#but not being able to let go of that last speck of comfort

[chisatowo]

While all of random card au Tsugumi's broken relationships make me explode a lil, recently I've been the most obsessed with their and Sayo's relationship, because it's the one where a lot of what when wrong was not only actively Tsugumi's fault, but also consciously. It's honestly rly unsettling looking at it from Sayo's perspective, because with the others the things that went wrong were mostly contained to one moment, one scene pieced together by the past light vessels outside of either their or Tsugumi's knowledge. This isn't that. Tsugumi actively lied to Sayo from the start, and was in no way pushed to do so by the past vessels. Like Tsugumi wasn't exactly mentally stable, but that obviously doesn't stop it from being fucked up. Anyways can you tell I found a new random card au Tsugu song recently

[koiir]

YOU WANT IT? I GOT IT

— How your boyfriend shows his love to you (through gift giving)

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ Parings; Reo, kurona, rin x gn!reader

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ Genre; fluff, comfort?? (for Rin’s part) | wc; 1.4k

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ REO MIKAGE

It’s only natural with the amount reo has saved on his account that he spends as much as he wants on you, how could he not? It’s cliché—having all the money in the world and splurging it on the one he loves, but reo doesn’t care. Especially when he is able to see your surprised expression whenever you see a new gift awaiting you.

You don’t have to do anything at all, it’s like you yourself is enough to deserve a new gift from him. The moment reo has that feeling, he is on his way to find the perfect gift for you.

That feeling for reo is when he can’t control the love in his heart for you, whenever he is alone you bet he is giggling and kicking his feet after you send a text or photo to him. He usually gives you stacks of gifts whenever he returns back to you, wanting to show you how much he has missed you.

Ever the romantic, how many days he has gone without you he will get a gift for every day. You can remember the time he was away for three weeks….you couldn’t help but be dumbfounded when reo knocked on your door with bags and bags filled to the brim with all twenty one gifts. (Reo even had a reason for why he got you each gift)

At the end of the day, the lesson is that It doesn’t matter what you tell reo—he will never not gift you something. He thinks he might go crazy if he doesn’t spend on you, but he does have a knack for creativity and even makes you diy gifts! (Ofc only with the best of materials)

You two will find yourself having cute little dates as reo tells you to cover your eyes, you can tell he is smiling with the way he is giggling—not being able to speck properly. It isn’t until you open your eyes you see the amount of materials placed on the tabel and reo with a proud grin, telling you that he has a great idea in mind for you two.

Whatever reo wants, he gets. So his logic is “whatever I think YOU want, you get.” You can only roll your eyes at his words, but reo knows you only deserve the best.

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ KURONA RANZE

Kurona who is the best and loving boyfriend one could ask, you two have been friends since childhood and he’s always stuck by your side—not daring to leave the one person he cares for a lot. Kurona is rather quiet and to himself, but with you he is more talkative and himself but he still struggles—so the best way for him to show his love to you is by gift giving! A loving and sweet gesture from him to you.

One example is the multiple shark plushies in your bedroom, all from yours truly Kurona. You can only smile and snuggle them as you think of him, thinking of his shark like teeth and that adorable smile of his. He’s easily flustered, so you told him about that and his face immediately turned away from yours as he covered his face. “You’re better than those plushies though.” You tell him smiling at his state, he only mumbles “stop it…stop.” as he lets you hold him enjoying the affection.

Second, he somehow finds the cutest Knick knacks for you that can be found in your room or even as accessory’s. He got you two matching keychains when you two went to the aquarium that one time, you got a shark keychain while he got your favorite sea animal. This was the perfect way for you two to carry something that reminded you of each other.

Third…(and certainly not last) kurona is one for cute little dates specifically at cafes. He offers to pay all the time, and doesn’t allow for you to pay. He loves sharing his food with you as he gets twisted bread, that reminds you of his side braid.

He certainly doesn’t expect you to feed him, “you’re cute Ranze, so why not feed you?” You tell him as he takes the bread while blushing. “It’s good though, so good.” He then turns the tables as he takes another piece of the twisted bread and gives you some, you two being in your own world only caring for the other.

It’s like kurona finds happiness as he sees your smile whenever he does any act of service to you, also being able to see that smile when he gives you something as an act of love. He can’t help but mimic your own smile as he feels his heart thump and cheeks flush.

You think of the time when he surprised you with a shark plushie awaiting you in your bed, holding a note in its mouth with some snacks around it. Clearly as a way to cheer you up, the note having endearing words from kurona as he adds a little shark drawing with a heart.

You can only hold the plushie as you lay down, feeling a wave of emotions realizing how lucky you got. How could someone be so perfect?

𓈒࣪ 𐐪𐑂 ─ RIN ITOSHI

It’s almost in Rin’s nature to be cold and rather serious, always keeping to himself. Maybe that’s why he’s never been use to this, you. So from the beginning, he makes sure you know he cares with little displays of affection—that being through the gifts he gives you.

It’s quite cute to see rin like this, seeing as he has an annoyed expression as he was caught trying to hide the bag he was holding. You can see it’s a designer bag, you can’t help but grin seeing rin look away. “What’s that rinnie?” He groans looking away, but a blush appears on his face as he sets the bag down and looks at you.

“It’s a gift…for you.” You walk up to him as you pick up the bag and he keeps his eyes on you watching you open it up—only to see the bag you’ve been eyeing for a while. How did he..?

“I’ve noticed the way you looked at it, the other day.” His words make you halt as you look back at him, he is still clearly flustered as he avoids your gaze but his voice is softer.

Ah. You remember now that the other day you and rin went out, it was simple walk around the city as you two viewed different shops. You didn’t think rin would notice since it was almost dark, but he did—he noticed the way your eyes lingered on the glass with the bag in view, clearly intrigued by it and wanting it.

Rin knew you wanted it no only because you clearly looked at it with eyes of need…but also because rin had the same habit. It’s the way his eyes would stare at Something in a daze, clearly wanting it—just like his gaze at the soccer ball during a game, or you.

Your heart rate seems to get faster hearing his reasoning for the gift, but you know rin has more in store as you look behind the couch and see more bags. Rin noticed your gaze and sighs, feeling defeated as he wanted to hide them and let you find them. He found it embarrassing and humiliating how you caught him doing this…

“It’s an apology…for the time away.” You know what rin is implying, he feels bad for being distant recently because of all the training he has had. Rin had always had the fear that he would ruin what you two had, fearing that his personality or actions would ruin your relationship. He wasn’t the best with words, and he was scared of saying the wrong thing. He knew gifts couldn’t always explain how he exactly felt, but he needed to show you that he cared. One way or another.

You knew rin always had these thoughts, so you sat next to him laying your head on his shoulder as you help his hand gently. “It’s not your fault rin, you didn’t have to do this you know?” You smile at him, making sure he doesn’t look away so he can see the sincerity in your eyes.

Rin leans into your touch, just feeling at peace knowing you understand him and he doesn’t need to say anything. It’s perfect, the way you understand him better than he does. But rin knows for a fact he will keep e this up, making sure you know how he feels with his actions.

A/n; kurona has my heart if you can’t tell

[animeismyhappyplace]

Who knew missing a work meeting could lead to this?!

Y/N misses one of Port Mafia Executive Chuuya Nakahara's team meetings so she must explain herself to him, he invites her back to his place under the guise she needs to help him with paperwork when smut ensues.

This is my own work not a reblog! Please do not repost or translate without permission as I've worked very hard on this!

TW - Minors DNI!

daddy kink, pet names, bondage play. Might be a lil OOC I've never written for Chuuya before or written kink smut so be kind 🙏

Word Limit: just over 4K 🥵

Y/N had been avoiding her supervisor officer all week, she had deliberately missed his most recent bi weekly round up meeting and she knew he'd be pissed at her for it. She'd rounded a corner in the main Port Mafia building when she heard a stern voice speak out "Why didn't you come to the meeting we had?" she sighs and looks down at her shoes suddenly finding them very interesting "Can we go to your office sir? I'd feel much more comfortable talking in private?" She hadn't even turned to look at him yet before she heard him mumble a non committal "Whatever" listening as his shoes hit against the marble floors so she turned and followed him down the small corridor. When they finally reached his office he ushered her in pushing gently at her lower back as she took in his office, not for the first time and probably not the last time, it's walls were painted in a sleek grey and silver theme very minimalist if she did think so herself but exactly what one may expect from a Port Mafia executive she thought as she sat in the black office chair across from his own. As he sat down she could see the annoyance that burned across his face at having to have another meeting about this topic which was cutting into his personal time, his fingers thumped against his desk as he looked across to her "So? What do you have to say for yourself this time L/N?" She gulped at his tone before responding sheepishly "I wasn't actually sure I'd need to come honestly, I've felt kind of sidelined on recent missions and wasn't sure I was strong enough to be classed as your subordinate. I know my ability can be useful but I don't know..." She trails off as she looks to the side focusing on a rather small speck of dust on his computer screen until she hears his huff wearily "You're not being sidelined, you're just getting more experience." he says sternly before taking a sip of what looked like some variation of a red wine. "And besides, you're doing great work so far you just lack confidence." The woman can't help but pout slightly at her mentors words as true as they may be that doesn't stop the string that hits her chest and settled in the cracks of her heart "it doesn't feel that way honestly sir" she can't look him in the eyes when she's still so unsure of her place on his team, it's a highly sought after post she knows this but maybe that's what makes it hurt more knowing she's not good enough for it yet.

He watches her crestfallen face for a moment before he replies "It does feel good that you're here, trust me." his tone softens slightly but there is still an edge to it "I'm sorry I disappointed you sir...it won't happen again! Did I miss much? maybe you could give me a recap now if you're able" she pleads to her mentor to not give up on her just yet "We were discussing our next week..." He pauses for a moment before continuing "...and then someone interrupted us by saying they wanted to talk about their feelings about certain member of the team..." he takes another sip of his wine before he begins again "she wants to quit now" shock racks across her face "That's not good, we can't afford to lose any more members especially if they keep going to the ADA, I'll...talk with whoever it is maybe I can change their mind!" She offers up her suggestion hastily "No, no," he shakes his head quickly "Don't bother talking to her, let her go, we don't need anyone who isn't loyal anymore." he stares at her intently "Just tell her that she needs to stay or else she'll regret it later." She gulps as she nods understanding the severity of wanting the leave the mafia "Of course sir. I'll pass the message on" she stutters out. "Good girl." She can't help but flush pink at the term, he's never called her anything like that before.

He smiles faintly as he leans back in his chair "Now then, what else should we discuss?" his eyes wander around the room for a second before returning to look directly into her e/c eyes "Do you know why Higuchi wants to leave?" he asks calmly yet firmly "N-no sir why?" "Because she didn't agree with your plans for the future." He says bluntly "Because she thought you weren't taking care of yourself enough." He pauses briefly before adding "But most importantly, she couldn't stand being near you anymore." He sighs deeply "That's all there was to it" "What?! I haven't done anything to offend her... Have I?" she starts to sift through memories to see what she had done to hurt her friend "Of course you did! You were always so irritating!" He snaps angrily "You never cared about getting yourself nearly killed which puts everyone else in danger too!"

He stands up suddenly and begins pacing around the room "It doesn't matter how many times you apologize or beg forgiveness, nothing will ever change the fact that you're an awful subordinate" she can't help the hurt that shoots into her chest and flashes across her face "I have always tried my best!...sir..." She stops talking about her voice can crack with pain. "Oh please..." His voice drops slightly as he stops pacing and turns towards her "...don't lie to yourself." He takes another step closer until their faces are almost touching "The truth is plain to see now. All these years spent trying to make everyone happy only made you miserable in the end." Her brow furrows at his statement "Maybe...but the team functions better now than it ever has! Someone had to sacrifice for the better of the organisation" the chair she'd been sitting on now lies on the floor as she jumps up to confront him "Sacrifice?" He laughs mockingly "Is that really what this is about?! Are you saying that by sacrificing yourself for others, you somehow achieved greatness?!" He shakes his head sadly "No one lives life without making sacrifices sometimes, especially those who wish to succeed in their goals." She looks down then before mumbling out her reply "I've sacrificed as much as you have, I can't imagine being a executive has been without it's struggles" he smiles softly "Yes, it has been hard work, but worth every second of it." He gives her a small nod before turning back to face her "And now here we are. The perfect balance between efficiency and effectiveness. It seems like everything has come together perfectly." He chuckles lightly.

she glances to the side of his desk seeing all the unfinished mission statements that need completed when she suddenly has an idea "Why you don't head home early sir and I'll finish all that work for you" his expression softens "I'm sure it'd be a big help for you" he chuckles softly as he shakes his head "You don't need to do that, it's my work I'll do it". Y/N shakes her head firmly not wanting to budge "well there must be some way I can make up for missing the meeting?" He thinks for a moment "How about you come to my place tonight?" He smirks at the girl in front of him as she turns a dark red thinking of the implications of his words "Sir? Do you need help with the papers? Or..." She trails off not really sure what she's asking him he nods slowly "Yeah, I wouldn't mind having someone around while I work on these papers. Plus, I think you'd enjoy spending time with me right?" He winks playfully at her.

That stops her in her tracks does he know about her little crush why else would he offer for her to come to his come when they could work on his reports here. Finally she gulps down the saliva that pools under her tongue and nods slowly not trusting her words, to be shown such attention from an executive as highly thought of as Chuuya was exciting to say the least. He grins widely "Good girl~" He takes out his phone and types in a few commands before handing it to her to input her number, "Text me whenever you're free so we can hangout"she nods quickly and inputs her number "I thought we were heading back tonight?" She tilts her head confused "Oh we are I just need to finish finalising something real quick then we will go.

Chuuya's fingers clack at the keyboard quickly for a few moments before he speaks again " We should probably go soon since it's getting late already" He stands up and stretches his arms above his head to stretch out his aching back "Let's get going then shall we?" Y/N grabs the few belongings she brought with her today and looks to her mentor "Ready when you are" He nods to her and they leave the building together.

They walk through the dark streets together until they reach Chuuya's apartment building where he unlocks the door and leads her inside, she walks inside of his penthouse tentatively, looking around at his sleek walls and plush looking furniture "You have a lovely apartment sir" she breaths out taking every inch in "Thank you very much for today, coming to see me about the missed meeting" He sits down on one of the couches and pats his lap invitingly "Come sit with me". He looks at her expectantly waiting for her response "You look stunning today by the way. You're wearing something a little more...revealing today...that for me?" He smirks to himself she flushes as she looks down at her blouse it had been unseasonally hot recently and lighter slightly more revealing work outfits had been essential "I-it's been so hot recently I've needed to adapt my clothes I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable sir" she frowns as she joins him on the couch "No worries, I don't mind seeing you wear something like that" His gaze lingers over her body "It suits you well though" He reaches forward and gently touches her arm "You know what else would suit you perfectly? If you took off your jacket" she shrugs the material off quickly almost as if it lingered on her skin any longer it would burn her "Would you be willing to try something new for me" He looks into her eyes expectantly.

She nods almost dazed as she looks down at his hand which is tracing small lines into her skin "What would you like to try sir?" He leans closer and whispers in her ear "How about I tie down your pretty hands to my bed~?" He chuckles softly before pulling away from her and standing up "Let's take this to my bedroom shall we?" He takes her hand and leads her towards his room "Strip for me please baby" She flushes a deep red at his words and follows to his bedroom starting to remove articles of clothes as they move. "Good girl~" He opens the door and steps inside leaving her alone in the room "Come here" He gestures towards the bed where he lays out several ropes and various other items such as handcuffs and blindfolds "Now lie down on the bed and spread those beautiful thighs of yours wide open for me darling~" She gulps down her nerves and nods to him, removing the last of her clothing leaving her bare to her bosses piercing eyes, she lays down on his monochrome silk sheets and spreads her legs for him to invite him into her personal space.

"Mmhmm... You're looking very delicious right now aren't you sweetheart?" He smirks and moves between her legs, running his hands along her inner thigh before reaching up and grabbing hold of her wrists pinning them above her head "There we go~ Now let's see how much pleasure we can draw out of your pretty little body" He murmurs admiring her form, he suddenly looks to her face "You heard of the traffic light system sweetheart?" she smiles lightly at his wanting to make sure she's safe and comfortable during their encounter and nods her head "Yes green means go, yellow means I'm unsure but want to continue and red is stop immediately" "Good girl~ and your safe word?" he asks while trailing his fingers to her inner thighs teasinger her with his gentle touches she thinks for a moment before responding "Peaches" She nods and giggles softly. "Are you ready to start lovely?" He asks as he spreads her legs a little further she nods as the pulls him down to her lips giving him a firm kiss.

Chuuya starts his teasing by turning his head the the side peppering her thighs with small kisses, giving small nibbles and licks every few minutes "I've always thought you were incredibly beautiful you know and so dedicated to the PM... To me" a whine bubbles up to her lips at his teasing as she watches him between her thighs "I've always been so fond of you sir I'd never want to disappoint you" Chuuya chuckles softly and leans forward pressing another soft kiss against her inner thigh "Stop calling me sir my love or I'll have to punish you" He smirks at her before pulling back slightly looking into her eyes again "do you trust me?" he asks "Yes Chuuya I trust you... trust you with my life" She smiles at him he smiles back running his thumb along her cheek making her shiver "Good now tell me what are your thoughts on our relationship? Do you think we could be together? Before we start I'd like to know where we stand" He asks gently stroking her hair as he stares deeply into her eyes hoping that she'll accept his offer "I'm yours Chuuya, I've been yours since I was told I'd be working under you" She smiles at him as she lifts her hand to card her fingers through his hair and down his neck resting at his neck.

His heart skips a beat as he feels her touch "That's what I wanted to hear baby~" he whispers placing one last gentle kiss on her forehead before leaning in closer to whisper in her ear "Close your eyes my love" He smirks as he steps down from the bed to grab the supplies he needs she nods her head as she relaxes into his sheets "I trust you with my body" She softly closes her eyes, he uses some velvet covered cuffs to attach her arms to his headboard before moving down and attaching some cuffs to her ankles which spread her out for his eyes to explore. Next he starts to remove his clothes starting with his dress shirt then moving to his pants then his boxers to expose his already hard length to her watching eyes she lets out a needy whine as she pleads to him "I need you so badly Chuuya~"

He grins teasingly watching her squirm around beneath him "You're such an adorable thing aren't you? You look so cute tied up like this." He says playfully as he leans forward kissing along her collarbone trailing soft kisses down her chest until finally reaching her nipples which he takes between his teeth she gasps as she feels his teeth gently encase her hardened nipples sighing as he licks over the bud sucking softly before moving to the other side and paying just as much attention to her other breast "F-feels so nice Chuu~" He continues licking and nibbling all over her breasts enjoying every second of it before moving lower still stopping to tease her belly button with his tongue before continuing further south towards her core where he pauses briefly to lick and kiss her inner thighs before finally settling between her legs "So warm... So wet and I've barely started" He smirks up at her as she gently tugs at the cuffs wanting to grab his head and push him down to where she needs him most "Stop t-teasing Chuu I need you so badly~" His eyes sparkle mischievously as he sees her struggling against the restraints knowing exactly what she wants "Oh my dear little one if only you'd told me that sooner~" He teases before beginning to explore her folds with gentle caresses and light licks moaning softly at the taste of her juices, she gasps harshly and tips her head back "F-fuck Chuuya your tongue feels so good~" He smiles at the sounds he's pulling from her as he drives his head down to explore her pretty pussy further, he licks a stripe up the full length of her pussy collecting her wetness on his tongue before sliding his tongue around her sensitive clit.

She lets out a drawn out moan as he pleasures her, bucking her hips up to meet his tongue "Why didn't we do this sooner" She huffs out a laugh with her head still tipped backwards as he chuckles softly he moves away from her clit leaving behind trails of saliva which drips onto her soft skin "Well now let's see how well you can take it shall we?" He says teasingly while looking up at her seductively, he wraps his hand around his length giving it a few teasing strokes while she nods quickly as she watches his movements licking her lips at the sight of his pretty cock "Please give it to me Chuuya I need you inside me now" His smile widens into a wide grin as he slides himself between her thighs slowly pushing himself deep inside her tight walls causing her to gasp in pleasure "Oh yes baby, just relax for me okay? You're doing great." He whispers huskily as he begins to move within her slowly building up speed.

