#Did Flight compel him to run the fuck away?

[throwntotheair]

Of fucking course, the Mayor is Freeze! Elias - with his huge hunk of self doubt, who notices the crazy things going on around this project, who WAITS UNTIL THE LAST MINUTE to say something because he was having a literal ANALYSIS PARALYSIS - of course that guy would be guided primarily by the flight instinct when it comes to responding to stress.

[bentofaxmachine]

The Lost Genius Of Qian Jin’s Character 

So I had a lot of time to think yesterday (8hr of workless work, flight) and I spent about half of it just thinking about this season of Link Click. One thing I fixated a lot on was that I love the idea that Qian Jin warps his own reality in order to justify his actions… but why in that case did ep 9 include Cheng Xiaoshi? As “act breaks”? It was kinda a jarring choice that took you out of Qian Jin's perspective (not POV, i think that there's a slight distinction that should be made). This made me think more about Qian Jin’s character as a whole, and damn, I really think we missed something there. 

This focuses more on Qian Jin as a character in more of a meta sense and how he did or didn’t (spoiler: he didn’t) meet the expectations that many of us had for S2. I use the term “viewers” as a reflection of the general consensus on the season on Tumblr and Twitter, where I find most of my Link Click info, but of course we all have very different opinions on the show and I respect that! Would love to hear any other thoughts on Qian Jin and this season.

FUCK he could’ve been so good. The conducting music for no one, the odd hours at the gym (his intro), the twisted relationship with the twins that he mistakes for parenting, the facade of the suave and cunning mastermind that he dons even though someone ALWAYS does his dirty work for him?? Not to mention the warping of reality and victim blaming that he employs in his mind like an obsession to be justified in his actions. Couple that with his backstory… that's honestly a genius concept, especially because so much of S1 had to do with the truth behind and within photos and how much you can get away with manipulating it.

Something went wrong in its execution, though. Frankly, it was obvious from the start that the writers would have to work very hard to get viewers to care about Qian Jin because they had introduced a completely different and therefore more compelling villain that we had spent the PAST 2 YEARS theorycrafting for. Introducing the potential “Red Eyes/Hong” (crying… those were the days) identity as twins was a pretty smart way to keep the audience on their toes and continuing to ask questions, but they did nothing with it until the halfway mark of the season was coming up. Maybe this could have to do with mistakes that come earlier into one’s career as a showrunner (thanks @daily-linkclick for the info, Director Li is an experienced director but he’s only run one other original show before), but introducing and fixating on a completely different villain was one of the biggest missteps of the season. In the end, many viewers only watched Qian Jin to get to the answers that they wanted about the mysterious person with abilities and the abilities themselves, which we still haven’t gotten answers for. In its place, we’ve gotten SO MUCH info on Qian Jin.

The execution of Qian Jin's character has been jumbled and confused. I don't believe that the intention of the writers was to manipulate the viewer’s opinions on Qian Jin, but it sure felt like they were trying to at times. Making a mystery around whether or not his wife cheated (which BTW, way to go writers, using yet another female character as a plot device… anyone else kinda feel that Qiao Ling’s characterization fell flat this season? Like I enjoyed it at first but the more eps that came out the more apparent it was that a concerning amount of her character only exists in the context of her relationship to CXS. So sad) was a strange angle to approach his backstory from. This angle focused on Qian Jin’s victim-blaming behaviors in a way that honestly made me uncomfortable. It wasn’t the fact that it was happening that made me feel this way, because a cruel reality is that it is pervasive in most (if not all) societies, but how it felt as though the writers were trying to garner sympathy from and for his behavior through the "did they/didn't they" of his wife and his acting partner.

What if they revealed the truth before airing s2ep9? If the potential cheating was treated more as an fact rather than a mystery, then maybe his characterization wouldn’t have felt as condescending toward the viewers. Qian Jin as a character who tries to maintain a perfect face for Quede Games and the parallels of how this also happens on a deeper level for himself internally could have recontextualized his actions in an compelling way that didn’t require a Female Plot Device for it to be centered around. His backstory should make him an interesting character. It is at the center of his character, but it did not really work at the center of the plot for S2 because the viewers did not care enough about him for the writers to get away with its sloppy execution.

The thing that sucks is that there are some flashes of brilliance in all of this. I adore that scene in the back of the theater, when Qian Jin kneels before Tianchen and asks what they should do next with a smirk on his face that implies that he doesn’t understand the implications of his position. It captures the relationship and power struggle between them so well without spelling it out for us. Also his wife’s posters that remain hanging further shows us how deep the damage from all of this runs. His one tense interaction with Xiao Li leaves the captain bitterly reminiscing about how he’s changed (which… maybe he hasn't. Maybe his values are just misdirected these days). And back to the beginning, the visit to Ms. Chen was so cruel but revealed so much to us about him, how he plays dirty and doesn't have any trouble killing off the occasional acquaintance, no matter how sympathetic their circumstances are. He clearly lacks the morals that we see as standard in society (don't kill/hurt ppl), but he draws the line at Ma’s nasty burp. There is just so much potential richness in his character that gets lost in a mystery that viewers never wanted. We could’ve had something great in Qian Jin’s character - of course, we would’ve hated him just the same - but instead, we got this, and it really is a shame.

[realmofimagines]

Her (Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

Wordcount: 725 Content: angst, cheating, swearing, mentions of alcoholism  Request:  Leon kennedy infinite darkness I can't I love him I would really love if you did something with leon cheating on reader and the aftermath of him Note: aaaa a lovely bit of angst to get the day going 

“With who?”

Your heart had just been shattered on the spot. Ripped out, chewed up, torn apart, smelted into glass and quite literally stomped on. Your body flushed into fight or flight but instead you froze, unable to process anything other than the burning question on your mind as you stared across at the flinching man in front of you.

“Please,” you stated, your lips wet with tears, “please don’t tell me it was her.”

Leon had barely opened his mouth, but his face spoke a thousand words before his voice did. You could tell, even past his dark, tired eyes, you just knew. It was her, Ada, it had always been her. The femme fetale, the mercenary, the woman who’s name you hated hearing on Leon’s tongue. The very woman he swore to you had only saved his life and just that — she was nothing more, nothing less to him. Until now.

You couldn’t bear to look at him and you turned away, feeling your lungs squeeze as you started to hyperventilate. Your entire future, your home, the bed you shared with him, your life — all for him just for him to lay with another woman. The thought flared alight a rage you’d never experienced, which seemed to focus entirely on the photograph you and Leon had framed when you’d moved in together. A Polaroid from Raccoon City — a sour memory shared between trauma-bonded lovers, now just a joke. 

You gripped the frame between shaking fingers, and turned towards him. You tossed it with such a violent anger that even he ducked with fear, his arms shielding his head as it crashed and smashed and splintered behind him against the wall. 

“Fuck you, Leon,” you stated shakily, trying to maintain some of your dignity by not breaking down in front of him. “Fuck. You.”

That was the last conversation you’d shared. His desperate texts and calls had been unanswered by you, but not necessarily ignored. You’d certainly read and listened, but for your own sake you’d refused to respond.

When you’d left, you’d taken a piece of him with you. He could never comprehend what compelled him to sleep with Ada, and he fought and bargained with himself over the reason each day and each night. And with those timeless days he would drown himself in his sorrows, drinking far more than his liver could probably cope with. Ada held his affection in the palm of her hand like putty, and he’d succumbed to her manipulation for his own self-gratification, as if it were worth it.

Claire and Leon grew distant. Initially she’d tried getting him back on his feet (after a good talking to, of course), but he’d only retreated inside the hardened, guilt-driven shell he’d formed following your breakup. He was more reckless on missions, putting himself in near suicidal situations as if he’d just stopped caring about the outcome. Claire couldn’t support that, and ceased contact with him. 

He’d seen Ada again because, frankly, he was desperate to feel something. But even when sleeping with her he’d failed to reach his finish, her touch far too tarnished by precious, poisonous memories for him to even enjoy the simplest pleasures of the flesh. 

You’d bumped into one another at a coffee shop. It was bound to happen since you were both regulars, and for a brief moment he felt a spark of warmth, so much so that he’d even smiled for the first time in months. But you’d quickly run away, and his smile soon cracked upon really noticing your appearance. You’d lost weight and looked pale in the face, which was adorned with such a pained expression that he’d nearly burst into tears on the spot. 

The next time he’d seen you was at a bar, approximately a month later. You were glowing, having gained back the unhealthy weight you lost, and you genuinely seemed happy. When you’d spotted him, instead of looking horrified, you looked sorry for him. You pitied him, and that made him feel worse.

Why had he done it? Why had he gone and ruined the most pure part of his life? For the sake of an orgasm? To indulge in the fantasy of another woman? None of it was worth it. Nothing was ever worth it anymore, not now that you were gone.

[cno-inbminor]

iterum vivere (childe/tartaglia)

a/n: wow, it’s been fucking forever. first genshin fic featuring childe/tartaglia!!! a very huge thank you to @suspensin​ for reading this over and being my rock and support, and i love her so fucking much. I couldn’t have finished this without her!

plot: reincarnation and modern/uni!au ft. afab reader!traveler with she/they pronouns x childe/tartaglia 

-- in which meeting childe is a bit of a dangerous game of push and pull

wc: 12.1k; angst + fluff

warnings:  DOES CONTAIN IN-GAME SPOILERS (1.5? 1.6? + story quest and idek) and NSFW MENTIONS (mdni to be safe). there’s no explicit smut but thoughts do run a bit wild here and there

EDIT: Altered ChiLumi version now posted on AO3 here!

“Haven’t we met before?”

The shine in your eyes does nothing to hide your curiosity, head even tilting a little in observation. He watches them scan his face for any recognizable features, but attempts to focus on the strange, taut string of déjà vu that pulls him toward you. In a moment of absentmindedness, he had heard a faint voice call out his name from your direction. Confusion overtook him as you weren’t looking at him, but something inside his brain said that it had to be from you. And so his feet redirected his path towards your figure in the student union building, as if on a mission.

“A fucking whale, Childe?”

Oh.

“I don’t think so…?” You trail off, curiosity now replaced by perplexed feelings. “Do we have a class together?”

I think I would’ve noticed you by now if you were.

“Ah, what’s your major?” Childe asks quickly to avoid listening to the little voice in his head.

“History and anthropology, you?”

“Economics, but I’ve taken a history course for core credits. Maybe it was then?”

“With Dr. Zhong?”

“Yes!” He snaps his fingers. Part of his brain decides to usefully function and scan his memories to see if he remembers your face or head of hair in the lecture hall then. “Last year? Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10 to 11:20?”

“Actually, yeah,” you affirm in surprise. You think you would remember the relatively attractive ginger in your class, but honestly, it had all been such a blur and you were often pretty sleepy during class. Dr. Zhong didn’t quite appreciate it, but you made up for it with your exam and essay grades, as well as paying better attention in some of his other courses.

“Did you need me for anything?”

“I’d like for you to come visit and meet my family.”

He’s really not appreciating this extra voice speaking for him.

“Well…uh…” Childe stammers and looks away sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He honestly had no reason for approaching you, and now, he just looks like a desperate idiot. Think quick, he tells himself, floundering for some shitty excuse.

“I wanted to, uh, take another history course as an elective and um, wanted to know if you had any recommendations?”

“Oh,” you blink. That’s a first. When he meets your gaze, the swirling shades of sapphire strike something deep within you. Flashes of events you can’t make out go by in the blink of an eye, but then you realize you’ve been staring for too long. Blood rushes to your cheeks because you don’t exactly want this guy to get the wrong idea from you, because how are you supposed to explain, “I’m sorry, but I think we have met before, but just a really, really long time ago, and we might’ve been more than just acquaintances because that’s what it feels like?”

“I think you’d like Teyvat Mythology,” your voice wavers on the verge of cracking. “Dr. Zhong might have a TA this time around, but Xiao’s a great teacher. Doesn’t have long, rambling anecdotes, but explains things well and gets straight to the point.”

“C-cool, I’ll look into it,” Childe replies and smiles brightly. “I’ll head out then,” jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, where he just realized he left a grouchy Scaramouche waiting by a vending machine, newly purchased Starbucks Tripleshot drink in hand. “Nice seeing you, (y/n).”

He scurries off before you both realize that you never told him your name.

“Who’s that?” Scaramouche asks, jutting his chin in your vague direction.

“Someone from my Intro to Liyuean History course last year,” Childe waves off. “Come on, let’s go before the line at the pasta bar gets too long.”

-

The next time you see Childe is by accident, traversing across an open field of grass that many students like to sit out on to relax with friends, sunbathe, hold events, or play casual team sports if room permits.

You had your earbuds in and were scrolling through social media when laughter rang above all other sound, causing your head to snap up and swivel around to find the source. And while it might’ve been strange to an outsider, your steps immediately slowed as you watched the man of your tiring, vivid dreams sprint in your direction, eyes pinned on a frisbee heading towards him.

He’s wearing a grey sports tank and basketball shorts, headband holding back his bangs as he makes a slight jump in the air to catch the plastic disc between his palms. His feet plant into the grass as he looks for someone to pass it to, and you watch (with embarrassment) the muscles in his throwing arm relax and tighten with practice, frisbee steadily soaring through the air in a beautiful arc towards a teammate. He then lightly jogs to get closer to his group, but then his back stiffens.

Before your instincts kick in for you to turn and bail, he looks over his shoulder and stares straight at your now stunned self.

The sole ruby earring that glints in the sunlight catches your attention, and you recall your dreams of terrifyingly dark, violet electric power, blades of water rushing toward you, and then the stomach-churning sensation of falling from great heights pours concrete into your veins—

Childe looks a little amused for having your sole focus, hand lifting up for a quick wave. And as you numbly return the greeting, your heart beats out, “Run from him.”

And so with the flight response pulsing and firing from your synapses, you abruptly speed walk away, almost breaking out into a sprint towards your dorm. You ignore his pointed, confused look, and pretend you don’t feel the two holes of imaginary fire searing into your back. It isn’t until you’re laying back in bed that you release a huge sigh of relief and pray to a deity you don’t believe in that those eyes of mirth will not haunt you tonight.

But of course, with a deity that doesn’t exist, the prayers go unanswered.

-

“Do you believe in any of the mythology you teach?” You ask Xiao about a few days later when you stop by his cubicle. Luckily, no one else is around for this conversation, and Xiao has always been kind enough to humor your thoughts. Granted, he might feel obligated because you had asked Dr. Zhong to be your advisor for your undergraduate Honors thesis, and Xiao was directed to be your receiver of some general questions and source of information if he wasn’t around.

A quick scan of your complexion tells Xiao everything he needs to know. Your eyes are overtaken with rumination and exhaustion, haziness clouding them as you seem to ponder over your own question. It’s not often that you ask him anything not related to your thesis or coursework.

“Perhaps there’s some sense and truth to the tales passed down,” he softly muses. “What makes you ask?”

You lift yourself to sit on the clean area next to his computer, legs slowly swaying back and forth. “It might sound crazy but...I’ve been having dreams lately. They feel too real, too natural to be anything that my mind would make up. I’ve never had the most creative imagination by any means, which is why there’s some comfort to me being a history major, but I can’t shake these.”

“So why ask me about the mythology?”

“...the Archons are there. I even dreamt that I met the Geo and Anemo Archons. And they controlled various elements, just like we were taught.”

You don’t notice that Xiao has ceased his rapid typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard before one hand removes his glasses from his face. He uses the other to rub his eyes and softly pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding the frames back on. Dark, golden amber eyes survey you as you grapple with the unfathomable possibilities of your nightly visions, at least until you shake your head in disbelief at yourself and lightly scoff.

“Who am I kidding?” You ask no one in particular. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much research and everything’s mixing together.”

“You’re ahead of schedule, if that provides any consolation.”

“Some.”

-

It takes Childe a grand total of one minutes and 53 seconds to sign up for Teyvat Mythology for the spring semester.

-

WInter in Liyue is only slightly miserable, being so close to the ocean. It’s chillier than usual on this dreary day, yet something compelled you to exit your dorm and shakily make your way to the campus coffee shop for a warm drink. Coffee, hot chocolate, you haven’t quite decided yet, but just as you let yourself bask in the warm building, familiar ginger hair and blue eyes wash away the comfort.

Or do they douse you in security?

They remind you of your recent dreams that now have shifted away from stress and violence to easygoing summer days by the oceanside, running barefoot in the sand while collecting beautifully patterned azure starconches. Sometimes, you thrust a hand towards an oversized four-leaf clover on a wooden stake with the power of wind and catch yourself in the air, soaring and looking around to find more of the little shells. Other nights, they consist of climbing steep cliffs, only to sit at the edge in the clouds with fatigue wracking through your system and marvel at the view before you.

Someone’s always with you though, ruby earring and maroon mask and cobalt blue gem hanging from the waist, sprinting with you, playfully tackling you down, pulling you up towards mountain peaks, laying their head on your shoulders, brushing their lips against your cheek--

You welcome the change of peace in those dreams, but only because they don’t leave you quite as tired the next day, as if you’d been avoiding an inescapable dark force.

Part of you wants the burning question of why this person, this man, in all his glory and brightness, affects you so fucking much when you barely even know the guy -- why looking at him sends your heart to lodge itself in your esophagus, why your lungs feel like they’re so close to being completely collapsed under the weight of his stare, why feeling like you’re trapped and  caught between wanting to run towards yet away from him.  It makes no sense, and you’re tired of trying to make sense of anything you don’t exactly want to remember from your dreams for some, once again, inexplicable reason.

But there’s no time to think as he quickly ambles towards you, your own feet shuffling forward to meet him in a warped reference of a distance that constitutes to “the middle” before you can stop yourself. Your shivering hasn’t quite stopped yet, and Childe seems to take notice of it.

“Pretty cold out there,”  he softly states. It’s cute, the way you’re curling in on yourself to retain some warmth.

“Y-yeah, not sure why I decided I really needed something warm to drink right now,” you reply and avoid his gaze. He watches you peer over his shoulder to squint at the menu display hanging from the ceiling, seemingly contemplating on what you should get.

“How about I get yours today? My treat for your class recommendation last time.” Anything to keep you here longer. Childe doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you, which confuses him, and chooses to ignore the fact that he’d been camping himself at the study tables in the building where the history department is located in hopes of even just catching a quick glimpse of you.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you immediately attempt to subvert his generous offer, hands shooting out from your jacket pockets and waving in rejection. “It was nothing.”

“Please?” Childe puts on his best puppy eyes before reaching for one of your wrists, gently tugging you to the register. “Just this once?”

You want so badly to squash the tiny flare of disappointment that erupts in your chest from the newly acquired knowledge that this was just a one time thing. Do econ majors hate to feel in debt? That they must be even with everyone, or would rather have people indebted to them than the other way around?

There’s no time to think when Childe gives the cashier his order before turning to you, and without wanting to waste anyone’s time, you rattle off your usual beverage. He’s quick in fishing out his student ID to spend some of his campus currency, shooting you a boyish grin when you pout at your half-opened wallet.

“Go take that table over there,” he says, pointing to one in the corner by some windows. “I’m gonna tell my friends to go on without me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude or pull you away from them,” you slightly panic. The sooner you can leave, the better. Right? “You don’t need to sit with me, I was just gonna head back to my dorm.”

“I insist. Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Why your brain takes his orders over your own is a mystery in and of itself, because before you know it, you’re plopped down in one of the lounge seats and staring off into space, mind reeling over the last two minutes. You pretend you can’t hear the way Childe’s friends nudge his arm playfully with their shoulders, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively as Childe tries to get them to stop being nonsensical.

“You’re gonna scare them off,” he hisses at them, hands pushing at their backs so they could finally leave him to his devices.

“Not before you do!” One of them laughs and Childe groans at their antics. “All right, all right, we’ll go. They’re cute though, might steal them if you don’t make a move.”

The darkening of the aura surrounding Childe is too quick for them to fully process, not before he dampens any of their fleeting hopes with a, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

But it disappears just as fast when his and your drinks are called out, and he gives them one last shove before retrieving your to-go cups. Childe directs all his focus towards the seat diagonally from yours as opposed to the one that’s straight across, and you’re sharply ripped away from whatever reverie you let yourself slip into.

“Thank you,” you murmur, hands cupping the drink and feeling the heat seep into your fingertips. “You really didn’t have to, it was nothing big.”

“Can you blame me for just trying to find an excuse to finally talk to you?” He asks without a skip and you can’t tell if the quickening of your heartbeat is from a looming sense of doom or excitement. Those eyes, the tiny swirls of the ocean, blue like those shells buried in the sand--

It takes three seconds too long for you to understand where he was going with in his words, and part of you feels unamused at his smooth talking. You’ve always guarded yourself against guys like Childe, devilishly handsome who know their way around language semantics, ready to pull you in and just as ready to push you away. That (possibly unfair) bias, coupled with everything else you’ve been feeling for him, sounded the alarms and set the walls up around your heart. Perhaps you need to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, because Childe immediately retracts his forwardness.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise I’m not looking for anything in return and you don’t owe me anything, but I really did just...want to sit and talk and...get to know you?” Childe trails off a little towards the end. Your body loosens up and relaxes just a tiny bit, feeling bad for your snap judgment. Let the guy do something nice, don’t look into it too much, you tell yourself. It’s a coffee, not a five-course dinner.

You reach out a hand towards him, small smile across your lips, ready for his to join yours in a quick handshake. “I’m (y/n), senior history and anthropology double major. It’s nice to meet you.”

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage has nothing to do with the shimmering of his eyes, nothing to do with the fact that his hand fits with yours just right, and nothing to do with the fact that an eerily similar voice from your dreams whispers, “I love you.”

You learn a number of things about Tartaglia in the four hours, like his family members and their respective interests, which classes he did and didn’t enjoy taking, certain takes on Schnezhnayan politics, his own various hobbies, crazy accidents from the occasional college parties, and more. He’s a bit of an open book, probably telling you way more than any regular person would, and definitely more than anything you revealed during all this time. Everything you tell him seems surface level, nothing too deep. The walls are still there to protect you from the unexplainable, profound feelings his presence seems to elicit, and luckily, he doesn’t prod any further. Childe feels the resistance and respects it, which just adds more brownie points in your book, and you almost feel bad for having given so little in return.

“I wish we were taking Teyvat Myth together,” he sighs when walking you back to your dorm, hands stuffed in his pockets. His ruby earring catches the light from the sunset, the shade almost complimentary to the golden amber rays that streak across the sky. “Would’ve helped having a history major in there.”

“Is that all I am to you, an answer bank?” You jokingly ask, but he watches concerningly as you shoot your gaze to the ground, mindfully stepping over the cracks between concrete slabs.

“Of course not,” a gentle sincerity reaches you, giving you the confidence to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for making it sound like that, it wasn’t my intention. I really just meant it as a way of saying if the professor or TA ended up being a total bore, then well, having you would make it more fun.”

“I’m sure I’d bore you even more,” chuckling, speeding up to get away. You’re growing too comfortable in whatever atmosphere Childe has created, like an enclosed air bubble bobbing gently in the depths of the sea and letting the waves carry you both to whichever ends of the earth.

“Hey,” he interjects, hand reaching out to stop you with a soft yank of your wrist. There is no resisting force from you, feet stepping backward until he meets you eye to eye. It’s unfair in the way that he can render you motionless by standing just an inch from you, arms brushing with his head tilted closer to your own. “Seriously, I’m glad we did this today. Are you?”

No, because now I don’t know what to think, I don’t know who you are, I’m not any closer to figuring out why you terrify yet leave me so enamoured with you, I’m torn between punching and kissing you and--

“Yes,” you subconsciously answer, brain immediately short-circuiting to scold yourself. “I had fun.”

His grin, charming, devilish, is so so bright, bright enough to rival the Liyue sun that sits on the pier, on the edge of the ocean, bright enough to rival the love that your fraternal twin showers you with on a daily basis. You want time to stop right here because you’re almost sick of the voice settled deep within your heart that screams, “Don’t get comfortable, you must run from him!”

“Good. Let’s do this again?” And you nod, of course you do. Foolish you. “Don’t be a stranger!” He calls out as he turns on his heel and waves over his shoulder, hand raised in the air, and you’re suddenly transported to another scene, a less refined version of the Liyue Harbor, watching as the head of ginger hair with a red mask in a flashier attire of grey and maroon walks away from you and onto a roaring, magnificent ship; big, ivory sails only seen in books and museums. It’s the same gesture of “see you later”, and just before he turns, you blink, and you’re back to seeing your campus again.

But Childe does look back once, warm and content that you’re still standing there, watching over him, and he can’t help but think about when he can spend time with you again, because suddenly, it truly feels like there’s not enough of it anymore.

-

“Excuse me, what’s a Red Bull?”

The last thing, or person rather, you expect to see on the last day of finals for the fall semester, is a small boy who looks way too young to be here, tugging on the sleeve of your windbreaker. He’s at most eleven, ten maybe, but he has eerily similar characteristics, as well as an accent that doesn’t quite belong to most Liyue natives. Still gathering your bearings from your own perusing of the fridges that hold all the possible beverages a college student could consume, you kneel down until you’re at eye level with the child.

“Repeat that for me? Are you looking for a Red Bull, you say?”

“Yes!” He beams and holds out a student ID that most definitely doesn’t belong to him. “My brother asked me to grab him one because he was busy with something.”

Your eyes flit over to the top shelves where the aforementioned cans of caffeine are located, and definitely too high for someone of his height to reach. “I’ll grab one for you. Did he ask for a specific flavor?”

“Nope, he said regular. Thanks, you’re really nice! Do you know my brother?” He asks, waving the ID at you so you can get a better look at the name. That’s definitely a face you recognize, but the name leaves you confused.

“Yeah, um,” glance over again, “I know...Ajax…”

“He’s the best toy seller in the whole world!”

Somehow, it suits him much better than Childe or Tartaglia, and you’re not quite sure what toys have anything to do with the matter at hand. Speaking of hands, the little boy grabs yours in sheer delight. “Can you take me back to his room? I kinda forgot the directions he told me, and everything’s so big around here.”

“Sure, just let me buy something, too, and I’ll take you.”

“Okay!”

The cashier isn’t the least bit fazed by the little brunette at your side -- it’s always common for family members to come in around the end of semesters to pick up kids or visit, and being an open building with snacks and drinks and a stopping point of most tours, they’ve seen it all. You even let him pick out a bag of chips and a candy bar for himself for being so polite and not a complete menace, paying with your own campus currency.

Teucer, as you’ve learned in the last two minutes, likes to point out things and ask you questions. Luckily, you have answers to most of them and do your best to pad the time, enjoying the feeling of a tiny hand wrapped around three of your fingers. It’s sweet to any normal passerby, believing they’re witnessing an older sister doting on their little brother around the holidays, but to Childe, seeing the tender sweetness on your face as you nod along to whatever Teucer is rambling about to you, sets his heart aflame. He’s already constantly on the verge of wanting to hug and kiss you and never let go, but you haven’t made any indication that you could potentially like him back, and this is just torture.

“Look what they bought me!” Teucer shoves his rewards in Childe’s face as if he had extremely poor eyesight, and you can’t help but laugh a little as you set his Red Bull down on his desk, clutching your own preferred beverage while looking around his room. Finals must have gotten to him with the unusual lack of tidiness in the small space, some laundry strewn here and there, a couple boxes of eaten microwave dinners in the metal wire trash can, some textbooks left open and marked with more sticky notes than you’ve ever seen. You’d only been here once before to drop off some food that he desperately messaged you about, stuck doing a project that he just couldn’t step away from.

“Pretend you don’t see the mess,” Childe pleads, handing a kid tablet to his brother but holding on before Teucer can take it. “What do you say to our nice friend here for buying you these snacks?”

“Thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you shyly smile, ruffling his hair. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Wait, what’s your name again?”

“It’s (Y/n).”

“Okay, (y/n)! Wait…(y/n)..as in…”

Teucer trails off and gives a look to his brother, one that spells curiosity and trouble, before he grabs your hand and pulls you into a corner. Any movement Childe makes to leave his desk chair is immediately squashed by Teucer’s disapproval, and the older man is left to helplessly worry when you’re told to squat down so secrets can be whispered into your ear.

“He talks about you a lot whenever he calls home,” and you want to laugh at Tecuer’s attempt to sound as scandalous as possible. “All the time! I think he likes you, like, like like.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“What makes you say that?” You whisper back, indulging both yourself and him, yet also internally snickering at how troubled Childe looks.

“Sometimes, he video calls mama, but we’ll all sit around and talk, and whenever he’s talking about how he saw you or something, he just looks...happy. Really happy.”

The surprise on your face does nothing to settle Childe’s nerves and he’s about to start wringing his hands together. Whatever Teucer was telling you couldn’t be good, probably embarrassing, like the one time he unceremoniously fell on his ass while ice skating over a frozen lake, or when he tried fitting fifteen marshmallows in his mouth and nearly choked on them when their mother caught them in the act, or--

“I think he just thinks of me as a good friend,” you try to inform Teucer, not letting yourself get any semblance of hope. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so,” Teucer pouts. But then he stops whispering and bounds over back to his brother, grabbing the tablet before plopping down on the half-made bed.

“Look, I was overconfident and thought I could execute a perfect single loop on the ice, but there was a rock and I lost balance and--”

“I wasn’t being told any stories about you falling on ice, but do tell me more,” you chuckle and take some joy in watching the blush spread across his cheeks. It’s easy to tell that he’s mentally berating himself for jumping to conclusions.

“Well, first off, thanks for buying him all that, and my drink, too,” he sighs. “I spoil him enough as it is.”

“I can see why it’s hard not to,” you smile knowingly. “So is it just him here? Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Funny story, he somehow managed to convince my parents to let him come here on his own as his first ever plane flight, so I had to pick him up yesterday from the airport. He’s flying back with me tomorrow.”

“And the RA?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Ah...well...what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him? Speaking of, what was Teucer whispering to you about?”

There’s a pensiveness that overtakes you when you look at Teucer again, who’s happily playing some sort of game and completely oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. You won’t, can’t, take his words to heart, and will take them with a grain of salt at most.

