Thanks aunt Kelly.”

She winks at you and you fly back home.

It’s already time for you to go to bed when Lena knocks on your door and puts her head inside.

“Hey babygirl, just want you to know that you’re more than welcome in our bed ok?”

“Thanks, mom.” You sit on your own bed a little nervous. “But first, I’m gonna try something aunt Kelly told me to.”

“Great. Have a goodnight, baby.” She closes the door and you scan your room for your headphones. This has to work. You’re done giving your moms reasons to worry about you, and if you’re being honest, the nightmares kind of suck too.

So, you put your phone on shuffle and the first music that blasts through it already says a lot about your situation.

“I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind.

There was something so pleasant about that place.

Even your emotions had an echo in so much space.

And when you’re out there, without care, yeah I was out of touch…”

“BUT IT WASN’T BECAUSE I DIDN’T KNOW ENOUGH, I JUST KNEW TOO MUCH! DOES THAT MAKE ME CRAZY?”

You up on your bed before you notice.

“DOES THAT MAKE ME CRAZY? DOES THAT MAKE ME CRAZY? POSSIBLY!!!”

Kara rushes in the room and flies in front of your face so you can see her. To be fair the music was so loud you didn’t even hear her coming inside.

“KID!” She says and you take off your headphones. You look at yourself standing on your bed and Kara looking at you like you’re insane.

“Was I singing loud?” You ask blushing and she shakes her head agreeing.

“If you can consider screaming at the top of your lungs singing.”

“Oh, Rao.” You let your body fall into the bed and cover your face with your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

And just when you thought it couldn’t get more embarrassing for you, Lena walks in your room and you grunt terrified from the humiliation.

“Ok, listen, I’m not crazy!” You start justifying yourself before they send you to a mental hospital. “Aunt Kelly told me to listen to music as a coping mechanism and…”

“Oh, great.” Kara sits on your bed. “Let’s do it.”

“Do… what?” You finally lift your look to stare at her.

“Sing.” She takes the plug out of the phones and the song starts blasting from it. “YOU REALLY THINK YOU’RE IN CONTROL?”

She yells making you and Lena startled. Now you’re staring at her like she is insane.

“I THINK YOU’RE CRAZY! I THINK YOU’RE CRAZY! I THINK YOU’RE CRAZY JUST LIKE ME!” Kara keeps going and you look at Lena who’s trying very hard not to laugh. Kara looks at her too, almost like she’s asking for backup and Lena shrugs.

“EVER SINCE I WAS LITTLE, EVER SINCE I WAS LITTLE IT LOOKED LIKE FUN!” Lena is the next one to yell and you are so in shock you can’t even fully process what’s going on before you. Is Lena Luthor singing in your bedroom at ten thirty on a Wednesday night?

“COME ON KID!” Kara holds your hands and you let yourself go again even though this looks insane.

“BUT MAYBE I’M CRAZY, MAYBE YOU’RE CRAZY, MAYBE WE’RE CRAZY! PROBABLY!” You three yell together and fall into laughter right after. What. Just. Happened?

When you fall asleep that night, there are no nightmares. No powers spiraling out of control. There’s just music and laughter and fun. It’s amazing to know what your moms would do for you. Oh, and you have to remember to thank aunt Kelly for this.

Notes:

- how insane is that the first song on my phone was ACTUALLY this one?! I felt like it was meant to be!?!

- thanks @hermen0404 for another prompt idea! This was so much fun!

[maeshmallo]

Bloom ~ Erwin

Erwin Smith x Afab! Reader

Warnings: Vague mentions of pregnancy/birth, parenthood, mentions trauma, nightmares/night terrors

Note: Hello! I originally wrote this on my deviantart which i then moved to my ao3 and now i am moving it here! Everything is the same except it refers to reader in the first person (you) and I just like how much easier it feels to use tumblr, and how much easier it is to connect with other readers and writers. Please let me know what you think and if there is anything I can fix in this! (I may have made mistakes here and there without noticing) Anyways, thank you for reading! 💗

Erwin wakes with a sharp gasp. At first he sees nothing but darkness as he whips his head around, disoriented and his heart pounding painfully. It is only when he feels a hand on his shoulder that he begins to remember where he is.

He mumbles an apology for waking you and you hush him in response. He rubs away the grim images from his eyes and lowers himself to lay against your chest, listening to your heartbeat and soothing whispers. 