She pulls at her restraints again harder this time making her hiss slightly in pain and she bucks her hips up to try and match his steady thrusts "Fuck chuu~ you feel even better than I could have ever imagined, you're making me feel so full" He grins almost wickedly as he continues to pound into her hard and fast, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through both their bodies "You like that don't you? You love having my big fat dick buried deep inside you don't you?" He asks mockingly as he leans forward to kiss her lips passionately, licking his tongue into her mouth, she moans loudly into his mouth as she matches his eagerness in their kiss "Yesss~ I need your fat cock chuuya! Need you to make me cum on your cock~ I-I'm close" She gasps against his lips. He groans softly as he keeps pounding away at her relentlessly his rough thrusts shaking his headboard as it bangs loudly into his walls "Cum for me now babygirl!" He reaches his hand down between their sweaty bodies as he roughly rubs her abused clit feeling her tighten around him as he slams into her one final time burying himself fully inside her as she spasms around him, legs shaking as she cums causing him to groans harshly as he cums hard.

He chuckles darkly as he slides out of her leaving only the head of his member still inside her causing her to whimper slightly "Well done little one...but there's no rest for us yet." He says sternly as he grabs onto her thighs pulling them apart spreading her wide open exposing her pink soaked pussy to his eyes, her body shakes as she's coming down from her high "Fuck Chuuya my pussy can't take much more" She whines out as she watches him grinning at her as he starts slowly pushing inside her stretching her tight muscles around his girth "Mmmh..such a good girl... You're so fucking wet aren't you?" Y/N nods her head sharply "F-fuck yes! I'm your good girl! You've made me so fucking wet baby" She whines as he starts to fuck her harder, pushing her slowly into overstimulation as her tired walls tighten around his fat cock.

His grip on her thighs tighten as he begins thrusting into her faster and harder making sure not to let up even for a second letting out a low moan of pleasure as he feels her tightening around him "Ohhh yeah... That's right... Keep cumming for me darling... Cum for daddy.... Cum for daddy" He reaches one of his hands down to play with her little clit. She throws her head back harshly as she grips the edge of the cuffs, tearing falling down her cheeks as she cums causing her legs to shake against Chuuya, whining and sobbing as her body shakes with painful pleasure.

As soon as she cums he pulls out quickly slamming it deep again causing her to cry out in pain but also pleasure as he slams his thick member into her ah~ such a good girl.... My sweet girl... Ohh god..... Your pussy is so warm and tight...so so soft... And so delicious..." She sobs through moans as her throat becomes croaky from over use, her body heating up from his praise. He smirks at her before grabbing her hips firmly and pulling them towards him burying himself deeper inside her than ever before "Ohhhh yesssss... Take all of daddy's big dick... Take every inch of this monster... Mmmmphh..." His body shakes as his thrusts become shallow as he spurts out a few lines of cum before he pulls out watching the cum trickle out of her abused hole, her body shakes as she watches her partner cum again before she shakes her arms as the cuffs clink against his bed "A little help here?" She giggles at him as he huffs out a chuckle lifting his tired body to unclip her restraints, making sure he kisses all the marks that have been left behind "Sorry love, think I got a bit carried away at the end there" He pushes his sweat caked hair back as he joins her back in bed, pulling her close to his body.

She smiles brightly as she gently wraps her arms around him, leaving light kisses to his chest "That was... Intense" She laughs as she cuddles into his side, he chuckles softly as he nuzzles her neck lightly "Yeah, you were pretty amazing too baby right?" He winks playfully at her he gives her a slight peck on the tip of her nose "We should really clean you up my love" He sighs wistfully, she pouts at her lover but rolls her eyes slightly and nods "One last kiss first?" She smiles as she reaches her arms out to him, he nods happily as he leans down for another passionate kiss, their tongues dancing together until they break apart slowly and he makes his way over to his en suite where he grabs a few washclothes, wiping her down as gently as he can to avoid more abuse to her already fucked out hole.

Once he's done he smiles and throws the cloth away and looks at her with a smirk on his face "That was fun wasn't it?" Chuuya grins widely at her "Wanna go again?" He asks teasingly. Y/N looks up at him in mock alarm "Are you kidding me Chuuya I don't think I'll be able to walk for a week as it is! No way I'll be able to go to work tomorrow!" She laughs as she reaches her hands to wrap around his neck, his grin widens even further as he pulls her closer to him and starts kissing her deeply once more, this time going slower than before so he can savor every moment of their closeness "You're such an adorable little thing aren't you?" He whispers against her lips "Fuck I'm glad you wanted me as much as I wanted you, I'll make something up to to tell Mori tomorrow" He smirks as he looks into her eyes "You'd better it's your fault" She giggles as she playfully hits his chest softly before cuddling back into his side "I love you Chuuya Nakahara~" He chuckles lightly as he wraps his arm around her waist and holds her close to him "I love you too Y/N L/N" He kisses her forehead affectionately before pulling away slightly to look deep into her eyes watching as she yawns Chuuya looks at her and smiles "Stay here tonight baby and we will talk about us more tomorrow hmm?" The woman nods thankfully as she gives him one last kiss before settling into his bed with a smile, he watches her drift off to sleep and leans forward to give her another soft kiss on the cheek before turning off the lights and wrapping his arms around her to join her in sleep. Tomorrow can wait for a while he thinks as he basks in the love they've shared together.

[honkytonk-hangman]

... And In Health

Jake Seresin x Aviator!Reader

Summary: A year after Jake has come to terms with his sickness, he might just have the opportunity to find the cure.

Notes/Warnings: note much, maybe some language? mostly just Jake being a sweety and being cute <3 This part is set about a year after the first one.

In Sickness...

Masterlist

When the waitress stops by your table for the fourth time, with a free pity-drink, your lip begins to wobble as she walks away. An hour ago you promised yourself you weren’t going to cry, at least not until you got home.

You’ve always been quick to emote, but even more so since your last breakup. Although you were shy and quiet, you hadn’t always lacked confidence in the romance department, but after finding your boyfriend sleeping with someone else, you hadn't realised the hit your self-esteem had taken until recently, when you’d started putting yourself out there again.

Suddenly instead of worrying about how your butt looked or what your hair was doing, you had deeper, far more troubling worries, like not ever being enough, and feeling like a constant burden.

Being stood up tonight was really, honestly, the very last thing you needed. Worse still, you knew that when you called your pickup, you were likely going to have to explain the situation, and that you weren’t looking forward to whatsoever. Which is why you’d been waiting out the time, so at least you might be able to convince Jake that your date had shown up.

You doubt he’ll believe you if you tried lying, your feelings were always much too clear on your face, you were practically an open book. Jake in particular always seemed to see right through you, like he was paying more attention to you, but you think he might just be observant of everyone. You wouldn’t allow yourself to go on thinking you were special in some way to him, even if the two of you had been slightly closer since your previous breakup.

You appreciated it, that’s as far as you would let yourself go. Jake had told you that he saw you as a friend, and even if you lacked self confidence in that friendship, you knew Jake was the sort of person who went hard for his friends.

Which was the whole reason he’d offered to pick you up tonight in the first place.

Your own car had been playing up and when you’d finally gotten it in the mechanics, they’d given you the unfortunate news that they weren’t going to have it back to you in time for your date tonight. You’d been telling Phoenix that you were going to cancel, as you didn’t feel comfortable being picked up by a date you didn’t know all that well, when Jake had chimed in that he would be your ride, if you still wanted to go. Although he still made you flustered when he fixed you with one of his looks, you really did trust Jake, and you wouldn’t have accepted if it were anyone else, because you also knew he would never have offered if he hadn’t meant it.

You have had a few regrets now, but you don’t let yourself linger on them. This whole situation was already pushing you to the edge, you know that Jake picking you up and likely being annoyed on your behalf shouldn’t count towards that… even if part of you feared he might start an ongoing joke about that time you were stood up.

You cringe when you shoot off an ‘all done’ text, and receive an ‘already??’ In reply, but you force yourself not to elaborate.

You don’t even have his car door shut before you’ve burst into tears.

“Hey, woah! What the hell happened?!” Jake’s voice is bewildered and slightly panicked, but quickly it turns hard. “Is he still in there? Wait here.”

Hurriedly you reach across to grab his shirt sleeve, one hand still rapidly trying to wipe your eyes, now filled with scratchy mascara specks.

“It’s fine, please. Just take me home?” You sniffle, trying your best to calm down and hope he looks past your sobbing and does as you ask. He doesn’t though, looking at you like you had absolutely lost your mind.

“You’re crying!” He gestures at you as if you weren’t away. You shake your head, before realising you can’t exactly deny it, and nod.

When he pulls open his door and steps out, he pulls himself from your grasp with little effort. Pathetically you let your hand drop and desperately wipe more at your eyes, trying to see where he’s going. You almost jump when your car door opens again and Jake appears, ducking down into your line of sight, his face stern, but his eyes slightly wide and very concerned. You feel bad for making him worry.

“Cricket,” Jake begins, digging into his glove box and pulling out a wad of face wipes. “I’m going to need you to explain to me why you are crying, otherwise I’m going in there.” He isn’t using his normal friendly voice, right now you’re confronted with Hangman, not Jake, and it actually comforts you a little. You knew how Hangman worked, Jake often gave you more cause for confusion.

“He didn’t come. I know I shouldn’t be so upset, I’m sorry. I’m just tired and—”

“—He didn’t come?!” He cuts you off, sounding disgusted, and when you look up at him, you see his lip curled and his face pulled into a snarl. You drop your gaze, and all of sudden his temper seems to disappear and change entirely.

“So you’re saying he’s not even in there for me to chat to?”

It makes you snort a little, and when you glance up at him, Hangman is gone and once again you’re with Jake. You watch him look away from you, over the top of his car roof, and let out a deep sigh, before he looks back at you, his expression unreadable, but soft.

“Here,” Jake takes the wad of wipes you’ve been holding on to and you’re too tired and worn out emotionally to protest when he tips your face up and begins cleaning off your ruined makeup. He goes about it a lot more diligently than you’d have expected, and about five minutes later, he grabs the fistful of now filthy, makeup covered tissues, and steps briefly away to throw them in a nearby bin.

When Jake returns, he doesn’t come to stand at your side again, instead he closes it and returns to the driver's seat.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asks, like the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. You shake your head, and rest it against the window as he lets out a breath, and begins to pull out. The hand he reaches out to balance on your car seat as he checks behind him almost makes you wish you could just hug him, but you push that feeling down.

“Alright. Let’s go get you some food then, sweetheart.”

It’s not the first time Jake has ever called you ‘sweetheart’, but it’s the first time he hasn’t been teasing you when he’s said it. Your pulse jumps at the almost casual intimacy of the way he says it, like he’d said it this way a hundred times before. Like this was something you did regularly with one another.

It’s almost a blessing he doesn’t say much else for the rest of the short drive, if you’re overthinking this much already. You feel stretched thin, tired from your work week, and even more tired now that you've expended all the effort and emotional preparation in order to come out tonight only for it to end in pure disappointment. All you want to do is hide under your blankets for the rest of the weekend, and maybe drink a bottle of red wine through a curly straw while you do.

Jake seems to have other plans though, as when the car stops at last, you aren’t outside your apartment building. Before you can even open your mouth and ask him where you are, he’s at your door again, pulling it open and holding out his hand.

“Where are we?” You know you sound silly, seeing as the big neon sign flashed bright in front of you through the window.

“At a restaurant. A good one, this time.” Is as far as Jake goes to explain to you. Dumbly, you unbuckle yourself and go to hop out of the car, forgetting that he holds a hand out for you. Jake doesn’t forget though, and quickly moves to take your hand before you can balance it on the car door.

The movement makes your pulse jump again, and this time it doesn’t stop, seemingly keeping its new fast pace going. You blink rapidly up at the blind who watches you carefully, your mouth opening, working like a fish for a moment as you try to get your brain working again, but Jake gets there before you.

“Humour me,” he says sweetly, giving your fingers a slight squeeze as he does, doubling your heartbeat again, but you can’t stop yourself from nodding. When he smiles at you, you half expect it to be a familiar cheeky smirk, but it’s not.

You let Jake help you from the car, and try to get ahold of yourself as he guides you away and toward the front door. He even leads you around the grating in the sidewalk which your high heels would surely fall through, and you wonder why you’d never considered that Jake would be a good date before. At least, you’ve never considered it beyond his cocky persona. You’ve never thought about how he would open your door for you, or gently hold your hand, or make sure you didn’t have to contend with holes in the pavement.

You’re still tired, but this turn of events shocks a small amount of adrenaline into you, and you decide that you have enough energy at least for whatever Jake has planned. Or, at the very least, you don’t have the energy to fight it, but you trust him, so you choose to trust that whatever it is, he means the best.

Jake releases your hand when he reaches for the door, and you find yourself startled by the feeling of loss that overcomes you when he does. You notice then for the first time that Jake wears a simple pair of slacks and a knit polo shirt that still sits a little rumpled from where you’d grabbed him by the sleeve earlier.

Once you’ve allowed yourself to be ushered inside the restaurant, you turn back and quickly smooth out the soft material, doing your best to be impartial to the feeling of his firm bicep under your fingertips, even though you find yourself needing to pull down the fabric where it seems to stretch even tighter around his muscled arm. Normally you really only take notice of Jake’s physique when he’s purposefully using it against you, to make you tongue-tied for his amusement, but this is really the first time you’ve found yourself up-close and personal, and you’re once more surprised by the intense desire you have to be hugged by him, to press yourself up against what you know to be his incredible strong body, feel that strength wrap itself around you.

Briefly you glance up at his face, expecting an amused smirk, but all you find is another unreadable expression, though his eyes do follow your movements closely. You finish your smoothing with a small pat, and turn away again. It takes another moment for you to feel him stir back into action behind you, and you find yourself again caught up in your thoughts as he steps slightly around you, to speak to a waiter who pops out to see you seated.

You’re vaguely aware that when you’re shown to your table, Jake pulls your chair out for you, and rests his hand briefly on your shoulder as you’re settled, squeezing it gently before he steps away to his own seat.

For a while the both of you are quiet as you mull over the menu, but the more your stomach begins to grumble, the more your senses seem to come back to you properly at last, and the bitter taste of disappointment and embarrassment that has been swirling around inside your chest and head all night begins to recede. This was just Jake, and even though sometimes he confused you, you knew Jake. You know that what he’s doing right now is his own way of hugging you and telling you it’ll be okay, like Phoenix would if she were in his place.

Your shoulders, which you hadn’t even realised had been slightly raised, relax as you place down your menu and take to studying the man in front of you instead. You’re able to watch him for a good minute before he turns the page of his menu, long enough to know he wasn’t reading it at all.

“I like Italian,” you venture, though your inflection makes it sound a little like a question, one you’re not sure you have the courage yet to ask.

“I know.” Jake replies, at last dropping the laminated booklet and linking his hands together on the table in front of him. You want to challenge him, but you stop yourself, figuring that knowing what your friends liked was the least someone could do.

You soften a little then, and drop your gaze to your place setting, straightening the silverware nervously, feeling his gaze locked on to you, and you chance peeking up at him as you talk.

“You really don’t have to–” you don’t even get to finish speaking before his sharp gaze flashes, eyes narrowing and he lowers his chin. “If you want dessert you won’t finish that sentence,” his words are humorous, but his voice maintains a level of sternness that you’d heard earlier when he’d been worried. You wonder if he usually masked his concern or anxiety with hardness. You wonder if that worked for him like it worked for you. You can’t deny that his cutting through your shit to get at the real problem was helpful when you were so prone to brushing off your own comfort for the sake of others.

Jake sighs then, but doesn’t even look away from you as he picks up the carafe of water and pours you each a glass.

“I’m not letting you go home tonight with that being the last date under your belt,” he sounds more casual now, and there's an offended scoff that punctuates his words, like the idea insulted him as well as you.

“This isn’t a date, though,” you hear yourself argue, though it's more out of sheer confusion than any real protest. You regret it immediately though, as Jake’s signature smirk makes an appearance, and he unfolds his hands to fix you with pure amusement.

You almost jump right out of your skin when something warm brushes over your hand again, and you realise too late that he’s taking it in his own, leaning toward you and cocking his head as his thumb begins brushing softly across the tops of your fingers, like he knew his actions have frozen you in place.

“Sure it is,” he tells you, and that seems to be that.

It takes you a moment to reboot your brain.

“You took all my makeup off…!” you protest after a moment, letting your arm go more slack as the feeling returns to the hand he holds. Jake raises an eyebrow, lips twitching.

“Don’t need it,” he shrugs, before relenting some. “For what it’s worth, in the two seconds I saw you before you started crying, it looked nice.”

You’re forced to reconcile with the idea that Jake thought you looked nice, and attempt to work out what that means for you now.

“Oh… Thank you…” is all you’re able to say, and are immediately greeted once again with his regular smirk, though it feels a little softer around the edges now, almost tender, but you think that must be only in your imagination.

“This is when you tell me how handsome I look,” Jake prompts, and you could roll your eyes and laugh him off, but the more you think about it, the more you actually agree with him.

“You look very handsome tonight.” you say, meaning it, finally able to laugh softly when he preens obviously at the praise.

“And have I been working out?” he’s definitely teasing you now, but you don’t mind so much, because his thumb is still slowly moving in circles over your fingers, which you’ve only just realised do feel rather cold.

“You’re always working out.” you tell him, your brows furrowing just a little but only for show. Jake fixes you with an amused expression and shakes his head. His hand tightens around yours just a little.

“Not always. Sometimes I take beautiful, lovely women out on dates.” he corrects you. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you blink at him, dazed.

“Sorry to interrupt your plans, then,” you joke, but it comes out a little more self-deprecating than you really mean. Jake narrows his eyes at you again.

“Are you questioning my tastes?”

“Almost always.”

“I’ll have you know that you are both beautiful, and inarguably lovely, Cricket.”

His words make you stare dumbly at him, mouth once more working like a fish to try and figure out what it is you’re supposed to say to that. You don't realise until it's too late that you’ve said those words aloud.

Jake smiles, full and wide and not teasing at all this time.

“You say ‘thank you, baby. This is the best date I’ve ever been on’,” he almost sing-songs.

“I’m not calling you ‘baby’!” you sputter, your brain going into overdrive at the thought of Jake calling you baby.

“Not yet you aren’t,” Jake blinks slowly at you, but he doesn’t back down from the statement, staring at you until you’re the one forced to look away, and he speaks again. “But I can be patient. I’ve been patient.”

You find yourself transfixed by what he could possibly mean by the fact that he’s been patient, but you don’t get the opportunity to ask, because your waiter returns and watch enamoured as Jake orders for you, not really that surprised that he knows what you want, but surprised that you’re so quickly becoming normalised to this behaviour from him.

Oddly, as dinner goes on, you almost forget that it’s Jake you’re with. He seems softer, gentler in a way that you hadn’t been aware existed within him, but in a way that you aren’t sure how you’re going to live without once he drops you home again and the spell is broken. In your minds eye, you realise that day to day you’ve seen glimpses of this Jake, when he’d wordlessly begun offering you a hand when you’d climb up to your jet around a year ago now, or how he’d normally complain about the amount of time everybody else took with their shots at darts, but sometimes when it was just the two of you he simply waits quietly for you to line yourself up properly, even occasionally giving you an ego-free pointer that always helped.

You wonder how often other people saw this side of Jake, and if you might be able to convince you into showing you more. For once his perpetual amusement and teasing seems to be at bay, and you’d like to think that this is the way he is in the quiet times, in the morning before his coffee, or in the grocery store. You can picture him in these times, but more importantly you want to see him in these times, more than you might have thought you would, more than out of simple curiosity.

His fingers lacing with yours after your plates are cleared makes you think once more of his talk of patience, and you wonder briefly if he wanted you to see him like this too.

“Absolutely not,” Jake quickly cuts in when you both stand by back near the entrance, reviewing the bill. The card you hold out, and the hand it’s in are engulfed suddenly by his much larger one, and even as the waiter smiles between the two of you, Jake doesn’t let you escape his grasp, holding you firmly in place as he hands his own card over.

“Jake!” you grumble, trying to pull your fist out of his, but he simply tightens his hold and gives the waiter a look like ‘can you believe this woman’.

“I’m so sorry about her, she hasn’t been taken out properly in a while, she’s forgotten all about how dates are supposed to work,” Jake tells the waiter conspiratorially, voice thick with faux-sympathy, like your cause was truly tragic. Your protests are fully silenced however, when he shoots you a pitying look, and brings your enclosed fist to his lips, kissing it softly like you were a sick puppy or something of the like.

You know he’s aware of the effect he has on you, it was why he teased you so much, but for the first time ever, you think he’s actually using it properly against you to get his way, and unfortunately, you aren’t even able to summon much annoyance about it. Quite the opposite in fact, his display makes your argument fall quiet and your heart skip several beats as he kisses your fingers tenderly again, before offering it back to you at last.

Quietly, you put your card away and bite your lip as he finishes paying.

—

“Jake,” you begin slowly, having taken most of the car ride so far to gather your thoughts together.

“Cricket,” Jake matches your tone and cadence, while shooting you an amused smile.

“Why did you hold my hand?” you try your best to ignore him, and shift slightly in your seat. Jake seems to shift too, but he only glances briefly over at you this time.