“Nothing important. Although I did learn something new...Ajax?”

“Say my name -- fuck, say it, please--”

“I guess cat’s out of the bag,” he chuckles and looks away, absolutely unaware of the flare of heat that swirls in your stomach from the fleeting vision just now. “I came up with other nicknames as a kid to seem cooler, and they just stuck with me. Plus, the business world is full of people who just want something from you, or just a transactional relationship. I’d rather not give my real name to them, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s fair,” you nod and lean to sit on the edge of his desk. A thought pops into your head and you turn the words over in your head like a washing machine on the spin setting, teeth gnawing on the flesh of your bottom lip. If Teucer hadn’t been in the room, he would’ve been this close to kissing you.

“But if it’s worth anything,” your voice slowly, softly starts, cautious and wary of your thoughts. “I think...Ajax suits you best.”

Curse fate. Curse the legendary Archons. Curse karma and deities and spirits because all he wants to do right now is stand and tower over you, trap you between himself and his desk so you can’t escape, take those pretty lips between his until they’re bruised and swollen because of him, hear you call out his name in the throes of pleasure so he can finally replace his fantasies with tangible memories. The unnatural, magnetic pull that draws him to you is unbearable now -- he feels like he’ll lose the last tendrils of his sanity if he doesn’t do something.

You can’t stop him from slowly reaching out to grab one of your hands, lifting it towards him until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. It sends a shiver down your spine and blood is pounding in your ears because you can’t begin to fathom what he’s thinking about while doing this, even more so when his lips make contact with your skin and your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as he languidly peeks at you beneath his eyelashes with a heated gaze, then lowly confessing, “My name sounds best when you say it.”

Good heavens.

It’s difficult to swallow and keep your composure, especially when Teucer yells out in glee over, what you can assume, beating something in his game, and Childe drops your hand. But his dilated pupils don’t retract in the slightest, refusing to let you look away so that maybe, you can understand what he’s trying to convey to you. He’s taking the first step because he’s terrible and can’t contain his self-control anymore, pushing the ball into your court, ready for you to either play or exit into the sidelines.

When you do blink, there’s a vision of your naked body wrapped around another, limbs clinging desperately to a sturdy and panting frame. Lips, much like the ones that have seared themselves onto your knuckles, are at your neck and sucking, biting, before moving to your ear and laying filthy words into them that drive you closer to the edge. It all happens so fast that you feel you’ve just experienced whiplash, yet also feeling secondhand embarrassment at how lewd some of these thoughts have been.

You can’t stay here any longer.

“I-I have to go,” spills off your tongue before you can really think about it. The way the haze shatters in his eyes is heartbreaking in its own way, but there’s no time for you to explain. Your brain is in overdrive and eager to run, run, run. It detects danger on all fronts, but you muster out a, “H-have a good break, come find me next semester, mmk?”

And you’re out the door with inhuman speed. When the door clicks shut, only then does Teucer look up from his screen and frown at the lack of your presence. “Where’d they go?”

Chlide doesn’t seem to hear him, and Teucer has never seen his big brother look so sad and confused before.

-

He holds on to that last tendril of hope, because mark his words, he will find you come January.

-

After about a week at home, enjoying the festive time with his family and mildly unconcerned about next year’s courses because that was a problem for another day, Childe has his first, crazy, nonsensical dream.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he snaps awake and his body aches with exhaustion. Not only are his joints in agony, he also feels like he’s sporting unforeseen bruises, which makes absolutely no sense because he hasn’t done anything that would warrant them, no matter how much he and his brothers do some rough-housing. His night of sleep was all consumed by flashes and scenes of weapon fighting, lucid enough to remember feeling his arms flex and wield bows and double-headed polearms and being cognizant of all the enemies??? surrounding him. They ranged from deranged looking monsters, floating beings with soulless masks, and large humans in electricity-padded armor, to behemoth machines in the sky that could leave you within an inch of your life thanks to a drill for a hand?!

But what’s even worse is that you seem to have managed a deal with Morpheus himself and infiltrated his dreams. You were there, too, sometimes fighting with him, sometimes against him, much to his dismay, and while it was nice, he just didn’t get it. Why the friendliness and hostility? Why was there an anger that overtook him when looking directly at you, parrying your blade and sending harmful arcs of water toward your figure?

Why did he relish the fear in your eyes when he darted towards you with electricity cracking through the air?

There’s an overwhelming sensation now to grab his phone to text you and apologize -- for what, he can’t fathom and there are no words to accurately convey what he’s thinking. “Hey, sorry for wanting to kill you in my dream :( “? Or “Sorry for being a friend but then stabbing you in the back, but then being nice to you again”?

And the only thing that really made sense was the serenity and contentment that would course through his veins as the two of you danced around on ivory sandy beaches, picking up shiny blue starconches and taking down more weird creatures; the breathlessness when you would fall back into the water and re-emerge to reconfirm his beliefs that you were one of the most beautiful humans he’d ever laid his eyes on; the love--

Hold the fuck up.

He doesn’t love you. He likes you a whole lot and he’s severely and deathly attracted to you, but he doesn’t love you. Your existence has only been made known to him for about two months, and he didn’t really start talking to you until three weeks in. So no matter how comfortable he feels with you, no matter how much he wishes that you were sleeping peacefully next to him so his nights wouldn’t feel so lonely, it was too early, too hasty, to say that he loves you.

“I’ve been wondering, why didn’t you bring them home?” His mother asks him out of nowhere during breakfast, all to add to this extremely tumultuous roller-coaster morning he’s been having. All he wants to do is eat his bowl of milk and cereal, then potentially go back to sleep before fulfilling his promise to go with his siblings to the nearby skating rink. It takes everything in him to not choke on his spoon of grains.

“Agreed, didn’t you mention they didn’t really have any family to go back to and that the move to Liyue was semi-permanent?” His father chimes in, laying a quick peck on his wife’s temple. “It’s never fun to spend the holidays alone.”

“They would’ve felt like they were intruding,” Childe replies quietly, stabbing his bowl a few times before scooping up another spoonful of cereal to his mouth. “I know we’re friends, but we haven’t known each other for that long, and maybe they’d be uncomfortable because that’s a lot honestly…”

“You don’t know until you try,” his mother sings and pats him on the shoulder. “We do have a guest room after all.”

“For them and their twin?”

“And quite a comfortable futon with enough blankets.”

Childe smiles fondly at his parents’ kindness. He can only imagine what this winter break would’ve been like now -- you and your twin floating around, trying to help out with certain chores, sitting by the fireplace and watching TV, huddled up with mugs of hot chocolate, playing board games with everyone and engaging in all the shenanigans…

Laughing. Loving. Grinning. Basking.

Handing over one of his hoodies to you as a sick way of torturing yet blessing himself for seeing how lovely you look in his clothes, standing silently in the doorway as you attempt to help out with mealtimes next to his mother, watching you run around in the backyard and dodging his siblings’ snowballs while lodging a few of your own -- how wonderful it all would be.

But he squashes it down as quickly as possible, because you escaped his grasp. You ran away from his advances temporarily and even though you gave him permission to seek you out come the spring semester, he worries that you might take it back. Something will wake up inside of you to keep him out of your heart and your life, and he’s not confident enough at this point to believe there’s a good chance you will come spend the holidays with him and his family next year.

“Maybe next year, ma,” he sends her a hesitant, yet somewhat broken purse of his lips that’s just the least bit curved. It tells her everything he’s thinking, and the quick patting of his cheek lets him know she understands.

Half an hour later, Childe finds himself curled up on his side under the sheets, phone in hand as he stares at a blinking cursor. It shouldn’t be so hard to send a text to convey his holiday greetings, because that’s all it is -- part of him is becoming desperate and aching for some interaction with you, even if it’s just a text sent back for conventional social pleasantries. He’ll take it for now, right?

Before he can totally chicken out, his thumbs quickly type a, “Happy Holidays, (y/n) :)”, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly after he hits the ‘send’ button that he tosses it over his shoulder so he’s not directly looking at it anymore. His heartbeat is too quick and he prays for no phantom vibrations or phantom sound notifications to avoid any disappointment of thinking he got a reply. It was a harmless text, yet he’s treating it like he just got assigned on a mission to go and murder someone for the first time. What will he do if you never text him back? Does that mean you really don’t want to talk to him? Are you dead in a ditch somewhere? Did you change numbers and not tell him? Did your twin get all the details and make the executive decision to block his number? Will he never get a chance to talk to you again, even if it’s about something in the Teyvat Mythology class next semester? Will you--

His shoulder screams in protest when he quickly flips himself over at the text notification sound, hands shakily unlocking his phone and opening up your conversation again. His heart rate significantly decreases, reaching back to its normal pace, especially as he reads the little words on his screen.

“Happy Holidays, Ajax ^^”

There is hope.

-

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

You’re huddled under the comforter of your twin’s bed, phone just peeking above the edge as you stare at it with a brightness in your eyes. For the most part, you had been sulking there, apart from meals and going back to your own room to sleep, and mentally berating yourself for the way you reacted to Childe the week before.

“He just texted me to say happy holidays,” shrugging to put on a facade of indifference. It’s stupid that you’re trying to hide your feelings from your twin of all people, who could pick apart and identify your emotions in a heartbeat. A roll of his eyes lets you know that you haven’t fooled him at all.

“So you think that whatever comment he made, which was very suggestive and indicative of clearly non-platonic feelings, was just something...friendly? Remind me again how you came to that conclusion?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking!” You whine, looking around to see if there was anything you could toss at him. “It’s just, with everything, all the dreams and stupid gut feelings, I just -- I don’t know, okay?? I can’t tell you enough how much I wish I had just kissed his stupid face and see where it goes from there.”

“Okay, gross, but don’t beat yourself up. Though...I do have a good idea on how to maybe get a good reaction out of him. You wanna go to the New Years’ celebration at Xiangling’s?”

“I think she’d threaten me with a knife if I didn’t. She wanted to go shopping at some point, too.”

“I’ll drop the overprotective brother act for one night, okay? One night, just to let this happen, and for your peace of mind.”

He does a fair amount of conspiring with Xiangling, a friend they met one time at a restaurant a couple years ago, even tagging along on the shopping trip. Together, the three of you find yourself a dress that Xiangling swears would make any person drool over you, including Childe, because at the end of the day, he was a person with the possibility of being attracted to you.

You think it’s a bit silly, but honestly, what do you have to lose at this point?

-

At 11:57PM on New Years’ Eve, Childe is standing outside in the freezing cold with his family, arms lifting up bags of sparklers and fireworks. They’ve driven out closer to the wild like they do every year, and everybody excitedly gets lighters ready, making sure someone’s got a clock out there that tells the seconds. As the younger kids open up the packaging and argue over which one to set off first, Childe’s phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

It’s 11:58PM when he manages to fish the device out and thank himself for buying gloves that are touch-screen friendly, excited to see that there are two texts from you, the latter reading, “Happy New Year!”. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little early, but he’s mainly intrigued by the fact a photo came before it. In his mind, you’re probably curled up with your twin brother, hopefully a selfie because wow, he misses your face.

He gets something else instead, and he is so glad that it’s dark outside and the electric lamp they have is too far away from him to draw any attention.

You have your arm around your brother’s waist and another girl’s that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s a full frontal view of your outfit, one that hugs your curves beautifully and shows more cleavage than he’s ever seen from you, sophisticated and elegant, yet fun and leaving enough to the imagination. There’s a bright smile coming from all of you, and you look like you’re at someone’s house or apartment with plenty of other people milling around in the back, but they don’t matter, not when all he can focus on is you.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, arousing, mind blowing, and gods, he wishes he could teleport to Liyue at this moment, find you, and kiss you right at midnight. Fuck the fact that he doesn’t exactly believe in superstitions like, “Kissing your significant other at midnight means you’ll last forever!” but he’s willing to take the chance with it on this night and the ones after, if he’s allowed. He tries not to think too much about pinning you against the wall and letting the world dissolve -- wants to be the one with the privilege to drag down that zipper and feel his bare skin on yours, and --

As Teucer starts yelling there’s only a minute left, he instinctively locks his phone and shoves it away out of anyone’s view. The last thing he needs is his family teasing him about ogling at your photo for a straight 50 seconds, wide-eyed and pupils on the verge of dilating, the visible breath leaving his mouth just a smudge more dense and prominent than usual.

The only thing he can do to distract himself from popping a boner in front of his parents is to join in on the countdown, making sure all the fireworks are set up correctly and grabbing a sparkler for himself. He waves it around with Tonia and promises to fulfill her wishes of taking one of those pictures right as she draws a pattern in the air. Their excitement is palpable and addicting, and even though the larger fireworks set off a few seconds after midnight hits, the nostalgia fills his lungs with fond memories and future wishes that they only continue this tradition for as long as possible, and hopefully, with you at his side.

-

When it’s 12:04AM, you get a picture message back of Childe bundled up in a black paletot coat, matching beanie and all, a gloved hand holding a sparkler and lips curved upwards, with a caption that says, “Happy New Year’s! See you soon :)”. You show it to Xiangling and your brother, both taking it as a win in their books, although the former does tipsily protest that there should be a better indicator of Childe’s brain breaking at how amazing you look right now. Maybe she’s prophetic, because another text chimes in and the words set you aflame, as well as suggestive whoops into your ears.

It’s a simple, “You look incredible btw”.

If you didn’t want to properly savor this moment, you would’ve found the nearest shot of the strongest liquor and tossed it back with abandon. But you want to remember the warmth in your veins that wasn’t from the alcohol or the heating, the fluttering of your heartbeat, the teeth-baring grin that you couldn’t fight off, the constant re-reading of those four words -- because they’re so different from everything you had been feeling before with him, the need for protection, the need to escape. Instead, you’d like to be in his arms right now and see for yourself how he’d look at you in this moment, and if he would take any action.

You want him to. So, so bad.

-

Childe spends his last week at home hating the fact that you’re just sitting around somewhere in Liyue, doing whatever you’re doing, probably doing some light preparation for your last semester of classes, and he’s not there to take advantage of all this free time and hang out with you. When classes start, it’ll be busy and hectic. You still have your thesis to finish and revise, and while that won’t eat up all your time, it’s still some that he’d want to fill in with his presence if he could. He debates whether or not he should ask for your schedule and compare it with his, maybe set up meetings every other day or propose that they all eat one meal together every day. Childe’s not quite sure of what you plan to do after graduation, as it hasn’t come up in conversation yet, but either way, he’s determined to stay in contact and make things work out. Long distance isn’t ideal, but with technology now, he’ll take it.

He feels a little bad for how excited he probably looked to be leaving home, uncharacteristic for the most part. His older siblings have already gone back to their respective homes, and it’s mainly Teucer and Tonia that worry and tear up when he starts packing his belongings. Tonia finds it unfair that Teucer got to meet you first and the latter makes sure to rub it into everyone’s faces. It’s hard for Childe to sleep on the plane because he’s thrumming with excitement, yet somehow even more nervous than usual when the plane hits small bouts of turbulence, and he doesn’t seem to relax until he sets foot back on campus.

He’s here. It’s January, and you’re physically closer to him than ever in the last two weeks.

-

“Found you.”

On the first day of classes, you’re sitting alone with some salad greens in a bowl, poking your fork at some scraps while you watch something on your phone, earbuds in and back towards the entrance of the canteen. It would explain the unannounced entrance of the very person who’s been at the forefront of nearly every thought in the last 96 hours, his fingers gingerly removing an earbud to surprise you as best as possible, and you startle in your seat.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when he hands you back your earbud and pulls out the seat next to you, setting his own plate of food down as he plops down in his chair. But then he says nothing afterwards, instead choosing to send you a cheeky grin before digging in. You’re left to slowly phase out of your state of shock, stuck between either running away or frantically texting your twin to come and save you even though he was off on a date with Keqing.

It’s not that you weren’t elated at the fact that Childe had done exactly as you told him last month, you just weren’t...prepared? It’s a shitty excuse and a cop out -- you’re mainly just having trouble with racking your brain to find the right words. What are you supposed to say? What should you do? Is it socially acceptable to lean over and kiss him on the cheek because that’s what you’d like to impulsively do at this very second??

“So you did,” you settle and steal a roasted potato wedge from his plate. It’s his turn to be taken by surprise, but he gets over it much quicker than you do. In fact, he spears two wedges and drops them in your bowl, smiling at you as best as he can with a mouth full of food. You give them your thanks before the silence settles in again.

“Did you have a good break?” He asks before his next bite.

“I did. You?”

“It was nice. My parents said I should’ve brought you and your twin home to spend the holidays with us. Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind before finals.”

Holy shit, what? “We couldn’t intrude like that, but that’s really nice of you guys.”

“That’s okay, there’s plenty of chances to visit later.”

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “But we graduate this semester?”

Childe challenges you with one of his own eyebrows raised. “And? Are we never gonna see each other again?”

Honestly, the possibility had occurred to you. You aren’t entirely sure of Childe’s plans after graduation, and if that meant he was staying in Liyue or going back to Snezhnaya or even moving to Inazuma or Mondstat. While people preach on and on about how lasting friendships and relationships are often formed during college, you believe it’s more common to slowly drift apart as life gets busier. And if Childe moved away, or if you did, it’d be hard to consistently keep in touch with 10 hour workdays.

The thought saddens you, regardless. You like him so much and you’re glad that he was even in your life to begin with, because as unbelievable as it sounds, seeing him was almost akin to the feeling of coming home. Amidst all your nerves, your confusion, your spiraling thoughts, something deeply sated in your heart was a comfort that you found with very few people in your life whenever in his presence.

The thought of leaving and never looking back somehow doesn’t feel new -- it’s bittersweet, but the air in your lungs feels like it’s surrendered to something, like it was to be expected.

“You can’t just leave without telling me--”

“It was last minute! I had no choice!”

“You could’ve written up a message, anything--”

“Can you imagine the position you’d be in if the message got intercepted? I wouldn’t have been safe, she’d make you come after me--”

“As if you’d be any safer in Inazuma of all places! That’s the one place I can’t easily get to!”

“I can take care of myself, Childe, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“This isn’t about me protecting you, (y/n) and -- stop walking, will you?!”

“Then what is this about?” You spin on your wheel with eyes aflame. “Why are you so angry with me? It’s normal for me to disappear for weeks at a time, why was this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died!” He yells back in despair, chest heaving. Your silence is his cue to continue. “You could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known until much later. You could’ve died and all I’d ever think about were the things I never got to say to you, and how I wish I had treated every day with you like it was our last.”

It isn’t hard to tell that you’re stunned and at a complete loss for words. Childe often hides behind facades of charm and wit, and only when he is truly weak does he choose to be this vulnerable, baring his heart for you to see.

“I only have two nightmares in this world. One, my family being harmed in any way. Two, reading in a report or hearing from an agent that you’ve been captured and killed.”

“I like to think that we will.”

His hand reaches out to lay on top of yours, giving it a quick squeeze. “Well, let’s make the most of it this semester.”

Conversation afterwards is easy, filling each other in on holiday activities. Childe speaks extensively about several family traditions and you listen with rapt attention, basking in how fond he is of all of them. Even as you both bring your dishes to the return belt and leave, he immediately offers to drive you both somewhere to get boba, noticing your reluctance to part ways. But boba shops have to close, and you both have class tomorrow morning, and you’re both finding any excuse to keep talking, even if that means sitting outside your dorm building on a nearby bench.

You eventually bid each other good night’s and see you later’s, him refusing to walk away until the heavy door locks shut behind you after you swipe your student ID, and you looking over your shoulder to watch his figure disappear into the night.

-

True to his intentions, Childe makes great efforts to meet you at least once a day, and he can’t get enough. Each parting from you tugs and tugs at his heart, as if there’s a high possibility you’ll never want to see him again the next day, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Your twin and Childe get along well for the most part, and he even meets Xiangling on one of her shifts at her regular restaurant, who sends you a salacious wink and an eyebrow wiggle over his shoulder that nearly causes you to burst from embarrassment.

February rolls over without a hitch, even if you’re a little disappointed that Childe didn’t make a move for Valentine’s Day. Granted, you two still spent time with each other and he’s so darn physically affectionate and he bought you a carnation from the event his dorm held, but you wish you had the guts to fess up and just kiss the man.

It’ll happen some day, you tell yourself. You have time before graduation.

Two days before the end of the Friday that would signal the start of Spring Break, you wake up in a cold sweat, mind reeling and head splitting, heart so so heavy, as a connection is made between your present and your dreams. Not long after, there are tears streaming silently down your face and into your open palms placed in your lap, and you sit in shock as everything comes back to you. Memories are such treasured burdens, you realize.

For the most part, you had gotten used to the dreams, choosing to take charge of what you know and feel now with Childe over succumbing to some strange neurological premonitions. Especially in your dreams when many people’s faces were blurred over and hazy, and the only things you could rely on were voices, touch, and other physical features. You thought that maybe your mind was just playing tricks by transposing Childe’s hair onto a body that was also strikingly similar to his, but for the first time last night, you could see each defining feature on his face as clear as day.

The sight of his figure arching gracefully over yours, the water arrows that appeared out of thin air, the back that protected you from some military men, the voice that said, “Hey girlie, hold still.”

And that was when you had snapped awake to your current state.

Past the initial shock and uncontrollable tears, you soon bent over as sobs wracked your chest, overwhelmed by all the emotions and the pain the memories brought you; losing your twin, finding him to only be left with even more questions after roaming for decades and decades, meeting all your loved ones throughout Mondstat and Liyue, fighting yet falling so hard for Childe, feeling the fear when facing his Foul Legacy form, hating him for Osial, loving him, breathing heavily as the tip of your blade was pointed at his neck and his own just centimeters from yours, tendrils of water inching closer and closer--

Everything makes sense now.

When you meet your twin for lunch at the cafeteria, you pay no mind to the fact that you’re in public and hug him harder than you ever have in years. He’s already a little alarmed that your eyes seem swollen and you look like finals came two months early, but when he asks what’s wrong, all he gets is a shake of your head and nothing more than, “Just a bad nightmare. I love you, y’know that?”

“I love you too?”

“Don’t sound so unsure, now let’s go and get in line before they run out of Jueyun Chili Chicken.”

Even when you meet Xiao later in the early evening to talk about your thesis, you find yourself holding back more tears just two minutes in, reminded of his past and his own life, and he’s moderately concerned, hesitantly handing you a tissue from the corner of his desk when a stray tear escapes. “Is everything okay?” He hesitantly asks, really hoping that he didn’t do anything to make you cry.

“No,” you almost wail and sniffle while dabbing at your eyes. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long day.”

Xiao’s inquisitive gaze softens, remembering how hard undergraduate life could be sometimes. Graduate school was a whole other level, but that shouldn’t discount your own personal difficulties. Plus, in all of the year and a half that he’s known you, you’ve never broken down like this before in front of him.

“You work really hard, Xiao,” you continue, and he’s not sure where this is coming from. “You’re always so helpful and willing to work with me and answer my stupid questions and like-- you practice self-care, right?”

Xiao nods as a white lie, but it seems to comfort you. Maybe too much because you pull him in for a quick and unexpected hug, and you both decide to reschedule this meeting for tomorrow.

As per usual, you wait for Childe to join you for dinner since you finished up earlier than expected. It gives you more time to think about everyone from Mondstat -- Kaeya, Diluc, Lisa, Jean, Amber...funny to think that some things never changed as you compared their past version to the ones you know now.

“Mora for your thoughts?”

There’s a peace that warms your heart when you hear Childe’s voice, one that forces you to smile at him as he sits down next to you. “Just thinking about old friends.”

“I have to admit, I’ll be a little jealous if it’s another guy taking up more space than me in that pretty brain of yours.”

What a flirt. This man isn’t good for your heart. “Who said you had any to begin with?”

He dramatically places a hand over his heart. “You wound me, (y/n). How will I ever recover?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snicker. Childe reaches over to pinch your cheek and you bat at him in protest. Easily, he grabs one of your hands and simply pulls you towards the food lines, knowing that you’ll stop fighting back soon.

Part of it feels strange now to feel and see his hands with no leather gloves on.

“Childe,” you start halfway through your meal, continuing after he hums back in reply. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

He freezes briefly, but recovers so quickly that if you hadn’t been watching so closely, you wouldn’t have noticed. “I think it’s neat, the idea of having past lives. Why do you ask?”

What he really wants to ask is if you’ve been having those dreams, too; if he’s starring in your nights like you have been in his.

“Just a thought, especially since you’re taking Teyvat Myth now, too.”

“Do you...do you think if there was a past life, that we knew each other?”

There’s something about the look of content on your face before you meet his gaze -- he thinks that you know more than you’re letting on but you’re holding back for some reason. He wants to know what’s going through your brain right now, why the fondness in your eyes sends a jolt through him like he’s been searching for it all his life, if you know anything about this magnetic pull between you two.

“I like to think that we knew each other well.”

-

Even though the first day of your returned memories was somewhat eventful, you couldn’t help but feel yourself wanting to pull back from Childe -- at least, until you can successfully compartmentalize which emotions belonged to you past self and which ones belonged to your current mindset. You didn’t quite agree with his duties and his affiliation with the Fatui back then, even if he had his reasons that did make sense, to some degree.

The killing, the threatening, so intent on stealing Rex Lapis’s Gnosis in the name of the Tsaritsa, summoning Osial as a mean to an end -- and you definitely can’t forget how stubborn he was in not listening to your protests, so caught up in his brain that you had betrayed him and sent you plummeting to a near-death experience despite his earlier promise of no intention of killing you specifically.

Everything had been toeing a faint, thin line with Childe then. Undeniable chemistry and tension, guarding yourself for yours and Paimon’s safety, slashing at Fatui agents, whispering out pleas and affirmations of “I’m yours” while riding him, sometimes having to sneak out in the mornings…

The only thing you don’t remember is how everything ends -- maybe it’ll come back to you eventually, but for now, you think you’re okay not knowing.

If Childe still doesn’t remember anything from back then, you think it’d be unfair to spend time with him in all your conflicting emotions, even when it’s spring break, where you have so much more hours in the day to be with each other than normal. Fun plans around Liyue had been made, like a two-day one-night trip to Yaoguang Shoal, and you’re this close to cancelling on him.

But he had been looking forward to it so much, even made most of the preparations for it. Who are you to rob that joy from him when it was you who couldn’t figure out your own shit? Are you self-destructing?

Perhaps.

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window at the scenery. Somehow, it pleased you to see that the nature of Liyue had been carefully preserved over the many centuries despite its development into the modern age. You get lost in picking apart the differences between then and now that you don’t notice how quiet you’ve fallen and Childe looks over worriedly when you show no reaction to your favorite songs playing on the stereo.

Even when he calls your name once, twice, nothing gives as you clearly have tuned everything out. So he leaves you be until there’s about half an hour left on the drive, unable to hold back and succumbing to reach over for your hand. You startle so strongly that he almost feels bad for having done it unannounced. But what’s even more disturbing is that this isn’t really the first time.

You’ve been talking to him less, often sitting quietly and staring off into another world that he can’t seem to reach. His texts are answered less frequently and with less wit and enthusiasm, so much so that he just appreciates you still show up to see him. Each time he asks if you’re okay, you always affirm that you are. He’s had a hard time believing you, but Childe believes you’ll tell him when you’re ready, surely.

It’s a little ironic yet fateful that Childe planned to bring you here, of all places. In the past, you had spent many days and nights running around in the sand with him, fighting slimes and hilichurls and collecting starconches for him. You remember laying on a large towel next to him as you both looked up into the sky, pointing out stars and constellations while sharing endless kisses away from prying, spying eyes.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve zoned out,” you sincerely apologize.

“It’s okay, I just wanna make sure you relax while we’re here. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’re right,” you agree and squeeze his hand. “Let’s make the most of it before we become adults who are too busy to have fun like this again.”

And you do. Childe rented a small beach cabin (rich boys) closer to one end of the shoreline, just big enough with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining table. You help him bring in your bags and some groceries bought the night before, setting them down quickly so you can peer out the window again to take in the view. Childe picked a good time, too. Although it’d be a little chilly at night, the day was still warm and mainly overcast with clouds.

“What do you say we change into our swimsuits and head down to the water?”

“Sure.”

Childe hadn’t really been expecting for you to step out in a large, casual tee and gym shorts, one shoulder exposed. He might have been hoping to see a little more skin, but his mother didn’t raise a chauvinistic pervert for a son.

The light in your eyes as you both approach the water is everything he had been missing the last few days, your excitement and joy contagious. As soon as you place everything down on the sand, you kick off your flip flops and leave him behind to step into the water, giggling at feeling the waves crash over your ankles and bring sand between your toes. Childe approaches you from behind and starts smearing sunblock on the back of your neck, to which you just grin beautifully at him in thanks and he has to fight off the desire to kiss you right then and there.

You’re too caught up in embracing the ocean afterwards to feel the shrinking distance between you two, mistaking his warmth for the general spring air. It isn’t until he’s done with your shoulders that he hands you the bottle to leave you to do the rest of your body, and when you turn to thank him, he’s much closer than you remember. His eyes are gentle, holding your gaze and almost daring you to look away first.

But if there’s one thing you can place without a shred of doubt, it is the unmistakable look of love, because you had seen it many, many times before without knowing until later what it meant.

How so incredibly lucky you were to have Childe back in your life now, loving you all the same, and with no life-threatening barriers. Fate or the Archons have given you a second chance, and you’d be damned to take it for granted.

Childe welcomes your lips against his, wasting no time to bring you into his arms so you’re pressed against him as much as possible. He can’t care for the overt public display of affection because this is everything he’s wanted for months now, waiting patiently for you to give him permission to make you his. Your lips are incredibly soft and pliant against his as you first kiss him patiently, then applying more force and desperation to taste more of him. He mirrors you, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other on your neck with a thumb extended to your jawline, teeth moving to nip at your bottom lip. It’s dangerous, the way you smile against his lips, and when he sinks his teeth in deeper before pulling back, your quiet mewl nearly drives him over the edge.