"It's okay, Erwin. You're safe."

You stroke his hair and gently rub a hand up and down his broad back. It is still very new to have him so easily allow you to comfort him. Before he would turn towards paperwork and whisky, leaving you to lay next to the cold sweat and terror stained into the sheets. He would need to be truly shaken to succumb.

Now that everything has changed, he allows himself your nurturing. You remain like this for some time until your hearts beat in sync and his breathing has slowed.

"Go back to sleep, love. I'll be alright," He says softly, his voice husky and laced with fatigue. You know that it always takes him a long time to fall asleep again after such a nightmare. Every time he closes his eyes there are the screams, the smell of blood and dirt, and the carnage all around him.

He sits up and fumbles around the nightstand for a match, lighting the nearby candle and filling the room with a warm glow. The electric lamp is next to it and is brighter than a lit candle or gas lamp, but the bulb is not as gentle on the eyes as a flame.

The electricity, along with other new and efficient things from the Mainland have been exciting for the people of the island, but the changes have been so sudden for some that only a few fully adapt to the new age and most preferred to take it slowly. Those who were eager simply took a boat across the channel to start a new life.

Erwin looks at his surroundings and can't help but remember how cold and awful his old sleeping quarters were. The nights he spent there alone with his guilt and fear were almost unbearable. The only times it could be managed was if you were able to sneak in from time to time. There is no more sneaking or worrying, holding each other painfully tight every time not knowing which time would be your last.

Now you have been given the liberty of enjoying your time together without fear. That thought alone is enough to ward off the heaviness in his chest, but the memories continue to flash in his head. He stands up, and you don't ask where he is going because you know that after every nightmare, he goes and does one thing.

He walks out of the room into the dark hallway, and goes to the room where a gas lamp still burns low through the door. He tiptoes in and already feels his mind go blank as he looks down into the crib at two sleeping babies, resting nose to nose with a soft fleece blanket over their small bodies.

Three months since their birth and he is still as enamoured as the moment he saw them after hours of agonizing waiting and worrying. He doesn't look away from them when you walk in as well and take a seat in the rocking chair next to the crib. You know you should sleep since they deplete so much energy from you, but you refuse to sleep unless you feel Erwin beside you. You smile as the little girl stretches and rests an arm over her brother.

Erwin kneels beside you and takes your hand as you both watch your children. "They're getting big. Soon we'll have to get another crib for one of them," He says as he unhands you and reaches through the wooden bars and strokes his son's tiny fist with his finger.

You hum, only half listening to him. You remember never even daring to want for this kind of life, where you have your own home far away from where the walls used to stand, on a hill overlooking the sea. You remember how disheartened you were when Erwin told you that he could never allow himself to marry lest he would die and brand you a widow. Suppressing all hope within you was what you learned to do for years. Only recently have she truly begun to hope for the future and what it holds, that new optimism brought to life first by the ring he put on your finger, and then by your little ones.

It takes noticing the weight of Erwin's hand on your cheek for you to realize that you were crying, too lost in the thoughts of your past melancholy. He asks if you are alright and you nod, holding the hand that cups your cheek as you give him a reassuring smile.

"They're just so sweet when they sleep. It makes me forgot how badly they make me want to pull out my hair sometimes." You both laugh softly, and you wipe away your tears on the sleeve of your night gown.

"We should try to get some sleep while we can. Come on." Erwin stands and leads you by the hand into your bedroom, laying down first so that you lay on his chest, his remaining arm wrapping around you.

You both close your eyes but neither of you can truly fall asleep yet. The life you've been blessed with came with the massive price of the lives of others. The fields that your children will one day play on will be nourished by corpses of the brave who offered their hearts for them. The carnage reduced to some pages in a textbook.

Though you look forward to the future, the past will never cease its torment. Neither of you will ever truly be able to move forward, the ghosts of Erwin's friends and comrades will forever hover above him. The memories of sadness and tragedy that engulfed your cities will have you absorbed into your own head at random moments.

But you will reap new happiness to accompany the darkness. Your children, their new life, will be a flower that blooms on a mass grave.

~ ~ ~

THIS IS VERY SELF INDULGENT AND FAR FROM WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED IN CANON BUT THAT’S OKAY!! I LIKE THIS VERSION!!! thank you for reading <3

[scribblingfangirl]

CANDY CANES & SPIDER WEBS | Julie and the Phantoms - Luke Patterson

not my gif!