“Do you mean ‘why am I still holding your hand?’?” he squeezes your aforementioned hand, still in his grip and laying on the centre console. When he shoots you another amused grin, he’s met only with your pursed lips. Placing his gaze back toward the road, he rolls his eyes a little.

“Because I want to? I don’t know, feels kinda nice, don’t ya think?” Jake clears his throat a little, before a frown begins forming between his eyebrows and he seems to lurch. “Unless it doesn’t, in which case–” he begins to loosen his grip on you, but before you can think too much about what you’re doing, you tighten your own fingers laced through his, and give him an even more unimpressed look.

“So it does feel nice, note taken.”

You sit in silence for a few more minutes, in which time Jake begins slowly stroking his thumb across the back of your hand. When you do finally pull up to your apartment block, you feel the need to say something, but you don’t know what, so you keep quiet as Jake puts his car into park.

“Wait here,” he tells you and before you can really respond, he’s jumping out of the car and loping around to your side, opening the door with a gallant smile.

“You know, you’re a pretty good date, Jake,” you say softly, letting him take your hand once again and help you out of the car. Jake beams at you in an almost boyish manner that makes you want to squish his cheeks, but you refrain.

“Why thank you,” he says proudly, making you smile too.

You stand and stare at one another for a moment once you’re settled on your heels, and Jake cocks his head at you, before offering out his hand for you. Biting your lip slightly, you can’t help but look at your feet as you reach out and take the offered hand, feeling your chest go all warm again when he adjusts his hold to be more firm, and you both begin walking again.

Jake lets you take more of a lead, even though you know he knows where you live, considering he had been one of the friends you’d enlisted to help you move out of your old place. You can’t help but wonder if all this hand-holding was going to affect your friendship now, or what it even meant for your friendship. Your mind goes back to what Jake had said about patience at dinner, and what that meant.

Biting your lip again, you come to a stop in front of your apartment door, taking your hand back reluctantly so that you can pull your key from your purse and unlock your door.

“You aren’t going to cry again once I’m gone, are you?” Jake suddenly asks, making you blink back at him. He shoves both hands in his pockets and purses his lips. “Can’t be having that, now can we?” he says as if that explained his concern.

“No… No, I feel a lot better now,” you tell him, and you really do mean it. “Thank you for dinner.”

Jake stares at you, like he often does when he’s trying to make someone crack. Usually it worked pretty well on you, but you have nothing to crack over right now, so you simply stare back at him and shrug.

“I’m glad you feel better, Cricket. I don’t like seeing you upset.” Jake tells you, and even though his expression is humorous, his voice is stern and sincere, and it makes your stomach twist and turn violently in a way you’ve felt it attempt to do several times recently, but you’ve never let yourself linger on. It's as though all at once you can’t stop it, and an explosion of butterflies takes the place of all your internal organs.

“What was that?” Jake murmurs, and you blink at the step he takes forward, his brow furrowed in concern. You realise you’ve spoken the question that’s been on your mind out loud, and you swallow thickly as you try to gather yourself again.

“I… Earlier, you said you’ve been patient… what did that mean?” you ask, chewing the inside of your lip, wondering if you even want this question answered in the first place.

Jake cocks his head at you, and you can’t help but take note of how his lips quirk in the corners, like he thought it was adorable that you even had to ask.

“It means,” Jake begins, stepping even closer, and resting his arm on the wall above your head. “That about a year ago, I realised that I wanted to kiss you, and a year later, I still do.”

You stare up at him, and try to refrain from moving too much, as if he might disappear if you did.

“But only if you want me to,” he adds after a moment, beginning to peel back from you. Once more you don’t think too hard about what your body does, and you realise too late that your hand has shot out to rest against his chest, smoothing over his collar. Jake stops in his retreat and fixes you in his gaze again, even as your mouth opens and closes silently. You frown at your own inability to talk, and feel a pit begin to open in your stomach, sucking up the butterflies let loose there.

Jake frowns down at you, as if he can read your thoughts, and gently covers your hand with his own.

“Do you want me to?” he asks softly, and you’re glad he doesn’t make you say it, you aren’t sure you’re ready to ask yet, but you think he might understand this about you.

You nod at him and hold your breath as he seems to cock his head again. Briefly you see him smile, full and warm, but quickly you’re gasping softly as he kisses you.

Kissing Jake has been something you’ve refused to let yourself think about, repressing the thought so much that you’re truly surprised by how good he is at it. It makes sense, you think, that Jake would be a great kisser, and you’re fairly certain that you’ve never ever been kissed like this before, either. If this was what you’d been missing out on for a year, you feel foolish and idiot, because right now you vow that you will let Jake kiss you whenever he wants, wherever he wants from now on.

When at last he pulls away, you relish in the way his hand cups your cheek, thumb swiping back and forth tenderly.

“I don’t know about you, Cricket,” he says, making your chest flutter when he nuzzles at your nose sweetly. “But I think that feels kinda nice too, don’t you think?” he places another, much chaster kiss to your lips, and you can’t help but let out a soft laugh.

“Yes, Jake. I think it feels nice, too.”

@starlightstories @fox-bee926 @startrekfangirl2233 @izzyomfg @shanimallina87 @phoenix1388 @t-nd-rfoot @sehnsuchts-trunken @dagger-wren @bradshawsbitch @penwieldingdreamer @roleycoleyland @ussgallifrey just tagging some possibly interested folks!!!!

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

A Swallow's Symphony In Spring (4/19)

Chapter 4 - And Watch the Swallows as they Fly

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Warnings: Physical abuse (both on and off 'screen'), implied past abuse, injuries, touch starvation.

Word Count: 3191

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It became a routine. 

The library was quiet and usually fairly empty. Roman had no problem with the extra hours spent reading if it meant he could let Virgil rest at least a little bit, goodness knows his poor guard hadn’t been getting enough sleep up until this point, the bags under his eyes and gaunt look on his face proved that much. It had taken quite a lot of effort on his part to convince his guard that he wouldn’t go anywhere before Virgil felt confident to fall asleep on the comfortable couches as Roman curled up with a familiar book. He’d taken precautions to make sure they weren’t caught too. 

Being trapped in this palace for the last six years had its perks, and one of those was the fact that Roman was well aware of not only the secret servant’s passages all across the palace but also the guard’s schedule, he thought he’d be able to protect them both.

Roman should have known he could do no such thing. 

—-

“A little bird told me that you’ve been getting up to things you shouldn’t,” The Queen said with a smile one night at dinner, Roman tensed, glancing back at Virgil behind him immediately - had Virgil told on him? But why?

“Not your guard, dear,” The Queen said grabbing Roman’s attention again. “One of our more loyal servants informed me that the two of you have been spending time in the library - talking informally, and that your guard has been sleeping on the job,”

“I- wait-”

“Is this true Roman?” she asked him harshly, narrowing her eyes. 

“...Yes, Your Majesty.” He says, ducking his head and praying that she won’t react too badly. 

The Queen simply hummed, before standing up gracefully from her chair, she snapped her fingers before pointing to the spot before her. “Wynter,” she said, tone commanding. Roman watches with worried eyes as Virgil quickly makes his way over to stand before her. 

A resounding crack echoed through the banquet hall as her gloved hand made contact with Virgil’s cheek, his head whipping to the side. A heavy silence enveloped the room as a speck of blood dripped from his cheek where one of her heavy rings had cut him. Virgil’s head remained bowed as she readied for another slap before Roman jumped up. 

“Wait!” he cried, moving over. “Your Majesty - please, it’s not his fault, it’s mine . I told him-”

“Roman dear, you must stop taking the blame for these filthy peasants,” the Queen says, glaring down at him, he thinks for a terrible moment that it wont work, but she sighs.“But if you insist, I hope you learn to have more respect for our rules, both you and your insolent guard,” she once more snaps at Virgil. “Out of my sight, now.”

A moment passed in which they shared a glance. Virgil’s expression concerned despite the blood slowly trickling down his cheek and Roman scared of what would happen once he was gone. An angry huff from the Queen had Virgil - and every other servant - rushing out of the room and Roman turned back to her so he could face Virgil’s punishment - that he’d only received because of Roman’s own actions anyway. He deserved this, he told himself that as his head snapped to the side and he felt the bruise begin to form. He didn’t even make a sound, used to all of this by now. 

—

By the time the Queen was through, Roman was kneeling, holding back tears just until the heavy doors closed behind her. Salty tears flowed freely now across Roman’s bruised face, he ached - and he knew he’d have more training tomorrow even though he was supposed to have a free day. Everything hurt, even the parts of his body she hadn’t damaged. He’d move soon, make his way back to his room and try to sleep on it - oh, he had to check whether Virgil was okay. He cursed himself - how could he possibly have thought any of this was a good idea? She always found out eventually. 

He hadn’t heard the doors open, but suddenly someone was putting their hand on his shoulder. He felt his whole body jolt, but he was gently hushed by a familiar voice as he knelt down before him. 

“Hey Roman,” Virgil said softly. “Come on, you gotta get up - I’ll get you back to your room, okay?”

We need to get somewhere safe to talk, wasn't said, but Roman could see it in the look he gave when their eyes met, Virgil’s stormy eyes full of worry, concern for Roman’s safety. No servant had ever come back for him after he’d taken the fall for them before. 

Slowly, he stood with Virgil’s help. He kept an arm around him in order to keep him steady and Roman found himself appreciating it immensely when he stumbled again and Virgil caught him easily. As they walked back, Virgil let him go, but he found himself yearning for that warm touch to come back. He knew it was unrealistic, after everything that had just happened, to expect that Virgil would still want to be friends with him, he would probably want to go back to how they had been before that first day in the library. Small glances and waves as they walked away were safe. This? This wasn’t.

“Come in here,” Roman said softly when Virgil went to split off into his room, Roman gestured for him to follow into his own chambers, “Please?”

Even if they went back to normal afterwards, Roman still needed to talk to him - he had to know if he was okay.

Hesitantly, Virgil followed him in. 

As soon as the door shut behind them, Virgil was right in front of him, gentle but shaking fingers tilting Roman’s chin up to the light. He blinked as Virgil examined his face - lightly tilting it back and forth to inspect the bruises. Roman just stood there, hands slightly raised, unsure what on earth he should be doing with himself in this situation. 

“How badly does it hurt?” Virgil asked him, still holding his face gently.

“Um-” Roman said, lost for words, “I’m fine, really - you don’t have to -”

“I could’ve handled it,” Virgil said, looking sad now, “That’s what I’m here for, I’m supposed to protect you, now - you didn’t answer my question, how badly does it hurt?”

“But- but it was my fault?” Roman said, confused. “I deserved - I’d told you to sleep, you didn’t deserve the punishment for it-”

“It doesn’t matter who deserves what,” Virgil said forcefully, “You’re hurt, it’s my duty to protect you from things that might hurt you. I failed. So now I want to make it better, okay?”

Roman didn’t know what to say to that, but he suddenly felt like he would start crying again if he wasn’t too careful. He also felt all warm under the pain and couldn’t tell quite why. 

“Will you please let me help?” Virgil asked, taking his hand back and suddenly looking wary. “I’m sorry if I overstepped- but-”

“No- no, it’s okay,” Roman said, raising a hand. “I’m just- overwhelmed, I don’t…” he takes a deep breath and shakes his head, “It hurts, a lot - aches, but I’ve had worse- it’s-”

“Is this why you have nightmares?” Virgil cut him off bluntly. Roman blinked. “Because they hurt you?”

“I- no? I mean- this is normal, isn’t it?” he asked, suddenly confused. No-one had ever done anything about what his parents did, or even told him otherwise. Even their doctor had said nothing about it when he patched Roman up after some of the worse ones, though he had always looked upset. “Doesn’t everyone…?”

Virgil’s gaze went from sad to sympathetic to furious in the span of about two seconds, it shocked Roman into silence once again. “I… Roman, no… not everyone’s parents do this. Just because they’re in charge doesn’t mean they should get to- fuck Roman! She hit you!”

“I don’t…. I don’t understand,” Roman said weakly. He didn’t understand why Virgil was so angry, he didn’t understand why no-one had helped him - and his brother too - if this wasn’t normal, did that mean he really did deserve it? Something flashed in Virgili’s eyes again, though he wasn’t sure what it was. 

“I know and I’m sorry,” Virgil sighed. “Just- go and sit down, I’ve got something that might help…”

Muttering to himself, Virgil turned away to head to the door that connected their rooms. Roman watched him go - a little sad that he’d left so soon - before following his instructions and taking a seat on his bed. Whilst he waited he removed his crown and some of his jewellery, placing the glittering pieces down on his end table before sighing. He locked his hands together in his lap and glanced around nervously. His leg started bouncing but he quickly stopped it with a press of his hand - movements like that weren’t proper, that’s what his parents always told him. 

He’d just started to doubt that Virgil was really returning when he appeared once more through the door, pushing it open with his foot since his hands were full. One hand holding a small glass jar and the other carrying a steaming mug. Walking over, Virgil gave him a small awkward smile, before offering him the mug. Roman took it carefully, inspecting the contents before sniffing it, frowning at the smell. He looked up at Virgil - trying to communicate his confusion with a look - he got a laugh in response.

“It’s tea,” Virgil pointed out. “It’s cinnamon and lemongrass - helps with pain.”

“You’re sure it won’t poison me?” Roman gives him an incredulous look. 

“If I wanted to kill you, do you not think I’d have done it already?” Virgil said gruffly, raising an eyebrow.

Roman looks back down at the tea. “I suppose,” he said, before taking a tentative sip and wrinkling his nose. “It tastes strange.”

“They’re peasant’s herbs,” Virgil says. “Your parents probably deem them unworthy of their taste buds, but they help.”

Taking another sip of the tea, Roman sighed and allowed himself to relax, letting the drink warm him. The flavour wasn’t terrible, it just wasn’t something he was used to. 

“And what’s that?” Roman asked a few moments later, placing the tea to the side and gesturing to the small jar in Virgil’s hands. His guard glanced down with a frown - as though he’d forgotten he was holding it.

“It’s a cream my uh - my friend made me,” Virgil said, the hesitation confusing Roman. He wondered why he was so unwilling to call whoever he’s talking about a friend. He supposed it wasn’t really any of his business, was it? “I don’t have much, but I can use this on the worst of your bruises - may I?”

“I… suppose I could allow you, but only if you let me put some on yours, too.” Roman said. He knew his bruises were a lot worse than the one Virgil had, but he wanted to help him too. It almost felt like a duty, since he was the one who had gotten Virgil hurt in the first place. 

"You- want to?" Virgil asked, "I mean- I'm sure I could handle it myself, I've done it before…" 

"Please?" Roman asked, "I got you hurt, so I want to help." 

“But you…” Virgil said, looking at him for long enough that Roman shifted in discomfort. “Alright, I suppose, but let me do yours first, yours are worse.”

“...Fine,” Roman agreed. If it meant he’d be able to help Virgil too then he’d let him. He took another sip of the tea, he thought it might be helping - he wasn’t certain.

Virgil smiled that small, rare smile and nodded. “May I sit with you?”

“I- yes, of course,” Roman nodded, slightly surprised by the question.

“Good - now stay still for me, okay?”

With permission granted, Virgil shifted to sit down next to him on the bed. Roman put the tea down so that nothing would be in the way as Virgil hesitantly dabbed the cold creamy substance onto the worst of the bruises - his cheek - before beginning to gently rub it in. The touch was slow and steady, gentle and hesitant but practised. It was clear that Virgil knew what he was doing. Trying to stay obediently still led to him barely moving a muscle whilst Virgil gently worked the cream into his skin. He couldn’t help a few winces when he pressed a little too hard on the tender skin, but Virgil didn’t get upset at him for it, simply shifted so he wasn’t pressing so hard. 

When Virgil was eventually finished with the cream, Roman found himself yearning for his hands to come back, even if it wasn’t a realistic thing to expect - he still wanted Virgil’s hands back. 

Finally it was his turn. Virgil watched tentatively as Roman removed his white gloves, something he wasn’t supposed to do at all in the presence of anyone, let alone his guard. Touching things got him dirty, made him impure, that’s what his parents said, and touching people was supposed to be even worse. That didn’t explain, though, why Virgil’s gentle touches had been so nice. If they were evil, then surely they wouldn’t have felt so calming. Frowning at his thoughts, Roman carefully dips two of his fingers into the pot of cream, just as Virgil had, before beginning to apply it to the now purple bruise on Virgil’s face. 

It took him much longer than Virgil had to do the exact same thing. Roman was more hesitant by a landslide than Virgil had been to touch him. Clearly sensing his worry - the first time Roman’s fingers came in contact with Virgil’s skin he had flinched away in surprise before coming back - Virgil leant into his hand, trying to show him that this was okay. It wasn’t evil or wrong to touch and by the time Roman had finished gently rubbing the cream into Virgil’s skin he found he was starting to realise that. 

The room was silent for long enough that Roman started to feel a sense of restlessness that made him need to break the silence, “I’m sorry any of this happened,” he settled on eventually. Virgil frowned, taking a handkerchief and reaching for Roman’s hand to wipe away the excess cream, leaving Roman’s hand tingling when he released it again.

“Don’t be - you were trying to help,” Virgil said once he was done, shaking his head.

“But-”

“No,please - I don’t want you to be hurt, but - I feel like… maybe I understand, a bit better now.” Virgil said, tucking away the handkerchief and frowning. 

“Understand what?” he asked. 

“You.” Virgil shrugged.

“...Oh,” Roman says, looking down. Like he had done many times, Virgil reached for him, only to stop himself halfway and join his hands in his lap. 

“Sorry,” Virgil said softly, “I mean - my apologies, just- some of the ways you act make much more sense now.”

Roman tilted his head, “Like what?”

“Oh just- it’s like - earlier when you admitted to her what had been going on when she questioned you and - I kinda expected you to argue back? Or like - lie? Because that’s what I’d react if something unfair like that happened - and I got kinda angry that you’d throw me under the cart like that - and then all of that happened,” Virgil screwed the lid back onto the jar harshly, “And now I get why you didn’t try to argue.”

“It would’ve been so much worse for the both of us had I tried to go against her,” Roman says, looking down at his hands. He wished he would have fought, he should have been able to, to protect Virgil from her cruelty if not himself, but he hadn’t. 

Virgil nodded, holding tightly to the jar in his hands, “Has… has she always been like that?”

“Yes.”

“And - your father?”

“He sits and watches it happen.” Roman says, looking away.

“But that’s… that’s not what causes your nightmares?” 

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Roman said, tone turning sharp. He regretted it barely a moment later when Virgil flinched back a little, eyes wide. 

Both of them took a deep breath before Virgil spoke, “Okay, we don’t have to.”

A few moments passed in silence before Roman pulled himself together, “I offer my apologies - for snapping at you.”

“Roman, considering you were raised with her as your example I’m genuinely surprised you’re even a somewhat decent person,” Virgil huffed. “Snapping at someone once isn’t that bad. Thanks for the apology, though.”

“Well - you deserved one, and I’m still sorry that you got hurt at all, I thought the library would be safe,” Roman sighs. “I don’t know where we can be to talk, now, if you still wanted to at all.”

“Well you’re better company than the walls in my room.” Virgil shrugged. 

“I quite agree,” Roman nodded. 

“We could - excuse me if this is intruding - but we could use our rooms?” Virgil suggested with a tilt of his head, “No-one comes in here, do they?”

“Not aside from the maids who deliver my meals and clean every so often, no.” Roman said. He supposed that would work, though he was still a little apprehensive about the idea. His chambers were still practically the only private place he had left, he wasn’t sure how he felt about allowing Virgil to be in here frequently. Then again, Virgil was in here now, wasn’t he? And Roman didn’t particularly mind all that much. 

“Then we could use here? Or my room?” Virgil suggested.

“Not your room,” Roman said immediately. He’s not sure he could even walk through that door - not with all the memories that came with it. Laughing, crying, talking for hours and hours into the night with just a single candle to light the room - he just couldn’t do it.

Curiosity crossed Virgil’s expression, but he was grateful that his guard chose not to question it. “Well - okay then, do you have any other ideas…?”

“No, no- we can use my chambers, that’s alright,” Roman said eventually, shaking his head, it’s not like they had any better options. “We’ll just have to - to make sure we’re careful about the guards outside, but- this is probably the only place she doesn’t have her spies - that’s the real reason she hired you, I think.”

Virgil seems to hold back a laugh. “To spy on you?”

Nodding, Roman takes Virgil in for a second. “Why is that humorous?”

“Hm? Oh - it’s just that she expects me to snitch on you like that,” Virgil huffs. “Why would I? Especially now I know what she’ll do to you.”

Although he already knew that Virgil wouldn’t tell the Queen about what they were doing, the reassurance still washed over him like a wave. The constant fear that she would somehow find out about everything he hid - his nightmares, his journals - abated just a little by those simple words. 