But you’re in public, and this was an amazing first kiss. You two have a beach to enjoy and a fun night planned, and now that he doesn’t have to hold back on his affections, it’ll be even better.

His lips part from yours regretfully, his eyes languidly opening to meet yours. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a blue starconch in the sand and freezes.

It’s not that he’s never seen one before, but something clicks. You. The shore. Starconches. Starry nights. His dreams. Monsters. Gods. Fighting. So much fighting. Training. His family. Dragons. You. Falling. You falling. You fighting him. Yelling. Kissing. Loving. Chasing. Him chasing you before you disappear at a teleport waypoint that somehow you only can operate. The abyss. Your twin.

Oh, Archons.

“ -ou okay, Ajax? Ajax?”

He snaps to look at you again. How does he go about this? How does he ask?

“(Y/n)...have you ever heard of the Fatui Harbingers?”

He has to admit that it’s a bit amazing to be able to identify all the emotions that cross your complexion, from curiosity to realization to conflicted. You’re actively trying to piece everything together without revealing too much on the off-chance that you’re wrong, that Childe hasn’t regained his memories and is just asking about something from class randomly and completely out of the blue.

Wait.

“You haven’t reached that material yet in class,” you whisper, heart in your throat at the realization. Could it really be…

“I was once Tartaglia, eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, who possessed a Delusion and used my Foul Legacy Transformation with you several times,” he murmurs back, tucking a stray tendril behind your ear. “Is it too late to apologize again for summoning an ancient god and letting you fall about five floors with no warning?”

He should’ve been prepared for you wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “No, never, but I spent weeks after kicking your ass so you’ve been long forgiven.”

Childe burrows his face into your neck, breathing in your scent and basking in this moment. There was so much to talk about, but you two arguably had more time in the world than ever with nothing holding you back. There was no impending war looming over, no one on the run, no opposing forces. His silent wish for a different life with you seems to have been answered finally. If running into you had been the event to set everything in motion, he only wishes he’d done so earlier.

All that matters now is you’re here together in this plane of existence, given a chance to love again, and experience everything you couldn't before.

As written in the stars, take my soul for it is forever yours.

fin

[danielxricciardo]

Can you do one with Max, with 46 and 55 from angst list?

Summary: You are suffering from depression and Max tries to be by your side

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of suicide, depression

Word count: 3.6k+

46. “I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

55. “You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay.”

Depression feels like a lot of things.

It feels like sadness, which is what everyone will tell you. It's a pretty common thread.

"I'm worthless."

"Everyone thinks I'm a horrible burden."

So on and so forth.

Everyone in the world is happy but you, and in the end, you are a worthless piece of shit that doesn't belong in this otherwise glorious and happy place. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you are lying there on your bed in the same unlaundered pair of pajamas, wondering why you are even allowed to keep living any longer. Some meteor strikes or lightning bolts should be reserved for people like you because you are taking up space and oxygen and food and other resources that real, happy, productive people need.

It feels like emptiness. You have all these possibilities and none of them seem interesting. You could do some art, or play some music, but that just doesn't feel right. There's no joy in it. You could have sex with your significant other, but you can't muster up the desire. You could play video games, or read a book. But what's the point? There's no real benefit to all of it but passing the time. You could get up and make lunch. But no, you're not that hungry, and if you close your eyes, time will pass a little faster. You can lie there. That works. It doesn't require active effort to do something fruitless. Everything is as empty and fruitless as lying and staring out your window at the clouds and the shifting shadows of tree branches, and so why do anything else?

It feels like fatigue. Standing up out of your bed requires the same amount of bodily effort as climbing several flights of stairs. Managing to get dressed and walk outside is like running a race. Heaven helps you if you try to go to the store or a friend's house -- that may as well be on the other side of the continent. Every step is heavy. Every muscle motion requires ten times the work it used to. Exercise becomes difficult, and control over your body expires quickly. You become clumsier, so heavy lifting is right out. You daze out randomly, daydreaming, even dozing, so biking or running is hard. You feel most at home when you are entirely relaxed, so you lie down...and don't get up again until something like your bladder compels you.

It feels like a loss of control. You have no idea why your brain and body are doing this. You don't want to feel sad. Nobody wants to feel shitty and tired and empty all the time. People will look at you and say, "It's like you don't want to get better." Those people are idiots. You truly, deeply, from the bottom of your soul, have no idea why this has happened or what to do. It's not logical. It makes no sense. You woke up like this, or it crept in overtime or something like that. It's like a fog, a force of nature that sweeps in, occludes everything, and there's not one thing you can do about it from where you stand. Trying feels like taking a paper fan outside and trying to blow away the morning mist. Someone has tied puppet strings to your brain and is playing this hideous dance with it, and you don't have the scissors to cut them away. The dance doesn't make sense; it's arbitrary and rhythmless. If you had any sort of reasoning behind it, you could take control. But you don't.

It feels like desperation. You can't find a way out. You lie there at night, keening into your pillow like a wounded animal, making all sorts of noises that no human being should be able to make. You claw and scratch at the sheets, or at yourself, as the pain wrings itself out through bodily expression. The tears won't stop. You don't know why. All you know is that it hurts, it really and truly hurts, and you think if it goes on any longer, you're going to die. Right there. Bleed out on the floor. So you grab up your phone, and you call someone at 4 AM, and you beg them to please just make it stop. You bury yourself in books and movies because at least then you can imagine something else than yourself. You read nonstop. You have to have your fix. It's like an addiction, no, more like a life support machine. Otherworlds, fantasies of happiness, and real experiences that aren't your horrible existence become the iron lung keeping air flowing in and out. You are alive because you can stop thinking for a while. Your friends come over to comfort you. Their stories keep you sane and well, like dialysis for all the toxins in you. Your mind has failed at being independent, and now it relies on a thousand little machines to keep itself running. You rely on one machine until another comes to save you. You read books until your friends come by. You stretch out your time with friends until you have to bury yourself in a movie again just to keep the thought of real-life away.

It feels like untamed anger. Your friends can't keep this up forever. You fall further and further, and you eventually start dropping commitments. You have become That Person, the flake that everyone knows will back out. People start getting annoyed at you, annoyed at how they have to spend so much time just keeping you afloat, annoyed at how often you're causing them trouble by constantly disappearing and backing out of appointments, and so on. Your workplace gets annoyed at your lack of productivity. And then you can't take it anymore, and you want to scream at them, grab them by the throat and shake them because IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! You start having twisted fantasies, the ones where you walk up to that person who keeps telling you he can't do this anymore, you're just too unreliable, putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. Just to make him know, for once, that FUCK HIM, your problems are REAL, DAMMIT, REAL, and he better FUCKING RESPECT that. And when you're gone, he'll fall to his knees and cry, and he'll say, he wishes he had understood, that he didn't mean to be so unkind, and the scar on his heart from his own failure will remain fresh and knotted for eternity. And then you shake yourself out of the daydream, and you wonder why you have turned into such a horrible person, someone who even considers ending their own life just to spite another human being. Then it creeps back in, the knowledge that the world is getting fed up with you...and the cycle begins again. You start thriving off these daydreams, because at the very least if you can't be happy, you can throw caution to the wind and get the petty, oddly satisfying revenge buried under all those layers of morality that are becoming worn and flaking away. It's just a fantasy, right? And it helps pass the time...

It feels like forever. You have forgotten what it's like to truly be joyful. You can imagine it, but it's not really you in those thoughts. This is who you are. This is your life. This is you.

It feels like you have only one thing truly under your power: your existence. You cannot choose what life throws at you. Your brain and body have betrayed you. Your friends have worn away, and you've fled from your job and any commitments you have.

It feels empowering. You can jump whenever you want.

But he accepted you the way you are. He never reproached you for negatively influencing his mentality or life, even though you knew he felt it too. He always listened to you, he was with you even at 2 in the morning when you were crying on the bathroom floor with your knees to your chest, and you knew it wasn't right. It wasn't right for him to go through, basically, what you were going through. But no matter how much you told him you could do it without his help, Max was coming back more insistently than ever.

He came up with the idea to start therapy. "You have to find out why you feel this way. Go at least once, see how it is, if you don't like it or feel that it doesn't help you, you will give up, okay?" That was a year and a half ago.

The psychologist gave you a diagnosis from the first session: Major Depressive Disorder. Sure you knew what the three words meant, but you didn't know what it meant to have a label on your condition.

"A major depressive disorder is characterized by one or more of these depressive episodes. the diagnosis of major depressive disorder requires depressed mood or anhedonia which is the loss of interest in pleasure and five or more signs or symptoms for the SIGECAPS mnemonic for a 2-week period. (SIGECAPS) Sleep Disturbance, loss of Interest, feeling Guilty, feeling fatigued and low in Energy, having decreased Concentration, decreased or increased Appetite and been agitated and slow and having Suicidal ideation."

It sounds incredible to you. Suicidal thoughts? Not everyone has a thought, somewhere, behind their mind 'What if I disappeared?'

You were prescribed Prozac and Zoloft and it helped. You weren't always sad anymore, you could go to the races with Max and support him as a normal girlfriend does. You apologized to my friends who tried to help me and whose lives you made impossible and you managed to get back to work, from home anyway. Sure, you still had moments when you felt like you weren't 100% yourself but not like before. You did therapy twice a week and the psychologist was happy with your evolution.

But being the stupid ass that you are, you stopped taking the medication. You took the last pill on Friday. Because you were fine. You felt ok, everyone around you told you you were better, you were doing amazing, so you were cured, right? Or so you thought. Saturday was normal. Sunday was not. Your mood and energy were very low. You woke up at like 2 in the afternoon. That is not unusual for you. You’re used to it. You were sad. You were exhausted. You knew that feeling like this was “no excuse” so you tried to force yourself to do it anyway. Typical of your life. You feel like you had already taken so much off work because of the triple-header, you were for three weeks attached to the hips with Max.

The only thing you thought of was dying. And that terrified you. And Max senses something was wrong. But he didn't want to tell something and ending up being wrong and you being upset by his misinterpretation. But, yes, he sensed that you were becoming your old self.

"Hey, babe," he snapped you out of your daydreaming. A tragic one, where you were finally at peace and Max was crying for you. You were on the verge of crying yourself at the mere image of Max in your head. But you pushed it far from your mind, somewhere in a dark corner for you to find it at an appropriate time to fantasize about your dying. "How about we go to a picnic? It's sunny outside."

Yes, the wheater was amazing. It was finally summer and you could go outside and spend some time with Max. But your brain literally is tricking you into thinking you don't deserve to enjoy the sunny day. Why? You don't have an answer.

"I'm not really in the mood, Max. Sorry."

You are not in the mood. That was his affirmation. You are not ok.

"You feeling good?"

"Yeah. Just tired I guess."

"But you just woke up."

You shrugged. He was right. You just woke up, so why do you feel like you were carrying a ton of bricks on your shoulders? You couldn't walk. You almost felt like 18 months ago. And that is when it hit you. And Max, at the same time.

"Still taking your meds, I hope."

Silence. Your mind was like overcrowded and you couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed your head and pulled your hair because you wanted it to stop. You were thinking that you didn’t know what to think. You didn’t know how to think. You didn’t know how you felt. You were like anxious-depressed-angry-miserable-irritable all in one. Your head was spinning with thoughts. Thoughts were talking over thoughts. So fast that you couldn’t even make out one complete sentence. It was just too much for you to handle. You just wanted someone to kill you.

Max came to you and he hugged you so hard you thought he could crush your bones right there and then. You calmed down eventually. But now you were embarrassed. Because Max saw you, again, at your lowest. Because you promised you'll get better, and for a while, you were better, but now you are fucked and back into square one. All those money on therapy and your pills, for what? For you to stop taking them because you thought you were feeling better? Well, you definitely were not ok, nor you'll be. So, yeah, being fucked sounded good.

Max brought you the medicine and a glass of water. Taking the pills again? For what? The pills only fuel the feeling that everything is fine and that you are a normal person. Nothing was good and you were not a normal person.

But you took the pills. And you looked Max in the eyes and you wanted to die. He seemed crushed. He was sad, devastated, maybe angry but definitely disappointed. In you. Because maybe you don't realize this, but while you were doing good, he was doing great. He knew you could be on your own so he stopped worrying that much, and that could also be seen in his driving. He was winning more races, he was at his best and now he was at his lowest. Because you were at your lowest; co-dependency and shit.

"I'm sorry, baby. I thought I was doing well enough to stop taking the meds," you say in a broken voice but the tears are yet to appear. He stroked your hair and kissed you on your forehead.

"You should have told me. You don't have to go thru this alone. I am here."

"Yeah, you are here. But you don't have to be!" you snapped. Irritability, one thing your depression came with. "I am just a burden for you. And no, this does not come from the fact I stopped taking my pills. You took care of me like I was a child, and, fuck it, you don't deserve this."

"Stop talking like this, alright? If I would suffer from depression you would have done the same thing. You would have taken care of me. Or am I wrong?"

"You are not wrong. To be honest, I don't think I would be here if it wasn't for you, but I don't want you to be. It's obvious that I would never get better. This is me. I am fucked in the head, half wishing I was dead and I am just bringing you down."

"Don't tell me this is a fucking break up, Y/N." he narrows his brows and looks at your features to make sure you were being serious.

“I’ll leave, and the world will move on. I just wish I could see it. See how much better everything is when I’m gone.”

"What the fuck are you talking about? Is this a break-up or a suicidal vocal note?"

You broke down. Crying can be cathartic and healthy, but if it goes on too long it can lock your body in a feeling of despair. Even if your mind works through the problem that caused the crying, because your body is still feeling the physical effects it will cause your mind to revert to the negative state. It's not sadness. It's dread and paralysis. You had a certain feeling of emptiness and purposelessness.

“You’re good at finding things. Find me a reason to stay,” you say between sobs.

"You want me to find you a reason to stay alive or to stay in this relationship? To be frank, I can name a thousand reasons, but it all depends on you."

Max hugs you from behind and you lay your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was stronger than ever. You allowed yourself to inhale Max's scent, a soothing scent you could get drunk on.

"I want to believe you love me. I mean, I love you and I consider you the love of my life, you know? We are so young and I know it doesn't feel like it, but I promise you, I'm gonna marry you someday, even if right now you don't think you're gonna make it till tomorrow. So, yeah, this is reason number one," he said and pressed a kiss to your cheek. "This is not the worst you have been through in life. Remember where you were 18 months ago; you had no idea what was wrong with you. Now you know and you know you can be better. I know you get sick of those pills, but maybe, in the future, you won't need them. Isn't that exciting? This was reason number two," he said and pressed another kiss to your cheek. He was going to do that every time he would give you a reason. "Have you been to all the beautiful places around the world? Sure, you came to a few Grand Prix, but you never saw Great Ocean Road in Australia, you know Daniel promised he would take us there someday. You never saw Pamukkale in Turkey or Japan in Cherry Blossom season or the Blue Lagoon in Iceland. There are many places you need to visit, baby. So, yeah, this was reason number three. I don't know if you want me to continue but I can give you one more reason. Reason number four. Do it for you, baby. You deserve to live and be happy. I know you can be happy and I promise you I will do my best to help you. You just have to take it one step at a time. You just have to let me in. Let me help you, baby."

You turn around, facing him now. You loved him, with all of your heart. You love him for who he is. You love him because he literally came into your life as your lifeline. You love him because he helped you crawl up the deep bottomless abyss of depression. You love him because he had the patience and the audacity to bear with your depression, anxiety, and panic attacks, your phobias, your mood swings, your temperamental and short-tempered nature, your overthinking, your being overprotectiveness, and possessiveness. You love him because never once he thought of giving up on you in your hard times. You love him because he stands by you like a rock of unwavering support and he’s someone you can fall back on. You love him because he listens to you talking non-stop about your past, your pains, your fears, and your losses without complaining even once. You love him because he rediscovered you and helped you find yourself again when you were lost in darkness. You love him because he filled you with confidence and hope and strength and belief and determination. You love him because he believes you are the best when you set your mind on something and no one can stop you from achieving your goals. You love him because he is protective, caring, understanding, loving, and easy to be with while never being too suffocating or taking up your space. You love him because sooner or later he does everything you ask of him and does with his whole attention. You love him because whatever endeavor he engages in, he likes to give his 100% and hates doing half-hearted things. You love him because he can decode the nuances in your voice and judge your mood just perfectly. You love him because he read you like an open book and he can hear your silence. You love him because he never doubts your loyalty, your intentions, your hard work, and your million issues. You love him because no matter how busy he might get he never forgets that you are waiting for his message or his call. You love him because he keeps you in his priorities. You love him because he gave you a passion you never knew you had. You love him because he very strongly believes that you deserve the best of everything. You love him because he is empathic, kind, magnanimous, thoughtful, and down to Earth. You love him because he has eyes for no one but you. You love him because he wants to see you healthy, wealthy, prosperous, famous and he wants you to hold back at nothing, for no one, he wants you to be a Go-Getter. And most importantly you love him because no one ever loved you like he did.

"I will let you in," you say and you kiss him hard. "I'm sorry for the scene I caused."

"Don't be. It happens."

[lemonhobgoblin]

A Casual Night

Mothman x human reader (gender-neutral)

Word Count: 7k

(I remember saying I would have a fic done the same week I posted my other fic. Well, that was a lie. After dealing with work, creating new wips, and editing what started as a 2k fic became this long-ass post. I tried to keep this gender-neutral, but if there are any parts thats not gender-neutral, or if something doesn't make sense give me a message and I'll fix it. Anyway hope you enjoy!)

The faint sound of your car running and the sound of the wind whipping against the surface was muddled out by old tunes playing from a random radio station filling the lonely ride home. Your eyes trained on the dark empty road ahead, your headlights on full beam, lighting your way. The subtle notes of a box of cooling pizza wafting in your direction every so often.

You were driving from a city over from where you lived, coming back from a friend’s home who was having a small get-together. It was a great time, unwinding from the stresses of work and life in general, with games, movies, playful banter, and sharing a couple of drinks. As the night progressed, things began to slow down, one of your friends passed out on the couch while everyone else turned to some lighthearted conversation. Leading the host to pipe up if they were willing to spend the night given how late it has gotten and mostly due to how much some people drank.

While everyone was willing to stay the night and continue their night of merriment. You on the other hand as well as one other person had to leave for the night due to work obligations you both had tomorrow morning.

Regretfully, you made your exit not without being offered leftovers for the ride back. But halfway home, you received an email detailing how you were not needed for work tomorrow as you were getting gas.

With this newfound information, you had the choice of making a U-turn back or continue straight home.

Rather than driving back to your friend's home, you were just going to continue your way home. You already said goodnight to them, and you were almost home even though it was still quite a ways to go. Nevertheless, they probably turned in for the night by now, and there was always next time to make it up to them.

So driving down an empty two-way road, with no lights fixture to light the road. With no other cars passing through, keeping you company. Only the trees crowding around the road giving you some sort of haunting looming audience. This was a normally busy road; however, by how late in the night it was, it was understandably dead.

Fortunately, enough, you saw your first signs of life up ahead. It seemed to be a herd of deer passing by. You honked your horn to scare them away from the oncoming danger that was your car.

Except instead of dispersing, they stayed in place, it didn’t seem out of the ordinary why else did they have the saying 'a deer in headlights.'

But what was odd, was the closer you approached the herd of deer they seemed to be floating off the pavement, apparently, they were one entity and not a group and had a pair of red glowing eyes. It stirred an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Promptly, an undiscernible screech erupted all around, jolting you in your seat, feeling a pang of sudden fear washing over you. Convincing yourself it was only the radio going off the fritz, peeling your eyes away from the road you scrambled to shut off the device. During your haste to bring an end to the blaring otherworldly sound, you didn’t realize how fast you were driving.

"What the fuck?!" Seeing a flash of a large dark mass smashing against your windshield - shards of glass flying around and onto you.

Swerving your car over to the side of the road, feeling the right side slope down, the bumps of the grass making you rattle and jostle in your seat. Putting your car to a complete stop.

Frantically, you scrambled to free yourself from your seatbelts, ripping yourself from your constraints, you busted out your car. Not giving a single care to the state of your car or your frazzled state. Only concerned about what or who you hit.

Jogging down, you saw a crumpled figure on the ground, he was a good distance away from where you parked. "Oh my god," You exclaimed.

“I didn’t see you coming, I’m so sorry," you yelled, hurrying to aid the individual. You didn’t get a response or see any movement - he did hit your car pretty hard.

Scared for their wellbeing you slowed down and fished for your phone in your back pocket to call for help. But before you could dial for help, you saw something that put halt to your actions. You starred in disbelief as your phone locked out.

From the figure, a wing stretched out toward the sky before folding back in itself.

What the hell did you hit?!

Cautiously, you crept forward to get a better look, you could see he was wearing a fur jacket. No. He was furry everywhere, dull in color but with an interesting print on what you believed was the wings, the pattern was similar to a moth's wing. A costume perhaps? His legs were a digitigrade structure and his feet are similar to a bird's foot arrangement. The talons of which were scraping against the road like an animal in pain.

"A moth?" Perplexed at what exactly you were looking at, it still seemed human, but it was too large in stature given it curled up on the ground. This had to be some large person in a very convincing costume. Assuming it was someone dressed up, as what you could only think of as Mothman. A random tall person dressed head to toe in an extremely convincing Mothman in the middle of an isolated road, for reasons you couldn't conjure but there had to be a rational reason as to why.

The closer you approached, the more of your rationality began to slip. Carefully you squat down, putting your hands on its back, it felt real. Too real.

The wings felt warm, stroking your hand down, you felt the ridges, bumps, and what felt like a pulse, in the wings. You noticed it had a plush ruff around its neck that could’ve been mistaken for a scarf. And there were antennas on its head, it was featherlike and twitched every few seconds. You had no desire to investigate further, yet you had a gnawing sense of curiosity that compelled you.

Besides what if was someone who was severely injured and needed immediate help. And what kind of person would you be if you just drove off without a second thought, leaving them to die. You couldn't live with yourself if that was the case.

This is too unreal. But all the signs suggested otherwise.

Bracing yourself, you gently turned him over to face you, the moment you caught a glimpse of his face, you felt instant regret surge through your veins. You stumbled backward, landing on your back, trying to push yourself away from the massive creature with your legs.

"MOTHMAN!!" You screamed.

This in turn alarmed the cryptid, flapping his wings erratically in response to your sudden outcry. It was emitting these indiscernible sounds that you had heard earlier in the car, it provoked that familiar immense fear within you.

Except, this was louder than when you were in your car, the sound reverberated through you, chills traveling up your spine. You could feel your heart palpitating within your chest, your trembling limbs growing numb. You felt your senses heightened at an alarming rate it was nauseating that you felt your mind blur. If these disquieting sounds alone could trigger your flight or fight response, without the presence of the monster. It was nothing in comparison to the full show that was in front of you, it was overwhelming in all the senses, inciting you to get far as possible.

"Holy shit!" Pulling yourself from your state of shock, you turned over onto your hands and knees, pushing yourself up and away, making a straight beeline to your car without delay.

The screeching stopped behind you. Glancing back toward the monster curious if it was making a move towards you. But all you saw was a poor incapacitated being, pitifully attempting to lift itself away. One of its wings was flapping while the other was barely moving at all. When it tried to move its stiff wing, it wouldn't fully extend before retracting it back, making what sounded like a pained low screech.

In all honesty, even in your fear-driven state, it pained you to witness this distressing scene. Pondering back and forth between taking the car and leaving, or taking your chances with the monster.

Inching toward the car, all without removing your eyes from the scene. Then you heard a more distressing shrill, stopping you dead in your tracks. You couldn't leave him.

He still needs help.

Inhaling a deep breath, you shakily walked back, each step was challenging you felt so weak in the knees and you felt lighter than usual. Your mouth desiccated of any moisture but persisted in swallowing nothing. It felt as if you were walking down to your execution and it might as well be. You couldn't predict what it would do or what it was capable of doing if you got any closer. Regardless, you tried to push your fears aside and help him, even if it killed you.

"Hold on, I'm not gonna hurt you. Just don’t hurt me please." Easing yourself onto your knees, mindful of not doing any sudden movements to provoke it any further for both of your sakes.

Bringing a hand back to where you had it before, you delicately brushed your hand up and down in small strokes on its wing. Focusing on his state and not his appearance, you saw cuts and scrapes littering its wings and body.

You grazed over an open wound, causing the creature to flinch, silently apologizing to him in a hushed tone before continuing to pet him while avoiding any more wounds.

Its breathing began to slow, quelling its jitters. You took this as an indicator of the creature growing at ease at your presence. “See I just wanna help." You whispered as the Moth creature peered up, gazing into your eyes in a sort of mutual understanding. Ensuring a feeling of reprieve within you and within him, or so you thought. It was soon to be proven wrong. The moment was short-lived when the cryptid began to thrash around again, this time trying to keep you away from him.

"Wait I thought we had an understanding there." Pulling yourself into a ball to avoid the cryptid's violent flapping wing and arms recklessly whipping around. "The eye contact we had! The eye contact!" you screamed after being betrayed by this false sense of amicable trust you thought you both had shared at that moment. But this ineffectively did nothing to fix the dilemma, merely adding more to the chaos.

"Please I want to help you." Reaching your hand out to calm him once more, without the screaming and flailing this time. "This was my fault, I wanna help and then you can go on your Mothman way, okay?" You tried to coax. Once more the monster began to quiet down, its quick shallow breathing slowed. Weary of his soothed behavior, you waited a bit before wrapping his arm over your neck.

"Okay, I'm gonna pick you up or at least try to." You said, guiding him upward into a standing position.

"Christ, you’re heavy!" Bending under the weight, propping him against your frame, so you could get a proper footing and grip on him. You struggled to the car, trudging over, but not without one of your legs giving out from under the weight occasionally. What caught your eye was how his head lulled forward or side to side, he might be disoriented from the blow. Not wanting to move his head much, you trudged much slower than you already were and stopped every few seconds.

Arriving at you your vehicle, you rested against your car, before opening the car door and easing him inside into the backseat. Tucking in any stray limbs and wings fully inside the car. Shutting the door you looked at the heavily cracked windshield. It was damaged pretty well, you summarized that you had to slowly drive all the way home. Wait home.

"Wait, I can't just bring you to my house." You said, bringing a hand to your mouth, realizing a new issue. "Someone's gonna see you." Remembering you lived on a busy street near pubs and shops, and it was Friday night you could only assume there were still people out and about enjoying the nightlife. Peering inside your car, your eyes locked on your jacket in the front seat.

"Maybe I can disguise you, and it is Friday night maybe people would be too drunk to notice."

"As long as we don't draw too much attention." You said, getting into your seat and starting up the engine. But something about saying those words aloud, felt like it was going to bite you in the ass but what’s the worst that can happen, you had him handled.

….

Here you were driving back home with the low-volume melody playing like before. However, this was different, before you were alone and you welcomed the tranquil ambiance you had riding home. But now you were riding back with an elusive creature. Creating an unsettling silence within the vehicle. What was maddening was that you were unsure what he was thinking, making you unsure of what to do besides drive. Maybe you were overthinking this but you felt you had to do something to break this disorienting atmosphere because this was too hard to fathom as reality.

"D-Do you want gum? L-Leftover pizza?" Your voice cracked, quickly clearing your throat asking again in a stronger confident voice.

No response. You tapped your fingers on the steering wheel, sucking in your cheek prompting you to purse your lips in your endeavor of finding what else to say. Flitting your eyes back and forth from the road to looking around your car on what else to offer.

"My coat?"

No response again.

Looking at your rearview mirror to get a glimpse of the cryptid only to be met with its red eyes staring directly back at you. Hastily looking back to the road and sinking into your seat, alarmed. How long was he staring at you? Why was he staring? At least he seemed less disoriented now, but you didn’t need that right now, maybe you could draw his attention onto something else other than you.

"How about some air?" you asked, hoping he would stare out the window or put his head out, anything but him staring at you all the way home. Gliding your left hand over to the window control panel on the side of your door, you pushed down a button making his window rolled down. This captured his attention, redirecting his gaze towards the open window, watching the trees and road signs passing by. O thank god. but just as he turned his head to the outside, he took this as an invitation to spread his wings to catch some air.

"That doesn't mean you can start flapping, put your wings down." Whipping your head back and forth from the creature to the road, drawing a hand at him, swinging it around to get him to fold his wings down. "PUT YOUR WINGS DOWN! PUT YOUR WINGS DOWN!" Veering your car off to the side of the road.

.....

Back on the road, after sorting out the matter. "Okay, no rolled down windows." You remarked. Mothman looking like a perfect angel in the back tapping at the rolled-up window while you were in the front with your hair messed up and arms lightly scratched. You weren't a mother, but you now had a vague idea of what it would be like and further respect and admiration for them.

Needless to say, you rode the entire way back in silence without a single word being uttered.

…..

Steering your car on the side of the street in front of an apartment complex, you placed your car in park. You turned off the engine. Street lamps and other building lights were illuminating the street. The neon signs from the local business started to shut off, looked like some of them are turning in for the night.

You snatched your jacket from the passenger seat before slipping out and making your way to open Mothman’s car door.

"We need to move, quickly." Throwing your coat over him to conceal him in the event of someone walking by. Mothman pawed at the coat and clutching it closer to get a better look and smell of the material. After gathering your phone and keys, you whirled back toward Mothman. Fussing at him to not move the jacket, readjusting it over his head. You surveyed the streets for anyone coming down or seem like they are heading out in your direction.

Once more putting his arm around you, you strode as quickly as you possibly could to the complex without either of you falling over. Mercifully, you got to the door with no problem at all or bumping into anyone.

Until you heard something you’ve been dreading on the way home, something that made your heart sank down into the deep trenches of your stomach

"Holy shit! Is that Mothman!?!" A male voice exclaimed.

You whirled your head toward the stranger who was slowly approaching you two. Fuck!

Where did he come from and what made him so confident that he’s looking at Mothman. You glanced back over to Mothman noticing that the jacket that was covering his face, was now draped over his shoulders. Drastically you scoured your brain for an excuse or some sort of explanation to counter how this wasn't a cryptid. But he beat you to the punch before you had a chance to find a solid response.