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Author’s Note: First things first, let’s not start the scene in reverse but with the mention that: Yes, I am aware that Halloween was a few months ago, but since I’m stuck studying for two upcoming exams and procrastinating on my Billy Russo fic I mindlessly wandered through all of my unfinished and forgotten WIPs and found this one - and it spoke to me! So, I hope you have fun with this little, weird and late Halloween thingy.

word count: ~ 1.2k

summary/prompt: alive!AU (2020) - Luke has to wear a Dirty Candy outfit and gets scared by a fake spider 

warnings: english is not my first language, therefore, typos and long sentences (this was not beta-read), tw: a teeny tiny mention of being puffy (said in a joking manner and later on confirming that she (you) feels amazing in her (your) body) [if that’s inappropriate for many people I will of course take this fic down and/or change it to something else]

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The entire school was decorated. From the halls and classrooms (yes, much to the suffering of a certain brunette lead guitarist, even the music room) down to the cafeteria and the gym. Black cloths were covering the windows, fake spider webs were put up in all sorts of nooks, crannies and corners, bowls with candy could be found all over and the lights were dimmed. The music was so loud the vibrations did not only move the floor but the bones of the students as well. Well… maybe it wasn’t just the volume, but the fact that the music came from a certain band called Julie and the Phantoms and it was almost impossible not to move your body to their tunes. Or maybe they just felt bad for the lead guitarist who was struggling to jump around in his... rather sparkly Halloween costume. 

Earlier during the week, the principal had made an announcement, saying that everybody had to wear at least some sort of Halloween costume to be invited to the schools annual night of terror. Of course, Luke being Luke was not even thinking about the possibility of separating himself from his beloved sleeveless shirts and/or his flannels. Which is why he was very adamant on dressing up as you on Halloween. 

“Going as your significant other is going as someone else as well!” 

“Fine…but only if I get to choose your outfit.”

“Deal.”

Much to his dismay, he seemed to have forgotten that, in contrast to himself, you did not only own band-shirts, flannels and vans, and looked rather dumbfounded when you handed him the mountain of clothes you chose for him.

“That’s…. no. A definite no from me. This sparkles and has sleeves.”

“I’m sorry, what? There must’ve been a miscommunication. Last time I heard you wanted to go to Halloween as your girlfriend… and well, said girlfriend does not walk around like a wanna-be rockstar from the 90s all the time but is also a member of a girl group called Dirty Candy. So, say hello to a wonderful blue glittering crop top and matching see-through blouse! At least you get to keep your sneakers and the colour matches your eyes. Now chop chop! You promised Julie to fit in one last rehearsal before tonight!”

You could've sworn that you heard him mumble “And that’s why you don’t mess with your enemies” before he closed the bathroom door behind him. Five minutes later you were almost crying from laughter.

“I can’t believe it actually fits you, at least more or less!” you giggled, looking him up and down as he twirled uncomfortably in front of the mirror, staring disbelievingly at himself. “Wait… does that mean that I’m puffy or are you just small?”

“Do not worry Y/N. Even though you obviously actually are the Witch you're dressing up to be, I love you the way you are”, he answered quickly, pecked your lips and ran out of your room, hoping to bypass the looks from your parents. “See you tonight! And don’t be too jealous when I make Dirty Candy look good for once!”

You opened your windows and watched him struggle into the car. Before he could drive off you frowned, as you realized that he never actually answered your question. “Hey! Wait! You are small, right?!” But he just dismissively waved out of the car window as he disappeared from your view.

“He called you puffy?” a shocked Fynn shouted at you over the loud music.

“No, I said it as a joke, but he didn’t exactly call himself small” you shouted back. 

"I mean, come on girl! My body is amazing!"

“Nevertheless, that screams for revenge!”

Expectantly you raised your eyebrows and smirked, it was Halloween after all. A night of mischief. “And… oh mighty Flynn. What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Wait and see, wait and see”, she chuckled evilly. “I hope you’re not afraid of spiders.”

An hour later the gym was filled with the steady beat of Flynn's music as she took over as DJ for the rest of the night, while the four band members fled into the safety of the music room.

“They can’t do that! My poor six-string! So broken! So dirty!“ Luke whined as he wiped off the fake blood someone had accidentally spilled onto the guitar when they were pouring it out and smearing it all over the room and windows. 