“Thank you, Virgil,” Roman said softly, “I appreciate that very much.”

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[dewdewick]

Shadows in the dust | Chapter 5

Finnick Odair x reader

Summary: At the age of 18 you thought you’d soon be free of the hunger games, unfortunately fate has a different plan. You are picked as a tribute for district 2 and thrust into capitol life.

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Trust issues, Death, Torture, Mental illnesses, manipulation tactics, Weapons, Swearing, Canon typical violence, Mentions of psychological distress, Use of Y/N, Fem reader, descriptions of clothing reader wears, explicit descriptions of weapon use

A/N: sorry Ik this is short, I have a bunch of stuff to add to the next chapter and this seemed like a good stopping point. As always thank you so much to the Betas!

Word count: 3.5k

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It was almost a day before the fuzzy feeling in her brain went away, but for her it could've been any span of time. She found herself at the base of yet another rock structure, her eyes blinking as she came back to herself. It felt as if she hadn’t blinked or taken a breath in years, all of her senses coming back to her at a rapid pace. She took a gasping breath and coughed violently, doubling over and seeing the blood on her hands as she did. The sight made her gag, dried human blood spread over her hands, arms and face. It had separated as it dried, cracking at the many invisible wrinkles her skin contained. Some flaked off as she touched it only making her urge to vomit stronger.

She took deep breaths, restraining herself as to not lose any precious water her body might be holding on to. Her knees buckled and she let herself fall into the dust, catching her breath and trying to calm herself. She couldn't think straight, couldn't really comprehend what had transpired. Once she seemed to be able to breathe she hoisted herself up, looking up at the sky to gauge the time. It seemed to be almost dusk, another night spent huddled into herself. It seemed strange that she had been in the arena for almost 4 days, one of which she could barely remember.

She wandered up the slope of the rocks as the sky became darker, the beautiful watercolor sky being her only light. Her stomach growled as she walked and she picked up her almost empty water bottle. Opening it she took one last sip, the water feeling cool as it hit her tongue. She hit the side of the bottle to consume the last few drops, the clanging of the bottle echoing around the rocks surrounding her.

As she wandered she began humming to herself, something to fill the silence and slight loneliness overtaking her. The soft melody echoed through the area, surrounding her with its gentle hymn. As she walked her eyes moved to a color out of place. Small specks of a blue color, something extremely bright. The small blue specks moved in the dust, inching all in the same direction.

She chose to go in the same direction, they could be going towards food or water. she walked along, only seeing more and more glowing speckles for what felt like ages. Could this be the game makers leading her to a trap? Maybe a pack of mutts or another tribute waited at the end of the line. A shiver of fear ran up her spine, its tendrils infiltrating her mind. She gripped her pitchfork tightly, ready to fend of herself if need be.

She turned a corner tentatively and came upon a small cave, alight with the blue glow. It looked as if all the stars in the sky had gathered in one place, it almost felt peaceful. The glow drew her in, her eyes filled with the sparkle of the sight. She looked into the cave, making sure no animals lurked within as she set her things down.

As she stood admiring the creeping creatures, her hand reached out but stopped short of touching the insects. They might be poisonous, better to observe from a small distance. She sat on the ground as the sky darkened, watching the glowing lights dance around the cave wall. The capital logo didn’t appear in the sky that night, no deaths had happened apparently.

As she curled up to go to sleep her stomach growled, the lack of food for 2 days making her stomach hurt. She fell into a restless sleep, soon interrupted by a sharp pain on her upper thigh and ribs. Her hand went to her thigh immediately, met with a sticky gelatinous feeling. The glow-worms provided just enough light for her to see as she looked down to find a clump of the same worms on her leg. They congregated where her hip met her thigh, all feeding on her blood plasma.

She furiously plucked them off one by one, her skin ripping as she did. As she threw the insects she saw the circular pattern they had made in her skin as they feasted on her. She found another clump had bitten just underneath her armpit and tore them off as well. She was already losing weight from hunger but this ordeal had made her feel weak. She held pressure on the wound on her thigh as she grabbed her pitchfork, using it as a sort of cane as she walked out of the cave.

A deep humming rang through the air, sounding something like a man’s voice vibrating. She felt on edge, paranoid about the sound as she stumbled around in the complete darkness. The moon gave off the slightest bit of light as she fell against a rock slab. The humming sound rang out again and she held the pitchfork in defiance as she slumped against the rock.

Nothing came to kill her, a bittersweet sensation in the sleep deprivation and starvation she experienced. The sun rose and fell once more and suddenly it had been 3 days since she had eaten anything. She closed her eyes, resting her head on that same rock as the sun rose on the 5th day when she heard it, A distant beeping noise.

She looked to the lightning sky, seeing a parachute and a tin floating towards her. It landed in a patch of dry bush near her, a tiny light blinking on the top. She winced as she stood up, limping over to the package. The wound had spread in a dark lightning bolt pattern along her hip and ribs, definitely a type of slow acting poison.

She opened the package and found a small tub of medicine and 2 small vials of water. A note sat atop the contents, “clean, apply and stay alive -E” She mustered a small smile, pushing her fingers into the holes in her jumpsuit to gauge her wound.

She poured one of the small water bottles on the wounds, sucking in a breath at the sting. She then took a bit of the ointment and spread it on the bites. It was cool and soothed the hot burn of the skin. A few tears fell down her cheeks as she waited for the pain to subside. “I want my mama.” She muttered to herself tiredly.

She sat against the rock for a while, eyes closed. She went over what plans she could make in her head as she let the ointment do its work. She needed to find Finch, even if he was with the other careers he wouldn’t hurt her right? But people could change in the games, she certainly hadn’t planned for what happened. She took a few deep breaths before getting up and looking around her area. A few plants stood but most were poisonous or dead. She saw one that could work in her favor however. she limped over to it picking the tiny yellow flowers off a brittle bush. She put them in the second bottle of water and left it in the sun for 15 minutes before drinking it to relieve the pain.

The sun was high in the sky when a cannon went off, making her jump a bit. She wondered who had died, how they had died. Who was even still alive? Ammo, Dutchess, Finch, Herself, the two kids from district 4. That made 6, but who else had she not seen in the sky? Maybe the boy from district 6 who looked a bit like a roadrunner bird? She laughed to herself as she remembered his sharp pointy nose and eyes that were just a bit too protruding. She felt a bit bad for not remembering his name but not enough to do anything about it.

She didn’t think she had seen the boy from district 11 either, he was as big as an oak and tall as one too. Counting those two it made 8 of them left, she grimaced a bit at the thought. 8 is when they started to interview the families of the tributes, she hoped hers would be able to handle it.

Getting up again she picked a few edible plants throughout the day to distract herself, eating what she could that felt safe. At what should’ve only been 3pm the sun started to set, the noise of the man’s deep humming coming back. The sound was louder than the night before, it sounded closer but she hoped beyond hope that it wasn’t. The vibrating notes lasted for almost an hour and a half, cutting off abruptly as the capital logo appeared in the sky. The Roadrunner boy from district 6 soon came up, a stoic expression in his face. She couldn’t help but let out a dry, tired laugh as he disappeared, not because she was necessarily happy but because she could only really call him “roadrunner boy” to herself.

She climbed on top of a flat rock, curling into her jacket as the wind picked up again as usual. She could only shiver and pray an animal didn’t see her as a late night snack as she fell into a semblance of sleep. As the sun rose on day 6 she pried her eyes open, cracking her neck and sitting up. She let her fingers tentatively move to her wounds, only finding a scab. She let out a sigh or relief, letting herself look at them. The swirling wounds were scabbed but the dark poison wounds remained. They had slowed however, only having moved a few centimeters since she had applied the salve.

Her stomach growled as she stood up, a slight dizziness plaguing her head. She had certainly lost weight on the 6 days she had been in the arena, her only food being the tortoise and a few herbs. She could only hope that the games would be over soon, with only 7 tributes left. Unfortunately most were from career districts, so luck might’ve been ungenerous with her.

As she went about her morning she found a few plants to eat, mainly leaves and a few flowers. She walked across the desert plateaus, toward the beach of the oasis. She could see the glint of the cornucopia in the distance, its golden shine reflecting the hot sun. a few figures stood on the beach, they seemed to stab at the water.

She walked carefully towards them, her pitchfork trembling in her hands. She prayed the figures were friendly, non violent. As she got closer she could start to make out their faces, two heads of blonde hair, one much taller than the other. The two tributes of district 4 seemed to spot her at the same time she figured out who they were. The older girl raised her spear, pushing her younger companion behind her. “Back off! Our allies are just across the water!” The girl shouted.

“I’m not here to hurt you! I’m just looking for my district partner!” She said, tucking her pitchfork under her arm and raising her hands to convey her message. The girl gave a look as if she didn’t quite believe what she was being told. “What district are you from? What’s your name?” The blonde demanded, her spear lowered the smallest bit. “Y/N L/N, I’m from district 2.” She said, trying to remain calm.

“She’s with Finch, the one he’s been looking for.” The young boy said. He and his companion looked at each other for a moment, speaking only through the expressions that crossed their faces. “I’m Meena Whitlock, This is Caspian Kratz.” The girl relented, a slightly softer look crossing her face as she lowered her spear. “Thank you Meena'' she sighed before looking at Caspian, “you said Finch has been looking for me?” Is he around?” She asked.

“He, Ammo, and Dutchess went to go hunt for food, The guy from 11 and you.” He said coming out from behind Meena. She gave a small smile, “and what are you two doing here alone?” He walked a bit closer to her, “Back home we use poles to fish but our mentor taught us to use spears!” He said excitedly. She smiled wider at the young boy, he couldn’t have been older than 14. “Finnick Odair right? That's your mentor?” She asked as he came to stand in front of her.

“Yeah! And Mags Flannigan, she’s really nice.” He said as she nodded. “Sounds like they are very nice.” She commented and he smiled back up at her. “Do you want to help us fish till Finch gets back?” He asked, looking back at Meena. She also looked up at the teen girl who gave a small nod. “Sure sounds good but you’ll have to teach me how.” she said, setting her things down close to the shoreline and taking her pitchfork in hand.

Meena helped her hold the pitchfork, aiming the sharp talons for fish in the water. It was revealed that the two were 15 and 13, Meena being from an elite capital family and Caspian coming from a small village in the heart of the district. While Caspian seemed very extroverted, Meena was introverted. They were like 2 sides of a coin, completely different but bound together by their district. Caspian gushed about how much he had learned from his mentor, all of the knots he could now tie and nets he could weave. It was sweet how much he seemed to look up to Finnick, to want to be just like him.

While they talked Y/N stabbed at the water, mostly hitting underwater plants and the muddy sand underneath. Once again the sun began to set early, sunset starting at what would’ve been only 2pm. She gathered the younger kids and the fish they had caught, asking them where they had been camping out. Caspian pointed to the cornucopia on the island, a tiny fire pit visible.

Meena only looked out to the water, the orange and pink glisten of the sunset making the water sparkle. “Let’s get over there, we don’t want to be out after sunset.” Y/N instructed, nodding to the island. “Ammo said to stay here though-“ Caspian started before the rumbling started in the distance. He looked back at her and Meena with a displeasure in his eye. “He’ll see the fire, I don’t think he’d be mad about us not being out in the open after dark honey.” She said, motioning him to follow. “Let’s get over and build a fire so we can cook the fish ok?” She asked, looking to him and Meena.

The 3 started their swim, the water rippling a bit from the vibrations of the humming in the distance. It was a few moments of swimming before she felt a whipping against her leg. A few fish darting through the water around them. “Swim faster!” she shouted, kicking her legs as hard as she could. She heard Caspian yelp, a cry of pain escaping his lips. She looked back to see him struggling in the water, the dark silhouette of a large fish underneath him. She swam towards him, her leg shooting down and kicking the fish as hard as she could. She saw Meena swimming ahead quickly towards the island, thankful at least one of her companions was getting away unscathed.

She held Caspian’s arm, kicking the fish a few more times before pulling him along and swimming as fast as possible. “Swim honey, you gotta swim!” She directed as they got closer to the edge of the island. Meena waited on the grass, her arms outstretched towards them. “Give him to me!” She shouted frantically as they approached “They’re coming! Hurry!”

Y/N got to the island, pulling herself down further down in the water and hoisting Caspian up to Meena. “Help me up too!” She pleaded as Caspian was safely on the grass, she then saw the hesitation in the girls’ eyes. It was the 15 year olds chance, one step closer to winning the games. “Meena please!” She begged as she felt a tail whip against her back. The young girl still hesitated “I-I can’t…I won’t.” She said, watching the fish circle around Y/N.

Y/N reached up and grabbed a handful of grass, clawing her way up onto the island. She reached Meena’s ankle, skinny enough she could wrap a hand almost around it. She pulled as hard as she could, the younger girl losing balance and falling to her back with a scream. She pulled harder somehow, dragging Meena towards the water as she pulled herself up to her elbows. She kicked as hard as she could, kicking the fish to keep them at bay as they nipped at her ankles.

A fish bit down on her calf, hard. With a scream of pain and a strong pull she found herself on the island and Meena in the water. The fish, as if on cue, ripped into the girl as she flailed. Caspian screamed for his companion as Y/N held him close, covering his ears and shielding him from the horrific screams. A cannon sounded after a few moments, the fish departing and only bits of Meena floating in their departure.

The fish that had bitten her calf laid flailing on the grass, it’s eyes bugged out and its mouth gasping. She just held Caspian, rocking him as he cried. She pet his hair and kissed his forehead. “It’s ok sweetheart, it’s okay.” She whispered into his hair. He pressed his face into her shoulder, small sobs wracking his body. “I’m so sorry love” she murmured, rubbing his back as he cried. Shame rose in her gut, the hot feeling heavy on her chest. She whispered her apologies as he cried until he couldn’t any longer. All the while the vibration of the voice in the desert played in their ears.

[moonschildsworld]

a quick lil something for barou eventhough he's a bitch

your boyfriend is clean freak, he can't stand a single dust in sight or messily arrange stuff, not even a mismatch color section in the closet. he HAS to organize white clothes in their group and other colors' to their destinated place.

you on the other hand, well it's not like you're lazy but compared to him, you're more of a throw things around and coming back to it later, which you never has the chance to eventually clean them since barou would get on it the moment he set his eyes on your mess, he'd clean every speck and dust while cursing all the words existed in the world under his breathe, and of course nagging the hell out of you.

it was pretty annoying at first since you've never even asked him to do it, he does all out his own accords but after a while, being nagged is a small price to pay for having your own personal maid and coming back to your vanity being organized, not a dust in sight in your room, you swear you see the room sparkling at some point. (you both have different rooms aside from your shared room so you could have your space, and barou couldn't stand the mess you make seconds only after he had just cleaned up.

which is why you're trailing him around the house with your hands clasps together to your chest with pleading eyes, "please barou, i know you find her cute too" your voice comes out as high-pitched as you're desperately begging him to let you adopt the golden retriever you saw from outside the window of a pet shop you both walked past a few hours ago while going grocery shopping.

"no is a no, y/n" barou replied firmly trying to keep his anger under control, he's been trying to not lash out at you after the last time he made you tear up. "but-" he turns around and cover your mouth with his palm.

"bawouu" your voice comes out muffled from your mouth being covered, but you were far away from giving up, you're determined to do anything to get that babygirl home.

barou let out a frustrated sigh as he takes up one hand to comb through his hair back, "no one's going to take care of that little shit" he tries to reason out. barou was really against the idea because clean freaks' biggest enemies are pets, especially puppies they make hella mess and barou wasn't going to willingly sign up for that.

"i will i promise" you push through, "bullshit, you can't even clean after yourself" he grits through his teeth trying to not make his voice louder since he knows you're sensitive to loud noises.

"i do! you just do it before i do" you defends yourself, your brows now furrowed from being falsely accused, barou let out another deep sigh and turns back around to think for awhile.

he knows you're lying, and he knows he'll be the one responsible after but how could he ever refuse anything you ask for?

he was pondering for a while and you got bored from waiting so you decide to pull out your final weapon, you sneak your hands around his waist and push your head through his arm gap and stare up at him, "baby pleaseeee" you were pulling out your most doe-yest eyes and the pitchiest voice.

barou looks down at you and his face froze, he was staring daggers down with a scary expression, during the early dating stage you were scared that you might've pushed his boundaries, but no this is actually his face when he's vulnerable to your touch. it is the biggest weakness you've found of him.

your mouth curl up to a small smile knowing that you had him, "fuck" barou murmured under his breath with a look of defeated.

you beam up at his vague approval and you run around him and cling on his neck as you plant million of kisses on his faces and him just standing there and taking it all, "thank you babyy" you cheered happily.

the puppy was brought home safe and sound, you bought everything needed to ensure the puppy has a comfortable stay and to prove barou wrong about you not being able to take care of a puppy let alone yourself.

you did an amazing job until a month later, "y/n the little shit pooped again" barou yelled across the room to you while covering his nose with a disgusted face making sure to stay far enough to not let the stench bother his nostrils.

"mhm" you stir uncomfortably in your sleep as you hear a faded sound coming from the living room, and you had no intention to wake up to check what the commotion was about, or you knew what the commotion is about but is trying to get out of it.

i mean you can't really be blamed, taking care of a puppy is reaaaally hard work and you could appreciate a break sometimes, maybe someone to take over just for a day...?

"y/n??" barou voice echoes throughout the house again, hearing no response from you, he storms into your room and pull down the cover that was covering you revealing a messy hair sleeping beauty, "hey, did you not hear me?" barou asked trying not to falter to the sight before him.

as the sunlight hits your face, you hiss like a vampire being exposed to sunlight and try to steal the cover back from barou, "missy, you said you'd take care of the brat" a slight irritation can be heard from his tone.

failing to get a hold of the blanket, you reach for his hand and pull him slightly to crouch so that you could hug his hand, as your eyes pry to open, "just for today pleasee" you beg with your lip slightly pouted as your voice comes out a little raspy.

barou froze a little from the sudden attack, and you take advantage of that short moment to snatch the cover from his hand and return it to its rightful place covering your entire body up to your head.

"you-" barou was left speechless at how shameless you are, you could hear him let out a frustrated groan before storming back outside, ensuring your peace for today, you let out a slight smile before drifting back off to dreamland.

you finally awaken, as your eyes glanced at the time, "3:35pm" you do a little stretch in bed as you try to wake up.

"barou?" you yawned before calling out to see if he's home or is out running an errand, the house was strangely too quiet, it has never been this quiet after the little shit came around.

stretching your arms and waist as you strut into the living room, the sight there melted your heart. barou passing out on the couch and the little shit snoring peacefully on him.

you glance at the huge bag full of goods at the front door, carefully not to wake them up, you check the bag to unexpectedly see a full bags of different toys and snacks, even chewing toys good for puppies who are growing teeth.

you chuckled a little to yourself before walking up to them, you bring out your phone and snaps a few pictures of them.

there's your new wallpaper, you admire your newly taken pictures and breaks into a fit of quiet giggles as a thought pop in your head, they remind me of the dad who opposed to getting a pet and the pet who won him over somehow.

☆ author note: hiya! i just finished semester exam, here's a quick something since I'm on a block, I'll try to write more hard-core stuff when i'm back in the zone •_–☆

[thetomorrowshow]

to die in your sleep

hola folks and welcome back to the trust au. I have been grinding on trust au to post while on hiatus soo here u go enjoy (i'd like to apologize for the ending)

cw: violence, torture, blood, brief tooth-related gore

~

"Just tell us where he is," fWhip says, crouching down close to Scott's face.

His mouth tastes like blood. He can't feel his arms. He can't feel his wings. That can't mean anything good.

"Never," Scott manages. Blood drips down his chin.

He's shaking. He can't stop shaking. 

He's going to die here, Scott realizes distantly. He's going to die, in this dark void of nothingness.

fWhip grabs his chin, forces him to look up. Unwillingly, Scott meets his eyes.

"We can keep you alive for as long as we need," fWhip murmurs. "And we can make it hurt. Give up the god."

If Scott had any more strength, he would laugh. "You don't . . . scare me."

fWhip clicks his tongue. "I don't have to scare you," he says simply, dropping Scott's chin and taking a step back. Almost absently, he wipes his hand on his trousers, leaving a smear of blood. "You've got a visitor. Maybe then you'll talk."

Oh no.

The void where they exist grows somehow darker, little specks of color filling it, as a maroon mist fills Scott's sharp vision—

And then he wakes up with a hoarse gasp, and immediately buries his face into Jimmy's chest.

Jimmy shifts, just slightly, to put an arm around Scott. "Hey," he mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. "Nightmare?"

Scott doesn't answer. He still feels half in that dream state, like at any moment he could be pulled back under and into whatever that was.