"Dude sick costume!" He said excitedly.

O fuck. Relieved that it wasn't the worse, but you were surprised he didn't question any further especially how close he was to you both. Even you would've questioned, the details and just the overall realism of said 'costume'. It didn't take long for the answer to hit you square in the nose. When a waft of alcohol invaded your nostrils, the man was drunk, and you never were more grateful.

"Thanks." You nervously laughed.

"That’s crazy good man, you did this all yourself?” He asked enthusiastically towards Mothman, beholding every bit of intricacy on the creature.

"He can’t talk right now; he drank too much to function." You interjected. “We just got back from a party.”

"I gotcha, but is it okay if I get a photo though?"

FUCK! you blurted internally, but externally with faux delight, you said "Sure!"

" 'Chad' you cool with that?" you sheepishly asked your moth friend with the first name you could think of for him. And why were you asking him? As if he could make a cohesive verbal response. But you were hoping at this moment he could magically talk, alas all he did was blankly stare.

"I'm not hearing a no." You heard the man say and you woefully agreed.

"Gimme a sec." The man pulled out his phone and tapping it unlocked.

"Okay," your heart was racing in your chest and you could feel a layer of sweat beginning to form and pool in places. But by some sweet grace of some higher being, a miracle happened right before your eyes. You heard a melodious chime sweetly ring through the crisp early fall air.

"O dang getting a call, hold on" the man answered the call, turning his back towards you.

Maybe there was a god, after all, a fucking sadist with a sick sense of humor. Either way, you were not about to pass up this chance for a free getaway.

You took this God-given opportunity to jam your key into the lock swiftly to get the both of you inside. Twisting to unlock the entrance, you could overhear the man to what sounded like him wrapping up his conservation. Turning the knob, you ushered Mothman and yourself inside the apartment complex, but not without throwing a quick apology to the stranger. Slamming your back against the door shutting it closed, a wave of relief washed over you.

"Aw man, that was too close." leaning your head against the door, desperate for a quick breath from your ordeal. You hadn't felt this much adrenaline since, since. You were so winded you couldn't even recall a memory.

Peeling yourself off from the door, feeling ready to make the final steps home. Deceptively though your body wasn’t as ready to move just yet.

"Nope wait." still trying to catch your breath. Doubling over, leaning forward, and resting your hands on your knees. Mothman all the while just tilted his head at you, confused. While you were over there feeling like you were going to be sick. The wave of nausea quickly fading away allowing you to straighten yourself out.

"Okay, we're good." You said as you grabbed his hand leading him up the stairs. Unbeknownst to you, the large creature was zoning in at the unfamiliar contact.

During his entire time with you, he was just as wary of you as you were with him. He wasn’t one to present himself to people, only as a forewarning of what was to come or an indication that Mothman will be the very last thing they would see. He trailed and stalked others like you in your car but was never hit, that was a first for him. Albeit though, him getting hit with your car, leaving him cut up and bruised did give him another reason to be extremely defensive and antsy around you.

Yet, you were gentle, loud but gentle with him when he wasn’t. Risking your safety in an effort for him to get mended. Lightly ghosting his thumb over the soft skin of your hand, tightening his hold on you. But you didn't notice, you were too preoccupied with climbing higher up the stairs, vigilant for any neighbors.

"Come on we're almost to my place." Giving a reassuring hand squeeze.

"Try to stay quiet a little longer." Peering back at the cryptid flashing him a quick warm smile, before looking back straight ahead. The creature looked directly at you, then to stairs, and back to you again. He came up with a grand idea to help with your effort. But first, he had to gain your attention and for this to work, he had to disregard everything you told him not to do earlier. The cryptid started to emit his screech directly at you to get your attention. And to you, he was making a ruckus, that was echoing through the entire stairwell and halls.

"What part of stay quiet do you not understand?" Grimacing at the noise. You stopped your movement, aiming to cover his mouth with your free hand, you felt his mandibles tickling underneath your palm.

The creature pulled your hand away and into his own, clutching both of his hands close to himself, bringing you into him. This gesture was unexpected and left you feeling warm in the face by how close he was pressing you into him. But it didn't last long when he began to bend his knee and flap his wing readying himself to fly up.

"Wait don't" Pushing yourself away from him, you freed yourself from his grasp to stop his actions. He was still injured this would only cause more harm to him and to you if he tried doing what you thought he was about to do. In your effort to stop him, Mothman tried to reach out for you again, only for his wing to smack into you causing you to land on the hard edge of the concrete stairs; headfirst. “Shit."

Groaning, "Well, I deserved that." you brought your hand to your head, you winced at the touch. As you yanked your hand away you caught a glimpse of red in your peripherals. Bringing the hand in your line of vision you saw blood smeared on the tips of your fingers.

Mothman immediately brought his actions to a halt when he saw what he had done to you. His antennas drooped down, he came close, giving you a hand up. Gladly accepting the gesture, he brought you up to an upright position, he felt bad for what he had done to you. Tentatively, he brought a hand up, lightly swiping his claws over your forehead making a low pained screech.

“It’s okay, you just wanted help didn’t you.” He nodded in response, you pressed a hand to the wound preventing the blood from dripping down. You couldn’t be mad at him he didn’t know better, and you did hurt him first, it only felt fair. Disrupting this tender moment, you heard yelling and heavy footsteps approaching one of the doors on the floor you were on.

"Let’s go!" you rushed up the stairs, luckily for you both it was the final flight of stairs. Reaching the top of steps in record time when you heard the front swing door open.

"What's with all that commotion!?" A neighbor yelled upward toward the sound of your feet stomping up. Coming to an abrupt halt at your door, you whispered for Mothman to stay where he was, while you dealt with the matter below. But he decided to follow behind instead, not wanting to leave your side.

"Sorry I was just goofing" You admitted, showing your face over the rail, outing yourself to your neighbor.

"Sorry my ass, I got work early tomorrow, you expect me to sleep with this fucking racket outside, and now this." They argued back, and rightly so, who wouldn’t complain about an unearthly ear-piercing screech penetrating through the halls along with banging sounds hitting all around the walls. But you couldn’t help but feel annoyed

"I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, promise." You leaned forward resting against the rail while one leg was kicked up behind you, preventing Mothman from coming toward the railing. You exchanged a few more words with your neighbor to avoid the landlord getting involved. Finishing up, you pulled yourself away calling it wraps on the conversation as the individual below continued spewing profanities at you and about the building.

You unlocked and opened your door “In! In! In!" You shoved the imposing cryptid inside, already getting peeved by the neighbor's continuous rambling. It wasn’t anything new they hated everyone in the building, but it wasn’t something you grew used to though.

"Jesus Christ finally." you sighed, kicking the door behind shut.

Slipping off your shoes, leaving them by the entrance, your feet ached in relief from its constructing confines. Dragging yourself through the small hall leading the way to the main part of your home, it was small but cozy.

"Here we are home sweet home." you chimed, leading Mothman further into the living room, grabbing the jacket from him and tossing it to the couch. As well as turning on a lamp to properly illuminate the room. It didn't take long for Mothman to be drawn to the light fixture like the moth he was. He grabbed the lamp hugging it towards him, looking directly at the bulb. Chuckling at the sight, you could’ve given him a flashlight on the way home if he was going to be this mesmerized. You proceeded to make your way to the kitchen for your first aid kit.

"You can make yourself comfortable, but don’t wreck anything please," you shouted from the room over, but Mothman was unbothered, he was solely transfixed on the soft light, eyes wide and grabbing at the lampshade. "I'm gonna go find my first aid kit to fix you and my cut." You really hoped nothing else gets broken, there was already enough screaming and thrashing for the night.

Shuffling through the kitchen, trying to remember where you last placed the kit. You rested and slid a hand over the cool smooth linoleum counter, looking between cabinets for any sign of a small box. Coming to the last cabinet, you rummaged through before finally pulling out your first aid kit.

But you couldn’t help but stop and think about tonight’s events. It started as a fun night, then filled with pure dread, mothering, and now what felt like taking care of a drunk long-time friend. Except, what really dominated your mind was this odd feeling you started to feel, you recounted back in the hall the way he held you close. It made you feel bashful, to say the least. Up to now, you saw him as a friendly harmless dare you say, an unexpected friend. But that didn’t accurately describe what you were feeling. Shaking your heading, you had other pressing matters to attend to.

"Got it, let's see." And not to your surprise you saw the tall cryptid sitting on the couch, clutching the lamp close to him as if it was his lifeline. You contemplated whether you should take the lamp away. But he looked to be enjoying the light source, hearing faint happy chirps emitting from him. Sadly, you decided to ruin his fun, seeing as there were wounds you needed to tend to on his chest and you needed the light to properly see them.

You attempted to pull the lamp away so you could have better access to examine his injuries. In response, he chittered in objection to his lamp being taken, and nothing was going to separate him from his precious lamp. He was going to soon learn that the lamp was barely holding onto the outlet. Hugging it closer to himself, the plug came out, extinguishing the light. Perplexed as to where his light disappeared to, he presented the lamp towards you hoping you would bring the light back.

“I’ll bring it back, but only until I get a look at you.” He nodded vigorously as you grabbed the lamp and setting back on the mini table, blindingly trying to find the plug and inserting back into the outlet turning on the lamp again. You sat on the couch next to him, motioning for him to come closer so you could get to work.

......

"I don’t see any major cuts or anything broken." Scouting out the state of the injuries, they were honestly not that bad, you guessed it was probably due to the now dried flaky blood around his cuts gave the appearance that they worse than what they were. He got pretty lucky but it was probably due to his build that he was capable of taking on more than a couple of hits.

"Only just a sprain and a couple of cuts, that’s a relief" Thinking to yourself glad it wasn't any worse, you couldn't imagine the stress of trying to keep him at your apartment while he heals, and away from your neighbors’ eyes. The fear of him getting caught and taken away and dissected. Being bombarded by officials and Mothman lovers. And getting questioned or probed, maybe even both. You didn’t know if they would, but you knew deep in your heart they would probe you for answers. Stopping your paranoid-filled train of thought from delving any further. You finished tying up a couple of loose ends and sticking on on salve on minor areas.

"See all better. Don’t move too much, it'll heal quickly that way" Gathering any trash to throw away. Everything is fine now; you don’t have plans tomorrow so you could probably sneak him back out the next night.

Huh.

Letting him go. The idea of it should have given you some relief and yet you couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Would he come to visit again? No that would be reckless. Or you could convince him to stay longer to heal, no that would be irresponsible and selfish of you. He deserves to go back, and you're going to help him get back on his feet and let him be on his way. You walked back to the room.

“Feel much better?” you inquired to Mothman who busy was playing with the bandages on him.

He looked directly at you and nodded in response.

"That’s good, the sooner you get better the sooner you can leave," you told him, seating yourself back next to Mothman who hasn’t kept his eyes off of you. You peered up to catch a glimpse of what he was doing, only to capture him looking directly at you with his head tilted.

Not this again. you thought.

He’s certainly not making this any easier. You looked away trying to focus on anything else in the room before you resorted to looking at the floor.

"You know it’s still kinda crazy, that this is even real. Like I feel like I’m going insane," you jokingly confessed to Mothman, laughing to yourself. But you thought about it more, maybe you were, "O my God is this what a psychological break is?" You looked back at him, having an unfazed look on him.

"Can I?" you asked reaching a hand forward. He stared at your hand for a bit, until he leaned forward giving you permission to proceed.

"So soft" allowing yourself to fully feel him, combing your hand through his dark fur and traveling up his ruff. It was surprisingly plush for how it looked, it felt you were touching a cloud but with some tiny debris within it. You gathered more courage to let your hand wander up to his face, giving a couple of brushes before stopping your motion, cupping the side face. His eyes were a brilliant red color comparable to a lustrous gem.

"You really are real." You muttered, stroking a thumb over his cheek.

Mothman brought a clawed hand to your face in a likewise manner, curious of your own features. Where for him he found them peculiar and to other individuals such as yourself they found it normal. The universe was messed up, making it much harder for you to separate yourself from him when the time comes for him to leave, but you allowed this, forgetting your initial plan.

Feeling a sharp claw gliding up against your skin, perfectly capable of nicking you or doing so much worse to you than you could imagine. But he had no intention to do so, merely entranced by you.

His hand wandered up to your forehead, where your gash was, flaky and dried the blood was chipping at the edges. His antennas lowered and chirped in response, for what he did to you back at the stairwell, he didn't mean to. Even if you said it was alright, it still didn’t make him better, bringing a hand to skim the wound, you flinched at the sharp pain of your forgotten injury, knocking you out of your trance-like state.

Mothman drawing back in his seat, alert and worried thinking he hurt you again.

“It’s okay, you did nothing wrong.”

You reached a hand out to calm him, you aimed for his arm but managed to miss and land your hand on his thigh. Wow, that’s great! you internally cringed feeling a blush rush over you, instead of pulling back you still tried to alleviate him by patting his leg, telling him it was the injury that was hurting you not him.

Instead of defusing his concerned mindset, he only tried to push away from you to avoid causing you any further harm. Hand still anchored on his thigh, you launched yourself trying to stop him from hurting himself more.

Fortunately, with your luck, you ended up top of him, Mothman laying on the couch while you hovered over him, with both of your legs planted on either side of his thigh. Your left knee was alarming close to his crotch if you moved an inch closer you would be bumping your knee right into it. Your hands rested squarely on his chest, finger splayed out as you looked down at him with a similar wide-eyed expression.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Maintaining your effort of trying to console Mothman, you coughed to clear your throat and your mind of any dirty thoughts from springing up. “Hey, I know you didn’t mean to, and if you did, I would tell you and- and I’m sorry that I gave you the impression that you hurt me and I’m sorry for hitting you with my car, I feel like saying it doesn’t do justice for what I did.” You panted after your long-winded speech.

“Also, I’m sorry for tackling you down that wasn’t my intention. So, you good? I didn’t hurt you?”

He slowly shook his head, as a response that you didn’t hurt him. Startled yes. Hurt no. Bobbing your head in understanding, you carefully crawled off him.

"Well, I guess I should go get the blood washed off, I'll be right back." You informed the still cryptid who made no effort of getting up, just continued to lay on the couch staring straight ahead in shock.

Walking off to clean off the blood and to regain your composure. You were just going through too many emotions than you should for the night. On your way to take care of your problem, you could’ve sworn you heard something akin to a cat purring where Mothman was. But you blew it off and justified it as hearing the blood rushing and the beat of your heart pounding in your ears.

Striding down a hall and into the bathroom you turned the faucet on allowing the water to flow into the sink and onto your hands. Water pooled in your cupped hands before splashing the cold water onto your face, the water, and dried blood dripping together down around the curves and grooves of your face into the porcelain bowl below. It was a satisfying contrast to your heated face, splashing another round of water at your face but an intrusive memory replayed the moment that happened a few seconds ago. Leaving your face buried in your hands, groaning from sheer embarrassment. Fucking hell why am I like this?!

Unwillingly you slid your hands off and look at yourself in the mirror you looked like the accurate personification of a hot mess. You weren’t going to think too much into this, you are going to pretend what happened didn’t happen, you were going to disinfect and stick a bandage on your cut and not dwell on your emotions around the situation at hand. Allowing him to leave as soon as he is better and not have any other affiliations with him again.

Opening the medicine cabinet for an alcohol wipe and unwrapping the wipe from its small packaging.

"Now for the worst part." Quietly hissing at the contact with the antiseptic. Finishing up on cleaning the wound, you foraged through the cabinet looking for a bandaid. Noting there wasn’t one to be found, you sighed.

Guess I need to go find one.

Turning toward the door to walk out, you looked up and saw Mothman standing at the doorway, watching.

How long was he standing? And how the hell is he so silent for such a big guy and why wasn't he like this before? You were about to question him what he was doing here or if needed something when you noticed he was fiddling with a band-aid in hand. Slowly he brought it up, placing it over your cut.

"Thanks." Laying a hand over the band-aid, feeling not just your cheeks warming up but now a butterfly feeling in your stomach, solidifying your emotions for him.

So much for my plan.

Weaseling past him, before enthusiastically asking him, "Well, we got time to pass, so what do you want to do?"

…..

The sun rays bled through the curtains lightening up your home, the light seeping past your eyelashes and into your eyelids forcing you to wake up. Blinded by the light, you groaned in discomfort, pushing yourself up hearing a couple pops in your back. Rubbing a hand up and down your face trying to wipe away the sleep.

What the hell happened here? Why was there glass everywhere? Looking up you saw your window smashed in with only a few jagged pieces in place around the sides. Turning your attention away you looked around the room, wasn’t there someone else here. O yeah.

But the question was, how did you end up falling asleep on the floor, and where was the large cryptid. Wait a minute.

…

"No, you can't go out, you're still hurt." Trying to hold him back from going through the window. Everything was fine, you both were sitting on the couch, watching whatever, and snacking on fruit, and next, you found yourself asleep but woke up to a ruckus, the tv still on, and seeing Mothman trying to rip the curtain off the window nearby. Jumping to action to stop him, he successfully pulled off the curtains along with the rack, you assumed he was trying to leave even though he wasn’t better or so you thought.

And here you were struggling to hold him back, you thought he was difficult before but now that he fully adjusted and patched, you fully experienced that he was pure indomitable power.

"At least wait till the street is clear." You insisted, noticing some people walking or jogging down the street in the dark early morning. But he didn't listen he was adamant in making his exit. So, you made the decision to let him go.

"Okay, okay at least let me get the window, I don’t want glass on the floor." Racing in front of him to slide the window open. A quick gust of wind whipped against your face, causing you to squint your eyes in response.

"There! AH-!" the last thing you saw was Mothman coming at you and the last thing you felt was his frame bulldozing you down by fast approaching torso.

…

"O right." That explains how you ended up on the floor and the glass strewn all over the floor. More incredibly, even when you opened the window, the creature still managed to break the window in its haste to leave. Your head was pounding, he really is a force to be reckoned with. Bringing a hand to your head, you winced at the contact to your forehead but noticed something else. Delicately raising a hand back to your forehead and skimming along the surface. There was the band-aid from the stairwell and on the other side was another. You didn’t remember adding when did you?

Oh.

……

"My window," you muttered groggily, your vision fading out not before the moth creature gave his assistance to you for the last time and a thanks to you by sticking a band-aid on your sure-to-be bruised noggin as you lulled into an unconscious state.

……

At least bug boy was nice enough to get you another band-aid when he put you out cold, before making his exit. Slowly standing up to get started on assessing the mess and knowing full well that you needed to inform your landlord of the window. You peered out the window, curious of any indication of Mothman to spot, unfortunately, all there was to see the was hustle and bustle of the city around and below.

Turning your attention back to the mess, maybe you could make a fib of some large man drunk man pretending to be Mothman breaking into your home believing it was his. Sighing, you went to grab a broom to clean up the mess, at least you were able to encounter a real living and breathing legend. Made you wonder if other cryptids exist, but you’re pretty sure handling one creature was enough for now after last night.

Finishing up, you gathered all the shards and brought them to the trash. You didn’t have work for today, which gave you the opportunity to get a breather and get things done. Making your way to your room and getting ready for the day.

As you were getting clothes on and getting a good look at yourself in the mirror. There square above your eyes and your right eye was a bruise evident from last night's escapades. Shaking your head, laughing to yourself you weren’t going to be able to cover up the contusion. Bringing a hand to your head, you couldn’t help but smile at the cryptids' cute gesture. Walking out of the restroom deciding to let the shiner shine, ready to do some damage control.

Grabbing your keys, and heading out the door, and yet you couldn't stop thinking of that little moth guy. What are the chances of seeing him again? Probably unlikely, a mere once in a lifetime chance but you were grateful to encounter a sweet bug boy like him.

[lysmune]

Promises of

      A thousand things that she believes the Demon Prince to be, and a thousand times he proves her wrong.

(Diavolo/F!Reader)

     Promises of a painful, slow death is what she believes he’ll give her, but a radiant smile dispels her fears. With liquid ambrosia for eyes and vermillion-struck hair, she’s never seen someone so intimidating, so contrary.

     “I hope your year in the Devildom is a great one!” the stranger chirps, loud and booming, and friendly.

     “Thank you,” is all she manages.

     Promises of a scornful, prideful visage  is what she believes is his flair, but he bears no ill-will towards the hubris of humanity. A thousand lights splayed below the balcony, a gaze set onto the distant future, graced by the soft glow of hope, he tells her that he wishes for peace, more than anything.

     “Don’t all you demons despise us?” she piques and he laughs deeply, sonorous in the never ending darkness.

     “Maybe, but I,” and he turns to look at her with a gentleness that she’s never thought to find in a hell-spawned man, “I find human souls, flawed as they are, beautiful.”

     Promises of friendship is what she believes would be the farthest thing possible, but when he calls her in invitation to see the black roses blooming in his greenhouse, she finds that maybe, it isn’t the most far-fetched situation.

     “Look!” he exclaims excitedly, pointing towards a small bird, tufted in crimson, its winding onyx tail fluttering as it perches itself on the flower’s stem. “It’s a black-tailed canary. It’s a bird native to the Devildom.”

     “How pretty,” she comments, watching the bird fixate its beady eyes on her before it takes off into flight.

     Lord Diavolo chuckles beside her. “Seeing such lovely things up close really does lift my spirits,” he murmurs in awe, in wonder, underscored by a melancholia she can’t quite fathom.

     In response, she presses her hand on his shoulder, humming in agreement; he simply smiles.

     Promises of gold is what she believes would catch his fancy, but his curiosity lies in the fleeting moments caught in polaroids. From swirling pink blossoms to the grin of an aquarium’s beluga, to the cascading reds of a maple autumn and a white winter’s falling snow; he finds joy in all these.

     “This is my favourite,” he notes fondly and she leans over to look at the object of his attraction. It is the simple snapshot of a summer daybreak, the first light of dawn. “The sun never rises here in the Devildom, so I’ve always been curious about it. Your world’s truly blessed.”

     How the Underworld’s Prince is so much of an optimist, she’d probably never know, but it warms her to see him so full of life.

     When he passes the picture back to her, she shakes her head and, with more than a little uncertainty, presses her fingers against his hand.

     “Keep it,” she insists. “Consider it a gift for the hospitality you’ve shown me.”

     Promises of an uneventful night is a relatively easy feat, she believes, but the seven brothers prove her wrong when she’s crowned the guest of honour. They shower her with neatly wrapped gifts, words of gratitude and a group hug so earnest it moves her to tears.

     They take turns dancing with her tonight, seven brothers gliding through seven different musical pieces. Mammon steps up into a bold, thrilling hustle; Leviathan sways with unusual confidence in a jazzy foxtrot; Satan twirls her into a fittingly passionate tango; Asmodeus sweeps her around in an excelsior schottische; Beelzebub rounds a blustering, grinning quickstep; Belphegor drifts into a draping, dreamy carousel and Lucifer, unsurprisingly, leads her gracefully into a viennese waltz.

     What does surprise her, however, is when the Prince comes up to her, requesting her for a dance. “If you’re not too tired, of course.”

     She smiles and places her hand atop his, letting his fingers curl around hers. “No, it would be my honour,” is all it takes for him to capture her breath in a slow, seamless waltz that lasts a beat longer than it should.

     Promises of a shrinking distance isn’t what she foresaw, but he is insistent in having her company, which she, admittedly, isn’t too bothered about. He greets her jovially when he meets her in front of AkuDonald’s, dressed down in a maroon Oxford shirt and beige khakis, a pair of shades completing his look; she wonders if that’s his way of avoiding attention.

     As they both stand in line, he strikes up polite conversation, questioning her how she’s been, how her classes are going, how she’s finding RAD and the seven brothers, and she is, quite frankly, genuinely surprised by how much she’s come to enjoy the entire affair. He’s about to answer when they hit the front of the line, a tired looking demon snippily asking for their order.

     Like always, she goes for the fried shadow goose AkuBurger, the six-pack AkuGizzards and a blushberry slushie. He takes a little more time deciding, but eventually settles for the Hellfire DoubleAkuBurger and a Blackburn coffee before he insistently pays for their meal. Tipping her head down in thanks, she takes the tray and leads him towards a relatively private corner in the joint where he tucks into his lunch undisturbed.

     “Do you come here often?” he prompts and she shrugs, swallowing her food down.

     “Enough,” she responds. “The food here is generally safe for me to not die from.”

     He chuckles. “Not a fan of Devildom cuisine?”

     “Just not nearly as bold to eat something with ‘Double Poison’ tacked onto it,” she explains. Catching him eyeing her gizzards, she picks one up in between her fingers and offers it to him. “They’re good.”

     Leaning forward, without so much of a warning, he takes it from her hand with his teeth and she stiffens, embarrassed, unsure if he’s being serious or just messing with her, or if he’s just dense.

     “You’re right,” he answers, happily smiling as he licks his lips, “they are.”

     She tries not to think about it too hard, simply nodding in agreement before they pass the rest of the time with small-talk, light banter and the never-ending cringe of dad jokes so terrible she has to laugh at each one. Once they’ve finished and exited the premises, he thanks her for her time today, smiling as he always does.

     “I had a lot of fun,” she gladly admits, to which he hums, pleased.

     “I did, too,” he reciprocates and then, a little less playfully, a little more seriously, “If it’s alright with you, let me walk you home.”

     “You don’t -“

     “I want to,” he assures, insists. “I enjoy your company and I’d like us to spend more time together.”

     She warms at his boldness, more evident today than any other, at the way he tentatively reaches for her hand in consent, in invitation, and she accepts it with a nod. With a smile that crinkles his eyes and a careful hold, he leads her back to the House of Lamentation.

     Promises of constant contact is something she’s sure he isn’t one to keep, especially given his consistently packed schedule, but when she’s back in the Human World, her D.D.D rings most often with his name.

     He fills her days with updates on work, on Lucifer’s increasingly baggy eyes, lamenting at how much less bright the Devildom is without her.

     “You’re being dramatic,” she chuckles as she picks up a carton of eggs. “It’s not that bad.”

     “No, it is,” he implores with a huff. “The brothers miss you, including Lucifer, even if he denies it. Teasing him is no fun anymore,” he protests and she clicks her tongue at him. There’s a pause before a sigh, then, “I’m not being honest here.”

     “No?”

     “No,” he repeats; “I miss spending my time with you, I miss being able to see you, I miss talking to you in person. I miss you; I miss you a lot.”

     She runs her fingers through her hair and oh, fuck, he really shouldn’t spring these things onto her. She’s sure he can hear her heart over the phone when it’s this loud.

     Tightening her grip on the trolley’s handle, she responds with an, “I miss you, too.”

     Promises of staying away are best upheld because they’re the smarter option, the safer option, but when she’s back in the Devildom, she‘s compelled to see him again. Barbatos directs her to his study, knocking on the door before he leaves her by the room just as Lord Diavolo lets her in.

     The wind is knocked right out of her chest when he scoops her into a tight hug and she eases into his arms, burying her face into his chest. He smells faintly of warm spice and agarwood, of a familiarity she’s sorely longed for.

     “I’m glad you’re back,” he whispers, the hint of a tremble in his voice.

     “I am, too.”

     Promises of subtlety is a given, she believes, but he hasn’t much thought for it when he clasps a golden bracelet onto her wrist. It is a simple chain, studded with tiny opals, and much too lavish for someone who’s come here as an exchange student.

     “This is a little excessive, don’t you think?” she asks, raising a brow as she fiddles with the accessory, to which he frowns.

     “Do you not like it?” he inquires and she shakes her head.

     “No, I do,” she assures, and she really does. It’s a beautiful piece of jewellery, it’s just that, “I’m not quite sure if I’m so deserving of such things.”

     At that, he takes her hand, pulling her a little closer. “You are,” he affirms softly, gently lacing his fingers with hers. “Let me be a little selfish.”

     She chuckles. “You’re being selfish by giving me a gift?”

     “No,” he replies as he levels her with a crackling, sparking gaze and her heart skips a beat. “I’m being selfish because I want you to myself.”

     Promises of indulgence are what she believes to be a demon’s domain, but he simply holds her in his arms most nights, content with the simple pleasure of having her there with him, of talking to her, of hearing her say his name without the formalities.

     “You’re not anything like I thought a demon would be,” she muses as he hugs her tighter from behind, letting her head rest on the line of his shoulder.

     He chuckles, pressing his lips to hers sweetly, briefly. “No?”

     “I expected them to be a little more ...” she trails off in search for a word, then, “churlish.”

     “I can be,” he mumbles while he lazily nibbles at her ear, patterns kisses into her jaw and the exposed column of her neck. “I’m just being polite.”

     She hums. “Maybe.”

     “You don’t think so?”

     “No,” she responds with a peck to his cheek, hand coming up to the side of his head, pulling him closer against her. “I think you’re just a touch holy.”

     His skims her skin with tongue and teeth, breaths warm, chuckling as he does. “You’re bold to say that to the Prince of Hell.”

     Promises of a Lord unshaken is what she believes the demons see, but behind all the closed doors, he bares his vulnerability to her against the starless, perpetual nights.

     “Do you want to talk, Diavolo?” she asks. He’s silent for a moment before he offers his hand to her. She takes it and he pulls her to his side, letting his arm drape down to hold her at her waist.

     Overlooking the city sprawled under him, he sighs. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing,” he confesses under his breath, the uncertainty wavering his voice. “I want peace between all the realms, but do they? Do my people?”

     "You don’t think they want that?”

     “We’re demons. War is within our very nature,” he states simply, pressing her a little closer to him. “A few of us are fallen angels, others human, but most demons were born here, and all of us are vengeful, resentful creatures,” he murmurs; she says nothing. “The fallen angels want nothing to do with the Celestial Realm, the human-turned-demons carry over their hate and the rest of us have just always had a taste for destruction.

     “For most of us, we’ve always felt like the two worlds looked at us with nothing but contempt. When Heaven smites an angel unruly, they’re punished into being a devil; when humans talk about eternal torture, we’re the very picture of it. Demons are a proud folk, we give back the respect we’ve been shown, but when everyone has only ever hated us, what is there to be but bitter? And the cycle keeps going, it has for the last thousands of centuries.”