Alex nodded absentmindedly. “This is a mess… I don’t want to be the cleaning personnel tomorrow. All this, just for one lousy night?”

Reggie threw an arm around his friend and patted his shoulder soothingly. “I’m sorry Willie couldn’t make it tonight, but you know what? Julie and I can be just as fun!” he said, linking his other arm with one of Julie’s and dragging both of them outside, into the corridor leading to the gym.

Turning around to face Luke you let out an exasperated sigh and threw your hands to your hips at the scene in front of you. He was sitting, legs crossed (which worked surprisingly well somehow, considering he was struggling to rock out on stage just a few minutes prior), surrounded by the other guitars and basses inspecting them for more fake blood mishaps. “Really Luke? How come you care more about instruments made out of wood and metal, than about a real, warm and loving person waiting for you?”

He didn’t even look up. “I care about you!”

“You wouldn’t even kill a spider for me, but for your six-string, you would touch real spiderwebs”, you protested, suppressing a giggle, when Luke promptly stood up to take some steps towards you and walked right into some fake ones, moving his arms all over the place to get rid of them. "You look like a blue disco ball."

“I do not and I would for you!” he corrected you, as he finally was able to get rid of the majority of the spiderwebs and made a motion to hug you. “The spiders should know better, anyway. I’m the one with the big hands and feet and they’re the wee ones with all the breakable legs!”

As his arms were almost enveloping you, you quickly put a fake spider onto a piece of spider web on his shoulder that he had missed and pushed him away. “Ew! Don’t touch me, you’re sweaty and... bloody! Go wash away the sweat and the spiderwebs first. And while you’re at it, gently pick up the spider on your shoulder, please? Before you throw my clothes into the cleaner and kill the little wee one with the breakable legs.”

“Sp… spider?” It seemed as if he turned his head in slow motion and when he saw the black thing just slightly outside his peripheral vision, he screamed.

He probably didn’t even think clearly when he started to jump around, frantically patting himself on his shoulders. After a while, he just took off the blouse and crop top, threw them on the ground and started to stomp on it. Breathing heavily he then said: “Did I just scream like a woman?”

“Don’t flatter yourself”, a giggling Flynn said, coming in through the door, followed by Reggie, Julie and Alex who were doubling over at the sight of the topless guitarist. “You might have been wearing the clothes of a woman, yet you still screamed like a little girl.”

Now you couldn’t hold back your laughter anymore either. “Do not worry Luke” you mocked him, “I love you just the way you are. Small and full of fear.”

[iceeckos12]

some prompt ideas for your perusal! cold hands; lingering gaze; sharp words; an unexpected gift; walking with the wind causing your scarf and hair to billow out behind you.

a;kdjf i am very slowly working through these prompts. thanks so much for sending them! i settled on sharp words. and since you didnt specify the pairing that means i get to pick so....s2 canon divergence jontim??

thank you again to Bloodsbane on discord for helping with characterization.

cw for stalking, jon is vaguely suicidal, casual discussion of tim theoretically murdering jon

It’s two o’clock on a Saturday afternoon, and Tim is standing in front of his house, arms aching under a heavy load of groceries, staring at the person sitting on the bench across from his house. Their face is hidden behind a newspaper, but he can faintly make out the peach-colored plasters that encircle the fingers even from here, and he cannot do this right now.

He sets the groceries down on the front porch with a bit more force than he meant to and marches across the street. The fingers tighten and the paper crinkles loudly as he approaches, but the hands don’t lower, and that somehow pisses him off even more.

Tim grabs the top of the newspaper and yanks, and Jon lets out a surprised cry as half his cover is ripped away. They stare at each other for a moment, Tim so incandescent with anger that he can’t even begin to speak, Jon’s eyes wide and surprised and tinged with the faintest flush of fear.

Tim takes a step forward. Jon lets out a tiny, pathetic sound and flinches, lifting his arms to protect his head, and Tim -

Stops. Feels every bit of the anger drain out of him, replaced with bone-deep hurt and bitter disappointment and pure exhaustion.

“Well?” he asks, gesturing toward his house. “If you’re not planning on leaving, you might as well come inside.”

Jon’s throat bobs as he swallows once, then twice, and slowly lowers his arms. His gaze is still bright with fear as he tentatively asks, “Are you...are you going to kill me?”