His wings twinge, spasm, as he can suddenly feel them—filled with pins and needles. He must've laid on them in his sleep.

"Mmf," Scott grunts into Jimmy's nightshirt. He stretches his wings out as far as he can bear, grimaces when they snap back into place, muscles too tight.

He tenses when he feels hands in his wings, but forces himself to relax. It's just Jimmy. Jimmy can touch his wings.

And he slowly relaxes more as Jimmy gently rubs his wings, massaging out the knots and tense places.

It feels so terribly nice. Scott just lets himself melt into the touch, his eyes slowly fluttering shut. His thoughts slow to molasses, lazily dripping from one side of his mind to the other.

"Is this good?" Jimmy whispers in the silence of the room. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Mhm." Scott really doesn't want to move off of Jimmy. He's comfortable.

And safe, for now.

The warmth and peacefulness that he'd been sinking into vanish, swallowed up in the sickening recollection of his dream.

He sighs, blinking his eyes back open so he can at least see Jimmy's arm. They never leave their rooms dark, a lantern left casting a low glow across the room, illuminating enough of his partner that Scott knows he isn't alone.

That hadn't been the usual nightmare. Usually, it's some twisted replay of his six days in captivity, or not being able to catch Jimmy in time and watching him disintegrate in the Void.

And while it was to an extent similar to the first brand, it had been so . . . vivid. His dreams tend to be blurry, confusing, cut through with terror that accentuates the shadowy shapes.

He'd seen fWhip so clearly. He'd almost seen Xornoth, uncommon for his dreams.

Usually, Scott would write it off as a one-off, strange but something that just happens sometimes.

But the dream feels familiar. So very, very familiar.

He thinks he dreamed something similar last night, but it's just out of the grasp of his conscious mind.

"You gonna go back to sleep?" whispers Jimmy, pulling him from his thoughts. "You've probably got another hour or two before sunrise."

Scott sighs. He's pretty much fully awake at this point, and there's always work to be done no matter what time of day or night it is.

They're headed into a full-blown war, after all. Skirmishes have already begun to break out along the borders. The real fight could start any day now. There's always someone awake in the war room, drafting new back-up plans for their back-up plans, or writing up training evaluations and strategies for the layman army.

So Scott could definitely get up out of his warm bed into the frigid night air of Rivendell, change into something proper, and head down there to stare at numbers of resources for the next several hours until breakfast.

Or he could stay here with his lover under the blankets for the rest of the time he's allotted himself to sleep, and either fall back asleep or have some much-needed recuperation time before heading to the war room with renewed vigor.

If Scott was any sort of king, he'd pick the first. His people come before his personal interest, which is precisely the reason why he and Jimmy are kind of no longer betrothed (a complicated situation in which they technically might still be betrothed, depending on whether or not the court deems the war enough of a state of emergency to eschew tradition). He needs to spend every moment possible doing what he can to protect the citizens under his care.

But Scott's never professed to be a particularly good king.

"Just want to stay here with you," he says quietly.

Jimmy chuckles, his hands going still in Scott's feathers.

"If your people knew we sleep in the same bed, they'd have a fit," he says absently.

Scott snorts. "Oh, the people absolutely know," he tells Jimmy. "It's the councils that we have to keep from knowing."

"How in the world would the people know anything?"

"The servant that does our laundry has got to notice that your blankets are never rearranged and my bed has two dips in it," Scott points out. "The one who cleans the room probably has seen that, more often than not, your clothing manages to find itself in my closet. Various messengers have absolutely guessed that you've just sprinted into the other room when they knock. And remember that time a cooking apprentice was bringing us a late dinner, and you were fast asleep on the bed while I worked?"

". . . What happens if they all know?"

"Usually, nothing," says Scott. "It would be bad if one of my advisors walked in on us sharing a bed. Until then, they'll just turn a deaf ear and act as if they haven't heard the gossip."

"Encouraging," Jimmy mutters.

A shiver runs down Scott's spine as Jimmy presses a soft kiss into his hair.

They've moved fast, for elves. Sure, they've technically already been betrothed, but it's not even been a month since the actual love confessions occurred. If it were any other situation, Scott likely would have chickened out by now, tried to shut Jimmy out of his life as a way of protecting himself.

But it's wartimes. It's wartimes, and Scott needs someone to lean on, someone who loves him too.

And, as his advisors keep reminding him, in the case of his untimely death, he needs someone to run the empire until an heir can be selected. Jimmy, at the moment, is that person.

Which is kind of awkward, seeing as Jimmy has a kingdom of his own. And Scott knows for a fact that he's third in line (after Lizzie) for the Cod Empire. That's the issue when royalty only engages with royalty—there aren't a lot of people with the right to rule.

Maybe Scott ought to look into adoption. He's probably never going to have a kid of his own. If he adopts two or three children, there'll be enough to get spread around to various parts of the empire, enough of a temporary back-up that if all the rulers die, there'll be someone to cover the necessary bases.

Of course, there is the fact that Scott doesn't really want to adopt a kid. And the fact that their claim to the throne might be disputed anyway, due to not having royal blood.

For being at the center of them, Scott hates politics.

For now he won't worry about it. If one of his advisors brings it up, then he can figure something out. At this point, as long as Xornoth or any of his minions don't get control of Rivendell, Scott doesn't care all that much about what happens.

He'd sacrifice any amount of history and tradition to save his people from a terrible fate, including the royal line.

Which is a sentiment he'd better not let any of his council members hear, because then Rivendell very well may become leaderless without the help of Xornoth.

Jimmy's hands start moving again, shifting to lay in between his wings, rubbing the muscles in his back there.

Scott melts a little further against Jimmy. That feels heavenly. It's the perfect amount of pressure to force him to relax, but not so much that he feels overwhelmed.

Elves aren't a people of touch. Scott probably hasn't been casually touched in years, if not decades, and he's slowly been building up a tolerance to it, because Jimmy is a very touchy person.

Now that they're 'official', Scott supposes, Jimmy hates being apart, clinging to him whenever they happen to be in the same room. Even in broad daylight, in front of people, Jimmy's arms always find their way around Scott's waist, or his head to his shoulder, or his fingers to intertwine with Scott's.

Jimmy seems especially inclined to give backrubs, whenever he sees Scott's shoulders tense. Scott, as good as they feel, flat-out refuses to allow this in public. He can't relax when there are people watching, and while he can still at least pretend to be regal with Jimmy clinging to him, he can't when Jimmy's massaging his shoulders.

It's okay here, though. In the quiet darkness of their—of Scott's room. Where if Scott gets overwhelmed, he can take time to recover without having to embarrass himself.

"How about you go back to sleep," Jimmy murmurs.

Scott feels that instinctive leap of fear at the suggestion, quickly quashed. It's been months since he was held captive. He doesn't need to be afraid of sleep anymore.

And he isn't. He truly thinks that he would be able to sleep alone.

And yet, despite the war beginning and both their kingdoms desperately needing them, Scott and Jimmy share a bed every night.

They trade off every couple of days—Scott gets any urgent work done here while Jimmy does remote work, then Scott packs up whatever papers he can take with him and spends several days in the Cod Empire. They always say something about maintaining the alliance by showing the trust that they have for the other empire, but in reality they just miss each other (and even if he can, Scott still doesn't like to sleep without Jimmy there).

That all changes today.

"When are you leaving?" Scott mumbles.

"After breakfast. Sure you can't come?"

That's the problem. Scott would absolutely love to fly out to the Cod Empire after breakfast, but today he's supposed to start a tour of the empire, of sorts. He and his party will be traveling as far as they can go in the morning, from the largest cities to the smallest hamlet, just to show support for the soldiers and to garner support in return. After all, a king who will stay in the house of the poorest farmer is one who the farmers will follow.

He sighs. "I can't. I'll message you, of course."

Jimmy hums, a somewhat disgruntled sound. "Well. If you can't sleep, I'll be there in an instant, okay? Or if you want anything. Let me know."

Scott knows he isn't going to do that. Not unless he gets out-of-control sleep-deprived. He isn't going to drag Jimmy away from his important work for any childish fear.

He nods, though. Better to reassure Jimmy now rather than argue about it.

Scott closes his eyes. He could sleep, probably. It's still peaceful in this early morning darkness, the calm before the storm.

Not if Jimmy doesn't fall back asleep, though. If Jimmy's going to stay up, then he is too. He wants all the time possible with his lover.

"Are you staying awake right now?" he asks, trying not to sound too bleary.

Jimmy's chest shifts against his cheek as he shrugs. "Probably not. I wasn't really asleep earlier, just dozing. I might doze a bit more if you sleep."

Scott frowns. "Why weren't you asleep?"

Again, Jimmy shrugs. "I . . . kinda get stuck in the dozing phase lately?" he says. "I'm fine, I just drift. And it's not every night, so I'm getting some rest and all."

"How long has that been going on?"

"I dunno, a couple of weeks?"

So, since the fall. Scott doesn't like that.

His own symptoms have been improving—he only gets the occasional dizzy spell, and the scabs on his knuckles have become red marks. Jimmy's are healing slower, though, bumpy scars where his scales had been and enough dizziness that Scott catches him leaning against him or the wall once or twice a day. "You should report it as a symptom. It's not for any mental or emotional reason, is it?"

"I don't think so?" Jimmy says. "I just kind of . . . drift. I feel like there's something I'm trying to reach, but I can't get it while I'm awake or asleep, you know? Something missing. Does that make sense?"

It doesn't, really, but Scott nods. Weird sleep is weird sleep, and Scott knows that it can affect someone in a weirdly specific way so much that they need a weirdly specific solution. And sometimes that weirdly specific solution leads to getting engaged to your crush.

Honestly, if it weren't for all the Xornoth-fWhip-war stuff, Scott would kind of be living his best life.

Knock-knock-knock.

Scott groans.

So his time with Jimmy is going to be interrupted, is it?

He reluctantly shifts off of his partner, allowing Jimmy to slip out of bed and tiptoe across the room, through the open door and into their connected sitting room. Scott waits an extra couple of seconds, giving Jimmy time to get into his own bedroom. Then he gets up, reluctantly relinquishing his warm blankets, and crosses the freezing wooden floor of his room.

Scott pulls open the door right before the servant knocks again, cir hand raised and ready.

"Oh! Milord," ce says, taking a hurried step back. "General Maldrion has requested your presence. Would you like me to tell xem you are on your way?"

Scott barely holds himself back from rubbing his forehead. What on earth could be so urgent that the general needs him at whatever time in the morning it is?

"Yes, I'll be with xem as soon as I can," Scott tells cir. "Thank you for letting me know."

Ce bows, and Scott absolutely catches cir eyes looking around him, stealing a glance of the room behind.

Scott rolls his eyes before shutting the door. They're not going to be that careless.

"I have to head down to the war room," he tells Jimmy when the man pokes his head back into the room. "Feel like coming with?"

"May as well," Jimmy says, moving past Scott to the closet. "I love learning about your top secret war plans."

"It's likely another border disturbance," Scott waves. "You can just sit there and look pretty."

"Sit there and sleep, more likely," says Jimmy, pulling one of Scott's tunics over his head.

Scott sighs and pulls it right back off of him. "You can't wear my clothing to a meeting with members of my inner circle," he says firmly when Jimmy gives him a confused look. "Go put your own clothes on."

-

Scott's right about the meeting, and there's nothing he can really do but agree with the general's recommendations to strengthen the border patrol. Then he has to see Jimmy off, escorting him down to the pier. Jimmy would normally just strap on his elytra and fly out, but with the tightened security of the current times, he's got to be accompanied by a couple of guards, and since only the royals have elytra, they have to take the day's trip back overseas. At some point, Scott assumes that dolphins from the Ocean Kingdom will join them to speed up the journey.

Jimmy leaves reluctantly, giving Scott a chaste kiss (Scott's knees feel a little shaky despite the closed lips) before heading out with a wave.

And then Scott barely has any time to finish packing before he has to head out as well, his clothes bundled up into two cases and thrown onto the wagon.

His escort is made up of six soldiers (he'd managed to argue it down from twelve, as long as he accepts local guard details in each place he stops), two servants, and far too many beasts of burden. The trip is going to be an estimated maximum of three weeks, from what he recalls, and while he understands logically that they need enough food for nine people to last a week at a time (with money allotted for restocking), it still feels to him like three wagons is excessive, plus a fourth for clothing.

But Scott's been traveling as a royal for his entire life, and he knows it isn't worth it to try to pare down their supplies any more. It's good to be prepared, after all.

They set out at noon, Scott riding a stag, the other elves surrounding him on horseback. He imagines they cut a rather imposing group, hopefully enough to dissuade any attackers. He feels a bit like a sore thumb, though, their little party trundling slowly down the mountain, vulnerable to attack. It's a demon after them, unbound by laws and capable of wearing away at their magically-reinforced borders. Maybe he ought to have accepted the twelve guards.

It's not like Scott can go back now, so he scratches around Loth's antlers when he gets anxious, and just hopes that his guards have some sort of idea of what they're doing.

When Scott was very young, the few times he'd been on a road trip he had absolutely loved it. His wings hadn't fully finished growing until he was close to fifty, so although his father took care of most royal trips by flying there alone, occasionally the whim to bring his firstborn along would strike and they would journey there together, in a guard such as this. He'd coveted the time with his distant father, and the rare treks across the country became one of his favorite activities. There had been an older guard that would talk to him, who would point out various plants and explain their properties, likely more to keep him occupied than out of any fondness.

Now, like so long ago, as they spend hours on the road, Scott finds himself examining the plant growth, naming them in his head, seeing the occasional landmark that he remembers from his younger years. It helps pass the hours, helps keep his mind off the danger and off of Jimmy.

Although, thinking about Jimmy is a fairly good distraction as well. At some points, when his mind wanders, he finds himself grinning stupidly as he replays conversations with his lover.

That first day, they stop to rest at a small town called Gladieron at the base of the mountain where the City of Rivendell is built, after six or seven hours of riding, and Scott is thoroughly exhausted. He hasn't ridden anywhere in quite a while, and his whole spine feels jolted all the way up. He just wants to lie down and stretch and sleep for two days straight.

The people of Gladieron welcome them with open arms, and Scott doesn't have to do much but hold polite conversation with the mayor over dinner before being led to a room in the mayor's house and being able to sink into an old, creaky mattress.

Despite being alone, no Jimmy there to ensure his safety, Scott's tired enough from the travels of the day that he falls asleep instantly.

-

He's again at fWhip's mercy, the man tossing aside a whip that shines with red.

Scott shivers, the cool air of the darkness against his open wounds biting.

"I told you we could make it hurt," fWhip says, slightly out of breath. "That was just a taste. Want more of it?"

Scott can't help it; he shakes his head. His entire body stings inside and out, and he vaguely wonders what kind of enchantment the whip must have had to affect him in such a way.

"Of course you don't! So all you have to tell me is this: where is the god?"

He can't give that up. He can't. No matter how badly it hurts.

Scott bites his lip, winces when he finds it already bitten through. That's right. He was trying not to scream, and it had been the only way to keep his mouth closed.

fWhip lets out a disappointed sigh. He crouches down in front of Scott, places a soft and patronizing hand on his shoulder.

Scott can vividly see every line of color in his irises, every blemish on his nose, every hair in the stubble on his cheeks. Whatever these words are, they're important.

And then Scott jolts awake in bed, a rooster crowing somewhere outside.

For a moment, lying there on his stomach in the darkness, Scott can still feel the tearing pain of a whip on his back. It's a clear feeling, a memory acrid in the back of his mouth. The first and only time he'd been whipped had been months ago in Sausage's dungeon, alone and sleep-deprived and barely conscious of his feathers being torn from his wings, yet he feels it as if it had been yesterday.

That was bad. That was terrifying.

fWhip had whipped him bloody and Scott hadn't been able to do anything about it, every ounce of pain sharply present in his sleeping mind.

He's breathing too fast, Scott realizes, when the cold air scrapes down his throat. He swallows, pulls the surprisingly soft blanket around himself.

He misses Jimmy. Usually, he can find instant peace after a nightmare by just rolling over, his lover there beside him with open arms.

And it had been another strange nightmare. One that felt far too real for having never happened.

It wasn't real, was it? There's no way it was real. fWhip isn't actually here to torture him.

Scott, daringly, glances around the room quickly before squeezing his eyes shut again. He isn't afraid. It's not like fWhip's going to be creeping out from under his bed.

Scott steals another glance at the floor beside him just to make sure.

Something was wrong with that dream. Something was off, wasn't it?

There's just no way. He doesn't just have nightmares like that, especially one so similar to the one of the night before.

Scott doesn't know how to explain it, but that wasn't normal. He doesn't have to be a genius to know that repeated vivid dreams of being tortured aren't normal.

What is he supposed to do?

What can he even do?

In all honesty, Scott can do nothing except hope that they pass, he supposes. And hope that he can sleep through them. It would be just like him to retraumatize himself right after he finally is able to sleep by himself.

He doesn't go back to sleep now, even though he probably has the time. Scott stays there, under the covers, until the room begins to properly lighten.

Then he gets up, dresses in something a little fancier than his travel clothes (he's here for another day to conduct military inspections), and dabs a bit of foundation under his eyes in the small mirror.

Time to be a king, he supposes, and he does his best to leave the fear and nightmares behind him.

-

Finally, he lets out a short scream.

"There we are," Sausage encourages. He pets Scott's hair in an almost fond way. "Knew you could do it!"

Now that the dam's broken, Scott can't hold back a whimper, distorted by the way his mouth is being held open by one of Sausage's metal instruments.

Sausage holds up his pliers, a bloody tooth clenched in them. "For every minute you don't talk, I take another tooth! Sound fair?"

He waits for an answer that Scott can't give before laughing to himself.

"Just scream if you want to talk, okay? Then you tell us where the god is, and everything will stop."

Then the pliers are in his mouth again, and Scott's hyperventilating, he's choking on his own spit, it hurts it hurts it hurts—

The tooth is pulled free with a crescendo of pain, and again Scott screams, and Sausage pauses with a question in his eyes before shrugging.

"That probably wasn't a signal to stop, huh," he says cheerfully, before going in again.

And again, Scott wakes up, heart pounding and jaw aching.

He's going to throw up. All over the forest floor beside him. And that'll bring running the guard on watch, and then Scott will have to be all embarrassed about everything.

He's not going to throw up, then. That would be awful.

But the feeling of losing his molars is so vividly painful and nauseating. He can still taste the blood pooling in the back of his mouth, and he has to poke around with his tongue to make sure that all his teeth are there.

That was a bad one.

Scott's been on the road for a week, and every night he's exhausted enough that he falls asleep almost as soon as he lays down. And every night, he has dreams of the same theme. He would message Jimmy if he thought it was anything he could help with, but Scott had been having these nightmares before Jimmy had even left. There's nothing anyone can do.

And Scott has a feeling, somewhere in the back of his mind, that if he can figure out why he's having them, he'll be able to stop them.

In every dream, he's in the Void—he'd figured that out after the fifth one. The swallowing blackness with tiny specks of floating color ought to have helped him catch on earlier, but it had usually escaped his notice what with the torture and everything.

Whoever it is tormenting him—either fWhip, Sausage, or Joey, with sometimes a guest appearance from Xornoth right before he wakes—is always asking for the same thing.

"Where's the god?" Joey asks petulantly.

"C'mon, Scott, you know you want to tell us where the god is!" Sausage says.

"Just tell us where the god is," fWhip says lowly, dangerously. "Then we can stop."

And suddenly, right there wrapped in his bedroll, a realization hits him.

These aren't just dreams. This is magic.

They're too clear. He sees everything as if it's actually happening, he feels every moment of pain.

Xornoth wants something from him.

Xornoth wants to know where Aeor is.

Which is all well and good, but how on earth does he expect Scott to know?

Scott has, technically, communed with Aeor. Not much—just enough to ask for (and receive) a strengthening of the empire's crops, and to receive His crown of legend.

And, yeah. Scott can see how someone might interpret that as being highly favored of the god. And he is favored, but not enough to know where Aeor is, or engage with Him face to face. That would require more strength or faith than Scott has. He doesn't have any need for that, either. It's not like he's Aeor's champion, after all.

Unless. . . .

Wait a second.

Scott has received the crown of legend, the first ruler of Rivendell to be gifted as such. In fact, he doesn't think any other ruler short of Alinar has been quite so favored. 

Xornoth is clearly Exor's champion; the fight in the End and the release of Xornoth's power through the death of the dragon had proven that. If Exor's champion is here right now, then Aeor's champion is sure to either already be here or is about to appear.

And Scott, lucky him, is the only current direct descendant of the royal line—and, as already mentioned, highly favored unto Aeor.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Scott is Aeor's champion.

He sits up abruptly, kicking away the blankets that are tangled around his legs. No. No, he isn't—he isn't worthy of this, he isn't ready for this, he can't have that kind of power—

"Milord?"