     “I’m sorry,” is all she can offer and he chuckles.

     “Please, it’s alright,” he assures with a smile, though it’s wearied with the burdens of a leader. “I’m just ... wondering.”

     She isn’t sure what to say to him, if she can even comfort him. She’s no angel, or demon, and even as a human, she’s never been a particular occult; she’s just an exchange student who lacks understanding of the tension’s nuance.

     “Look, hey,” she starts, “I know I’m not the best person to say it, but your people respect you. They might squabble with Heaven or us humans, but they’ve put their trust in you; otherwise, in all honesty, I think they’d have just eaten me and Solomon alive.”

     He cracks a small, tiny smile at that.

     “You needed mutual agreement between all the realms for this exchange program, and you did it. If that tells me anything, it’s that they’re probably tired of all the fighting, too,” she surmises. He laughs, just barely, before he bends down to kiss her forehead, letting it linger.

     When he pulls away, he says, “Thank you, that helped.”

     “Did it?”

     He hums. “A little,” he responds, loosening his grip on her. “I need to be alone for a while, is that okay?”

     “Take all the time,” she answers. Placing a quick kiss onto his cheek, she turns on her heel and walks away. Comforting demon royalty isn’t something she’s good at, and maybe she never will be, but space? Space is something she can give him.

     Promises of ‘unto death do us part’ is tradition, the idea of a romance that spans the fire of life until it’s snuffed out by a swing of the scythe, but she believes that mortality is fickle to him. A being of a thousand years that will live on for a thousand more, and she fills in the mere potential century; a year for him is a decade for her.

     Yet here he is, knotting the string of his life to her in promise. “Make a pact with me,” he declares, bringing her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles as though she were royalty.

     Her breath hitches. “Diavolo.”

     “Let me be yours,” the demon pleads, yearns, longs and she’s a little taken aback by the openness of it all.

     “You don’t have to,” she says but he surges, drawing her in.

     “I want to,” he asserts, unyielding, though she’s still unconvinced.

     An act of binding. That’s what it means to be tied down to a contract, and she knows full well what the consequences are, for the both of them, should any of them trespass their terms. With the seven brothers, she did as the situation demanded, but with Diavolo, there’s absolutely nothing that warrants it.

     He seems to sense her unease, because he squeezes her hand, brings her closer. “It’ll be fine,” he assures; “Let me show you what you mean to me.”

     “I know where I stand with you,” she tells him as she raises a hand to cup his cheek.

     “Do you?” he asks in rhetoric, pressing his lips against her pulse, eyes locking onto hers. “You needn’t ask and I’d gladly give a century of my life for you, freely offer you my soul, and even if you love me less, leave me for a human, I’d regret none of it.”

     She swallows his words when he presses his lips to hers, wholly engulfed by the sincerity of it all. Gentle as always, tender as always, and none of the demon she’d thought he’d be, his hand coming up to caress her face. He leaves her lightheaded, breathless, forehead touching hers, the warmth between them near unbearable.

     “I trust you, utterly and entirely; let me show you that I do,” he murmurs and she clasps her hands behind his neck, her lips hovering above his.

     “Nothing I say will change your mind, will it?”

     He chuckles. “I’m afraid not.”

     Promises of sacrifice and loyalty, they aren’t taken lightly by the laws of a contract, but he pledges himself anyway, so readily and so staunchly she almost falters.

     In reverence, he traces the mark - his mark - that runs from her shoulder and coils around her arm, marvelling at the sight of it. “Was it painful?” he asks as he glances to her, worry underscoring his words.

     She shrugs and offers him a smile in hopes it’ll reassure him. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

     Leaning in to thumb a kiss to her clavicle, he chuckles low. “Sometimes I forget you’ve made pacts with the seven strongest demons here,” he says and the pride in his voice makes her chest swell.

     “Eight,” she corrects while she cards her fingers through his hair, trailing the curl of his horns, eliciting a quiet, pleased hum from him.

     “Eight,” he repeats in satisfaction before he lifts his head up to meet her and she, emboldened, enraptured, captures his lips in fervour.

     Agarwood and warm spice, she drinks the taste of him, smoky lapsang and carbon ashen. He spills her name into her mouth, once more into the spellbound night when she punctures a soft bite into the juncture of his neck, a hymnic praise that makes her feel nothing less of otherworldly. He almost - almost - whines when she pulls away, chuckling as she does.

     Under her, he’s nothing short of breathtaking, with topazes for eyes and vermillion hair, and dark skin marked by black, steeped in gold. Triangular patterns of red hiss around his throat, the newly formed pact pulsing with magic and she trails her fingers across them, enamoured.

     “You’re beautiful,” she finds herself professing and he lets out a quiet laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing under her touch, the sound reverberating.

     “I’m all yours,” he surrenders and she’s touched, honoured by the sincerity of his proclamation. “I will be until you say I no longer am.”

     “And I, yours,” she promises before she laces her fingers with his and kisses him once more.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

You Don’t Understand- Prompt Fill

Jon has a rough time after being absent for 6 months.

Write as a prompt fill gotten through A03

CW fainting, victim blaming, withdrawal/starvation symptoms (from statements) (I am a bit vague about which it is more like because I couldn't choose, so a bit of both), trust issues, very brief Peter Lukas mention, brief mention of someone being touched while unconscious (nonsexual and very brief mention), and cw for some very mixed feelings about Georgie.  I understand her, and I don't hate her, but I don't really like her either so please don't get mad at me for how she is written I am trying to do her justice and I get why she does the things she does, but I don't have to like her for it.

Thanks for reading hope you enjoy! I have a few more bingo prompts to post, but only one more to write!  Feel free to stick it in my inbox and if no one does, well you will just have to put up with whatever whim strikes me this weekend when I will write it for a backlog!  Card by the wonderful @celosiaa​

It’s been six months.  How has it been six months?  

Jon isn’t sure how he is supposed to think about that time.  Is it all supposed to feel like a dream, that one moment he’s blowing up, the next he’s awake?  

It doesn’t feel like that.  

But he also wasn’t really there for six months, was he?   

He sighs deeply to himself.  It doesn’t matter.  

It doesn’t matter.  

He’s alive.  

He’s fine.  

Martin and Tim are sharing a flat, apparently.  And that’s good.  He thinks?  Maybe?  

They keep telling him there is room for him, but he isn’t sure he can believe that…. Not after everything with Tim.  He wants to believe it…  But… what if Martin doesn’t want him there.  He thought maybe they had a moment before the Unknowing, but did they?  

Jon’s not good with…. Feelings.  With people.  

Not to mention he’s been Gone.  With a capital G and a flatline of a heartrate.  

Even if he and Martin could possibly have…  Could possibly have had something.  Of some unknowable sort.  That he couldn’t have hoped to put a word to for fear that it would crumble around him.  But he’s been gone and Tim hasn’t been and they seem close now.  

And maybe Tim is trying again with him?  But how can he be sure?  When everything is confusing and out of sync with what he thought of time.  

Not to mention the deep hunger that is more than hunger.  Deeper in his gut, and harder to ignore.  Followed by a fog of confusion and the sense that his skin is too tight, that the world is the wrong temperature, and that everything is tilted ever so slightly, making it impossible to keep his balance.  

Reading statements helps, but… Basira… but Georgie.  The disappointed glares they send his way when he skulks off to read one in hopes of feeling like his limbs are his again…. That he isn’t being slowly set on fire or slowly frozen.  The world skirting by him with a vengeful glee leaving him to rot in his own misery on the shelf in the stacks he’s been calling home recently.  

Martin wasn’t there when he woke up…. Working for the ever elusive Peter Lukas.  Tim wasn’t there… Martin later telling him he’d been afraid of scaring him.  Which Jon couldn’t escape the worry that, in actuality, it was Martin worrying that Tim would scare Jon… or hurt him.  Which Jon could tell was the more valid of the worries.  Or he thinks it is?  How is he supposed to be certain.  How can he trust anyone?  How is he supposed to trust anyone when Basira gives him such calculating stares, when Melanie glares metaphorical and literal daggers at him, when Georgie has been ignoring his texts (and her harsh words upon his waking).  When Martin is working for a literal monster.  When Daisy is gone… and Jon doesn’t know how to feel.  He wants Basira to be happy, but he feels safer without her.  And he doesn’t know how to feel about anything but he is sick and hungry and cold and hollow.  

There is no one.  

Georgie doesn’t understand.   

He runs into her once, picking Melanie up for therapy.  After…. An unwise abrupt and shady surgery.  

He is in the breakroom.  Baffled that Martin is still making him tea when he hardly sees him around.  Even more baffled when Tim makes him another cup.  

What does it all mean?  

(Not to mention his confusion at the green hair… that had been a shock.

When he texted Martin about it, he said to ask Tim, and included an emoji that Jon couldn’t parse out.  Weren’t emojis supposed to be easier to read than actual faces?  It was maybe resigned?  Or maybe regretful?

Regretful of what?  Is he ashamed of something?  Is he regretful that he opened a text from Jon, that Jon turned down the request to move in?  It isn’t that Jon wanted to turn it down.  

But it sounds too good to be true?  When everyone avoids him at work… Well Tim doesn’t, but Jon is scared of being alone with Tim.  He is scared of this kindness and how long it might last.)

So he’s in the breakroom.  

Trying to steady himself the less monstrous and terrifying way.  

And Georgie is there.  

Jon shrinks back on himself.  Still hoping the mug of tea will make his hands steadier, make him less cold, less shaky, less miserable.  But he’s having difficulty holding it with one shaky hand, white knuckling his cane with the other.  Trying not to let it tremble as much as the rest of him, propping himself up when black spots start eating at his vision.  Not in the POTS sort of way… but in the same way that has been since America.  Since that first hint of fear that maybe… maybe he’s not human, that he is reliant on some horrifying eldritch god of knowledge.  

This is the price of him waking up.  

And it chews him up from the inside when, in his panic, he tries to limit his consumption hoping that it will turn him back.  Hoping that he still has a chance to win back the people he cares about, but fighting the fear that this is the only way to save them all.  

He doesn’t know what to do.  Being undead doesn’t come with a manual.  

And there is no chance that Georgie will take this any better than she did when she kept telling him to quit… to just stop.  

He’s trying!  

It’s been a few days since his last statement, and the world swims before his eyes whenever he stands.  Worse than it ever has.  He’s woken up on the floor more times in the few weeks he’s been alive again than in the long and confusing months leading up to his diagnosis.  

Which was after Georgie… which… means she hasn’t seen him like this.  Not when he was living with her because he has been managing, or so he thought, but hell maybe the Eye had a hand in that.  

And oh Shit, she is looking at him now.  

What does he do if she wants to talk?  She hasn’t responded to any of his texts, or late night calls when he’s been too afraid to call anyone else and she always felt safe.  Even when they were fighting.  But she hasn’t been there for him.  No one has, of late.  Except the people who are trying and Jon is too confused to know what to do so he does nothing and an all-consuming guilt joins in with that Hunger.  That sickness eating him from the inside with every word he doesn’t consume.  

“Hi Jon.”  

He can’t say anything.  He’s been standing too long, but seeing her there, he is frozen.  Fight or Flight breaking down to freeze.  Has he always been such a coward?  

Yes.  

Yes he has.  A miserable coward since he was a child.  Getting into trouble trying to try to prove to himself that he isn’t.  

Christ he’s dizzy.  But she’s still talking.  

“Jon, you really oughtn’t be here.  You don’t look well.  Shouldn’t you still be resting?  That long in hospital should have you in need of some physical therapy.  Are you pushing yourself too hard?”

Jon bites down on the urge to snap at her.  Or start crying.  Or simply pass out and not have to deal with this conversation at all.  “I need to be here,” he says quietly.  Afraid that expelling too much air will knock him over.  

“And why is that?  Really Jon, I swear…  Melanie says you haven’t been eating , or sleeping, but she sees  you here at all hours.  Why?  What is this all for?  It’s just a job, I don’t care if there are Monsters or whatever.  You see this?  This is why I can’t deal with you right now!  Not to mention what you did to Melanie.  What the hell, Jon?  You say you’re trying to save the world, but maybe you can’t?  Maybe you need to save yourself before you can do anything else.”

Jon just wants to get away before he goes down, and by this point he knows that is inevitable.  Maybe get to his office, and open a statement first.  Maybe that will help, or maybe it will make him feel better once he comes around.  He should put down his tea.  He doesn’t want the mug to break if he can’t make it.  He’ll set it on the table on the way out, or wait until he’s in  the bullpen and put it down and take a seat and hope that helps.  He tries to edge around her, staring at the floor.  Careful not to say anything that could compel.  Just wanting to get out.  “Have work to do… sorry.”  

“No you don’t!  Look at yourself, Jon!  Work can wait!”  

Jon just wants to leave.  He wishes it could!  He does.  He wants nothing more than to take a vacation.  To move in with Martin and Tim and have a life.  A home.  Safety.  Normalcy.  And Argument over who finished the milk and who has to do the shopping and not about how best to not die at the hands of Fear Gods, and how best to not serve them.  “Please, Georgie you don’t understand…”  

He backs away.  Fuck he’s dizzy.  

“No, Jon I don’t.  Explain.  What am I missing.  Why do you have to do this?  Why do you insist on working yourself into your grave?  It’s already basically killed you.  Maybe some of us don’t want to see you do that again?”

“I… I…  I need a Statement….”  Well so much for getting away.  He’s not even going to make it to a chair or the floor on his own.  “Hold this, I’m… I think I’m going to faint now.”  He holds his cane out to her.  

She takes it confused.  

Jon doesn’t remember hitting the floor.  

When he comes around, his head is pounding.  

Georgie is touching him.  He is on his side, and he is being yelled at.  He can’t make out the words yet… all just in a haze of pain and confusion and feeling like utter shit.  He tries to bat her hands away but he can’t and so he just lays there.  Hoping some feeling comes back to his limbs soon.  Or that Georgie will just get bored and leave him there.  

But then Martin is there.  And Tim.  

And Martin is shooing Georgie out of his personal space.  “He doesn’t like being touched while he’s out.”  

Well…  correct.  

“What the hell just happened?”  Georgie.  

“Well… it happens sometimes.  Did he say anything?”  Martin again.  

“Something about needing Statement?”

“Tim, could you grab him a Statement?”  

“Sure thing, back in a mo.”  Tim.  More earnest than Jon has heard him in a long time.  Tim helping him?  If he wasn’t already on the floor, he might have fainted again at that.  

“What, you’re just going to go along with it?  Let him work himself to death?  Look at him!  He isn’t well!  …I don’t know why I am arguing this.  He’s an adult and if he is going to do that, I don’t need to be a part of this.  It isn’t my job to baby sit him.”  Georgie shoves his cane at Martin, who doesn’t freeze.  In fact, as far as Jon can tell through half lidded eyes, Martin looks angry.  

“Look.  I know we don’t know each other well.  But do you really think so poorly of Jon… of me?  I don’t know what he’s told you… but he needs those Statements to live.  I don’t know if it’s ….a food… or… or an addiction.  But … he doesn’t do well without them.  And… And Elias was feeding them to him when he wasn’t here.  And Jon told me how you didn’t want them in the flat, but he got sick in America.  Really really sick, and … and Elias found him there and fed him another one.  He didn’t know until then.  But… you have to know we can’t quit.  And we aren’t sure if Jon can live without these.  And it is a far from ideal situation… but we are working on it.  You don’t have to like it.  Or talk to Jon, although you should.  You aren’t enabling him, he needs a support system.  And he’s just too thick to see that Tim and I are here from him, and everyone else is giving him the cold shoulder… so I don’t blame him for being too thick to notice!  Not to mention, my new position has made interacting with him during work hours… difficult, but I can’t blame him for not wanting to move in yet, although I hope he will.  And you!  The only person not in this mess who he trusts, ignores him.  Blames him!  Maybe you should try listening?  I get it… you can’t deal with him right now.  Fine.  I get it.  Do what you have to.  You don’t have to look after him at your own expense.  But don’t be cruel.  …Oh good.  Tim, thanks.  When he comes around, a Statement and some tea will set him right.”  Martin smiles at Tim (a smile that makes Jon jealous) and gives Georgie a cool look.  

“Marto, I think he’s been awake for most of that.”  Tim is crouched by him.  

“Haven’t been eavesdropping, promise.  Just… just getting my bearings.  I’m fine.  I’ll be up soon.”  Jon’s voice is rough.  Misery, unshed tears, exhaustion.  Take your pick.  

“It’s okay, buddy.  We’ll get you fixed up and then you can have a proper rest.  Offer of the flat share is still open, okay?”  Tim hovers, ready to help him sit when he’s ready.  

Jon… doesn’t know what to say.  After hearing Martin defend him… Maybe… Maybe he can start working on trusting Tim again.  Tim… is, after all, working on trusting him too.  

Georgie looks down at him.  He can’t read her expression.  She looks at him for a long moment.  

The gaze isn’t uncomfortable by itself.  But Jon feels exposed on the floor.  Small and helpless and weak as well as supernaturally hungry, that not at all helped by his “surprise nap.”  

He tries to avoid meeting her eyes.  

“I’m… sorry I didn’t listen.  I… still can’t do this with you right now.  But… I’m sorry.  I can’t be your friend now, but… let me know if you want some pictures of the Admiral ever, okay?”  And she leaves.  Off to bring Melanie to her appointment.  

Leaving Jon with Martin and Tim.   

Who bring him to his sad excuse for a bed, tuck him in with a statement and a cup of tea and tell him to call if he needs anything.  And Jon thinks, maybe he will reconsider their offer.  

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 2/?
Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young
Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending


Summary: “She’d buried him next to the false hopes and broken promises he’d given her, growing her resentment and longing in the same garden as his missing corpse, taunting reminder of her failure to make him stay. Occasionally, she would revisit his empty tomb and greet his ghost, tormenting him with the same question over and over again; why?”

Chapter two is out! Read on ao3 or under the cut.

“Have you been well, Cha-young?”, the same deep voice she’d missed asks. The ghost that’s been haunting her came back in the flesh.

He hasn’t aged at all, his youthful face still handsome as ever. He’s not smiling per se, but she can tell he’s happy to see her. She gets up and walks away. This couldn’t possibly be happening.

He catches up to her after a few seconds.

“Cha-young-ah. Hong Cha-young. Talk to me.”, he urges her. Suddenly, she can’t control her anger anymore.

“Talk to you?”, she faces him. “You made it extremely clear five years ago that we had nothing to say to each other.”, she screams. His face is unreadable, years apart have made him a stranger. “And now what? You want me to talk to you? You disappeared on me out of nowhere and never looked back so don’t you dare ask anything of me, got it?”

Panting, the anger she thought gone felt just as hot as the day he left her.

“Fuck!”. She’s not done yet. How could he come back like nothing ever happened? He had given her shelter, just to make her homeless. He had made her believe in love and happy endings, built her a castle and set it on fire. She hated him, his stupid hair and his stupid face. “Why are you doing this to me now? I don’t get it. Why now?” She starts crying out of anger, out of frustration, out of exhaustion.

For years now Cha-young had spent all her energy trying to forget Vincenzo and what they could have been. She had fooled herself into thinking she was over him but even after all this time, even when she was this angry at him, all she wanted to do was to touch him. She felt like she’d been cursed by the Gods, condemned to have him in her sight, yet forever out of reach.

She’s shaking now, sobbing. Vincenzo slowly approaches her, his eyes full of anguish.

“Can I please hold you?”, he almost begs as a single tear runs down his cheek. She doesn’t remember a time where he’d sounded this desperate, and she nods, almost against her will.

He wraps his arms around her, her head falls on his chest. She takes a deep breath, filling her nose and lungs with his scent, the one she hasn’t been able to forget. Somehow, she’s crying even harder now and he starts stroking her hair. “I’m sorry,”, he whispers. “I’ve missed you so much.”

She can’t quite convince herself yet that this is not a dream, so she holds him tight, afraid that the ocean will swallow him and turn him into foam.

They stay in each other’s embrace for a while. It could be minutes or hours, Cha-young doesn’t really know. It seems that tonight, on this beach, her grasp on her reality is loosening. Dreams and ghosts come to her in waves, and she can’t help but wonder when the tide will recede.

In the beginning, she dreamt that he would stay with her. Cha-young thought herself strong enough to anchor Vincenzo, yet he had fled and renounced her. Then, she had dreamed of his return, punished to share the fate of a seamen’s wife awaiting her husband’s homecoming.

He had chosen to leave and, until now, had never bothered to come back, and so after a while she had declared him lost at sea. She’d buried him next to the false hopes and broken promises he’d given her, growing her resentment and longing in the same garden as his missing corpse, taunting reminder of her failure to make him stay. Occasionally, she would revisit his empty tomb and greet his ghost, tormenting him with the same question over and over again; why? The ghost stayed mum, mere fragment of a person who had once been alive.

Yet, here he was, the one she had lost at sea, standing in front her. There was no doubt that it was him, alive and well. She felt herself regain control over her emotions and stepped out of his arms.

“You owe me an explanation”, she demands, looking him in the eyes. He nods slowly, his face serious. He is about to speak when she cuts him off, “Not here.” Here, where dreams become reality and prayers were heard. “Take me to your room”.

And so he does. They walk back to the hotel in complete silence, the sea breeze clearing up her foggy mind. They go up to the very last floor and Cha-young almost laughs. Their rooms are exactly a floor apart.

When they get inside, Vincenzo invites her to sit on the couch while he settles for a nearby armchair. The suite is as big as an apartment and the view of the ocean is stunning. It suddenly dawns on Cha-young that he’d probably been living in luxury for the past 5 years, and why wouldn’t he when he was that rich, but the thought annoys her. As petty as it sounds, she had wanted him to be miserable, just as she had been.

“Why?”

The question that had been haunting her hangs in the air for a while, and at one point she thinks he might leave it unanswered.

“That time I ended up staying, I’d managed to take care of the situation in Italy, but it was temporary solution. I needed to come back to save our family from being killed off.” He explained, choosing each word carefully. She could tell he was nervous, his eyes scanning her face, looking for cues.

“That explains why you had to leave, but that’s not what I was asking, Joo-hyung-ah.”

He looks like she’d just slapped him across the face, and she might as well have. She had never called his Korean name in such a harsh tone before. No, this name had been reserved for their most intimate moments, when she made love to him and played with his hair afterwards, as he fell asleep in her arms, when he told her about the few memories he had with his mother, or described his life in Italy with his adoptive parents. It was the first she had used his name as a weapon, and he looked devastated. Good.

He takes a shaky breath and bites his lip, trying to hold back his tears. In that moment, he looks as old as the world and as weak as a child. Although it pains her to look at him like this, she shows no compassion. This man had destroyed her and she would hold him accountable.

“I left without telling you because I didn’t trust myself to go through with it.”, he finally manages to say after a while. “I had to leave but I just couldn’t bring myself to let you go.”

“You’re a coward, Mr. Cassano.”, she spits out his name, hoping the formality of it would hurt him too.

“I know.”

“Why did you have to leave me? I get that you needed to go back, but why did you have to leave me too?” Cha-young tries to stay as calm as possible, but it proves difficult when she keeps blurting out her most vulnerable thoughts. She feels defenceless against him, but it is the only way she’ll get the answers she needs.

“Turns out the situation was even worse than what Luca had told me, and I wasn’t sure any of us would get out of it alive. You didn’t deserve to have to wait for me indefinitely.”

“So dropping me out of the blue was the best solution you came up with? That’s the only thing the great Vincenzo Cassano, one of the best masterminds in the game, could think of?” Her words are met by silence. “Guess what, genius? I still waited years for you. How was I supposed to get closure when you just disappeared? Wouldn’t you, out of all people, know what it feels like to be abandoned?”

It was a low blow, she had to admit, but she was past that. She needed to bring him to his knees, she needed to shatter him, she needed to break his heart.

“The truth is, I thought—I thought I was freeing you. From me, from my sins.” He’s not looking at her anymore, head hanging down, tears falling onto the ground. She compels her heart to look away, just this once, to not care for him.

“And who do you think you are? Do I not get to decide for myself?”, she’s almost screaming again. Everything that was coming out of his mouth sounded ridiculous to her.

Of course, she had imagined this confrontation countless of times, coming up with all the possible reasons he would use to justify what he did, but none of them mattered. None of them were enough to appease her, to undo what had been done. Nothing would ever repair what he’d broken and they’d never be the same again.

“I have no excuse, tesoro.” She hears the plea in his voice.

“Don’t call me that.” He looks at her, visibly in pain.

It was bizarre, seeing him like that, so hesitant, so vulnerable, so scared.

She realises it at once; she’s witnessing his fear for the first time. She hadn’t been able to spot it at first but there it was. He’d allowed her to see his anger, his sadness, his unfiltered joy but he’d never been afraid in front of her. Vincenzo was scared to mess this up, scared to loose her again. She had to hold back a smile.

“Did you follow me here? Don’t lie to me.” She demands, reinvigorated by her newly found confidence.

“I’d never lie to you.” She rolls her eyes at that. “I landed in Seoul two days ago, but Mr. Nam told me you’d be spending the next few weeks here, so I hopped on the first flight I found. Meeting you here, tonight, was an accident. I didn’t know which hotel you were staying in.” He looks to his right, suitcase opened on the floor, near the bedroom’s entrance.

“Why are you here, Vincenzo?”, she’s trying not to let her emotions seep through her words, to remain distant. But he knows her well, and she can tell by the way his eyes suddenly look at hers that he hears it, the part of her that wants him to answer “For you, I’m here for you.”.

“To repent. I’m here to repent, Cha-young-ah.”. His words carry the same certainty they once did, his tone the one of a fearless man. Her heart threatens to leap out of her chest.

“Do I look like a fucking church to you?”, she forces out a laugh she hopes sounds bitter. Not letting him time to reply, she gets up from the couch, feeling dizzy. “Right, I’ve heard enough. Goodbye.”

She can’t tell if he calls her name or goes after her but she’s out the door before she knows it. She runs down the stairs, gets into her room and heads straight in the shower. The water’s freezing cold, but she finds comfort in not being able to feel the tears streaming down her face.

She tucks herself into bed, confused about whether she’d rather wake up from this nightmare or continue to live this dream.

[sabraeal]

And Spring Became the Summer

[Read on AO3]

The very last of my follower fics for the 700 Followers gifts! This one was the bonus for making it to 750 before December, and I’m so glad I’ve FINALLY gotten this done...so I can do it all over again this year 🤣

The last term paper Mitsuhide writes for his undergraduate career he slips into a glossy plastic portfolio-- double-spaced and double-sided, graphs printed in full color-- and turns in personally.

It’s a wide-eyed TA that takes it, seated behind a desk that’s far too big for her. Or well, she’s not wide-eyed at first; instead she’s bent over her work, only glancing up absently to make sure she has it in hand. But a second one turns absence to alarm, eyes fixing to where he grips the plastic, and suddenly he’s all-too aware how easily how just one of his hands could swallow both of hers.

So is she; her eyes pulse wide, and then she’s tracing the line of his arm up and up doggedly, like as long as she just keeps going, she might hit the end of him. When she finally does, he offers her a sheepish smile, shoulders hunched lessen the blow.

She shrinks back, a mousey brown head peeking above an oversized university sweatshirt. So much for that.

“You could have emailed this,” she squeaks, plucking the plastic sleeve from his grip. “I mean, not that you can’t hand it in. It’s just, er...”

“No one does,” another adds, rolling across the floor with a level of curiosity that he’s pretty sure an in-person paper doesn’t warrant. When she measures him with her gaze, she enjoys every inch. “Pretty old fashioned, if you ask me.”

He recognizes both of them; their names had been on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. He’d found them both on the department website, Amanda wearing the same Clarines sweatshirt she had on today, and Holly’s clearly from some beach vacation, cropped from the shoulders up.

(“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a stalker,” Obi says, hanging upside down from the armchair.

“I’m-- I’m not!” Mitsuhide sputters, heat creeping up his neck. One day, Obi would slip up and say these things in front of someone who mattered, someone with a much more rigid sense of humor than Professor Gazelt, or didn’t know to take every word of his with an ocean of salt like Dean Haruka, and then it would be him that got seated in front of a disciplinary committee. The last thing he needed to do before even finishing law school applications was explain his brother’s poor taste in jokes on the record. “It’s just...”

“That you’re compelled to look at cute girls on the university website?” he offers, so casual. “I could think of hotter majors, if you wanted. Psych seems like it’s the sort of place real tens might hand out, right? Maybe, uh, Education? Kindergarten teachers always are cute--”

“It’s polite,” Mitsuhide grits out, shoulders hunched up by his ears. “You should know everyone on staff in your department, just the way you should know everyone you work with. It’s the proper way to network.”

Obi watches him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of zoo animal or-- or one of those really bad cooks on TV, the kind who tries to pan fry a chicken whole. “God, you don’t actually do that, do you?”

“It’s the secret to good business.” At least, that’s what his parents always told him.

“You must be...” Obi savors the moment, looking positively euphoric as he says, “Really fucking creepy at the department Christmas party.”)

“No one did,” says the first-- Amanda, graduate summa cum laude from Columbia-- tone aimed to shush. “I’m, uh, happy to take that, though.”

He gives her his most gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“No,” Holly-- Penn State, no honors-- mutters, casting him a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes. Hers go up and up too, but seem to come to a much more amicable conclusion. “Thank you.”

“Stop.” Amanda’s hands flex on the thin plastic; she has soft hands, a callus only on the knuckle of her middle finger, where a pen might rest. Like Shirayuki, only without the thousand nicks and cuts that dot her fingers, battle wounds from wrangling recalcitrant plants.

Her chin pulls up, set in a determined line as she says, “Congratulations on graduating.”

“Ah...” It’s a kind thought, and meant well, but knowing he’s about to spend the next three years earning the degree that counts softens the blow. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice, um, summer?”

“Definitely will be nicer not to grade papers,” Holly offers, immune to Amanda’s shushing. “Do you have pl--?”