Anger flashes through him white hot, and he closes his eyes and breathes through it. Once he feels like he’s not going to start screaming, he opens his eyes and looks steadily down at Jon. “And what would you do if I was going to kill you?” his gaze travels slowly over Jon, noting the rumpled shirt, the stark lack of anything to defend himself with. Out loud he wonders, “What was your plan?”

Jon just looks at him, mouth agape, like he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Tim sighs, turns around, and walks back to the house. Either Jon will follow him, or he won’t.

He’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved when he hears quiet footsteps behind him.

Jon doesn’t say anything as Tim lets them into the house, as he puts his groceries away. He just hovers in the living room, looking around warily like he’s never seen the place before, which he has. Tim, Jon, and Sasha used to have movie nights here when they were researchers, and the memory of them sitting together on the couch, laughing over some stupid plot twist or what have you, almost bowls him over.

“Take a seat,” Tim orders stiffly. “Tea?”

Jon opens his mouth, then thinks better of it and simply nods, shoulders tight as a bowstring as he sits carefully on one of the chairs.

Tim thinks about all the things that he wants to say, all the things he probably shouldn’t say, as he fills the kettle. What he really wants are some magic words that will make everything go back to the way it was before they joined the archives, when there were no worms or murderers and things were easy. There aren’t, of course there aren’t, and it’s a stupid, wistful thought, but he wants it so badly that he has to dig his fingernails into the palms of his hands to ground himself.

But that’s impossible, because there were worms, and Jon’s paranoia has a very real source, for all that his reaction to it is invasive and unacceptable. He doesn’t think there’s any possible way to fix it, but there has to be a way to make this better, to - to relieve the pressure, so to speak.

Christ, Tim just wants his friend back.

So he puts the kettle on the stove, removes two mugs and a box of tea down from his cabinet. Takes a deep breath and turns to look at Jon, whose gaze immediately snaps from the house to him.

“So,” Tim begins, then stops, uncertain where to go from there. Then, because Jon is still favoring him with that wary, suspicious scowl, “Stop looking at me like that.”

Jon’s head jerks down and his gaze skitters away, but he doesn’t apologize.

Tim lets out a ragged sigh, drags his hands over his face, and reminds himself that Jon came here despite his suspicion, which must mean that deep down he’s sick of this too. “Jon, this has to stop.”

Jon bites his lip, his shoulders tensing up around his ears. He looks two seconds from bolting, but still he says nothing.

“Christ, Jon,” Tim bursts out, slapping his hand against the counter for emphasis. He almost pauses when Jon flinches so hard he almost falls right out of his seat, but shakes his head and soldiers on. “What - what the fuck do you want? From - from me, from Martin. What can I do to convince you that I’m not some cold-blooded killer?”

“What I want is to find Gertrude’s killer!” Jon bursts out, finally. “If I can just figure it out, get some answers -”

Tim throws his arms into the air. “And then what? You - you’re not even carrying anything to defend yourself. What if I was the killer?” he looks around the kitchen frantically. Points to the kettle, “What if I poisoned this tea? Or,” points to the knife block, “Or took one of these knives out and stabbed you? What then, Jon?”

“Then at least I would know,” Jon grits, eyes wild. “At least then it would be over.”

“Well sure,” Tim retorts, sharp as anything. “And then you’d be no better off than Gertrude, because you’d be dead.”

They both freeze mid-gesture at that. Jon stares at Tim, eyes wide, mouth pressed in a firm, tight line. Tim lowers his hands to his sides, the air in his lungs escaping in one long, slow rush.

“Is that really what you want?” he asks, and it comes out all soft, less like the sharp accusation he wanted it to. “Because...even if you don’t believe me, that’s not what I want.”

Jon finally looks away, his long, clever fingers rubbing senseless patterns against the arm of the chair. “I want to believe you,” he says miserably. “I’m just....”

The kettle behind him screams, and Tim finally creaks into motion. He turns around and mechanically pours the boiling water into the mugs, watching as the liquid almost immediately begins to darken. He adds a bit of the milk that he’d purchased just that day, then some sugar, and walks over to deposit one in front of Jon.

Then he sits down on the couch, cradling the other mug between his palms, and asks, “Do you really think that I’m a killer?”

Jon turns to him, eyes wide. “No!” then cringes inward, one hand reaching up to tug at his messy curls. “Yes. Fuck, I can’t...I just don’t know, Tim. You’re, I don’t think you are, I don’t - but Gertrude didn’t either, did she? She wasn’t, she wasn’t careful enough, and someone killed her, someone got her, and if I’m not careful they’ll get me too. I, I can’t relax, I can’t get comfortable -”

Tim raises a quelling hand, cutting him off before he can spiral any further, burying the hurt that one desperate yes had caused. “So we’re all equally suspicious.”