Scott starts, whips around. One of the guards is standing there, her bow held loosely at her side. She nods sharply when his eyes meet hers.

"Is everything all right?" she asks. "Do you require my assistance with anything?"

Scott stares at her for a long moment before his brain processes exactly what she had asked.

"Um, thank you, Calidil, no," he says, rubbing a hand down his cheek. His jaw still hurts. He hates when nightmares linger, leaving physical sensations. He can only hope Calidil doesn't notice the way he gingerly holds his mouth, nor the way his wings twitch anxiously behind him.

His father had told him time and time again that the natural respondency of wings were a royal's greatest foil, and he ought to get in the habit of ensuring that his never gave away his thoughts or feelings.

Unfortunately, while he once was quite good at that, in recent months he's found his skill at controlling his wings to be lacking.

"Does your sleep disturb you, sire?" she asks, a frown crossing her face. "Not that it is my place, but I have noticed that you sleep restlessly and wake early. Might I suggest a tea that my mother used to make, an infusion of woodlace bark and calming plants?"

Scott is shaking his head almost before she finishes speaking. He still doesn't do well with food and drink prepared by others, especially if, in instances such as this, he isn't familiar with how the ingredients will affect him. "Thank you, but I will be all right," he tells her. Then, to change the subject (and distract himself, he can't be Aeor's champion that's too much), "Do you happen to know when we plan to continue?"

-

Four days later, after Scott wakes up crying from the pain of needles being slowly pushed under his fingernails, he takes Calidil up on her offer of tea.

He hadn't wanted to, but it's gotten to the point where he can't think about sleeping without panicking, can't get in bed without his heart leaping into his throat. He can't bother Jimmy about it, and he definitely needs rest for this journey, so the next best option is to force himself to sleep.

He watches her prepare the concoction that she calls tea, asks about the properties of every ingredient, then drinks it slowly and reluctantly before bed, stomach already jumping and throat barely able to choke it down. It doesn't really taste all that good, either, kind of flowery and too-sweet with a bitter aftertaste. He forces it down still, then changes into sleep clothes.

His bed for tonight is on the floor of the main room of a farmhouse (the elderly couple running the farm had tried to make him take the bed, but he'd refused), and he tries to get comfortable while waiting for it to kick—

Whoa.

He feels . . . so sleepy.

He just wants to close his eyes.

He doesn't like the feeling, Scott decides blearily. It feels too much like being drugged. Too much like leaving himself open for attacks.

But he doesn't get to think about it any more than that, because only moments later, he's opening his eyes in the Void.

His body is trembling. His knees smart from supporting him on whatever hard, invisible surface he kneels on. His wings are bound together painfully.

And Scott, for the first time, is aware that he's dreaming while he's dreaming.

And just a moment later he's screaming, his side exploding into searing pain.

It takes him a moment to register fWhip stepping in front of him, one hand twirling a—a red-hot branding iron, in the shape of the Grimlands' signet.

Belatedly, Scott smells something like cooking meat.

If this wasn't a dream, he might throw up.

But it is a dream, he reminds himself firmly. Does dream logic still apply?

His thoughts are cut off by a gloved hand gripping his hair and forcing his sagging body to straighten up. Scott cries out, briefly, before biting his tongue.

"The god, Smajor," fWhip says, and he sounds annoyed. "Tell us, and it'll stop. All we want is the god."

Dear Aeor, they're persistent. No wonder fWhip is annoyed, if they've been giving Scott the same brand of nightmare for days, just waiting for his subconscious mind to give up this information—information that, mind you, he doesn't have.

They want Aeor. How is Scott supposed to know where a literal god is? Especially one he's never seen, or technically even spoken to.

In an unexpected move, fWhip jabs the iron hard into Scott's stomach.

Scott gasps, the breath punched out of him, then holds back a scream as fWhip holds it there. He can hear his own flesh sizzling, can feel the awful, sickening pain that pulses out from his stomach—he tries, he tries to get away from it by instinct more than anything, but as far back as his back can bow fWhip can reach farther.

He's actually shaking with the effort of not screaming, involuntary little whimpers escaping his throat, and finally fWhip sighs and slowly pulls it away, taking some of Scott's skin with it, he's sure.

Scott's body holds its position for a moment more, then sags in relief, twitching against his will with every wave of pain that hits.

He can't do this. He's going to die if he doesn't give up the information.

It's just a dream, he reminds himself. It's just a dream. He can just—he can just wake up, right?

How does he normally wake up?

He doesn't think he's ever lucid-dreamed before, he doesn't know how to force himself out of the dream, he's hyperventilating and his mind is full of so much pain—

"Scott."

He looks up; fWhip is still standing before him, arms crossed.

"Remember how bad it was?" fWhip asks, one eyebrow raised, seemingly unimpressed. "When we had you for six days? Remember how much it hurt, how much it still hurts? That's never going to end, Scott."

He's right. It's always going to be so difficult to sleep without Jimmy, he's always going to have scars, the memories will always be raw and painful and jarring.

fWhip crouches down in front of him, the leather of his boots squeaking. Idly, he twirls the metal rod around in his hands.

"And you know what we're gonna do to that god?" he says softly, staring directly into Scott's eyes. "We're gonna make it even worse for him. The god will feel more pain than you can imagine."

Can gods feel pain? fWhip seems pretty confident about it.

"But he's a pretty slippery one. So if you tell us, right now, how to get to him, we'll make everything quick and painless for him and leave you alone as much as possible," fWhip promises. "So we're gonna give you two more times to try and answer, all right?"

He's stuck. Wake up, he silently shouts. Wake up wake up wake up!

But he remains stubbornly there, fWhip staring at him.

They want—they want Aeor. He doesn't know where Aeor is. They want him to tell them, somehow, where Aeor is.

Scott lets his eyes fall from fWhip's, down to the Void below.

It looks just like the Void had, those weeks ago when he chose to risk everything for Jimmy. It had hardly been a choice, really. Jimmy is his everything.

It had been terrifying to fall. To tuck his wings close to his body and dive, praying with every fiber of his being that he would reach Jimmy before he lost him forever.

And almost as if it's that easy, Scott careens forward and is falling again, just like he had back then, but his wings are bound to his back and his body is spasming in pain and he can't save himself—

There's something white twinkling below, growing larger and larger and—

Scott's sitting on the back of a sparkling white stag, the breath knocked out of him with the sudden landing.

The stag's head turns to look at him, blinking slowly. There's something wise in its eyes, something older than Scott has ever seen.

Well. He's found Aeor.

Scott slumps against the neck of the stag, utterly spent.

It's just a dream, and yet Scott doesn't think he could move a muscle with the pain that courses through him. His fingers (hadn't his hands been bound above his head?) grip loosely at the stag's silky hair as the beast begins to walk, slowly and gracefully as a wooded area slowly comes into view around them.

There's a bird singing somewhere, and Scott sees, sometimes, face turned outward with his cheek pressed against the stag, a deer poking curiously through the brush or a rabbit hopping through the long, dewy grass.

This would be nice if he didn't hurt so bad.

The stag doesn't speak (it is a stag, after all—but Scott kind of expects it to open its mouth and start spewing godly wisdom anyways), just carries him through the forest, hooves making light crunching sounds against the forest floor.

And then a new sound hits his ears—the sound of water.

The trees grow more sparse, the brush grows taller, thick with vines, and a bullfrog is making its loud, croaky call somewhere in the distance. The ground becomes softer, more marshy, until it begins to give way to pools of water. Then the stag stops. It huffs, paws at the ground.

Scott needs to look, doesn't he? He needs to lift his heavy head and see for what reason it is that the stag has stopped.

But he's so tired. He doesn't want to raise his head, pounding as it is. He wants to go to sleep. He wants to close his eyes and drift off, let his pain be swallowed up by the darkness.

An odd thought for a dreamer.

Is this even a dream anymore?

Without warning, Scott's stomach drops as he starts sliding forward.

The stag has bent its neck down, lower and lower, and Scott's weak fingers can't hold on tight enough to do anything but slide, right off the stag's neck between the antlers and gently, gracefully, into water.

Scott sinks into it, clouds of red billowing around him and bubbles streaming from his mouth in the clear water as he falls deeper, until his toes hit silty mud beneath him. It isn't too deep—he's sure that if he just pushed up a bit, his head would break the surface—but he doesn't fight it. He just rests there, under the water, and sighs.

It's cool, and fresh, and every little ebb of a current relaxes his muscles further and brings relief to his multitude of pains. His wings come loose, bonds floating away, and instead of being full of waterlogged, heavy feathers, they feel weightless.

Scott blinks down at himself, and feels nothing more than slight shock as the blistering burns on his body slowly fade away, angry red bubbles softening into unblemished skin.

That's quite nice. He wishes that would happen while awake, too.

A fish—a cod, it looks like—swims up to him, noses at his arms.

It's as if Jimmy is sending a little friend to check up on him in his sleep. That's nice.

Then the cod pokes, urgently, in the middle of his chest.

And Scott wakes up.

His eyes open slowly, reluctantly, as if the water is still dragging him down, pulling on his very bones to try and keep him under the spell of sleep.

Every part of his body feels heavy. His eyelids feel heavy. Every movement is an effort.

He's never taking a sleeping draught again.

Light filters in through the uncovered windows, leaving patches of gold on the rough wooden floor. Scott forces himself to push up into a kneel, relinquishing his nest of blankets on the floor, his back popping and wings shuddering.

That was . . . that was an experience.

He doesn't even know what part of the dream to think about. The healing pool of water in the swampy area, the shining stag, falling through the Void, fWhip burning him—

Scott tugs up his nightshirt, fingers clumsy and sleepy. No brand on his stomach—he twists around—no brand on his side. Not that he's ever woken up with any marks from a nightmare, but this one had felt so real. He'd been so conscious of everything that happened, conscious enough to think about the implications of the dream while it was happening.

Xornoth is looking for Aeor. fWhip told Scott that he would have two more tries to give up Aeor's location, or else they would subject the god to even worse torture than what Scott's gone through.

Two more tries. Two more nights of torment, and then they stop playing games.

The war is about to begin, isn't it?

Now this puts Scott up to a test of his leadership: does he continue on with the tour, spend the last week or so traveling until they circle back around to the City of Rivendell?

Or does he call for an emergency return, go back to the palace now in case of the beginning of the war?

Nobody will blame him if he sticks to the original plan. There's no way for him to know, logically, that the real fight is about to begin.

And if he returns now to prep for an emergency and nothing happens then he'll look like a fool, a scared king who can barely stand to be away from his safe castle walls for more than a week.

But can he continue on in this way, when he knows he ought to be at home, gathering the armies?

He has his communicator. It's not like he's totally cut off from everyone while out here—in fact, whenever he can get a connection, he messages his advisors and asks for updates.

And this is still important work, after all. It needs done just as desperately as anything else.

For the empire, and for his allies, it would be best to finish the journey, Scott decides. It was planned as a show of support for the country, and it wouldn't do to flee before the farther reaches of the country have been visited. They're expecting a good portion of their army to come from one of the cities near the border, which is where they'll be stopping next. To have such a place feel snubbed by their own king could very well be disastrous.

So on this day, Scott ignores the looming sense of doom and prepares for travel.

Such is the life of a king.

-

That night, Joey slams Scott's head against the invisible floor and kicks his teeth in.

The night after that, Sausage pulls his primary feathers out one by one.

And on the third night, fWhip is there again, arms crossed.

"Well, Scott, you had your chances," he says lightly. "But because I'm a nice guy, I'll give you one more. Where is the god?"

And, just like every night before, Scott can't give that up. Even if he knew the answer, he wouldn't.

He shakes his head, sending his blood-soaked hair flopping into his eyes.

He doesn't even know what injuries he has tonight. A cut on his head, at least, judging by the heat pulsing out from his temple. He's shirtless tonight, more drops of blood rolling down his bruised and battered chest.

fWhip clicks his tongue. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised," he says. "Impressed, but not surprised. I gotta respect you, Scott. You're a strong guy."

Scott's laugh turns into a cough when he feels a sharp pain in his side. Broken rib, feels like. "I'm not strong," he manages eventually, voice a dull rasp. "Just . . . stupid."

fWhip laughs. "You're right," he says, almost fondly. "I don't know any other idiot who would go through all this to protect one person. Well," he adds, "I know one other idiot, I guess."

fWhip checks his watch. "You know what? It's about time to go track down a god," he says, giving Scott a cheeky wave. "Hope you don't mind. I'll be honest, I really won't miss our little nightly reunions—as fun as it is to make you scream, it's kind of exhausting being here every night."

"Tell me about it," Scott whispers.

And then he's awake.

That one hadn't been so bad, all things considered—but Scott's heart is still pounding like he just ran a mile. He hates those dreams, hates being stuck in whatever invisible chains they have, forced to feel pain at their will.

They're humiliating, too. A replay of all he'd gone through at the hands of those three just months ago, all packaged up into perfect bite-sized sessions. Scott just knows he looks paler than ever as the mortification washes over him anew. He's been screaming in the hands of his tormentors every night—he isn't a king, he isn't anything to them, just something to torture.

His mind feels pushed to its last fraying wire. Every day has been full of traveling or speeches or military inspections, and every night filled with torture and threats. He can't do it anymore. He just can't do it.

If his predictions are correct, then he won't have another one of those dreams. Not in the foreseeable future, at least.

But if he's wrong . . . it may be better to simply never sleep again.

Scott groans, pushing his fingers into his eyes. He really doesn't want to go through the whole not-sleeping thing again. It took weeks to get to a point where he could even think about sleeping without Jimmy there. He wants to actually get rest at some point in his life.

Maybe Jimmy can help him with these nightmares, too.

Or maybe Scott just really misses Jimmy. Maybe he just wants to spend time with his lover, and his idea that Jimmy might help with these nightmares is wishful thinking inspired by a lovesick heart.

He does miss Jimmy. He hadn't thought, just a year ago, that he would ever be so attached to any one person. He had friends—Gem and Katherine, certainly, were friends, right? Maybe more like allies—but no one close to him. Especially not Jimmy.

He'd hated Jimmy. He'd teased him and pushed his buttons and laughed when fWhip and Sausage and Joey would 'joke' about beating him up.

And now, he intends to marry the man. Now, he has friends like Lizzie and Joel, who joke with him, and sit around in pajamas in Jimmy's living room and gossip, and message him to check up on him and are always happy to see him.

And right now, they all might be marching out to fight the first battle.

Scott wants Jimmy here, right now, in front of him. He needs to know he's safe.

They're leaving the city of Milerienira later today to begin the journey back to the City of Rivendell, with plans to stop at five more towns for the night on the way. So about a week before they return?

A lot of things could happen in a week. His communicator likely won't have service for most, if not all of the rest of the journey.

Scott leans out of bed to his satchel on the floor, pulls out his communicator. He can just message Jimmy right now and warn him that he thinks something bad will happen.

The last message in their messaging history is from Jimmy, a quick miss you that he'd sent two days prior. Scott can't help the goofy smile that spreads across his face as he looks at it.

But he has something important to say, so he thinks for a moment before typing up a message. He stops halfway through explaining that he thinks the war is about to start and erases it. He doesn't want to seem paranoid. He considers the screen for a few more minutes before finally typing up a shorter, more vague message.

I have a bad feeling. Stay safe.

He copies the message and sends it to Lizzie, trusting that she'll pass it on to all their allies.

Then he pulls up the direct message to his main council.

He needs to sound more divine-kingly than 'I have a bad feeling', especially as he may or may not be Aeor's Champion (a revelation he's been firmly ignoring all journey).

I fear that darkness approaches, he writes. Is the empire prepared to defend herself?

A little pretentious, but just the kind of thing his advisors expect of him.

And though it's not even anywhere near time to rise, Scott gets up and changes out his night clothes for white leggings and a long, embroidered blue tunic, belted at his waist, slipping on his travel boots last of all.

Then he goes out among the few early-waking people, talking with those he serves, and ignores the way his communicator seems to burn in his pocket.

-

No news reaches him through the rest of the journey, and the nightmares cease. Scott's so exhausted from the daily journeying and lack of good rest for weeks that he doesn't even have the energy to freak out about sleeping, and he's also tired enough that he doesn't even dream.

He tries to put his friends out of his mind. Even if the war has begun, it could take any number of days for it to get bad—and maybe it's a terrible thought, but the emperors aren't likely to get hurt. For the most part, they won't be allowed to be out in the midst of the fighting. They'll be fine.

Jimmy will be fine.

He finishes the tour with a town near the base of the mountain on the other side from where they'd come out, and then they start the two-day trek back up to the capital.

Their spirits are high, surprisingly—perhaps they had noticed Scott's anxiety, but one of the guards starts up an old drinking song and everybody joins in, and when that one ends they pick up another, and so on and so forth. When they can't remember any more tunes, Eitvi—a guard with a renowned talent for storytelling, one of the servants whispers to Scott—picks up a story that goes on for more than an hour. Trading of stories follows amongst the troupe, and though Scott doesn't give one himself, he's content enough to listen, fingers gently combing any knots out of Loth's hair.

The second day begins with stories that transition into an encore round of songs, all the way up until they reach the City of Rivendell, when they fall silent one by one, a clear longing for home in the lines of their faces.

Scott waves to his people, gathered in the cobbled streets, as he rides by, up the winding paths to his palace. He's exhausted, he's worn this tunic three times since it was last washed, and he hasn't bathed in two days, but he does his best to hold his head high and smile like a king successful.

Until he reaches the palace.

One of his younger council members is waiting at the stables, almost appearing out of breath. Strange, but Scott gives them a nod as he dismounts, holding back a groan at the feeling of solid ground again.

It isn't customary for council members to meet him outside the palace after a trip. He's meant to have at least a moment to freshen up in his rooms before being pulled away into a meeting, and in times before the upcoming war, he was usually given a day to rest without interruption.

This

"Galidre," he greets, passing off Loth to a stablehand and hobbling out of the dark stables to stand beside his advisor, legs reluctant to straighten after so long riding. "What news?"

"Did the messenger reach you?"

That's never good.

"No, we didn't see a messenger," Scott replies. Galidre looks back and forth, something close to grief on their face.

Scott's stomach clenches. Has the war really started, as he'd hoped it wouldn't? As he'd known it was going to?

"The armies of Mythland have begun the war," Galidre says, and Scott's breath vanishes from his chest. Mythland? But they'd all assumed fWhip would start the war, had concentrated the main part of their plans on the Grimlands. How could—?

Jimmy—

Before he can even speak, Galidre makes his worst fears come true.

"The Cod Empire has fallen," they say dreadfully, hands twitching at their side.

No.

No.

"The Codfather—" Scott starts, desperately, Jimmy must be with Lizzie, he must've fled—

Galidre shakes their head. "No word," they say. "Likely—likely dead or captive."

Scott knows, in his heart, that Jimmy wouldn't be taken captive.

They want him dead.

If Jimmy hasn't managed to escape by some means, he's . . . he's. . . .

He would've made contact if he had escaped. Right?

But they haven't received word—

Scott fumbles for it, in his satchel, his communicator—he needs to know—

The only message is from Lizzie.

Have you heard from Jimmy?

No. No no no no no—

"You're needed in the war room immediately," Galidre says, their mouth slightly behind their words, the words that echo in Scott's head.

Jimmy's gone.

And the war continues.

[jennay]

Silver Screen Romance

The request: Sleep is for the weak

You fainted…straight into my arms. If you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.

(reader is working too hard and passes out on set.)

Master List

To say you'd been overworking was an understatement. You wanted to nail this part; it was your first big role, and we're determined to have your name remembered.

You stayed tucked away in your trailer. There weren't any distractions and no one to interrupt you.

Taking another sip of your coffee, you set your script down on the small couch. Eating would be a good idea, but you pushed it aside like it wasn't there to fuel your body.

A knock on the door distracts your mind from thinking about food. Sluggishly you walk to the door. You feel light-headed and dizzy. You make a mental note to eat something when whoever is knocking leaves.

You swing the door open to see your assistant Amber standing there. “On in forty.”

“Ok.” You wouldn't have time to eat. You needed to head over to hair and make-up for touch-ups. You grab your script and follow her.

“You don't look so good.” She says. “Have you slept in between takes?”

“Sleep is for the weak.” you don't want to talk about your lack of sleep and how hungry you really are. “I'm ok, I promise.” You lie.

When you arrive at where you are supposed to be, you sit down and allow the artists to do their job. You focus on your script, ensuring you don't miss a single word.

They finish with you and your head towards the set where you see your costar standing. “Hey.” He smiles brightly, “About ready?” He asks.

“Yeah, I'm just nervous I'm going to mess something up.” You feel your stomach growl. You sit down in a chair, feeling dizzy.