“We should get back to grading,” Amanda says, just to the left of too loud. “Have a nice summer.”

Never repeat yourself, Mama always told him, it weakens your position.

You can never be too polite. That’s what Papa would say, when he thanked the cashier for a third time.

Mitsuhide winces; he’s always hated this, being stuck between his parents. It’s clearly time to leave. “Right. Bon été, Amanda.”

“Was that French,” he hears hissed the moment he’s stepped out the door; the same moment another voice says, “Did I tell him my name?”

He should have just emailed it. Mitsuhide can make any number of excuses about the joys of collating and color printing, about face-time and networking, but at the end of the day, he has to call a spade a spade: this has all been an excuse. A thin one too, to keep him out of the house. To put off what he knows need doing.

Mitsuhide steps into the cool air of the foyer, shivering as it catches the sweat that beaded at his hairline on the walk. His courage peaks as he stands there, right next to the shoe mat, grand stair stretching up before him, still in his oxfords--

And immediately effervesces when he catches sight of smooth, bare legs on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers worth more than his phone perched up on the mahogany. This is it, the moment of truth, fight or flight, and he-- he doesn’t know which way to run.

So he doesn’t. He’s drawn there with inexorable motion, a magnet to a lodestone, the hard soles of his shoes clacking against the wood the only thing keeping him grounded. It takes only a few steps before long, tanned legs lead up to sleep shorts; not the clingy kind that curve and cup, but the ones that hang like boxers around the tops of her thighs, rucking up as she moves. After that it’s a hoodie, worn loose and baggy, like it’s supposed to fit someone twice her size, its hood drawn tight against her face. Nothing...sexy, not the way Obi might say, with far too much eyebrows involved. But still, his mouth runs dry, tongue heavy behind his teeth.

How on earth is he going to do this?

“Kiki.” He speaks before he thinks, sinking down on the table. It creaks beneath him, ominous. “I owe you a date.”

“Oh shit.” Obi flops over on the recliner, wide gold eyes peeking over the arm. “Check out the balls on this kid.”

This is a terrible idea. He should have known not to do this in a-- a common room, one where other brothers might be hiding.

“Sorry,” he creaks, levering himself up. “I didn’t realize-- you’re clearly busy--”

“No.” Kiki’s lays her feet right on his thighs, pushing him down with a thump. “You were saying something important.”

He darts a glance to the shadow squirming obnoxiously on soft leather. “But Obi--”

“Obi,” she informs him, as imperious as any C-suite member, “can leave.”

Obi doesn’t so much bark out a laugh as honks it. “Not unless I got time to make popcorn.”

Her head doesn’t move an inch from where she’s got it, chin tilted up to meet his own gaze. Her eyes though, those slide pointedly away, fixed at their corners, radiating malice. Kiki is slow to speak, deliberate when she does, but her eyes-- well, there’s a wealth of words in every look, and right now they’re reading Obi the riot act.

It would have worked better if Obi wasn’t already so used hearing it.

“Ignore him,” Kiki decides, attention snapping back to him. “He’s furniture.”

“Oh, Ms Kiki,” Obi drawls, barreling towards a mistake, “you could sit on me any--”

“You were saying?” she says, every word iron. Obi takes the hint, for once.

“I, uh...well, you paid for a date,” Mitsuhide manages lamely, darting a worried look to where Obi lounges on the chair. “I mean, you paid a lot for a date. And I understand that you may have just wanted to donate to the frat, but if you wanted to--”

“I told you,” Kiki says, dry, toes flexing firmly on his knee. “I expect you to make it worth my while.”

“Ah, y-yeah.” Her saying that while looking at him like she did-- well, his brain had that queued up every time he blinks his eyes. Sometimes it changed venues, and there were some, uh, costume changes at times, but if he shut his eyes right now it’d spool up with perfect fidelity. “I thought it might, um, d-distract you if we tried before finals, but since you’ve finished-- we’ve finished--”

“As of twenty minutes ago,” Obi adds, so helpful.

“--I thought it might be a fun way to relax.” He’s honestly never felt less relaxed in his life just sitting here, contemplating it. Half of it he can chalk up to Obi, curled over the recliner like a gremlin, waiting to wreak his version of chaos the second he can weasel his fingers in, but the other--

Well, it’s hard to ask someone on a date when you know they’ve already got someone in mind for the position. Even if it’s just-- this. As friends.

His heart’s in his throat. At least, that’s what he thinks until Kiki’s mouth curves; then he knows it’s never been in his possession at all, but always utterly hers. “Sounds like fun.”

Tension rushes out of him on a sigh. “Ah, great. I though we might, er, go to Boston? You know,” he hurries to spit out, before any words can fall from her parted lips, “since there’s not much out here we haven’t seen.”

She hesitates. Of course she does. Boston’s practically her hometown, and he’s sitting here, thinking it’ll impress her. Like she hasn’t seen everything that’s worth seeing there twice over and in private. That she hasn’t just told him no outright is a testament to how well Mr Seiran’s raise her, and--

“Let’s make a day of it.”

Mitsuhide startles, nearly tipping off the table’s edge before he glances up, right into her row of perfectly straight teeth. Her mom’s smile, she always told him, but he’s only ever seen it on her. “I-- yes. That’s..good.”

Her lips curl, hiding her teeth. “Let me handle the accommodations.”

“Ah, no.” His head sweeps through big, nervous back-and-forths. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to--”

“You’re not,” Kiki informs him. “I’m telling you. I’ll handle accommodations. You’re seeing to the rest of the weekend, correct?”

“Y-yes.” He tries to fold his arms across his lap, but with her feet right on his thighs, it ends up with his hands covering her ankles. He expects her to move them, but instead her legs still, tendons relaxing under his palms. “That’s the plan, but, really--”

“It’s the least I can do.” She shifts her macbook off the couch’s arm, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “One night?”

“I...” He should decline. He should tell her that if she can drop a whole K on a date with him, he can shell out for one night at a hotel with a higher rating than a Holiday Inn.

But this is Kiki Seiran, heir to Seiran International. She’s not just used to five stars but the penthouse suite. He could book four star cheap on Hotwire, but imagining her in one of those suites, the sheets starched and thread count insufficient--

“Yeah,” he grunts, “one night’s fine.”

“Perfect.” Her teeth snap around the word. “Leave it to me.”

“So,” Obi starts before Mitsuhide’s even hit the last step. “We have a bet going on.”

He grimaces, shifting the duffel over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

‘Pretty sure’ turns to ‘certain’ once he catches Obi’s grin. “It’s about whether you’ll get your dick wet.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He heaves the bag beside the front door, brushing off his shorts. “Isn’t it too early for you to be up? I thought you didn’t know about the hours before ten.”

“I had motivation,” Obi assures him, slinking up beside him with a grin a mile wide. “You know, Shiira says that you won’t on the grounds that you’re a gentleman.”

More like the lady isn’t interested. “I already said I wasn’t--”

“Kai says you will,” he continues blithely, “and you’ll come back on time. Shuuka agrees, except that he thinks you’ll miss check out with all the boning down and won’t make it back until evening.”

“Isn’t this breaking the bylaws?” Mitsuhide grunts, slipping on his sneakers. “Don’t we have something about betting...?”

“For money,” Obi agrees. “Zen still wouldn’t put a bet down though.”

That’s assuring at least. “Of course n--”

“Shiira already took his.” Obi shakes his head. “And we wouldn’t allow him to say the same thing except that he thinks it’s because you’re and idiot.”

Well, that’s a little rich, coming from Zen. Mitsuhide was loath to remind anyone that besides Obi, he is the most experienced, but-- some people should be taking that into account. Even if nothing is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy.” Obi claps him on the shoulder, smile somehow drifting towards kindly. “I gave you until Monday.”

“Obi--”

“And Kiki will walk in with a limp.”

“Obi, you know that’s not...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “That’s not what me and Kiki are like.”

“You keep thinking that, Big Guy, but--” he leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth-- “my original bet was gonna be Tuesday. Too bad Kiki had already taken it.”

Mitsuhide stares at him, slack-jawed. “W-what did you just--?”

“I should have known, you’re already here.”

His head jerks up, right to the top of the grand stair, the beginning of a quick glance-- but it’s no use. There’s no possible way he could make his eyes focus anywhere but on Kiki, not when she’s wearing-- when she’s--

“Ooh.” Obi’s mouth curls, matching Kiki’s knowing smirk. “Is that a skirt?”

It is. And not-- not her field hockey kit, mid-thigh with shorts beneath, but and actual skirt, one that floats just above her knees, gauzy and floral. A single flash of leg tells him there’s nothing else beneath. Ah, well, besides the obvious. Mitsuhide swallows hard, mouth dry.

She raises a brow, hand trailing sinuously down the banister beside her. “It is a date, isn’t it?”

Her heels clack when she takes the last step into the foyer, clack because it’s the cork of her wedges that hits the floor first, because-- nom de Dieu-- she’s wearing shoes that tilt her a few inches close to him. Close enough that he could just bend at the neck and--

“Ah,” he coughs, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You might be a little overdressed. At least for this first part.”

Both her brows raise now. “Am I?”

“God,” Obi mutters at his shoulder, head buried in his hands. “You could at least say she looks nice.”

Well, when he’s right, he’s right.

“You look, ah, great though,” Mitsuhide hurries to add. “Beautiful.”

Kiki, to his surprise, beams. “Well, I brought a few outfits. I’ll change at the hotel.”

“Ah, sure.” He scoops up his duffel, holding out a hand for her bag as she passes. “You’re ready to go?”

Her mouth quirks at a corner. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hums, uncertain, suddenly left-footed with her so close. They should leave, but that involves a number a movements he’s suddenly stymied by.

Thankfully, Obi opens the door, practically shoving him onto the porch. “All right kids, be safe now.”

“Obi...”

“Don’t worry,” Kiki drawls, sashaying over the threshold. “I packed plenty of condoms.”

The door cuts off Obi’s laugh, but Mitsuhide can’t escape the pounding of his heart.

“You know,” he sighs, trailing after her, “you’re only encouraging him when you say things like that.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she hums, floating past. “I was trying to encourage you.”

[clearlynotjanus]

Whumptober: Day Two, Talking is Overrated

READ ON AO3

Chapter Summary: Ever since Remus returned from his isolation in the Imagination, things between Janus & Virgil have been strained. Virgil can’t deny that he finds Remus attractive, & Janus doesn’t seem to have a problem with this, but there’s a lot lurking just under the surface of his feelings that makes being with either of them far more difficult than it should be. CW: Dubious consent, panic attacks, anxiety, crying, blowjobs, deepthroating, graphic description of sexual acts Word Count: 5160 Genre: Hurt, Smut, Angst, Whump Rating: Explicit Ships: Dukexiety with a dash of Anxceitmus Author Notes: Soooo you’ll notice that this is very out of the realm of the stuff I usually write. I’m giving everyone a warning right now, this is dubcon & it’s all hurt, no comfort. If you’re familiar with my writing, right about now you’re asking who the fuck is this because this sure isn’t Andrew-Moceit-Fluff-Anderson, & you’re right! This is extremely out of character for me! But sometimes you just gotta hurt the anthropomorphized version of your panic disorder to get through some shit, you know? lmao. Maybe that’s relatable, maybe you’re wondering if my hitaus has turned me into a psycho; who knows! But anyway! I’m using Whumptober to explore some...less than savory topics. So honestly, a big fat “Don’t like, don’t read” / “Dead Dove Don’t Eat” on everything I post this month. But if you’re into it! Hell yeah! I hope you enjoy! :D

Taglist: @sanderssidesangsttrash​​ @catalinaacosta​ @whatishappeningrightnow​ @anxiousbean4404​ @vexelore​ @ranboo-but-booran​ @serpentinesomebody​ @poptartsaysurloved​ @robertdownerjr​ @dangitsbrightinhere​ @iamuncomffy​ @sanderdarksides​ @dragonfander @virgilstarantula​ @a-rudethude @indubitably-emo @gay-artist-626​ @edupunkn00b​ @wouldntyou-liketoknow​ @awesomerandomgirl1​ @cosplayhanna​ @rizzyluke​​ @all-panic-nodisco​ @remy-the-lemon-berry​ @their-royal-fiensishness​ @xravynsflamex​ @imma-potatoo​ @obsxdiannn​

To support my writing, consider subscribing to my Patreon or checking out my Ko-fi.

Hearing the television downstairs, Virgil decided that four in the afternoon was as good a time as any to leave his room for the day. With ghostly silent steps, he descended the stairs - only to stand awkwardly at the foot. His eyes settled on Janus who was staring at the flickering screen, a gloved hand bore the weight of his head with a cupped cheek. Virgil’s heart rate thrummed in his ears like an approaching war drum, nearly drowning out the indecisive show clips. The irregular pattern of noise began a pressure between his eyes as he strained to keep up with alternating sounds of unfamiliar shows.

“Oh is that o--” Virgil started, recognizing a voice finally with several ounces of relief. His head turned as Janus clicked past a rerun of The Twilight Zone.

He blinked, pausing on the following station as he looked up at Virgil with furrowed brows.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Virgil said, shaking his head. With long steps he quickly retreated to the kitchen as Janus shrugged and resumed his mindless clicking.

Virgil collapsed against the kitchen counter, a palm splayed heavily behind him as though his life depended on it, the other gripping his stomach. Breathe, he ordered himself sternly, tightly closing his eyes and drawing in a breath he struggled to keep quiet. In, 1, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Out, 1, 2, 3, 4 -- 

“Virgil, since you’re in the kitchen,” Janus called, hardly louder than his speaking voice, but the sound made Virgil jump regardless. Instinctually a hand slammed over his mouth to keep the inevitable squeak on his tongue. “Would you be a darling and make us some tea?”

“Y-yeah! Sure!” He said, peeling his palm off his lips. As Janus remained silent, Virgil sighed heavily. 

He repeated his breathing exercise as the water boiled, again as he dumped a ridiculous amount of sugar in one mug and a single teaspoon in another, once more as he placed a bag of Red Rose strawberry cheesecake flavored herbal tea in one mug and a bag of standard Lipton black in the other. His hands had stopped shaking by the time he carried both steaming cups out and placed them on the coffee table. 

Typically he wasn’t one for hot drinks outside of the occasional hot chocolate in fall, but the idea of bringing Janus something without one of whatever it was for himself had always felt...off. Awkward maybe, or just weird; Virgil couldn’t say, but it always compelled him to inevitably join Janus, even if that was the last thing he wanted.

“Oh delightful,” Janus said, immediately wrapping his hands around the molten mug. Virgil flinched just thinking about touching something that hot, but Janus simply leaned back against the couch with a look Virgil could only describe as stupidly content. 

“Yeah,” He mumbled and again found himself standing there. 

Why was he always so awkward? Virgil internally lamented, wondering what normal people did with their hands. He’d been with Janus on this side of the Mindscape for four years now; had watched television and drank tea with him plenty of times. But it never felt easier. Janus put him on edge, for more than a handful of reasons; some harmful and some not. 

Fight or Flight - more aptly upgraded to Paranoia these days - in theory was necessary for something like Self Preservation. A healthy dose of Anxiety kept one vigilant about their health and surroundings; it provided information for Self Preservation to react to and plan for. On paper, they should be a smooth running machine; Virgil would alert Janus to dangers and Janus would provide the escape route. The wrench was that communication was neither of their strong suits; but after four years, Janus didn’t really need Virgil to speak. He knew his problematic little spider well enough by now.

“Sit down already,” Janus waved a hand to the open end of the couch. “Your angst is suffocating.” 

“S-sorry,” Virgil mumbled and sat on the opposite side of the L shaped couch.

“Tsk.”

The two sipped their respective cups in a smothering silence. Virgil’s shoulders ached under the weight. Should he talk? Was Janus going to say something? He stole a glance at his partner, and a sigh caught at the back of his throat at the sight. Janus sat upright, drinking his tea and staring at the television without even a furrow between his brow. Why was he always so goddamn content?

“You’re still upset.”

“No,” Virgil rushed, the sudden observation pumping adrenaline through his blood. Janus hadn’t even looked at him - how the hell had he made any sort of observation, true or not? The air around them sweetened. Janus narrowed his eyes condescendingly, finally sparing a glance at him to offer the expression. They both knew that was a lie. Virgil bowed his head, needing to look away.

“You should really know better by now.” Janus complained into this teacup, but to Virgil’s ears, it just sounded like an insult. 

He should know better by now than to lie to Janus’ face. Or maybe he should know better by now than to get upset at Thomas’ lies. But Virgil struggled to say it wasn’t the thought of Thomas lying that lurched his stomach. The words knotted his tongue and tightened his throat until even the tea wouldn’t go down.

Of course Janus knew this; knew every bit of Virgil’s simple psychology. His words were being misconstrued in that buzzing mind of his at this very moment. Even his intent from yesterday; misunderstood, which is what got them here of course. What was bothering Virgil was very easy to understand; when continuously faced with the fact that Janus unflinchingly told Thomas to lie, manipulate, and do whatever he must to get what he wants, it was only a matter of time before Virgil began to wonder if those very same morals were at play in their relationship. 

The answer was equally obvious, Janus thought, and therefore Virgil should know better by now.

“Yeah,” Virgil agreed with a sigh, but the bitterness continued to strangle him, and Janus felt no need to get into the topic. If they continued pretending as though things were fine, eventually they would be, which was usually his philosophy in dealing with Virgil’s anxiety.

The crushing silence rang in Virgil’s ears despite the ease it came to Janus with. Paranoia - it was a very difficult experience and talking himself off the ledge was getting harder every day. The thought of Janus hurting him was haunting. How far would he go to get his way? The things he implied Thomas should be willing to do...were they things Janus was willing to do to him? Virgil gulped, and then jumped five inches off the couch.

“Sup, emo,” Remus greeted nasally, having barrelled down the stairs in microseconds. Virgil’s heart all but stopped as he cursed at the warm tea that had splashed on his hand with the shock. 

With no amount of hesitance, Remus flopped on the couch and forced his head into Janus’ lap. Though Janus looked generally disgruntled about the loud interruption, he still lifted his arms and adjusted to make himself available. 

“Aw damn,” Remus continued gruffly, ignoring Virgil’s flinch and discomfort as he gave a grotesque sniff to the air. “You made tea and didn’t even heat me up any bleach? Booooooooo.”

“Sorry,” Virgil spat sarcastically, scrunching his nose, “I try not to think about you.” 

“That’s not what you said last night.” Remus mocked and Virgil choked on his inhale, going red.

“Be nice, Remus.” Janus bounced his leg gently, jostling him. “You know he’s much too frigid for that in this clearly public space. I mean, anyone could walk in at any moment.”

Remus snickered, folding his arms behind his head as Janus spoke with mocking alarm. He looked at Virgil expectantly and only had to wait a second before the bickering began.

“I am not frigid,” Virgil said, blushing still.

“Prove it, Daddy Long Legs,” Remus wiggled his brows suggestively. Virgil glared, but couldn’t keep the paranoia from creeping up on him; anxiously, he glanced at Janus, struggling to keep his attention on Remus. Janus, as though entirely separate from this conversation, seemed to be minding his own business now; he took a loud sip of his tea and kept his vision trained on the television that was quickly being drowned out by their arguing.

“H-how?” Virgil asked when he realized Janus wasn’t going to butt in, immediately regretting his decision to indulge Remus.

“Suck my dick,” he said quickly like he had just been waiting for Virgil to ask. “Right here in the living room!” His hands reached for his waistband. Covertly Janus reacted; as though he had inhaled at the wrong time, he quietly cleared his throat into a cupped hand.

“No!” Virgil protested immediately, recoiling as he nervously looked towards the staircase. 

“Prude.”

“Am not!”

“Virgin.”

“That’s just plain wrong!”

Virgil’s face had gone a deep scarlet and again he regretted his words. Anger seized his throat; though he hadn’t raised his volume, his words were heated and bitter. Remus, for all his apparent disinterest as the insults were slung, just couldn’t do away with the pleased sparkle in his eyes that always came with riling Virgil up.

“Is it really now, Screamo?” Remus taunted and Virgil pushed his tempered tongue against the side of his cheek. 

“You know it is,” His words came out slow and ground between his teeth. He hated Remus for making him say these things out loud, for making him acknowledge the truths he purposefully left hidden under his bedsheets. 

“Do I?” Remus dug a finger into his ear, giving Virgil a stupid and ignorant expression. “Sorry, Cindy Lou Boo, must’ve just…slipped my mind.” He finished with a shrug that held both his hands open.

Virgil groaned and pulled his knees to his chest, slamming back against the couch in a show of edgy annoyance. He glowered straight ahead, unseeing at the window as his rage-filled heart hammered against his ears.

“See what I mean?” Janus mumbled, a smirk just barely hidden behind his teacup. “Frigid.” He raised a shoulder in a half effort shrug. 

The words cut Virgil deep, deeper than Remus’ digs had. Janus was always cold and pointed with his insults. They hit hard and lingered with murderous precision. Remus’ were fast and easy to ignore in the long run. Virgil forced himself to take a breath; his lungs expanded against his legs. This was a stupid arguement to be having. They both knew what Virgil was like in bed, which he guessed was why they liked teasing him, but it wasn’t fun. Not for him anyway. Even so, it made Virgil feel like he had something to prove. 

Maybe it was some sort of twisted aspect of toxic masculinity or something, but he couldn’t just let their jeering go. It festered in him, the need to be recognized as one of them, because these days it really was feeling like Janus and Remus were against him, which was fucked up if you asked Virgil. He’d been with Janus the longest, so why was Remus able to just swoop in and act like this? Virgil steeled himself with more deep breaths before opening his mouth.

“Talking is overrated,” Virgil started and Janus peered through the corner of his eyes, recognizing how uncharacteristic of him those words were. “If you can’t remember, I’ll just have to remind you.”

“Hell yeah,” Remus immediately enthused, a wide grin cracking his face as he reached for his waistband.

“N-not here,” Virgil rushed, desperately clinging to the cool tone he had used just a moment ago. Remus pouted and Virgil raised his eyes to insinuate one of their bedrooms above them. “Later.”

“Fiiiiiiiiine,” He bemoaned, crossing his arms and sinking back into the couch, his head colliding Janus’ lap again.

“Well then,” Janus mumbled and reached for the remote.

-----

Remus maintained a rough grip in Virgil’s hair. When his fingers had first tightly laced at the roots, Virgil had yelped and felt the familiar tingle of adrenaline prick down his spine. Now, even though Remus hadn’t let up at all, it felt mostly numb - at least in comparison to everything else. His boney knees had begun going red against the carpet, even behind the fabric of his jeans. The color was both from how harsh Remus had pushed him down onto them and for how long he’d been kneeling. His throat ached something raw. His lungs strained against his ribs. His cock struggled for friction against the boot between his thighs. 

Virgil’s subdued cries fell on sadistic ears; not apathetic or deaf ones. Remus was spurred on by how Virgil’s protests interrupted the wet sound of his cock colliding against the back of his throat. Virgil knew that of course, and it was a thin line to be riding. Tonight, the margin for error felt smaller than usual. 

Perhaps it was his interaction with Janus earlier or maybe it was the instigation this was founded on, but Remus’ grin seemed to glow maliciously down at him. The walls of his throat squeezed unusually tight, reluctant to relax no matter how many deep and even breaths Virgil forced through his nose. His hands shook against his thighs with the restraint of keeping his fight or flight at bay. It wasn’t typically this difficult, taking Remus’ cock and swallowing his violence. For all his objection in the living room earlier, the crude mockery of love that was his lewd time spent with Remus was enjoyable for him. Usually.

Tonight his body reacted like a great duality sliced a canyon in his mind; though he could feel his cock throbbing against his pants and his hips aching to press down against the rigid surface of Remus’ shoe, the familiar animal of panic surged through him, screaming danger like a mating Bellbird. Remus’ hand pressed Virgil’s head down further, his cock searching for the give that’d have him sliding down with ease. Virgil’s eyes watered; even in pain he struggled to maintain eye contact. His vision swam as he glanced between Remus’ unwavering, heated stare and the ceiling just behind his head. 

“Relax already, Virge,” Remus complained, reaching with his other hand to tip Virgil’s head back by his chin.

He whined, though the sound quickly became strangled against the obstruction. He was trying, he was trying so hard to let Remus cram himself down, but the more Remus pressed, the more obvious it became that Virgil’s throat wasn’t letting up; and the more obvious that became, the more distressed Virgil got. He was trying, why wasn’t it working? It always did, he was always able to do at least this much. If he couldn’t even deepthroat Remus…maybe they were right. Shame tightened his chest as Janus’ voice rang through his mind. You know he’s much too frigid for that…

Janus couldn’t be right about that. Virgil wouldn’t let Janus be right about that. Rallying, Virgil shifted forward on his knees, straightening his back. His crotch slid further up Remus’ boot, and despite the tears in his eyes, Virgil looked desperately stubborn. 

“Ooooh,” Remus almost sang, his voice entertained as he tugged the tuft of Virgil’s hair in his grip and earned a gargled cry. “You’re finally ready to try, Scare Bear?”

He winced; he was already trying, but it was probably a good thing, Virgil thought, that Remus didn’t realize that. It’d just make him look that much more pathetic.

With a deep breath, Virgil squeezed his eyes shut. His knuckles went white as they gripped the hem of his shirt. He forced his jaw to relax, his tongue to press flat against the bottom of his mouth. This would hurt. He steeled himself for pain. The Bellbird rioted in his ears and every other thought hazed as he pressed forward of his own volition. Remus’ hands guided him forward as his cock split through the anxious knot in his throat. The courage of determination and humiliation wasn’t enough to numb the agony. His eyes shot open and the muscles in his neck tensed to pull back as Remus’ cock penetrated beyond his soft palate and teased at the entrance of his esophagus. 

Remus’ eyes fluttered shut as he moaned, his head falling back as though it was a great effort to stay standing as pleasure coursed through him. Virgil’s panic rose and no amount of nonverbal approval could prevent him from jerking away - or at least trying to. As he pulled back, feeling his lungs burn for air, he realized the real reason Remus’ hands had stayed lodged in his hair and gripped on his jaw; to hold him in place when he inevitably changed his mind. At the revelation, Virgil squirmed, his hands unconsciously reaching for Remus’ pant leg as muffled pleas wedged between the walls of his throat and Remus’ cock. Virgil struggled, his movements frenzying the longer Remus went without a reaction. He clawed at Remus’ leg as his jaw reflexively tightened. His front teeth grazed the intrusive member between his lips and despite Virgil’s misery, he attempted to keep his mouth open. Tears streaked down his cheeks and his thoughts crescendo to their steepest point of doom; he would die here.

Remus sighed and loosened his hold on the back of Virgil’s head, enough for him to slide backwards several inches until his cock rested at the back of his throat, no longer obstructing Virgil’s breath. But Virgil continued to push back, wanting to eject the horror completely. He shook his head and stared up at Remus with pleading, terror-filled eyes.

“God, Dee’s right, you’re such a Drama King. Breathe already,” Remus said with an exasperated eye roll.

The mention of Janus felt like a slap across the face. How often did they talk about him? Did they only have bad things to say? His stomach flipped and he forced his eyes closed. He already suspected it was like that; he shouldn’t act so shocked. Ever since Remus has come back from the Imagination, he was closer to Janus than Virgil had ever been. It made him beyond jealous, beyond paranoid - but could it really be called paranoia if he was proven right? 

Though Remus’ words were harsh, Virgil eventually obeyed, realizing he was right as a slow and even breath went through his nose and down to his lungs easily. It didn’t matter what Janus said about him, Virgil lied to himself. It didn’t matter if they talked behind his back. He’d prove them wrong.

“Good, now stop being such a wuss already,” Remus continued as Virgil’s panic began to subside. Little by little his deep breaths chipped away at the looming wall of his anxiety until eventually, only a line of bricks remained. 

He was fine. He did this all the time - well not all the time but frequently enough that it was pretty ridiculous of him to make such a big deal out of it. He blushed, thinking about how pitiful he must’ve looked, struggling to get half of Remus’ cock down. Embarrassment swelled and he swallowed against the feeling, closing his lips around Remus in the process. He gave a small nod and readied himself. This time, he wouldn’t be such a coward.

Remus’ hand tensed in Virgil’s hair and a flinch coiled in his muscles; but the moment remained paused as Remus hesitated.

“Pull your pants down.”

Virgil blinked up at him, a dumb look on his face as his fearful mind struggled to keep up. 

“Pants. Down.” Remus repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world, his tone bewildered. He lifted his foot which remained pressed against Virgil’s cock; the jolt of sudden pressure seemed to get the point across finally.

Virgil unfurled his hands from Remus’ pant leg. His knuckles cracked from being released for the first time in several long minutes. The blood rushed back to them as he fumbled with his zipper and button. Clumsily he maneuvered them down his thighs and below his knees enough. With that done, he looked back at Remus, wanting to just get on with this already. His hardon had shrunk significantly with his earlier pain and even thinking about getting off now made his skin crawl. He wanted to get this over with. His throat ached, his head was pounding, and his knees were raw.

“Boxers too, Spidey,” Remus said impatiently.

Virgil sighed through his nose. He should’ve seen that coming. He looked down, though from his angle he couldn’t see very far without taking Remus’ cock out of his mouth, which was very clearly unallowed by the hands holding his head still. The color on his cheeks darkened at the realization; if he took his boxers off, there’d be nothing between him and Remus’ boot. Disgust overtook him. He didn’t want to touch those things with his hands, let alone his cock.

“My shoes are clean, Sir Bite.” Remus said, tone full of disdain as though it was completely out of the realm of possibilities that his shoes were dirty. “I’m going soft,” He lamented, pushing Virgil’s head forward an inch to feel some friction, making him squeak in surprise. “Hurry up.” 