“Yes,” Jon says, relieved. He picks up his tea, looks down into it, before setting it aside again, like he really does suspect that it’s been poisoned.

“Okay,” Tim says, drumming his fingers against his knee, thinking. Jon is watching him intently, though it’s less frightened and more hopeful, like he’s expecting Tim to magically produce the solution to all his problems. It used to be nice, when someone as smart as Jon looked at him like that. Instead he just feels vaguely annoyed, because this isn’t his fucking responsibility - except he’s committed now, so it kind of is. “...What if I helped you?”

Jon gives him a startled look. “I - what?”

Tim shrugs, trying to figure out how to word this in a way that’ll get through to Jon. “I mean, you said it yourself. You don’t actually have a plan if you find the killer, so it doesn’t matter. If I’m the murderer you’ll be dead, but at least you’ll know.” He can’t believe he’s actually suggesting this. “If I’m not, then you’ll have a second pair of hands helping you figure this all out.”

Jon looks equally incredulous for a moment, but then it fades into quiet consideration. Eventually he says, “...But why? Why would you...”

“Because I hate that you’re doing this, but you’re scared and I don’t think I can convince you to stop,” Tim tells him tiredly. “I’d rather know what you’re doing instead of you just...shutting me out.” That hurts more than anything else, he doesn’t say. “And if I help, maybe this will all be over sooner. Maybe this will finally end.”

For a moment Jon looks at him, and for a moment he gets a glimpse of what’s buried beneath all the primal terror and sleep-deprived fervor: Jon as he was, young and small and scared. That little bit of clarity lands like a gut punch.

“...I’m sorry, Tim,” Jon whispers, curling in on himself, wrapping his fingers in his sweater. “I’m sorry that you have to do this. I’m so sorry. But...yes, please help me.”

“Yeah, well,” Tim forces a wry smile on his face that probably looks more like a grimace, and feels something lock in place. “What are us assistants for?”

[olivetreehugger]

SnK Scouts/Veterans as Health Care Workers

Note: features Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Levi, Erwin and Hange. A part two to my “SnK Warriors as HCWs” post found here. warning: mentions of blood, trauma, gore (it’s healthcare). Also, I know Hange is nb, I headcanon them as female, so I will be using she/her pronouns. 

Eren: this boy is definitely too involved in everything and has too many people depending on him at once to not be a nurse. The kid barely passed the NCLEX but that didn’t stop him from applying to every trauma center within a 25 mile radius of him. He got hired as a night shift trauma ICU nurse  and he frequently picks up shifts in the ER. He wears the cheapest scrubs he can find, often stained with ink in the pockets area. He isn’t a shitty nurse per se but there are tasks that still need to be done at the end of his shift and he gives a crappy report that’s missing too many details. Nurses hate picking up his patients, it’s always a mess. His charting is really spotty and he gets called into the manager’s office all the time to fix it. 

Still, he tries really hard to improve his time management and skills. He wants to be like his friends Mikasa and Reiner, who are the best nurses he knows. He wants to be involved in the traumatic cases and emergencies because he wants to learn as much as he possibly can. He’s really good at wound care, for some reason (hint hint). He’s kinda cocky sometimes too, which can be troublesome when Dr. Galliard is working. People know to steer clear of those two when they’re both  in the ER. Also, Eren always has a black cloud around him; whenever he works it’s gonna be a hella busy day in the hospital. Lots of emergency surgeries, intubations, codes and deaths. He’ll always jump in to help you if your patient is crashing, though, no matter how busy he is. 

Mikasa: she’s a prodigy. She was a straight ‘A’ student in nursing school, got a perfect 75 on the NCLEX and was immediately hired to the trauma ICU after doing a short internship there. She worked night shift for a year but her sleep schedule was so so fucked she started having night terrors, so she switched to day shift. Eren still calls her a traitor for it :/. She keeps trying to get him to switch over but he just hisses at her and threatens to chug a case of Monster energy drinks. She hasn’t given upon him yet, though.