The director grabs Jamie’s attention and begins discussing things he wants to change about his character's movements.

When you stand black specks fill your vision. You feel warm and sweaty. Fuck. All the bad things you were doing to your body had finally caught up to you. The last thing you remember is your knees collapsing and everything going black.

The next thing you knew, medics were hovering over you. “Ah. There she is.” One man says he helps you sit and gives you a water bottle. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

You blink your eyes a few times, “I feel fine. Quite dizzy.” You admit. “Nothing I can't handle.”

He helps you stand, and you thank him for being patient and caring for you.

You run your hand down your face. Jamie is walking toward you, concern written on his face. “Feel better? You gave me quite the scare.”

You take a swig of water, “What happened?”

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” He jokes, and you shyly smile.

“Thank you for catching me. That could have gone a lot worse if you weren't there.” You hold your stomach when it loudly growls.

“Let me buy you lunch?” Jamie offers. “We’re delayed for a few hours. They wanted to make sure you’d be able to rest.”

You feel embarrassed that the whole crew had to wait due to you not taking care of yourself. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

Jamie chuckles, “Don't worry, we've all been there. So yes, on food?”

You finally look up and notice you're not walking to your trailer. You're eyes glance to Jamie. “Where are we going?”

“My trailer, I have a tv and a comfortable couch. We can order food, and you can get some rest, or we can watch a movie.” He opens the door and allows you to walk in first. “Go ahead, sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

Jamie follows and sits next to you. He phones in order; he flinches when your head drops to his shoulder. You and Jamie weren't exactly best friends, but if you fell asleep that fast and that had, then he wouldn't budge. He’d let you relax and maybe even close his eyes as well. God knows you two needed it.

[sakurasfallingstar]

The Sky, the Land, the Sea, and the Cherry Tree

So this was just a weird plot bunny I've had involving Kingdom Hearts and Sakura Haruno. It probably won't go anywhere else from here, but if anyone wants to use the idea, they can. Just please give me credit.

Also, this was written on my phone late at night, and obviously, writers can't catch all their own mistakes.

Anyways, enjoy.

Kaguya felt the burning rage consumed her very being as these two boys, who where the recarnation of her sons seal her away. She wanted revenge.

Then she felt it.

The door had opened opened, just ever so slightly. She could feel the energy of the worlds seep out from behind it. The world's that were never ment to connect to this one.

She smiled wickedly. She had a the perfect thought that would make this team suffer.

Kaguya allowed her hair to extend and wrap around the the girl.  She had flung her through the opening and watched as door closed as she was sealed away. The screams of the girl's name leaving her teammates lips, brought Kaguya great comfort.

Sakura bearly had enough chakra to one last healing, but nothing more than that. She along with her teammate had let their guards down. Watching as Kaguya was sealed. She even saw Naruto fling black Zetsu to be sealed along with his mother. If only they had known what she would do.

The moment Sakura felt the hair wrap around her she tried to struggle. She even reached out for her sensei for help, but was only able to brush her fingertips against his. She heard him call out for her. Watched as her two other teammates, looked at her. Their eyes shocked with not just worry, but what seemed like helplessness.

"SAKURA," they shouted, together.

Oh, how she once dreamed of them calling her name. However unlike those dreams, it did not sound warm, or happy. It sounded like a plea for her life.

Despite moving at such a fast speed everything around me seemed like it was all in slow motivation. I watched as they grew smaller the further I got.

My eyes grew heavy, after feeling like I was flung threw an invisible force. The force had stretched before tearing. Then I saw the door.

'It closing,' my subconscious, told me as the world around was enveloped in darkness.

The last thing I could feel was my body being submerged into water.

Sora and Riku were at it again, and Kairi was waiting for them at the end point. Most days it was fun to watch, exciting even. Today, however, was different.

From where she stood, she caught a speck of pink from the corner of her eye. She began to walk toward it, and when she saw that it was a person she ran towards them.

Kneeling down toward the girl, she noted that she was breathing, but unconscious. the girl couldn't be any older than 12, yet it looks as if she had been through a lot.

The pink haired girl's clothes were worn, burned and missing it's right sleeve. Not to mention the minor bruises, and the hole that Kairi was sure if she flipped the girl over she'd find an identical one on the other side.

"Riku, can't you just hold back a little for once?"

"Now that wouldn't really do you any good. If you want to beat me then you just have to keep getting better."

Hearing her two boys' voices she called out to them for help.

It was Riku who picked her up, and it was Sora who suggested she stay over his place. His mother was the island's healer in an unofficial way, so yeah.

His mother didn't ask many questions, just hurriedly guided them to the extra room. Riku laid her down of the soft bed. They watched as Sora's mom cover the girl up with a white sheet. The woman even opened the window's blinds slightly to let some light in.

When Sora's mom left, it was quiet between them. They could only stare at the sleeping girl, as the ceiling fan provided a light hum in the background.

In a way it similar to how they first met Kairi.

A girl who they never seen before, washes up on the island. They have no idea where she could have come from. The only thing it brought to the islanders was that thought that there might be more beyond the island. Now the only thing with this girl is that she, unlike Kairi, may have some recollection of where she came from.

It took three days for the pink haired girl to wake up.

Sora was in the room just taking away, to keep her company, when she opened her eyes.

Of course he and his friends have been visiting. Not only were they curious of the girl, but they also didn't want her to feel lonely. They knew she didn't have anybody to make sure she was ok or visit, so they took it upon themselves.

Only they didn't expect how she would react when she woke up.

When I opened my eyes, I knew I was in unfamiliar territory with an unfamiliar person. I shot out of bed taking a defensive stance.

The boy before me was shocked by my sudden movements. I fact he had even fell out of his chair. I watched as he stood slowly, careful not to make sudden movements. His rose his hand, keeping his palms open, as to show he ment no harm.

"Hi. It's nice that tour awake now. My friends and I found you washed up on shore," he paused, before continuing, "We brought you to my home so my mom can look after you. She's pretty much the island's unofficial doctor. Speaking of which, I think I should tell her your awake. She probably has some questions for you to answer, and some move things to check. I'll call for her from here. She's downstairs, so she shouldn't have a problem hearing me. I can see you're a little on edge so I'll stay here so you can watch me. I promise i am not here to hurt you."

I watched as he called for his mother. I even channeled chakra to my ears to listen for reinforcements just in case.  However, true to his word it was just his mother who entered.

Slightly letting my guard down I answered all medical related questions. I still had know idea if they were friend or foe, but I wasn't going to risk it.

When she and the boy left, I could hear the his excited chatter.

"I can't wait to tell Kairi and Riku she's awake. I'm sure they'll be so excited to meet her! In fact, I should go get them right now," he said, excitedly.

However, his mother stopped him in his tracks when she spoke, "Sora, perhaps you should hold off. She just woke up, and based on her physical conditions; she must have been through a lot. Give her time."

"Ok mom."

I listened to their steps as they walked away. Once they where far enough, I checked over myself, with my chakra. I noted the bruises, and the slight scaring but nothing too serious to waste my chakra on.

With a sigh, I removed the white sheet. Bringing my legs over the beds ledge, however I could quite touch the floor. They just hung there. In fact my feet haven't hung like this since I was in the academy. Panic was staring to bubble within me.

Hurriedly, I made my way to the connected bathroom. What I saw in the mirror, cause me to almost loose my cool.

There before me stood, a girl who I have long out grown. She stared back at me with wide emerald eyes, and tousled pink hair. The baby fat still being out grown, and the purple diamond faded but still there.

My hand reached out and presses against the cool glass.

This couldn't be happening. After the fight, I knew something must have happened. Especially after being flung, but for my body to regress back into my twelve year old state seemed unlikely. Yet, my reflection proves otherwise.

Backing away, my back was pressed against the wall. I felt like I couldn't breathe, my heart rate accelerated. I even saw my hands tremble as I brought them up to run through my hair.

I was having panic attack. 

I slid down to the floor, the wall being my only real support to stay somewhat upright.

"I need to calm myself," I said, to myself.

I looked around the bath room and tried to find something to refocus on. There was nothing that caught my attention. Next best thing to do is to take deep breaths and count.

Breath in.

'One.'

Exhale.

Breath in.

'Two'

Exhale.

Breath in.

'Three.'

Exhale.

On and on that cycle went, until I could finally feel in control.

How long I sat on the bathroom floor for, I don't know. All I knew is I was twelve again, on an unknown island, I just had a panic attack, and I was so fucking hungry.

Seeking out wasn't an issue, but being hungry can be slightly distracting. Which would explains why the brunette boy, startled me as I raided his fridge.

Rude, I know, but cut me some slack. I fought a war, got stabbed, saved countless of lives, pumped my best friends hear manulally, punch a goddess, got transported to who knows where, and was age reduced to be a preteen. I think food being the only thing on my right now is considerably reasonable.

"You know, if you were hungry, you could've just told us," he said, with a teasing grin.

For a moment, I saw Naruto instead of him.

Looking down, I mumbled, "I didn't want to be a bother."

"You'll never be a bother here. How about we get you some warm food, and talk a bit. You know, get to know eachother."

Perhaps it was the fact that I was hungry, that he had a familiar aura, or that I didn't want to be alone; either way I took him up on his offer.

It would be from this moment on that the strings of fate would intertwine Sakura to not just Sora's soul but to his friends as well. This is where her true journey begins.

[mandiemon3]

The Best Revenge is Living Well- Chapter 21

Once the Revenge had sailed away from the Red Flag, the ornate ship nothing more than a small speck in the distance to the naked eye, the crew began to disperse. Buttons remained at the helm, finally looking at peace behind the wheel of the ship, but dismissed everyone once they were sailing smoothly, or at least as smoothly as the damaged ship could sail. Pairs drifted off together, embracing lost friends and lovers, or talking about the day’s adventure. Izzy stood with Mo, no longer held in their embrace, but staying close by, nonetheless. He hobbled over to Stede as the crowd thinned.

“I just wanted to thank you-“ he began, cut off as Stede walked away coldly, refusing to even look his way. Izzy shifted on his crutch, his eyes trailing down to the deck as he seemed to lose himself in thought, swaying lightly with the gentle rocking of the ship.

Mo cautiously reached out to him, gently touching his arm. He startled, blinking quickly as he seemed to remind himself where he was. He turned his head in their direction, his gaze still lowered.

“Stede’ll come around,” they said quietly. Izzy nodded weakly, turning away from them. “He just needs some time. It’s been a day, for all of us.” They sighed softly, rubbing a hand up his back and wishing he would let them guide him to take a seat. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?”

Izzy grunted. “Could use some rum,” he said, his voice low and raspy. He turned slightly, glancing at his partner through the limp hair that hung over his face. “If you can find any left,” he added, a crude smile playing on his lips.

Mo nodded. They ran their hand up and down his back firmly, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “I’ll bring you something,” they said vaguely. “Not sure what all is left here, but I’ll scrounge something up. Just…sit down somewhere. Make yourself comfortable.” Izzy laughed humorlessly. “Don’t think that’s possible, love,” he said dryly, scowling down at the deck as he adjusted the positioning of his crutch under his arm.

Mo smiled at him sadly. “Just do your best. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t go doing something stupid while I’m away.” They forced themselves to turn, ignoring the pained grunts that meant he was moving as they walked down into the ship.

The galley was a mess when they walked in. Most of the plates and bowls were missing, there was broken glass on the counters, and almost all the food was gone. They groaned, taking a moment to lean their forehead against a doorway with their eyes closed, cursing their luck, before getting to work. They swept up as much broken glass as they could, using tattered old kitchen rags to collect the fragments, careful not to cut themselves.

They gathered the few dishes they could find, piling most of them into the sink to be washed later and scrubbing only one plate and one mug. They looked around to find a rag clean enough to use to dry the dishes but couldn’t find one they could use in good conscious. They gathered the dirty rags into a pile, planning to come back and deal with them later, before shaking as much water off the newly cleaned plate as they could, setting it to the side. Izzy would just have to use a wet plate.

Having collected the dishes they needed, Mo began to rummage through the cupboards, insistent on finding something for their partner to eat. He’d only had half of a bowl of soup since they’d been reunited, and that was hours ago. Who knew when the last time he ate before that was. Other than the unfortunate seagull the crew had caught, they remembered with a grimace.

Mo was able to find a small jar of hardtack in the furthest corner of a lower cabinet, hidden behind a burlap sack that once held potatoes. The lid was slightly askew, and the tough biscuit was a little softer than they were used to after being exposed to the humid air, but it would have to make do. They were relieved to find a few oranges still left in a storage barrel, adding a bruised one of decent size to the plate. They dumped the hardtack next to it, only using half of the remaining supply and saving the rest for later. It was a pathetic meal, but it was better than nothing.

As they filled a mug with grog, they made a note to tell Stede that they would have to dock soon to restock on food, or they’d all have to turn to seagulls and fish for food. They made for the door, remembering at the last moment that Izzy had asked for rum, and faltered, shuffling on their feet halfway across the room, as they considered turning back. It probably wasn’t good for him to drink as much as he wanted to, and they were afraid of what could happen if he drowned his sorrows in alcohol. On the other hand, he was in unbearable pain, hobbling around on a barely closed wound from having his leg amputated, and they had no better form of pain relief onboard.

Mo reluctantly turned back, searching through the haphazard galley until they found a bottle, tipped on its side and rolling around in a corner cabinet. It was unopened, a stroke of luck that Izzy would likely appreciate. They gripped the bottle by the neck, picking the damp plate up from the counter as they left the galley. If nothing else, Izzy would have some form of nutrients in him, and the galley was a little safer for the next person.

Mo looked around as they stepped out into the open air, their brow furrowing when they didn’t see their partner. “I’m up here,” drawled a familiar voice.

They turned around, seeing Izzy on the quarterdeck. He was sitting on the railing, his left leg awkwardly propped up to relieve pressure from his poorly made prosthetic leg. His back was turned to them, but he looked over his shoulder, holding onto the railing to keep from tipping over and falling off the edge.

“Ah, there you are!” They made their way up to join him, handing him the plate and setting the bottle of rum on the deck next to his boot. They picked up his orange, pulling their dagger out of its sheath and beginning to peel it.

Izzy had the decency not to reach for the rum immediately, opting instead to pick up a piece of not-so-hard hardtack. He watched as Mo cut a line down the side of the orange, and tucked their knife away, starting to pry the peel off.

“I can peel my own orange, you know,” he said, biting into his food as he watched as his partner set the discarded bits of peel onto his plate.

“I’m well aware,” they responded, not looking up from their task. “I’ve seen you do much more challenging things.” They glanced up. “Sorry the food isn’t better. The jar for the hardtack wasn’t closed properly, but I reckon it’s better than nothing.”

Izzy shrugged, picking up another piece. “S’fine. I’ve had worse.”

Mo pulled off the last of the peel, setting it down with the rest before pushing their thumbs into the center of the orange, neatly splitting it. They were aware that they were being watched, but didn’t comment on it, not wanting to break the spell Izzy seemed to find himself under. They could see in the corner of their eye the way his face softened, his guarded expression slipping away as his shoulders relaxed. He deserved as many moments of peace as he could find, and they didn’t want to rob him of this one.

“I’m going to talk to Stede,” Mo said, looking down at the orange as they broke it into sections. “We need to dock sometime soon, to restock on food, and do some repairs from the look of it.” They added the orange slices to the place, flashing Izzy a small smile as they kept one for themselves. They bit into it, pleased to find that its battered appearance didn’t make it any less sweet.

Izzy nodded, picking up a slice of orange from his damp plate. He brought it to his lips, pausing as he realized he realized he was being watched. He frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked at Mo suspiciously.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked slowly.

They smiled softly. “I’m just glad to have you back.” Their voice was quiet and sincere. His eyes softened, and they reached out to touch the side of his neck, their smile widening when he shivered as their thumb gently brushed against his skin.

Izzy slowly seemed to melt, the small contact breaking down the defenses he had spent the last few months building up. His posture changed, leaning forward more as he began to relax, and tears began to well up in his eyes. His face was scrunched from what looked like a hundred emotions at once, and Mo could see the fear in his eyes. It was the way he used to look at them when he expressed any small amount of vulnerability, as though he expected them to react with violence. They gently shushed him, letting their hand slip down to his shoulder, where it gently massaged his tense muscles. Their other hand cradled his face, their thumb gently gliding over his cheek as they gave him a soft smile.

“It’ll be alright, love,” they reassured him, pushing down the pain they felt as seeing him look so small and afraid. “Do you want me to draw you a bath? Getting out of these dirty clothes and cleaning up might make you feel better.”

Something happened, some thought entered Izzy’s head that they couldn’t guess, and he shook his head. He blinked away the water from his eyes, his face hardening as he looked away, turning away from their hand on his cheek.

“No,” he rumbled, not meeting their gaze. “I’m fine.”

Mo frowned, concerned by the rapid change. “Are you sure?” Izzy nodded, still looking away. They trailed the back of their fingers along his facial hair. “Can I at least bring you some water and a rag?” they pleaded. “You don’t have to do a whole thing, but please at least let me make sure your face and hands are clean. We can’t have you getting sick,” they said, gently taking hold of his chin and turning his head to face them. “We have enough going on already,” they added, hoping he would at least see the practicality of letting himself be cared for.

Izzy rolled his eyes, huffing lightly. “Fine,” he conceded after a moment’s consideration. He sounded defeated, as if they were asking him to scrub barnacles off the side of the ship or fill in cracks in the hull with tar, rather than to wash his face.

 Mo considered him for a moment, their eyebrows pinched with worry as they examined his face, still gripping his chin. Izzy squirmed under their gaze, averting his eyes, but didn’t pull his head away. They knew that something had changed, something that made him clam up, but they didn’t know what. If they tried to get him to open up and share what was wrong, they might do more harm than good, and make him push them away.

Having found no answers, Mo reluctantly released Izzy’s chin, letting him look down at the deck. It worried them that he was acting so odd, but they didn’t know how to help him.

“Thank you,” they said quietly, brushing a dirty lock of hair behind his ear. Izzy raised his head, looking puzzled.

“For what?”

They shrugged. “For trying.” They picked up his forgotten slice of orange from his plate, holding it up closer to his face. He looked at it, confused, before taking it and placing it in his mouth, chewing slowly. “And for letting me take care of you,” they finished, leaning forward and pressing a slow kiss to his forehead.

His face was dusted with pink when they pulled away, and he twisted a slice of orange in his hands, staring down at it to avoid making eye contact.

“I’ll be right back,” Mo said, giving his shoulder an affection squeeze before walking off.

When they returned with a bowl of water and a clean towel, Izzy had finished eating. His empty plate sat on the deck by his boot, and he was doing his best to uncork the bottle of rum. Mo heard him muttering curses under his breath as they joined him, growing frustrated at his inability to get the bottle open.

“This fucking bottle is impossible!” he growled, turning to face his partner and throwing his hands up in exasperation.

Mo crouched down in front of him, carefully setting the bowl of clean water between his legs before pulling out their knife and handing it hilt first to Izzy.

“A tool might help,” they said teasingly, smirking as he begrudgingly accepted the knife. He stabbed the tip into the cork, wiggling it to push it further into the fleshy material. They turned their attention back to their task as he began to twist the knife, doing his best to wiggle the cork loose.

Mo dipped the clean towel into the bowl, submerging it completely before ringing it out. They were lucky that Oluwande had grabbed a few towels from the Red Flag as they were making their escape, and luckier still that he was willing to share such a luxury. They squeezed the towel again, enjoying the refreshing scent that wafted off of it as they rid it of excess water.

“Ah!”

Mo turned to see Izzy grinning victoriously, the open bottle of rum in one hand, and their knife in the other, the cork skewered on the end. They smiled at him, glad to see him happy, as they moved to settle down.

“Glad to see you beat the bottle,” they said, kneeling between his thighs uncomfortably.

Izzy took a long drink from the bottle, laughing smugly as he pulled it away. “I could barely get the bastard open,” he said, half to himself as he stared at it. He looked at his partner, noticing their position for the first time.

“Can I have my knife back now?” they asked, a humorous lilt to their voice as he looked down at them with wide eyes.

He faltered for a moment, before giving the cork a tug to remove it from the weapon, dropping it unceremoniously onto deck before it rolled away. He flipped the knife in his hand, offering the hilt to Mo, which they happily accepted.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, watching them sheath the blade. He looked troubled, his brow furrowed as if plagued by something he couldn’t speak of.

Mo wanted desperately to ask him what was wrong, to keep asking until he told them, but they knew better. Instead, they gave him a soft smile as they took his hand in theirs.

“Of course.”