 Dejected, he repeated the process, albeit a bit quicker this time, and exposed his half-hard cock. He held it in his hand as he shifted himself back into position; spine straight, thighs separated, head tilted back with his jaw slack and lips tight - though he hadn’t had much of a choice with the latter part. Remus bent his head to the side and peered with dissatisfaction at the way Virgil refused to let his cock touch his shoe. Again he lifted his foot, pointedly pressing against Virgil’s hand as his eyes rolled to lock their gaze. Virgil’s cock twitched in his grip as Remus nearly glared at him with expectation; he resented the thing for it. There was no way such a revolting insinuation should get that sort of rise out of him…and yet, it had. His stomach churned and his nerves frayed as Remus refused to move. It was clear nothing would start or end until Virgil released his cock.

Slowly Virgil closed his eyes again, resigning himself to a very hot, very soapy shower later. He released his hand and rested both, once more, on his thighs. His cock pressed against the leather of Remus’ shoe. It felt…demeaning, Virgil thought. He especially hated how it curled his muscles with anticipation. He cursed internally and refused to meet Remus’ knowing stare. Bastard.

“Good. Now deep breath, emo.” He warned a second before he began to press forward again.

Panic exploded through him like a bullet with the words as his eyes shot open. He rushed to inhale as told in the moment that Remus’ cock inched beyond the back of his throat again. The adrenaline of fight or flight flooded his blood, electrifying his brain with the lone command to flee. But Remus’ hands and eyes paralyzed him; even if Virgil could find it in himself to move as irrational fear crippled him, he’d be prevented. He hadn’t noticed at what point he had stopped crying, but a renewed wetness began trickling down his cheeks, dripping onto his shaking hands. 

His cock hardened against Remus’ boot despite himself, the feeling of being trapped somehow translating to arousal as Remus began violating his esophagus with paced thrusts and deep groans. Virgil knew that was exactly what Remus wanted; for all his pain and dread to transform into surrender and lust. That’s how it usually went so it was no wonder his cock dripped against the leather, preparing for the moment Virgil’s desire to run flipped on its head and he embraced his instinct to fight instead. But it was so much more difficult tonight to simply let that happen. 

Virgil choked out a defeated whine, blinking rapidly as tears blurred his vision. The sound made Remus’ cock twitch aggressively; his movements hastened and Virgil gargled on his welling spit as his lungs began burning again. 

“You know what to do,” Remus grunted, gripping his jaw tighter as he plunged deep enough to press Virgil’s lips against his crotch. He could feel his Adam’s apple taut against his skin. “To make it stop hurting so much.” Virgil thought if he wasn’t preoccupied, the words would’ve sounded like a laugh. Instead they were rushed, like Virgil’s pain was an annoyance rather than a concern.

Twenty seconds had passed and Virgil started to think he was going to die again. It hurt so much, all of it, and Remus was right; there was one way to make it stop, or at least dull it a bit, but Virgil didn’t want to think about that. The idea of moving his hips to gain friction against Remus’ shoe was…outrageous, ludicrous, crazy. But His cock ached for it, dripped precum against the cloth laces for it. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. He shook his head as much as he could and choked out a wet wail. Remus clicked his tongue and seemed to shrug about it; it wasn’t his problem if Virgil didn’t take him up on the relief he was offering. 

The obscene sound of Remus’ cock pushing all the way down Virgil’s throat filled the room. It invaded his mind and seemed to be in rhythm with his heart, drowning the sound out. Ten more seconds and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Five more and his heart desynced from the even tempo of Remus’ thrusts. His pulse slowed and it was like he was standing in the living room, listening to Janus rapidly flick through the television channels again; a pressure formed between his eyes as he strained to keep up with what was happening. A dull panic nauseated his stomach. A sudden flash of heat like a desert wind beaded sweat at the back of his neck. 

Was this enough? Did he live up to the expectation now? They couldn’t still call him frigid or a prude or accuse him of being a virgin after this, right? If he held on long enough and let Remus cum like this, maybe they’d even stop teasing him so much. Virgil hoped that was true, oh, he hoped so much. This could be just like a hazing ritual; he’d pass with flying colors if he could just sit still and take Remus’ brutality without flinching. 

His thoughts became nonsensical as his body ran out of oxygen. This wasn’t a hazing ritual. This was just how Remus was. He’d never be comfortable around Janus again. He’d never have Janus to himself anymore; Remus would always be standing in the way like some twisted guard. Even in moments of peace, the inevitability of his unsettling nature put Virgil on edge. No amount of Deceit could cover the truth anymore. Thomas was sick and Remus was the proof.

As his vision went dark, Remus released his grip on Virgil’s hair. His fight or flight returned all at once as he was finally able to pull away. Falling backwards, a hand clawed at his throat, the other bracing himself up in a shaky way as he gasped and choked for air. Everything he knew about steadying his breathing had exited his mind somehow. He scrambled for ways to calm his now pounding heart; his wide eyes snapped across the room, up at Remus, across the room, up at Remus. What was it again? Something about counting, right? Panic climbed higher and higher until Virgil was sure his throat would close or his heart would burst, whichever came first would be the end of him.

Remus watched, a brow raised as he stroked his reddened cock, inches from finishing himself off. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the telltale signs of Virgil’s panic whatevers. He just didn’t understand them; why they happened, why Virgil made such a big deal out of them. If Virgil knew even a fraction of the things that went through his head, then maybe he’d have something to panic about. Virgil had it pretty easy in comparison.

“What’s with the hissy fit, Purple Heart Attack?” Remus said, voice strained with labored breathing as he closed the distance between them. 

Virgil made a high pitched sound and went to crawl backwards. He was only successful for a moment before Remus caught his hand and brought it up to his cock. Reluctantly, Virgil wrapped his fingers around the width as he was physically instructed.

“C’mon, loser, I’m almost there.” Remus grunted as he forced Virgil’s hand to move against him; eventually he began to mechanically move his arm without aid. 

Just a few more minutes, Virgil told himself, but the dizziness grew a heavy fog behind his eyes as his throat continued to clamp down on itself. His rhythm was uneven, his arm grew numb and Remus’ impatience surmounted into an agitated sound. He slapped Virgil’s hand away and took the final steps to tower over him. Grabbing his own length roughly, Remus stroked fast and hard, his sounds cresting to a loud moan of release as his eyes squeezed shut. Virgil froze, unable to look away until Remus came; his semen landed in streaks across Virgil’s face and the floor behind him.

They both panted, hard and heavy with shaking hands. It was over, but as Remus’ high faded in the afterglow, Virgil’s panic only continued to rise. With a quiet and involuntary cry, Virgil’s hands reached out, searching for a comfort his logical mind, if at all present, would have realized didn’t exist in Remus. Predictably, Remus stepped back, adjusting his pants into place as he avoided Virgil’s grip. 

“What?” He said, tone so condescending, Virgil had almost thought Janus was in the room. “It’s like you said; talking is overrated, right?” 

Virgil’s arms fell as tears burned his eyes. When did Remus get that good at cutting deep? Weren’t his insults always easy to avoid, or at least get over? Even though Remus had just spoken those words, Virgil felt them settling deep in his bones. They would haunt him forever, he could already tell.

“Right.” He sniffled as Remus turned away and headed for the door. Virgil wiped his nose wetly on his sleeve. 

Remus left, not caring that he had closed the door so hard, the wall decor had rattled. Virgil flinched at the sound and pulled his knees to his chest, which certainly didn’t help how difficult it was to breathe. He was glad they always did this in his room; he didn’t think he would’ve had it in him to stand, pull his pants up, and sink out before the loud sobs began. Equally, he didn’t know if the sobs were from anger, embarrassment, or loneliness. Maybe it was some unfortunate mix of all three. 

[moonknightly]

blood red, baby : fo! poe dameron x reader (two)

Word Count: 2.8k+

Excerpt: “It was hard to believe that someone who was supposed to be your enemy was now your only source of relief, the only thing that pushed you through.”

Warnings: Slight blood kink, mentions of torture, violence though it’s not very graphic, cursing.

[PART ONE]

Poe walks through the hangar with his helmet tucked underneath his arm, his hair sweaty and disheveled from having been trapped beneath the damn thing for so long. He exhales deeply and runs his gloved hand through his curls, not bothering to look towards any of his pilots as he passes them. The only thing on his mind is getting out of his nearly suffocating flightsuit so he can jump into the ‘fresher. He can check in later, make sure nothing went amiss over the three days he was gone.

He was sure he would’ve heard from Hux if one of his pilots had decided to step out of line anyways. It’d been a relaxing three days without the General breathing down his neck. And on top of a small reprieve from Hux, the mission had been a complete success.

It had been almost perfect.

Almost.

It would have been absolutely perfect if you’d given into him.

Maybe he should’ve brought you in himself.

But the last time, he’d almost been caught. He never actually let anyone of importance know he had you, always managed to avoid Hux or Kylo and get you up to his quarters with only a few unsuspecting ‘troopers or one of his pilots seeing. No one ever thought twice of it.

But he’d gotten a little careless, and decided that he wanted to take you up against his TIE before dropping you off on whatever planet happened to be close by, and of course word of that rapidly spread throughout the base after a couple of new recruits decided to stay and watch the show.

He’d managed to play it off by telling Hux it was just a random mechanic, someone whose name he never bothered to get, and even if he hadn’t believed him he knew the General wouldn’t care enough to actually look into it.

Still, as a precaution, he’d made sure to erase his flight log and quickly got rid of those recruits.

And even though he’d gotten himself out of it without a hitch, it was still too soon to bring you back onboard without your one hundred percent compliance and commitment to the order.

He knows it’s only a matter of time. He just needs to be patient.

But fuck, he could really use the release only you seemed to be able to give him right about now.

He’s craving that little bit of light you always bring to his rather dark and dismal existence, and he’s always thought it ironic, how you chase that darkness while he lusts after your softness.

He really should have brought you back with him.

Next time.

He sighs to himself as he rounds another corner, finally stepping into the corridor housing his quarters, and Poe’s so lost in his thoughts he almost doesn’t notice the Stormtrooper standing in front of his door. His pace slows and his eyebrows furrow, but he keeps walking, forcing a neutral expression onto his face though he visibly relaxes once he’s close enough to realize who it is.

“What’s up?”

FN-2187 shuffles almost nervously, and it’s all Poe can do to not roll his eyes. The ‘trooper knows there’s no reason to be nervous around him. Poe’s never really made any friends since joining the Order all those years ago, but if he ever had to choose someone to fit the word, he’d pick him.

“Come on, spit it out. I’m kriffin’ tired, man.”

“There’s a prisoner.” He shuffles again, and Poe’s eyebrows furrow once more. “A girl from the Resistance, brought in a few days ago…”

He waits for him to continue, but when FN doesn’t, Poe sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And? What’s so important that you had to come and-”

“She hasn’t stopped asking for you,” he interrupts. “Even when she’s sleeping she says your name.”

Poe freezes, and the blood in his veins turns to ice. “What girl?”

He can’t see FN’s expression underneath his helmet, but he guesses he’s taken aback by the urgency in his tone, because the Stormtrooper actually takes a step back and stumbles over his words once he finally tries to speak again.

“What girl?” Poe asks again, his voice just a little louder than before, commanding an answer.

FN stutters again, but quickly starts rattling off a description that matched you perfectly — your hair, your eyes, the color of your skin.

It has to be you.

Poe feels like he’s going to be sick. His stomach flips and rolls and his head spins, but he pushes the feeling down, forces himself to pull himself together. He can’t afford to show weakness, ever, but especially now. Not when you’re involved, not when even a second wasted could cost you your life. He’s already wasted three days.

So instead, he quickly turns himself over to the rage that starts to bubble in his chest when he thinks about every possible thing they could have done to you, and he lets it grow and grow and grow and manifest into something so volatile and ugly, it’s something he himself almost doesn’t recognize. It’s a new kind of anger he’s never tapped into before — something almost possessive.

Sure, he’s known to be ruthless. Dangerous. He’s burned entire villages to the ground, he no longer flinches at the echoing screams that bounce off interrogation room walls. He’s taken lives as if they mean nothing.

But this. He’s never felt this before.

You’re his.

How dare they touch you? How dare they hurt you?

Poe throws his helmet to the ground before turning around, starting back down the corridor. He doesn’t ask FN where exactly you’re being held, doesn’t need to, because the closer he gets to the side of the ship with the holding cells and interrogation rooms, the more persistent that familiar tug in his stomach becomes.

That pull to you.

They’re going to regret laying a finger on what’s his.

You hear the door slide open with a quiet hiss, and you can no longer force yourself to even try and hold back the whimper that involuntarily leaves your lips.

Had it really been an hour already?

You’ve gotten used to the cycle, learned the pattern quickly. The two Stormtroopers who had taken you would come into your cell, stay for as long it took to deal out whatever horror they had in mind for you, then they’d let you rest for an hour. Only ever an hour — during the night while they slept, they made sure the droid watching over you took their place.

You’re beyond exhausted.

And fuck, everything hurts.

Every bone, every muscle aches no matter how hard you try to keep your movements gentle and subtle. Your head’s pounding, your skin feels like it’s on fire. You’ve never known pain like this before.

How much longer would you be made to suffer?

When would they just end it already?

Where was Dameron? Why hadn’t he come for you?

Just the thought of him made you want to break down and sob, like you’d done so many times already, but the last time you did you’d earned yourself a jolt of electricity directly between your ribcage. Again and again and again until you’d made yourself stop asking for him.

Another thing you’d quickly learned — just shut up and take it. It wouldn’t be so bad if you just kept your fucking mouth shut.

But something you still didn’t know, another thing you’d asked in the beginning, was simply why? Why were they doing this to you? What was the point?

Just like your Captain, they’d never asked you for any sort of information. Never asked you to give up the Resistance, the location of your base. Nothing.

The only thing they seemed to want to know was whether or not you cried for Dameron like you cried for them. If you liked it when he hurt you, why didn’t you like it when they did the same?

You never felt the need to tell them that with him, you wanted it. You asked for it. He asked you for permission, and respected your answer when you told him no the first few times.

Dameron never hurt you just to hurt you. He never would.

And so you focus in on that thought as you feel them move closer, use it to bring yourself just a little bit of comfort.

You’d been thinking about him a lot in the last few days.

It was hard to believe that someone who was supposed to be your enemy was now your only source of relief, the only thing that pushed you through.

Where is he?

You jump when you hear a loud bang, like metal colliding with metal, followed immediately by the sound of sparking wires and a small grunt and a series of beeps. It sounds like the droid. You want to look, want to see what’s going on, but you keep still, and a moment later you feel a gloved hand touch your cheek, almost delicately. You instinctively flinch away, again not able to stop yourself from whimpering.

You wait for them to smack you for it, but it never comes.

“Hey.”

You shake your head and bite down so hard on your bottom lip you taste blood. 

That voice, his voice.

“Darling, hey. Look at me, open your eyes.”

You shake your head a second time. They’re just messing with you, toying with you. He’s not really there, he hasn’t come to save you.

“Look at me.”

The voice takes on that familiar, commanding tone, compelling you to open your eyes but you just can’t-

The door opens again, that small hiss you’ve come to dread effectively silencing your thoughts, and you feel your eyebrows furrow. They’d never come in separately before, and that realization finally makes you open your eyes.

You blink a few times, trying to get adjusted to the dim light in the room while simultaneously pushing your unshed tears away. With the way your face is turned, you have a perfect view of the door and the two Stormtroopers that stand there, completely frozen in their tracks.

But that hand is still on your cheek, and the way you snap your head to the opposite side is almost comical, so quick and jarring it makes your head pulsate for a moment, and you have to blink again to see straight.

Brown eyes, short graying curls, tanned skin smudged with just a bit of engine oil. It’s him. He’s here, and he’s looking right at you, paying no attention to the pair of ‘troopers and the looming threat that barged in with them. He’s not smiling, but he’s not exactly frowning either, not until his eyes trail down your body to take in each cut and bruise that marks your exposed skin. Your clothes are torn and soaked with blood. You’re trembling.

Poe loses his mind.

“Close your eyes.”

He uses that familiar tone again, the one that makes you obey without question, without any sort of hesitance.

“Good girl.”

And everything that comes next happens so quickly.

You feel his hand fall away from your face, hear his boots drift towards the door before sounds of struggle hit your ears. There’s a snap that you instantly recognize as bones breaking, followed by a hard thud that you can only assume is a body hitting the ground— the lucky one, you immediately think.

Definitely the lucky one.

There’s a single shot from a blaster that makes your heart freeze, but you hear Dameron growl just after it goes off, and hear the blaster hit the floor on the other side of the room. You hear the sound of armor colliding with the metal wall. More struggling. Screaming. You can tell that his helmet’s been ripped off.

Dameron’s asking questions, his voice so low and caustic, you only catch a few of them.

You’re able to gather that they took you because Dameron killed their friends — two young recruits who were just starting with the Order. He tells him that no one knows you’re here. He tells him they’d planned to kill you before Dameron got back from his mission, and were on their way to do so once they heard he was back onboard. They were going to leave your body in his quarters for him to find.

It made you feel just a bit better, knowing your Captain hadn’t been there at all. He hadn’t come for you because he simply didn’t know he needed to.

You tune out the rest of the conversation, not caring to hear anymore, but it doesn’t last much longer anyways. There’s another series of bangs, more cracking, more screaming, then silence. Nothing but silence.

Though that doesn’t last long either.

“Don’t look.”

His voice comes from directly in front of you this time, and you don’t bother to nod or even really acknowledge him. He knows you’ll listen.

You hear him take a few steps away from you, hear the press of a button and the soft click of your shackles coming undone. You try to lift your arms but you can’t, not after they were tied down for so long. You’re sure you’ll have trouble walking, too.

Both of his hands are on your cheeks just seconds after you’re released, and he holds your head perfectly still.

“You can open your eyes, but don’t look anywhere but at me, okay sweetheart?”

“Dameron, you know it’s not gonna bother me-”

“No. Don’t look away from me. Don’t argue with me.”

That fucking tone.

You nod your head, giving yourself another second before you open your eyes again.

He’s watching you, lips turned down and dripping with his blood from the deep split in the lower one, but you can only look for so long because his eyes-

There’s something in his familiar brown eyes that is entirely unfamiliar.

Worry, maybe? Apprehension?

Is he scared?

He couldn’t be. Captain Poe Dameron didn’t get scared-

“I need to get you out of here.”

His voice wavers.

He is scared.

“I, kriff, I need you to tell me where your base is.”

You immediately shake your head. “Poe, they’ll kill you.”

Neither of you flinch when his first name slips past your lips.

“I don’t care,” he says, and you can see in his eyes that he really doesn’t. All he cares about is getting you somewhere safe, somewhere you can receive medical attention. “I don’t care.”

“I do.”

“You’ll die if I let you stay here.”

You open your mouth to continue arguing, but quickly shut it again, an idea popping into your mind that you take a second to mull over. Poe thinks he’s won for a moment when you don’t say anything, but you respond just as he moves to lift you into his arms to carry you down to his TIE.

“I won’t if I join you.”

He freezes, looks up at you from where he’s partially kneeled before you. He quirks an eyebrow, shaking his head slowly as a small scoff leaves his lips.

“You wanna join the Order after what just happened to you? Maker, babe, that’s-”

“I want to be with you. Tell me what’s so wrong with that?”

He doesn’t say anything, can’t say anything because of course he wants to be with you too. You start to continue on when he doesn’t push back, but he beats you to it.

“You’re going to be expected to give ‘em up. Your friends, they’re all going to die.”

You shake your head. “Not if I warn Leia first.”

He curses under his breath, forces himself to rip his gaze away from you. For a second, you’re afraid he’ll say no. For a second, you think that’s fine.

But he nods before you have the chance to tell him to screw warning them. “Looks like Phasma had two traitors on her hands,” he muses with a small smirk, gesturing towards the fallen Stormtroopers behind him. “Warned the General to evacuate when they heard her best pilot switched to the dark side and beat the shit out of you for betraying the light.”

You match his expression, nodding your head. It was perfect. “Exactly.”

His smirk only deepens, and he’s just about to say something else when your hands suddenly move into his hair and tug, prompting him to stand again. He’s quiet as he watches you lean forward and swipe your tongue over his chin, cleaning the still flowing blood — just like he’d done for you days before.

And Maker, all he can do is kiss you. 

He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you and he pushes past that tangy iron to find your familiar taste, savoring it for as long as you’ll allow.

This time, it’s enough.

This time, you’re his. 

[sery-chan-13]

Doll

Part 11 of '100 Promises'

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Warnings: swearing, harassment, weapon mentions, mentions of sex(again, it's mentioned, not explicitly written) I think that's it, let me know if I missed any!

"Hey, um... my professor asked me to help him after school. I'll be home late tonight," you said. His faced scrunched up in disgust, and he was glad you couldn't see him due to the two of you being on call. "Which professor?" He questioned, knowing you'd been having trouble with one of your professors making you uncomfortable. "My... um... my law professor," you stammered. There was something off about the way your voice sounded. Worried and nervous. Like a little mouse. You were never one to act like that unless you were really scared. And that was the professor you'd been having trouble with, so he wasn't surprised. He scowled at the thought. Your law teacher was constantly touching you, or making you uncomfortable, seeing as you were one of three girls in his class. But it was always you. "Say you want to get pizza for dinner if you want me to come get you right now," he stated, being smart enough to know what you were going to say. He was already walking to the door, getting his shoes and jacket on. "Yeah, pizza sounds great," you said. He could hear how nervous you were. There were occasional sounds of footsteps or a man whispering in the background, and it was pissing him off. "Ok, I'll be there as fast as I can," he said. You said your goodbyes, and at that point he was already out the door.

He burst into the classroom, seeing you pushed onto the desk, your teacher pinning you to it, as you explicitly told him to stay away. The teacher turned to face him. " 'R-ragi!" You shouted, pushing him off of you, jumping off the desk, and running into Niragi. He wrapped his arms protectively around you, hiding your face in his chest, glaring at the professor. "Ah, I'm assuming you're the infamous Niragi she mentions so often?" He questioned. The man didn't falter, he acted as if nothing happened, which made sense. He knew how to use court tactics to change the view to his. "Yeah. I guess I am. Something came up, sorry to interrupt, but she needs to come with me," Niragi said harshly. The lie was believable enough. He didn't say what happened, just a vague idea. Even if the professor could see through the lie, Niragi didn't care.

"Oh? Then let me take her bac-"

"I have a car, I can drive, she's coming with me. Goodnight."

Niragi, quickly lead you out of the school, and arm tightly around your shoulders. Once you got to his car, he let you get in first. He walked around the car, getting in the driver's seat. You sat, shaking in your seat. "You ok?" He asked. You shook your head. "So... operation J, or operation C?" He asked, turning on the car. "Operation H," you whispered. "Shit, it's that bad? Well.. yeah it's that bad, sorry i- I I'm not thinking correctly right now, I'm sorry... Ok, you talk to me about it, and tomorrow we can file a report yeah?" He said, keeping his eyes on the road. "Uh uh... no report," you said quietly, turning up the radio. He turned it back down. "Why? If I hadn't gotten there sooner who knows what would have happened to you. And it's been happening in other ways throughout the school day. People like that... people like that don't deserve anything," he stated, drumming his hands on the steering wheel to calm himself, and stopping from turning back around and hitting the professor. Gods how he wanted to in the minute he was there. He knew why you didn't want to file a report, however. It was the law professor. Not only could he make a compelling argument, and gaslight everyone, he was higher up in importance to the school as well.  "L-lets just leave it... it's not that important anyways. It could've happened to any other girl... just sucks it was me."

___________________

You sighed, stretching and getting up from the chair. There had been a two hour meeting today, and you had to go. It had been about two weeks since you first got to the beach, and things were going rather well. You'd built a reputation for yourself, being equally as dangerous as Niragi, with wit and intelligence to match up to even Chishiya. Most people were very impressed by you, as well as feared you. Diamond games were your specialty. So far, you hadn't had to play a hearts game. Everyone else told you that you should be grateful, but you were bored of always playing the same things. Spades, Diamonds, Clubs. When were you finally going to get to feel the fear and excitement of playing a hearts game? You were excited to show off how you could use your background in psychology in heart games.

"Last Boss? Can we do something or hang out? 'M bored," you whined, pouting at the man. He shut the book he was reading, and looked up at you. "Don't you have Niragi?" He questioned. "Well, yeah... but he's busy. And I've hung out with him plenty. Wanna hang out with you," you said. He sighed, nodding his head

Niragi didn't know what to do. It was obvious people feared you, but they also knew you were his weakness. They would definitely use that against him. He just had to keep you safe. He continued walking around on his patrol, catching a glimpse of white. That triggered his fight or fight reflexes. Sure, others had fight or flight, but when it came to Chishiya, Niragi felt only pure rage towards the man.

"She's quite amazing, don't you think?" Chishiya asked. God how he hated the taunting tone of voice Chishiya always used when he spoke to him. And he also knew the she Chishiya was talking about was you. "Yeah. What's your game?" He questioned. "Oh absolutely no game. I just... want to see your reaction when I take her from you. Obviously, she's told me all about those promises you two made... but you seem to have forgotten a few, no?" Chishiya taunted. Had he forgotten any? No, of course not. He remembered all 99 of them just as you did. They were stupid things you used to do when you were kids, but since it made you both feel safer or better, you kept them. Not only that, but it kept a routine for you two. It also gave you the security that he couldn't hurt you like others in your life did. He stayed silent. "Hm, that's what I thought. You like her, don't you? I'll take her from you just to piss you off. She's interesting, and I don't think I'd get bored.... but you never know. I think I'll have fun playing with her," Chishiya said. Was he serious? Or was he just looking for a reaction from Niragi? "Don't you fucking dare play with her feelings just because. I'll kill you before you get the fucking chance," Niragi threatened, his grip on his gun getting tighter. "It's what she wants. And from what I've gotten out of her... I think she'll be easy," Chishiya stated. Niragi scowled at his words. He'd dealt with so many of your asshole exs, douchebags that tried to get in your pants, teachers who didn't know limits, and everything in between. Chishiya was a new breed of annoying and fuckboy, and it pissed him off. "Stay away from her, talk to her, be friends with her. I don't give a fuck. But do not hurt her. I'm serious about that Chishiya. Don't you fucking dare," Niragi threatened. Chishiya only laughed, shaking his head. "I do whatever I want. Whoever I want, for that matter. It just so happens (Y/N) is in my eyesight. I think Last Boss also has an interest in her," Chishiya said back. "Better him than you," Niragi stated, starting to walk off.

"Oh, by the way... (Y/N)'s not as innocent as you think," Chishiya mentioned, sticking his hands in his pockets, looking out to the lobby. "What do you mean by that?" Niragi questioned, glaring at the blonde man. "I think you know full well what I mean. It's so easy to get emotionally vulnerable girls to trust you," Chishiya smirked. "You little fucker!" Niragi exclaimed. Usually, it would be the other way around, where Niragi found some girl who was sad enough about being in the borderlands, and then they would go back to his hotel room with him. But it angered him that Chishiya did that to you. "What? Not so fun when it happens to a girl you know, hm?" Chishiya questioned. Niragi glared at him, knowing he wasn't allowed to shoot him right this second. His finger kept lightly pressing on the trigger, and he bit his tongue. "Don't fucking hurt her. Don't you fucking dare," Niragi said finally, walking away.

"Sugu... I um... I..." you stuttered, twiddling with your hands. He turned away from his desk. "What's up?" He asked. "I... N-nevermind," you said, going to leave. He stood up, grabbing your arm. "Tell me. 'S ok," he said with a smile. "No, no, it's fine, I'll just... um talk with your mom for a bit, I'm-" you stammered. "My mom is out. What's up?" He asked, leading you over to his bed. You took a big breath in. "Idontwannalosemyvcardtoaguywhodoesntcareaboutmecanyoutakeit?" You jumbled out. He stared at you weirdly as he couldn't understand your words.

"Do you need some lady things? I have some chocolate in my snack drawer if y-" he started. "No... no, it's embarrassing..." you muttered. "You know I'm willing to talk about or do anything with you," he smiled. "I-i said... I don't wanna lose my v-card to a guy who doesn't care about me... C-can... can you t-take it?" You whispered, your face red. He felt his face get hot. "I-i-i-i -i-" he stammered, looking at you. You averted your eyes to the floor.

"I-if you don't w-want to, it's OK I-i just i-i-"

"I-I'll do it."

You looked up at him in shock. "Really?" You asked. "Yeah. Yeah, I... don't have mine anymore... but I-i can help you... if you want," he explained. You were both blushing, and he was still holding arm. "When do... do you-"

"Suguru, (Y/N), I'm back!" You heard his mother shout up the stairs. You heard her walk up the stairs. She knocked on the door, opening it. "Is she staying for dinner? Because your father and I decided to go out for the night. We'll be back in the morning,  so I'm going to get ready, and there's money downstairs for pizza," she said. You both looked at each other nodding. "As always-"

"We know mom... we know."

How convenient for both of you.

"S-suguru... w-what do I do?" You stuttered, sitting on your knees on a bean bag chair. You two had gone up to a tree house you two had built in the woods behind his house. "Depends on what you feel comfortable with. Just... go with it I guess," he said, trying to make sure you were ok. "You lead... you've done this before, haven't you?" You asked. He nodded, and you grabbed his hand tightly. " 'M scared," you whispered. "We don't have to do anything. It's ok," he said. You hugged him tightly, and shook your head. "I-i wanna... it's just... what if it gets weird between us?" You asked. "We've been friends for over 4 years... I don't plan on leaving you," he whispered. "Best friends," you corrected. "Yeah, best friends," he repeated. "I want to do this though... only if you want to," you said. "Tell me where I can touch you for now, and if at any point you want or need to stop, tell me,ok?" He said, rubbing circles into your back.

___________________

He was angry at the fact Chishiya had taken advantage of you. Especially when he knew how hard you tried to keep people out of your walls. But would he believe that Chishiya, being Chishiya, had weaseled his way in. Would you belive him if he told you? No, probably not... but you might? What was he thinking, of course you'd believe him over someone you'd just met two weeks ago. Now to find you was the problem. The beach wasn't huge, but large enough for you to be hiding somewhere if the first few days you were here said anything. "Now to go find her... wherever she is," he muttered to himself.