This girl’s work ethic is beyond measure. She comes in exactly at 6:30 am, looks up her patients, takes report, gives a great update to the doctors when they round, and provides impeccable care to her patients. She knows exactly which treatments the doctors will order before they even speak. She’s incredible at inserting IVs--everyone in the hospital knows Mikasa Ackerman can put an 18g in a 90  yr old lady’s arm AND get blood return (just trust me, it’s flipping impossible). She has great skill when it comes to emergency situations and is a big believer in team work. If she notices your patient’s crashing and you don’t know what to do, she’ll calmly coach you and save your patient, too. All before lunch time. 

It doesn’t take Mikasa long to be promoted to charge nurse. When she’s in charge all the reports, paperwork and audits are completed before shift change. She divides the patient assignments really well and is very fair to the new grads. All around she’s an incredible nurse and leader on her unit, but don’t be fooled. If it’s been a rough day, Mikasa will get in her car and sob so loud her throat goes raw. A lot of people depend on her and working in a trauma ICU is really, really demanding. A lot of patients are demanding, rude and busy. She has a lot of trouble with stress management and is thinking of cutting her hours down so she can catch a break. Someone please hug her <3

Armin: for some reason my brain is just SCREAMING respiratory therapist. Like, I imagine this beautiful blond boy in gray scrubs (the color for RT’s in my hospital) going around helping intubate patients, giving nebulizer treatments and doing blood gases. I can just see him huffing and puffing when the attending doctor is overzealous about weaning vent support. -“Why are we changing the patient to pressure support? do you see how tachypneic he is on volume control?”

-“are you gonna put in the order? if not, your patient’s gonna be on PRVC all day, I’m not changing it without an order”

-“Doc, the patient looks like crap and their blood gas looks like death...oh, you still wanna extubate? ok, well I’m gonna leave the ventilator in here just in case. better yet, let me call a pastor in here, too.”

This kid is sassy af and he knows it. He’s smart af too, knows everything there is to know about the lungs and respiratory care. Knows every ventilator mode better than most doctors. Will certainly tell a resident off for ordering the wrong type of inhaler for a patient. He’s so damn intelligent that he even made the ice queen Annie melt like a popsicle. 

 He has no chill when it comes to his patients and even less chill (like -4078875874670) when a doctor gets in his way. For this reason, Armin has recently been toying with the idea of going to PA school so he can have a little more autonomy. He works al over the hospital, usually frequenting the trauma, CV, and medical ICU. The nurses there love him. 

Jean: Jeannie boy. Baby. Sweetie. He’s also a nurse. He is strictly dayshift and trauma. When he first started, he thought he’d do a year in the ICU and then go to CRNA school. He didn’t want to be around sickly patients with hopes and dreams and fears--it was too icky for him. But, over time, he learned that he LOVED trauma. Jean loves the controlled chaos that comes with the ugly, bloody messes that roll in through the ICU’s doors. He always gears up for trauma season (summer time) by bringing Dunkin Donuts iced coffee for everyone on the unit (day and night shift because he’s a supportive king). He gets really good at dealing with arrogant trauma residents and ortho docs who think they’re hot shit. When Jean sees a resident yelling at a nurse, he jumps in and threatens to have their license revoked. He will dig under their skin and page them incessantly throughout the day, too, just to get back at them. Jean is not a fan of lateral violence in the workplace, no sir. 

He always, always makes sure every room is stocked and new bags are hanging for the next shift. He has a thing where if things aren’t properly organized on the unit his brain just spazzes. He’s on the unit council and education committee because he also loves to teach the new grads. He also doubles as charge nurse, when management can’t be there (there can be one or more charge nurses amongst the staff, they usually work different days, though) He and Mikasa work so well together, teaming up to get tasks done, coding patients, running them down to get scanned, etc. People joke they’re the mom and dad of the unit. It makes them both blush <3 (Eren doesn’t like it, lol)

Jean loves to see patients healing from horrendous injuries, he’s constantly cracking jokes with the awake patients to try to make them feel better, and he’s really good at calming anxious family members down. Our boy just makes such good connections with people. He’s the guy you call when your confused patient is one second away from ripping his breathing tube out. He can convince the most restless, agitated patient to chill out. He’s got the voice for it. Also people love his mullet. It looks great. 

Connie: I really didn’t know at first but I feel like Connie would make a great physical therapist. He’s got great energy, he’s funny and I could see him dancing to Earth, Wind & Fire in front of his patients to hype them up for therapy. He’d be very sweet with them 

Sasha: I’m sick and tired of the food jokes, quite honestly. She’s more than that. In my mind, she’s an occupational therapist, helping disabled patients learn to feed, dress and clean themselves again. She works directly with Connie as they round on all their patients in the hospital, they make a great team!  She’s extremely patient and would make a very good nurse, but is unsure of where life is taking her. That is until she meets Niccolo the dietician in the cafeteria, and she falls hard. He encourages her to follow her heart and she does!  

Levi: Hm. This one stumped me. Levi is a bit...cold. It’s not like he has incredible social skills. He’s meticulous and focused and kinda mean? He reminds me of an anesthesiologist, tbh. Like he’ll sedate the shit outta you for surgery, makes sure you don’t die on the table, and then drops you off to the unit as fast as he can. He never takes off his mask while in the hospital and he scrubs maybe four times before surgery. He is very good at medication calculations and knows everything about nerve blocks, intubation, pain medication and sedation. He can look at a person and just KNOW what kind of sedative to give and how much. Your blood pressure will never bottom out while he’s there, he’ll warn the surgeon and immediately get that norepinephrine started.

 If Zeke is the one operating, Levi is on his ass to finish up the surgery ASAP and to not linger, because Zeke takes his time and ignores the tele monitor alarming in the background. After surgery, this 5′2 demon will scream at the 6′ resident about the importance of blood pressure management and sedation in neurosurgical patients. Levi plays no games and he also just really hates Zeke lol

He seems like a jerk but genuinely cares about getting his peeps through surgery. His favorite surgeon to work with is Hange Zoe, because she’s brilliant and fast, but also cognizant of her patient’s hemodynamics. Levi likes taking trauma cases as long as it’s with her. When he drops a patient off to the trauma ICU or goes there to intubate, he makes sure Jean or Mikasa are there because he knows everything is gonna go smoothly. He trusts them a lot. He likes Armin, too and even let him intubate a few times. On his breaks, he’s drinking tea and reading a Williams & Sonoma catalog or scrolling through cleaning Tik Tok lol.

Erwin: This man. This beautiful and hunky beefcake. Omg. I HC him as someone who went to nursing school, became a charge nurse on the trauma unit back in the early 2000′s and fell in love with it. Erwin would eventually fall in love with leadership and educating, too. He went back to school and earned his Doctorate of Nursing Practice (a practice doctorate). He managed the trauma unit for ten years before his brilliant leadership skills and wicked smart brain got him elected as the Director of Trauma Surgery recently. He is the first person with a nursing degree and DNP to ever accomplish this, so it’s very controversial. A lot of toxic doctors threaten to leave the hospital for this (because they’re assholes), but Erwin threatens to fire them in response and it usually shuts them up. 

He often holds lectures in the hospital auditorium. With a mind and voice like his, people are so drawn in by him. He advocates for nursing staff, for reimbursement when continuing their education, better staffing, parking, etc. He makes nice with doctors and gets them to sign petitions for the nurses to get these things. He’s a bit manipulative He’s also a fantastic manager and director, he’s really good at negotiating things. The nurses and residents all love him because he rounds on every ICU frequently, brings food, and asks them how he can help. He can be a bit daunting because of his height and deep voice but once he starts talking to you, you just get sucked in. All around an absolute king. 

Hange: This character reminds me of a trauma surgeon and intensivist (ICU doctor) we have, Dr. Omi. A great surgeon, really really smart, but takes absolutely NO bullshit. She will yell at you if you freeze during intubating. She wants you to recite every step before you take it, otherwise she’ll take the tube from you and do it herself. In surgery, she’s the same way. She wants you to learn, but by her standards. If she asks a question, you better know the answer or fess up right away, she doesn’t like the “uhms” of uncertainty as you try to search for a shitty response. Either you know it or you don’t. And if you don’t, she’ll teach you. Yeah she can be rough around the edges, but she’s got a big heart. She loves her trauma team. She buys them breakfast and gives them funny personalized gifts. One time, she bought an apply tree for Mikasa and brought it to her car at the end of a shift. Mikasa forgot to plant it and it died in her backseat. Hange will sometimes ask, “Mikasa, how’s your apple tree growing?” and Mikasa will lie through her teeth. “It’s growing!” Fess up, Mikasa. Those google search apple trees are starting to look familiar.

All around Hange loves to work and teach. She is a wonderful trauma surgeon and has saved tons of lives.