"Ok, ok, here's my question to you. Is Last Boss your actual name, or is it a nickname?" You asked. "And why should I tell you that," he said, leaning his head back on the wall. "Because it's the rules," you answered, poking his shoulder. "Nickname," he stated. You nodded, and before Last Boss could ask you a question back, he got interrupted by Chishiya.

"Hey. Am I interrupting something?" Chishiya asked, standing in front of you. He gave you a small smile. "Oh... um... kinda?" You responded. Last Boss nodded besides you, knowing full well Chishiya was planning something. "Oh well, when you're finished with your game of... 50 questions... come to my hotel room?" He asked, looking at you. You hated that you couldn't read his eyes. All you got out of him was amusement, judgemental looks to others, and looks of lust. But no more than that.

"Oh, yeah, after I'm done her-"

"You can go ahead. My patrol starts in... right now, actually."

Walking back to Chishiya's room made you a bit nervous this time. Last time, you definitely remembered what happened. You still hadn't told Niragi, and you usually told him everything.

Niragi could only imagine where you were. Last Boss was on a patrol, and Chishiya was- That's where he had to check. Around Chishiya's room. "That sneaky little bastard."

You were walking besides Chishiya, trying to find some emotion on his face, but couldn't. "Ah, Chishiya um wha-" you didn't get to finish your sentence as he pinned you to the wall. You slid down slowly in embarrassment. He crouched down in front of you, tilting your head up with his fingers. "Good girl," he praised, studying your face. You blushed at his praise, not understanding what it was for. He brought his face close to your own, and you could feel his breath on your lips. "Such a flustered, pretty girl," he cooed. You felt so small under his gaze, and you tried to look away. "Ah ah ah, no. Look at me," he teased, making you look back at him. "You're so good at following orders... good girl," he praised once more. "Ch-chishiya, I... I, um... we should... we should head back to your room, we shouldn't-" you started, tripping over your words. "Hm? What? You don't want people to know what a submissive little-"

"Oi, I suggest you step the fuck away from her."

You looked up at the person, seeing it was Niragi. "She's busy," Chishiya stated with a board tone. "Yeah, busy my ass. (Y/N), get over here. Now," Niragi ordered. You flinched at his tone. He sounded like your dad. "I don't think she wants to. Isn't that right, pretty girl?" He questioned, looking at you. You couldn't speak, it was a very hard situation for you. "(Y/N), come on. Get away from him now," Niragi said, pointing his gun at Chishiya. You shuddered, closing your eyes. "Aw, you're scaring her. You don't want to scare my little doll, now do you?" Chishiya taunted. You tried blocking both of them out as it was back and forth.

"S-sugu... stop it."

Hellooooo! So sorry I haven't updated this in a while, I've been on vacation on Arizona (still am) and I've barely had time to write but I hope you enjoyed!

[dreams-of-a-lark]

Date: ~ a week post-power surge Time: Midday Location: West Cove Closed Starter: BRÖTHER (@j-crain​)

☁︎︎☽☀︎︎☾☁︎︎

It was a cruel irony that, after years of trying to learn how to fly, it would only come to Lark after the horrible ordeal of watching the person who mattered most to him get violently ripped away. In and by the very jungle they spent so much of their time in, no less. The stress of the aftermath and the lingering heightened abilities were what compelled him toward the cliffs of the west cove today.

As time passed he’d noticed the surge of power abate. While he could no longer fly per se, his control over floating was still enhanced and he was going to take advantage of it while he still could. Maybe it would help get his mind off things for a little while. If nothing else, at least the ocean mist in his face would be refreshing.

Taking a running start he leapt, unflinchingly off the cliff face. As he did so, the air caught and cradled him like a feather with little to no effort. Where the haphazard flight back in the jungle had been horrifying, this was exhilarating, a complete trust in his element to cooperate. A perfect balance he wished, but doubted he could maintain forever. He shifted his body to guide himself to the shore instead of the water, but as he turned toward the beach he saw a figure waiting at the base of the cliff.

The figure was familiar, but not from here, not even from New York. Impossible, he thought as he drifted down to meet them. But, drawing nearer, that face was unmistakable. Was this another trick of the island? As if he hadn’t been through enough. Was he hallucinating again?

The wind laid him gently down in the sand a few yards away and he hesitantly approached the spectre of his bröther. “Let me guess, the island’s playing mind games again, that it? You look like my brother, but that’s not…” he discarded the thought, “So who are you really? Iyaz maybe? The island would make him look like James just to fuck with both of us, wouldn’t it? Balance the scales or whatever. Right then, care to enlighten me?”

[forever-rogue]

Disappear Here - 4/4

A/N: Hi friends, I hope you enjoy this little finale. Please don’t kill me - but I hope you enjoy. Again, I recommend the acoustic version of Disappear Here by Bad Suns to set the scene! As always, feedback is welcome! xx

Based on this blurb (because I’ve gotten a few questions and realized I never really explained it - this blurb is in the present and everything else is in the past).

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: language

MASTERLIST

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

ALTERNATIVE ENDING

SEQUEL

»»————-　♡　————-««

“You’re telling me, Agent L/N, that you want to withdraw your request for a transfer-”

“Yes, ma’am-”

“The request that has been granted and you’ve accepted-”

“Yes, ma’am-”

“Because you now want to stay in Colombia?” although she kept herself together, mostly anyway, there was nothing but annoyance in her tone and written all over her face. Annoyance and daggers that was. You were sure your face must have been a brilliant crimson as she berated you; all you managed to give her in response was a small nod, “you realize what you’re doing, correct? I sure hope you do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you stared at your feet for a moment before daring to meet her eyes. Noonan sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest as she let out a sharp exhale through her nose, “I-I realize how much of a hassle I’ve created and I do apologize - to everyone.”

“I sincerely hope that you’re not changing your mind all because of one man,” you almost stopped breathing at her words, wishing she wasn’t always so spot on. You did want to stay in Colombia and finish what you started, but there were…other reasons too - you just weren’t about to tell her that. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you shook your head, trying to convince her as much as yourself, “I suppose it’s not my place to wonder or figure out your logic. Whatever is compelling you to stay, I hope it’s worth it.”

“It is,” you told her confidentiality, putting a small smile on your face. It was going to worth, it definitely was. You wouldn’t be doing this, shaking up everyone’s lives yet again, if you weren’t so sure of that.

“Well, I guess I’ll tell Agent Breslin not to expect you,” her voice was cold as ice and sent a chill down your spine, despite the warm Colombian afternoon. You remained rooted in your spot as you tried to figure out something to say; it felt wrong to just silently remain there as she shuffled her papers and appeared to be looking for something. She gave you the up and not after a few moments before snapping, “you’re excused, Agent L/N. You might as well go and do some work since you’re so keen to stay here.”

“Yes ma’am,” you turned on your heel and quickly darted out of her office. The tension broke as soon as you entered the hallway and you finally felt like you could breath easier. You knew, you just knew without her even having to say anything that you would be on her shit from now. Oh well. You’d just keep a low profile and work hard. Try being the operative word.

When you made it back into your shared office, you were almost relieved to find it empty for once. You leaned against your desk and let out a long sigh, closing your eyes and relishing in the silence. But your peace and quiet was quickly ended as a pair of footsteps approached, stopping in front of you. For a moment you thought it was Murphy, he had been suspicious about your sudden change of mind, but hadn’t questioned it too much. He knew, you were sure of it, and if he didn’t know exactly why, he had strong inklings. The little looks he kept giving you and Javi gave him away.

You slowly opened your eyes and found Javi’s honey brown ones staring back at you, a crooked smile on his face. He reached up and put his hand on the side of your face, running a thumb gently over your cheekbone, “hi, sugar.”

“Javi,” you looked around to make sure Steve hadn’t somehow made his way in just yet. When you realized you were alone, you took his hand and placed a gentle kiss to his palm. He grinned at you before capturing your lips in a quick kiss. Your eyes widened at his audacity before the two of you broke into a small fit of giggles, “I told Noonan.”

“I’m sure she took that extremely well,” he cringed slightly at the mental image of that conversation. If he could have avoided her forever, it wouldn’t be long enough. He was by now means her favorite person, and he was well aware of that fact.

“About as well as you think,” you sighed, moving to sit down on your desk as Javi gave you a small smile, “she knows. She totally knows.”

“We’ll just be careful,” he promised and you nodded. If she had so much more than a mere hunch that you two were actually in a relationship, or anything, she’d have you back on the first flight to the states, you knew at that point your career would be all but over, “I promise nothing bad will happen.”

“If she finds out then my whole career will be over before it’s even really started,” you looked at him with raised eyebrows and he nodded. At least if something happened to him, he’d already established himself well enough not to have to worry about anything. You took his hand and playfully pushed him back towards his own desk, “so this - us, means we can’t do this at work, you cheeky bastard. Paws off until later.”

“But honey, you’re killing me-”

“Hey, did you two want to go and get lunch? There’s nothing good anywhere here,” Steve asked as he walked back in, nose buried in some papers. You and Javi quickly tried to play off anything that had been happened, pointedly looking away from each other, “if we leave soon, we can meet Connie. I know she’s dying to see you, Y/N, ever since she found you’re staying.”

“Lunch sounds great,” you both chimed in at the same time, causing Steve to look suspiciously between the two of you. So much for being subtle.

“What’s up with you two?” a small smirk it’s way on his face as your face grew warm and Javi looked anywhere but his face. If he didn’t know before, he knew now, “well come on then, let’s get going.”

He started to head out the door and you and Javi followed close behind. You narrowed your eyes at him, and stuck out your tongue at him, “you’re gonna get us found out, Javi!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you later,” he smirked quietly, giving your ass a quick smack causing you to yelp lightly. Steve paused for just a moment but didn’t turn around to face either of you, instead he just kept walking, shaking his head sightly. He fucking knew.

“Javier!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Javier grinned at you as he pushed a piece of hair off of your face, letting the tips of fingers trace over all the highs and lows before stopping at the corner of mouth. You gave him a lazy smile before a yawn escaped your lips.

“Tired?” he teased as he draped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

“Wonder why,” you asked as you rested your head on his chest, listening to the beating of his heart slow back down to a normal rate. It was late, away later than you should have been up considering that you both had to be at work in the morning. But once things had started, they were hard to stop. And it wasn’t like you were particularly eager to stop anything when it came to him, “maybe you shouldn’t be keeping me up so late, Peña.”

“I don’t hear you complaining,” he was proud of himself with that little comment, as you jokingly scoffed at him, “unless oh Javi, Javi please, more, more, harder, is your way of complaining.”

“Shut up asshole,” you groaned as you buried your face into his chest. As soon as he had his way with you, as soon as he had he had his hands on you, you were lost to him and whatever coherent thought you had left was out the window, “you’re the worst!”

“Only kidding,” he promised, putting a finger under chin and lifting your face up to meet his, “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” you bit your lip as you studied him, still somehow managed to feel shy despite how intimately he knew you, or how often he reminded you that he loved you. It was different than what you just experienced before with your past lovers. He a combination of hard and soft, a duality that worked well with your fiery nature. You nuzzled your nose against his and just stayed there like that for a while before whispering gently, “te amo, Javi.”

“Look at that, you’re practically a Spanish aficionado now,” he teased before pulling the blanket over your bodies so you could attempt to get a few hours of sleep before work, “aren’t you glad you gave me a chance? I told you it’d be worth it.”

“Oh yes,” you laid back down and Javi automatically pulled you into his body, “I’m so glad I put everything, my career, my future, on the line for you-”

“Hey now!”

“I’m just kidding, Javi, lighten up,” you traced your fingers his bare chest as your felt your eyes growing heavier and heavier with the call of sleep, “I’m very glad. I’m glad every day. Sometimes I wonder if you’re worse off. You had to change everything, and only have me. Who’s the real winner here?”

“I would choose you and only you every time,” he whispered back, causing a smile to grow on your face as you finally shut your eyes completely, “you were worth it.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Present Day

“No,” you shook your head fervently, trying your best to keep your angry tears from spilling down your cheeks as you looked between Steve and Javi, You didn’t want to cry and knew it wouldn’t help your cause, but you couldn’t help it. All you could see was red, “absolutely not. You’re not leaving me behind again.”

“Y/N, please listen to reason. Carrillo said this was dangerous-”

“I don’t give a shit what Carrillo thinks!” you stomped your foot for added emphasis.

“You did before!” he reminded you.

“That was then. This is now and I am ready for this. I’m sick of you leaving me behind,” you crossed your arms over your chest as you glared at Javi. You couldn’t believe his nerve, that he was trying to get you left behind yet again, “this isn’t fucking fair.”

“I don’t care if you don’t find it fair,” Javi raised his voice and Steve looked anxiously between the two of you, “it’s too fucking dangerous.”

“That’s not for you to decide!” you insisted, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I am a grown woman, I am your partner, and most of all I have proven myself over and over to everyone during the last seven months. You all know that.”

“I said no,” he insisted through gritted through, his nostrils flared with anger. You knew if it had been anyone else asking to go he would have said yes. You knew he was only doing this because you were together, because he valued your safety more than anything else. But it still didn’t make it any easier, or less obvious that you were actually together. If you hadn’t been in this particular situation, you would have taken advantage of the moment - there was something about Javier when he was angry that turned you on. But not today. Not with this.

“It’s not for you to decide,” you insisted, glaring back at him with just as much as annoyance as he was giving you, “this isn’t all about you, it’s not always just Team Javi. It’s the three of us. Right, Steve?”

“I’m staying out of this one,” he said as he raised his hands in defense and took a step back, shaking his head. You rolled your eyes and sighed, “whatever you two have going on, you need to figure it. And fast.”

“Some fucking help you are, Murphy,” you couldn’t believe he was just backing out of this, “I’m going and that is final, Javi. I can take care of myself.”

“No,” he said quietly and shook his head, “you’re not. You’re staying here and that is final. I’ve already told Noonan and Carrillo and anyone else involved that you’re not coming. And if you do come, you’ll just go right back to the States, you’ll be done.”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” you couldn’t help yourself as you shoved past him, making sure to slam into his shoulder as you did so, “you’ve got some nerve, Javi. How could you do this? I’m ready to come.”

“Honey-”

“Don’t you dare call me that right now,” you sighed as he tried  to follow after you, “you can’t just sweet talk your way out of this.”

“I love you,” he tried and you just groaned at him and flipped the bird. You didn’t even bother to respond to him as you stormed out of your office in search of something - anything, else.

“So, that’s a thing, huh?” Steve looked at him with wide eyes as he looked between Javi and the space you had just occupied. Javi let out a long sigh as he nodded, leaning against his desk, rubbing his tired face, “I think you should let her come. In all honesty, I think she’d be fine. She can handle herself.”

“She’s not going, Murphy,” he insisted firmly, “that’s final. I don’t want to hear another word about if. From anyone.”

They had left shortly after, without you having said another word to the two of them. It had caused your stomach to churn because you kept wondering what if. What if something happened to happened to Javi? Or Steve? And  the last tie you’d ever said them was basically a fuck you?

»»————-　♡　————-««

Luckily, nothing of the short had happened. Javi and Steve had come home in one piece. But things were different. Everything felt off - wrong.

Javi had been back for several days after being gone for several even longer weeks. Since he’d been back, he’d been quieter, more stoic than he normally was. So much unlike the man you had grown used too. Even when he held you, kissed you, or did anything with you it felt so odd. Almost like you were with a completely different person.

You hadn’t pushed him to speak, or explain anything; you knew how stressful his job could be: the long days, the sleepless nights, the horrors that meet your eyes on the daily. You, after all, shared the same occupation as him. But unlike him and Steve, you hadn’t been allowed to go on this mission, despite your pleas, so you had no clue exactly what they’d seen.

No, instead, you had been behind and become a glorified pencil pusher once again, working on menial paperwork. And hung around the phone, waiting for any call, no matter brief from Javier. And he called on occasion, filling you in on everything that was happening with him and Steve. If you were lucky, he’d spend more than five minutes with you and remind you, in a hushed tone, that he missed you and loved you. But it was different…less real.

But now he was home, back in your life on the daily, but it seemed like he might as well have been gone still. Your Javier had left you, and a mere shell of his former self had returned, someone you didn’t know anymore.

“Javi?” you asked quietly as you sat down next to him on the couch. He had been nursing a single beer for several hours, staring blankly at the television as he only made a comment here and there in response to your questions.

“Mhmm?” he asked without evening you looking at you. You sighed heavily and turned off the television and he finally looked at you, and unreadable expression in his eyes.

“Where are you, Javi?” you put your hand on his cheek, running a thumb over his soft skin.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his brows knitting together, an unreadable expression n his face, “I’m right here.”

“Your body is,” you agreed, “but your head hasn’t been. You’ve been quiet since you returned. It’s like you get lost in your own mind. Where do you disappear to?”

“Just…tired,” it was a clear lie, and he seemed mildly annoyed. You wondered if you should press the issue and decided you would; you’d been silent long enough. You were done dealing with this empty shell. You wanted your Javier back, the one you had so desperately loved.

“Javier,” you removed your hand from him and crossed your arms over your chest, “don’t lie to me. What’s wrong? What happened while you were gone?”

“Nothing,” it was a firm statement and offered no room for negotiation.

“Javi-”

“I said nothing was wrong.”

“And I want to know why you’re lying,” it was a challenge. He should have known better than to argue with you by now. He stood up and ran his hand through his hair, an exasperated look on his face.

“Y/N, just drop it,” he insisted, but you weren’t about to back down now.

“No, Javier, I won’t,” your tone increased in volume, “because you’ve been back and you’ve been treating me like garbage. If something is wrong, tell me, and we work on it together. We’re supposed to be team!”

“I said drop it!”

“No, I’m not going to. Now tell me what’s been going on!”

“I cheated on you,” it was declared without emotion, and it washed over you like a cold wave, crashing down hard. The air was suddenly so thick and tense that you could have cut it with a knife. The words just kept repeated on loop in your head, “are you fucking happy now?! That’s what’s wrong!”

“Get out,” you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him. Of all the things in the world you had expected, this wasn’t one of them - he had promised you… He hung his head and sighed, unmoving, “I said get out.”

“Y/N-”

“Get out!” you shouted as you grabbed the vase from the table and threw it at him. He ducked and it shattered into a million tiny pieces, just like your heart, “get out! I never, ever, want to see you again.”

“Y/N,” he tried to reason with you one more time hurt you weren’t having it.

“Walk out that door and never come back,” you pointed sternly before turning around and hiding your face in your hands, tears steadily steaming down your face, “I never want to see your face again, Javier. Fuck you and get out.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next morning you’d somehow managed to drag yourself into work, despite feeling like hell. You had wanted to call in and let them know you were sick or whatever lame excuse you could come up with but you didn’t want to give Javier the satisfaction, or whatever he was after.

Before you knew what you were doing, you had stared gathering your things from your desk and stuff them all into an old banker’s box you had found lying around. You were on autopilot and nothing even mattered.

Not until he walked in.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, when you saw that he looked just as bad as you, it sent a pang of sadness through your heart. You thought you would have been happy with the sight, but you couldn’t muster up the energy to be spiteful or angry. Nothing mattered - he didn’t matter. You weren’t sure if that make things better or worse.

Before you knew what you were doing, you stormed over to his desk, causing him to instantly look up at you. His eyes were puffy - bloodshot.

“Was this the first time?” he remained silent as he avoided looking at your eyes. No. It was enough to bring your whole world crashing down around you.

“How many?” you asked and he instantly knew what you were talking about. Of course he did, “how many fucking others were there?”

“Honey, let me just-”

“No,” you cut him off, feeling the tears already welling up in your eyes as you stepped out of his reach, “you don’t get to call me that. Not anymore, never again. You could at least have the fucking decency to be honest with me. This was going on the whole time? How could you do this?”

He didn’t answer you right away, instead hanging his head as he breathed heavily through his nose. It was at that point that you felt your heart shatter into a thousand little fragments, yet again, as the tears spilled over and down your cheeks.

“I asked you for one thing,” you reminded him as you dabbed your eyes. The little break in your voice was enough to make him want to cry too, “one thing. It shouldn’t have been so hard. I gave up everything for you. A move, a whole new career step, only to stay here and be held back and cheated on this entire time.”

“Y/N-”

“No, I’m done,” you turned on your heel and heard for the door, leaving your box of things. You stopped just before you exited, turning back to give him one last look, “I want to hate you, and a part of me does. But I hope to God you remember this the next time you tell someone you love them. If I ever see you again, it’ll be too soon.”

You didn’t wait for him to say anything else before storming out, almost running into Steve. He looked bewildered as you just shook your head, before wrapping him in a right hug, “goodbye, Steve. I’m going to miss you and Connie most of all.”

“What happened?” he asked as you pulled back and just gave him a teary smile, “Y/N?”

“I hope our paths cross again one day,” your voice was soft as you walked away from, heading down the hall in search of Noonan’s office.

Steve jammed it into the office and found Javi sitting at his desk, head in his hands, “what the fuck happened?!”

“I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Steve sat down at his desk with a heavy sigh, “you did.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“So, you’re telling me, Agent L/N, that you’re once again asking for a transfer to Mexico,” it was hard, so hard, to keep yourself composed and not let the tears steam down your face. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself or give her the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

“Yes ma’am,” your voice was shaky, and it almost cracked. You felt more like a boy going through puberty, rather than a grown woman. Although in the moment you felt more like a silly child than anything. But you could only blame yourself; your biggest weakness became your greatest undoing.

“You realize the strings I had to pull ten months ago to try and you the position over there,” her voice was laced with venom, and in all honesty, you couldn’t even be mad at her. She had a point after all, “and when I had to tell them you had changed your mind.”

“Yes ma’am,” you answered, hanging your head as you stared at your scoffed up sneakers. You weren’t even dressed properly for work, hell you’d barely managed to drag yourself out of bed to make it to work.

“I’ll go and see what I can do. I hope you realize that these types of things aren’t done on one’s whimsy. These things take time and if you’re lucky, they’ll be able to take you.

“Yes ma’am.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yes ma’am,” you swallowed the lump in your throat as you nodded at the ground, “and if it’s that much trouble, I…I can go back to the states.”

“Is that what you really want?” she asked and you paused for a moment. Was that what you wanted? To just give up everything you had worked so hard for because of this? She noticed that you were silent you, so she carried on, “you were just starting to make a name for yourself. To give it all up now would be a shame.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“So I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure you’ll be able to do well in Mexico,” she stated and you nodded lightly, “I’ll place a call to Agent Breslin and see what he has.”

“Okay,” you said quietly, dabbing at the back of your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. You’d tried to prevent the tears from spilling over, but it was getting harder and harder. You figured by her silence that you were allowed to leave so you started walking away, figured you’d just go home. Nothing else really mattered anymore.

“Agent L/N,” you turned around at the sound of your name and waited for her to go on, “I hope it was all worth it.”

You didn’t even bother to respond as the tears flowed down your cheeks. She knew exactly what she was saying, and the words were cold as ice. You said nothing as you slammed the door shut.

You can’t give her the satisfaction knowing that none of it was worth it.

Javier Pena had not been worth it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @yourealegendroger  @thesecondlastjedi  @bitemerog  @rogernroll  @secretsweetscollectionblog  @sheridans-dynamos  @dinkiplier @starrystarrybabe  @onexlittlespark  @benhardyseyes  @marvelstuck  @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes  @wonderwich  @a-kind-of-magik​  @lv7867​  @itissnowingandimstuckinside​  @dessert-hardy  @rogertaylors-lipgloss​  @rogerfxckingtaylor​  @queenbbarnes​  @drowseoftaylor​  @persephonesnebula​  @mamaskillerqueen​  @theimpossiblehologramtree​  @loveandbeloved29​ @meddows-rose @onceitbubbles​ @wonderwoman292​ @moondustmemories​ @spacedustmazzello​  @queenlover05​  @ah-callie​  @blushingwueen​​

DH Taglist: @thefuturelawyer  @gothtechie​  @mandowhoreian  @misslolasworld  @longitud-de-onda  @renreypoe  @frantheseer  @sirianfromsixties  @lady-sigyn  @pascalisthepunkest @lilzebub​

[constilationn]

Fire and Rain || Part 11

A/N: You guys, this is so, so, immensely overdue. I’m so sorry for the delay on this series, especially because I was so so excited to write it in the beginning. All I can say is I hope you enjoy this chapter - feedback is always appreciated. 

Rating: T

Warning: Naughty words 

Summary: You know you’re in the wrong but somehow, Poe is too. It doesn’t mater, you’re always there to save his arse, right?

Part 10 🔥

“Wake up!” The hiss in your ear jolted you from a dreamless sleep, the thin sheet torn away from your body. 

“Fuck off.”  You mumbled, snatching the covers back from whoever had invaded your quarters. “I’m sleeping.”

“You’re moping,” It was Nya’s voice in your ear, shaking you until you angrily opened your eyes. 

She wasn’t wrong. The conversation with Jessie and the other girls last night had made you realise just how stupid you were. Granted, when you’d heard Jessie in Poe’s quarters it had been a compelling argument for you to get the fuck away but you probably could’ve let him explain. Thinking about it, you definitely could’ve let him explain. 

“What do you want?” You glared at Nya, forcing yourself out of bed and towards the mirror that hung dangerously from the wall.

“General called for you about an hour ago.”

You turned back to her sharply. “An hour ago?” 

“Listen,” Nya raised her hands in defence, “I wasn’t prepared to loose my life over trying to wake you up.”

You threw on your jacket, sitting down on the edge of the bed to put your boots on. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic. I’ve never seen someone so aggressively tired.”

You rolled your eyes, following Nya from your quarters. “Did the General say what it was about?”

“I’m just the messenger,” Nya paused, averting her eyes. “Safe to say its probably about Poe.”

You sighed, “These people know I’m more than just Poe Dameron’s technician right?” 

Nya gave a short chuckle, “No.”

“Excuse you.”

Nya shrugged, failing to suppress her laughter. “Listen, you’re always around each other and you never seem to be working on anyone else’s ship.”

“Because he fucks it up so much!” You replied, tone rising defensively as you darted from your quarters, Nya at your heels, “it’s not my fault he’s an idiot.”

“But you could always pass the job to someone else.”

“No one else knows him like I do.”

“You mean no one knows his ship like you do.”

You frowned, “that’s what I said.”

“No,” Nya chucked as you entered the Hub, “you didn’t.”

You smacked her the arm and she laughed. “I did too. Besides, it’s not exactly a lie. it takes a special type to work with the idiot Commander.’

“You mean it takes you and you alone.” 

“You know what—“

“General!” Nya cut you off, pulling you towards Leia as you glared at the back of her head. Was that what everyone thought of you? That you were at Poe’s beck and call?

You smacked Nya on the back of the arm to avoid Leia’s gaze, smiling sweetly at the General. “You rang?”

Leia all but rolled her eyes as you grinned, waiting for the reason Nya had dragged you out of bed. “I’m afraid Poe’s gotten himself into trouble.”

“Right,” you nodded slowly, unsurprised, “what do you want me to do about it.” You winced as Nya hit you and Leia raised an eyebrow. You caught yourself, biting your tongue as you sighed. You hadn’t meant to be so rude but any mention of Poe made you angry, even though he technically hadn’t done anything wrong. You were confusing yourself, all of these stupid emotions over a man you promised yourself you’d never love. 

“Wasn’t he teaching you how to fly?” Nya asked slyly. Your turned to glare at her, gritting your teeth. 

“I’m sure you can send a more experienced pilot.” You answered, “I started learning two weeks ago.”

“We could,” Leia replied, “but we need you to go. You’re the one who works on his ship.”

“Okay, this base has other technicians right?” You raised your eyebrows, “I’m not just Poe Dameron’s technician.”

Leia smiled gently, “I know.” Nya shot you a sympathetic smile and you sighed, “but you’re the only one he trusts.”

“I’m not sure this a question of trust.” You weren’t exactly sure why you were trying to blow off the opportunity to help Poe. But you were still so angry at him. So angry at him for changing you completely, for loving you and for exposing you to the type of love and freedom you didn’t think you’d ever find. You were so angry that you cared so much about him. And above all, you were furious  that you’d broken every promise you’d ever made yourself and fell head over heels for him. 

“I disagree.” You waited for Leia to expand, crossing your arms as Nya looked between the two of you with nervous anticipation. Leia’s eyes twinkled, a slight smile pulling at the corner of her lips and you groaned, looking down, feeling Leia’s smirk widened as you gave in. “Fine! Fine. What do we know? Where is the bastard?”

Nay snorted beside you. “Bit rude.”

“You want me to hit you again?” 

“He’s on Naboo.” Leia interrupted.

You scoffed, “Oh he made it this time, did he?” 

Leia shook her head, “All we know is that he’s run into trouble.”

“What a fucking surprise.” You rolled your eyes, already turning away from Leia with regret spinning through your head and the hope that she’d forgive you for being so stupidly sarcastic. You��couldn’t help it, anytime Poe was mentioned your mind just stopped working. You’d never been so infuriated in your life. 

“Hey!” Nay’s footsteps echoed behind you as you stormed to the hangar, “Wait!” 

You spun on your heel, “Yes?”

“What are you doing?” 

You looked towards the ship stationed by the entrance of the hangar, trying to conceal your nerves by shoving your hands into your jacket pocket and fixing Nya with the most sarcastic smile you could muster. “I’m going to save the idiot, aren’t I?”

“What? No! You don’t have any supplies, you don’t have anything!” You rounded the ship, climbing the first few rungs of the ladder. “You’re not even wearing your flight suit!”

You chuckled, slipping into the pilots seat. “I don’t need it.” You weren’t sure if that was strictly true but you were pretty sure Poe wore his because it made him feel cool.

“Are you insane?” Nya yelled, watching as you tried to remember the steps for flight preparation that Poe had taught you. She knew there was no use in trying to stop you, you’d hung around Poe long enough to know that if you really wanted to do something, you shouldn’t give anyone the chance to wreck it. “You don’t even know how to fly!”

“Sure I do!” You grinned down to Nya as the pilots capsule closed above you, “It’s just like riding a bike.”