Izzy didn’t protest as they began to wipe at his hand with the damp towel, gently scrubbing away days’ worth of grime. He watched them work, starting with his palm before turning his hand over and scrubbing at the back of it. They took care to clean all sides of his calloused fingers, doing their best to remove the dirt that found itself imbedded underneath his nails. When they finished with his hand, they pushed his sleeve up a little to clean his wrist, their left thumb absentmindedly running back and forth over the small spade tattooed between his thumb and index finger as their right hand worked. They glanced up to make sure Izzy was alright, knowing that his wrists technically weren’t included in their deal. They hoped he wouldn’t mind such a small addition and felt a small smile tug at their lips when he met their gaze, giving them a small nod as he watched.

When they were finished with his left hand, they moved to his right, carefully undoing the fastenings of his leather glove and sliding it off. They moved slowly, not sure if he had any bruises hidden behind the garment, but breathed a quiet sigh of relief when they slipped it off and found none. They repeated their process from his first hand, meticulously cleaning him as he watched with a level expression. They waited for his patience to snap, for him to take the towel from them and say he could do the rest on his own, his defenses coming back up, but it never came. Once his hand was clean, and they had wiped away the dirt from his wrist, they held his hand, gently bringing it up to their face and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

Izzy made a small sound at the contact, something between a whimper and a strangled sob. He cleared his throat when he’d realized what he’d done, averting his eyes as pink crept its way up his neck. Mo pretended not to notice, not wanting to embarrass him further. They squeezed his hand before letting go, moving to rinse the towel again. They squeezed out as much water as they could before pushing themselves up to stand. They stepped closer to Izzy, hovering only a few inches away as they looked down at him.

“Gonna get you all cleaned up,” Mo said, looking into his beautiful dark eyes. “Not going to stop until I can see that handsome face of yours.” Izzy rolled his eyes, turning away in exasperation as they grinned. They raised the damp towel to his neck, gently directing him to turn his head to the right as they carefully scrubbed away the sweat and charcoal that clung to him.

“Oh, come on,” they continued playfully, enjoying riling him up as they worked. “Don’t act like I’ve never said it before. You know how attractive you are. Surely, you must.”

Izzy scoffed. “Not everyone is as into washed-up old men as you are,” he said lowly, his face turned away from them, as if to hide the bitter edge in his voice.

Mo frowned. “Well, that’s not very nice,” they said levelly, not pausing their work. “To you or to me. You’re not an old man, my love, and you’re certainly not washed up.” They chuckled. “An old man wouldn’t be the best swordsman on the sea or be able to effortlessly swing from one ship to another on a rope. Neither would a washed-up person,” they added pointedly, tipping his head back so they could clean closer to his throat. They grinned down at him as they wiped away the grime. “An old man wouldn’t have the effect on me that you do, either,” they said cheekily, their gaze flicking from his throat to his eyes. Their grin widened as he swallowed thickly, a dark blush rising to his face.

Mo moved on, tilting his head to the other side so they could reach the right side of his neck, not wanting to tease their partner too much too quickly after so long apart. They wiped at his neck, taking a moment to appreciate the swallow tattooed on the side of his neck. It really was beautiful.

“Truthfully,” they continued, working diligently, “no one has an effect on me like you do. Not just because you’re ridiculously good looking, which you are, so don’t even try to deny it. But you’re also so much more than that.” They smiled. “You’re you, the beautiful, talented, ingenious, breathtaking you. And that’s the most attractive part about you, Israel. That’s why I love you.”

Mo finished scrubbing his neck, gripping his chin in between their thumb and index finger to turn him to face them. They could see that he was growing emotional, but they didn’t look into his eyes, focusing instead on cleaning his face.

“You’re a good man,” they said, dabbing at his left cheek. “You take care of people, even if they’ve generally been assholes to you, even if it puts you at a disadvantage. You’re strong too.” They chuckled absentmindedly as they wiped the cloth along his jawline, gently removing the charcoal that still stained his beard, glad to see it return to its usual salt and pepper coloring. “You’re the strongest person I know, in every sense of the word. Sometimes I worry about you because of how strong you are,” they confessed, cradling his face with their left hand as they moved to scrub at his overgrown sideburns with their right. “I’m afraid that because you’re so resilient, and so independent, you won’t ask for help when you really need it, or even accept it when offered. But strong people need people too, Iz. A part of strength is knowing when to ask for help, and being brave enough to do it.”

Mo turned the cloth in their hand, holding a clean spot as they wiped sweat, grease, and charcoal off of Izzy’s nose. They wondered how much salt stained his face from tears he was too proud to let anyone know he shed.

“You’re amazing, Izzy. Truly, you blow my mind every day.” They couldn’t help a fond grin from spreading across their face. “You’re so witty, both in the practical way and by being such a bitch when you want to be.” They chuckled at Izzy barked out a laugh. They met his eyes, only for a second, and were relieved to see their old twinkle again. “And I mean that in the best way!” they added, swiping the towel under his eyes as they laughed. “I love you, bitchiness and all.” Their smirk turned to a grin as Izzy looked up at them, his mouth open in a wide smile.

Mo wanted to keep going, to tell him every reason why they loved him. They wondered how many days it would take for them to list everything.

“You’re patient, and an amazing teacher,” they continued, their voice glowing with affection. “You never lost your patience with me during our night lessons, even when I asked the stupidest of questions or got frustrated and wanted to quit.” They sniffled, feeling their own emotions starting to affect them. “You’re supportive. Even when you knew I would be away for a while, you wanted me to go and find my brother, because you knew it was important to me.” Their thumb stroked Izzy’s hair as they gently turned his head, moving to start cleaning his right cheek. “Even though I regret leaving you, I am so grateful to be with you, and so lucky to have someone who cares enough about me to let me go when I had to.” They laughed weakly, doing their best to ignore the lump in their throat. “That being said, I hope to never be away from you again.”

Mo smiled as Izzy raised his hand, holding the wrist of the hand that cupped his cheek, rubbing small circles into the soft flesh of their wrist as they wiped his eyebrows clean with their other hand.

“I love how private you are, and how easy it is to fluster you. I love the way your voice sounds, especially in the morning when you’ve just woken up. I love that you’re so dedicated to this ship, to these people, that I have to fight to keep you in bed with me before the sun even rises. I love the way you do your hair, and the soft scratch of your beard, and the way you let me be soft around you because you make me feel safe.” They pushed his hair back, gently taking their other hand back from Izzy to hold the dirty locks away from his face so they could clean his forehead.

“I love your grey hair, and how distinguished it makes you look, and much effort you put into taking care of your things. I love how sentimental you are, and how sweet and soft you can be when it’s just us. I love that I get to know you, and know these things about you, and know with absolute certainty that you are the person I love, who I’ll always love.”

Mo carefully worked their way around the cut on Izzy’s forehead, not wanting to catch the fibers of the towel on the newly formed scab or put too much pressure on the tender bruises that blossomed around it. He stiffened as they cleaned closer to the wound, more than they expected. He wasn’t just reacting to pain or bracing for it. His shoulders tensed, and his breathing quickened as he locked his jaw, his eyebrows pinching together.

Mo froze, pulling back and looking over his face carefully. “Are you alright?” they asked gently, dropping the hand that held the towel to hang down by their hips.

Izzy nodded stiffly, not meeting their eyes.

“Did I go too far?” They felt guilt bubbling up inside of them, willing themselves to stay calm. Overdoing things now would only make things worse and overwhelm him more. “I’m sorry, love,” they said slowly, their voice coming out barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

Izzy shook his head. “You didn’t,” he said in a shaky voice. "Don’t be sorry.” He sniffled. “I’m sorry. I just…I think I need to be alone now.” He stared at the deck, unable to take the pain of seeing the concern and guilt on his partner’s face.

“Yeah,” Mo said quietly, doing their best to stay calm. “Yeah, o-of course. I’ll leave you to it then.” They set the towel on the rim of the bowl of water, moving to walk down to the main deck. They paused at the top of the steps, their hand resting on the railing.

“I just…I want to thank you again,” they stammered, “for letting me help you. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Izzy, so thank you for taking care of yourself.”

Izzy’s grip on the railing tightened, but he nodded, his gaze still fixed on the deck. Mo reluctantly left him, sparing one more glance towards him as they made their way down into the belly of the ship, seeing him upend the bottle of rum into his mouth.

[foxtricksterwriting]

SLSQ MC 2

Author's Note: surprise, I have not one but TWO new mcs for SLSQ~! Mans got sadder than I wanted him to be....

Credits: the IF SLAUGHTER SQUAD belongs to @harlequinoccult

Preferred Name: █̴̷̡̣̪̳̖̺͔͎͇̤̹͆ͣ͋͗̎̔ͬͥͯͩ̄̈̕̕͞͞█̖█̴̢̢̛̛̬̣̟̹͉̗̹̗͍͕̠͇͕͈̺̙͓̼̒͑̀͗́͗͊̀̍̑̓̒ͦ̅̒͐ͥ̀͠█̴̸̡̟̫̖͕̬̜̞̦̯̺̳͓͎͔̐̒̌͑̌ͫ̈͒̇͋́̍ͥ̋́̂̅̋͘̕͢͢͠'̛̛̜͕̪̤̹̜̰̼̘͔̀̆̌ͫ̎͑̀̂ͩ͋ͧ͒ͭ͌ͥ̚͢͟͝͝͠█̷̷̵̧̢̡̛̣̩͈̟̝͙̪̟̗̺̤̗͔̖̺̯̥͊ͥͨ́̑̿̓̽̇ͯͦ͊̕͘͢͠͠ͅ█̵̷̛͉͕͚̣͓͎̠͉̲̦̬͙̖̙̱͕̀̾̈́͗̾̄͊͌̈́ͬ̔̾̏̐ͬ͗ͥ͡█͍̀͢͟█̴̵̫̠͚͍̮ͤ̾ͧ̊̆̾̚̚ █̷̷̷̧̯̖̠̼̰̥͓̤̻̺̐̏̽̋ͯͣ̊̽̈̅ͣ͆̍ͨ͜͝█̸̨̧̛̺̱̹͕̞͈̥͍̤̥̰̲͕̪̞̹̣͈͍͐͆̽̀̿̾̋ͬͥ̀́̀͛͒̿̒ͩ̒͡ͅ█̶̟̬͍͎̮͔̼̼̍̉̽̀ͬ̑͊̂ͪ͋͌ͪ́̍͢ͅ█̶̢͉̪̹̣̜͚̦̖͛͋̿ͬ͛̒̄͑̓̓̚͘͜͝͠͞█̶̡̢̨̧͓̙̬̞̻̦̹͎̪̫̊͛̐̈̀͊̑ͧ̾ͩͧͧ͆̐̈ͦ̂͊͑ͦͨ̂ͣ̐͢͢͝ͅ█̸̷̴̧̥̪͎͕̖̰̘͈͉̦͕͎̥͖̮͐̌͛́͌ͧͫ̽̄̈́̽̅̿ͯͯ̚͢͟͟͜͜͝͝█̶̺͍͈̠͗ͧ͂ͦͭ̿̈́̀ͣ̃ͫ͟͡█̷̧̟̣̭̪̺̘͉̩̺̞̩͍͕̞ͤͭ̑ͦͣ̏̀̌̌͗͋ͣ̓͟͞͞ (I'm sorry, but I can't let you know that!)

Alias: The Nopperabo (A Nopperabo is a faceless monster that follows its victims around. Some stories say they kill their victims, others say they just scare them. In any case, I find it....interesting, don't you?)

Gender + Pronouns: man + he/him

Age: 25

Ocupation: Secretary for an office building (Boring.... like me, eheh)

More About Him; He blends seamlessly into the background of any situation. He has almost no presence and lets people walk all over him. Often fidgety and afraid to stand up for himself or speak out against any mistreatment he faces, others around him describe him as spineless at best. Should he somehow gain a speck of confidence, he can be charmingly charismatic. He can make anyone feel comfortable around him in a matter of minutes and naturally has the air of someone you can tell your entire life story. If only he'd use it for something more productive.

He cares deeply for his family, especially his twin. When they were younger, he protected and shielded zer from anything that tried to hurt zer. Now, the roles are reversed. His life experiences have caused him to become very codependent and clingy to a sad degree. His sibling now aggressively protects him from any further trauma and helps him in any way possible. He considers zer to be his only true friend.

A last little note about The Nopperabo is his desperate perfectionism. He will often do things repeatedly, trying to get it perfect. He is more willing to tear apart fully built furniture that's imperfect and try to rebuild it than just leave it be. He gets frustrated at himself for not being able to just let things go, but does them anyway to avoid a possible anxiety attack.

Subconsciously, he seeks out ways to stand out and take back control of his life. But, is he willing to seize the opportunity presented to him? Or will he let it slip through his fingers?

Fun Facts

Pinterest here~

Playlist there~

Offers Abo as a little nickname for the slashers to use for him.

Romances Black Dahlia and Elysium, might tact Sweetheart on tho. Abo would like someone doting on him, I think.

Obsessed with apple flavored anything. Will devour a apple pie(or two) on his own if no one stops him. Always has jolly ranchers on him; he eats the apple ones and gives the rest to others who want them.

Carries a bag with him everywhere, has basically everything in it. If you need/want something, ask him. 9 times out of 10, he'll have it. (Do you need water? ....Here. Unopened, of course. Wouldn't offer it if it was open.)

A horror movie enthusiast, he fucking loves them! Maybe to a unhealthy degree....

Likes gardening, but isn't really a green thumb. He tries, but fails pretty badly.

Has a interest in folklore, mythology and history, knows a lot of random history facts or bizarre people that lived once. And loves infodumping about different creatures in folklore and mythology. (Have you heard of the kushtaka from Alaska? Oh, can I tell you about it?? Please!?!?)

Abo has a odd fascination with death, stemming from his background. His twin shares this same fascination.

Idk if SLSQ has a 'canon' backstory for MC(aside from Carter), so I've made a backstory for the twins. I think I'll make a in depth post for it later, in the meantime here's the spark notes version; the twins family moved to America just before they were born, then died. They were adopted into a shit family and eventually one ran away. The other was caught trying and forced to stay. They lost contact, then found each other as adults and are inseparable now.

[bloodysimpsonchibi]

Roses.

My submission for Sicktember: Day 23: Under a Spell

I'm sorry I couldn't do a better job or make any more submissions but it's been a rough week as I lost a family member. I hope this will suffice.

...

Soifon stared at the single blue petal on the floor between her hands, a single drop of blood resting on the tip. Her heart seemed to stop, her breath slowed. Sweat formed on her exposed skin and dripped down her body into her clothes.

"N...No...It can't be..." Her lips trembled. "Not again..."

But sure enough, Soifon felt a horrid sensation in her chest, like the fluttering of butterfly wings, she knew what was coming and her only comfort was knowing that she was alone. Putting her open palm to her mouth, she coughed violently. She felt a sickening tickling on her tongue as the petals were dislodged. Most of them fell into her palm but a few slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor. They were all just like the first petal, bright blue with some sporting specks of blood on them. It was only a few coughs but Soifon felt as if the whole ordeal had lasted an hour. Once it was over, she winced as the very act of breathing caused her lungs to ache. With her free hand, she wiped her lips free of any remaining blood and petals as she examined the ones in her hands.

"Why?" Soifon whined. "Why is this happening to me?"

With a angry grunt, Soifon crushed the petals in her hand. She forced herself to stand back up, which in her light-headed state, caused her to nearly fall over. Thankfully, her desk was right next to her and she was able to grab it to keep from falling. A few of the petal pieces slipped through her fingers as she caught herself but she took no notice. She picked herself up and walked toward the window, fighting through the aches and pains that had taken hold of her body. She opened the window and let the crushed petals out, watching as they were carried away by the night time breeze.

She felt herself start to shiver and closed the window. Despite this, the shivering didn't stop and her stomach became queasy. She groaned as she made her way back to her desk and opened the main drawer. Inside was a box of small pills certified by Squad 4, meant to provide temporary relief for aliments such as hers. She opened the box and popped two of them in her mouth swallowing them without the aid of water. She sighed as she sat down at her desk and waited for them to kick in.

"What's wrong with me?" She whispered. "Why is this happening? There has to be some sort of rational explanation but what could it be?"

Soifon found herself thinking back to the mission she had about a month ago, the one she had gone with Yoruichi Shihoin. The mission itself was simple in nature, to infiltrate a smuggling operation that had precured several precious treasures from many a lesser noble house. Mostly just statues and jewelry, things the thieves were hoping to sell to the highest bidder at an upcoming auction.

Said auction, of course, would never come to pass. Soifon and Yoruichi had seen to that.

Once the thieves had been dealt with, Soifon and the rest of Squad 2 were tasked with separating the pilfered heirlooms and returning them to their rightful owners. This, of course, meant moving them out of the warehouse they were being kept in and out into the Sun. Soifon recalled one of the last objects she had moved from there, one of the final items left inside at the time.

It was a mirror, one of those giant mirrors one could see their entire selves in. Its frame was decorated with the wooden cutouts of roses, their thorny stems "growing" around the frame and intertwining at the bottom. Strangely enough, the roses were all closed, not a single one of them seemed to be opened.

Soifon briefly wondered why someone would go through the trouble of creating such a beautiful mirror just to close the roses but quickly decided such a thing was not worth her contemplation, especially when she had a job to do. She looked around and noticed the last of her ninja leaving with another heavy object, a statue of some kind, which left her alone to take care of the mirror. This wouldn't be much of an issue for her as she was quite strong despite her petite visage. However, she still couldn't help but growl in annoyance.

Soifon stepped in front of the mirror and gripped its sides with both hands. The wooden stems poked into her hands but only enough to apply pressure to her skin rather than break it. This discomfort, added with the weight of the mirror, earned another grunt of annoyance for Soifon as she lifted the mirror a single inch off the ground.

"There! No if I can just-

Soifon happened to open her eyes as she spoke and in doing so, she found herself meeting the gaze of the reflection in the mirror. That wouldn't have been noteworthy if it was her own reflection starting back at her but it wasn't. Standing within the confines of the mirror, her body in the same embracing positsion as her former student and bodyguard, was Yoruichi.

"Lady Yoruichi!" Soifon gasped. "Oww!"

Suddenly, Soifon felt a sharp pain in her palm and let go of the mirror. It started to lean backward and most definitely would have shattered upon the ground if Soifon hadn't caught it on the other side. That same spark of pain coursed through her other hand and Soifon gritted her teeth as she grabbed the other side of the mirror and gently laid it flat against the ground.

Once it was safe, she examined her throbbing hands. Both of them had a single hole punctured into the palm, almost like stigmata. Blood leaked from these holes and trickles down to her elbows. Soifon squeezed her palms to apply pressure and stop the bleeding then grabbed some of the bandages she carried with her for emergencies and wrapped it around hands. The bandages became soaked in no time at all but they seemed to halt the bleeding nonetheless and as she waited for the pain to go away, Soifon reexamined the mirror.

For the most part, it looked the same but as her gaze lowered, Soifon noticed the thorns on either side of the frame now coated in dried blood. There was one for each side and they seemed sharper, more sleeker than the rest of their wooden brethren.

"What...the hell?" Soifon whispered right as she felt a familiar presence enter the room.

"Soifon, you okay in here?" Yoruichi asked.

"Oh! Um...I-I'm fine!" Soifon lied. "I was just getting this mirror out of here"

"Mirror huh?" Yoruichi walked over to the mirror and whistled. "Looks like the Mirror of Mokoto Hanahaki. It belongs to the Sakura house. They provide the ninjas that serve the Kuchiki clan."

"I see." Soifon uttered.

Yoruichi turned to see the bloodied bandages on Soifon's hands. "Soifon! Your hands!"

"What?" Soifon looked down at her hands and, with a slight blush, quickly hid them behind herself. "Oh I-I just cut myself on the thorns on the frame. It's nothing really."

"Cut yourself?" Yoruichi looked back to the mirror. "That's strange."

"What do you mean?"

"The thorns on the frame were carved just short of actually getting sharp." Yoruichi explained. "They shouldn't be able to cut into anything." She walked over to the front of the mirror and placed her fingers beneath. "Well, just to be safe, let's pick it up this way."

"R-Right, Lady Yoruichi!" Soifon nodded before repeating the same action. The two women were able to lift the mirror with ease and, on Yoruichi's command, Soifon back-tracked toward the exit. As they were crossing the threshold, Soifon noticed something else about the mirror, something she found too strange to point out.

The roses on the top of the frame were now in full bloom.

And with that memory, Soifon found herself back inside her room. Her stomach was still aching and her throat felt dry. She felt thirsty but knew that drinking water would only serve to reactivate her pain. "That mirror...." She muttered to herself. "That mirror had to have something to do with this. After all, I only started coughing up petals after that day." Her throat ached and she gripped it slightly, deciding to render all her words to mere thoughts.

"But how can that be? How could a simple mirror cause me to be coughing up flower petals? It...It's almost like some kind of curse right out of a child's fairy tale. But that's ridiculous! There's some strange things in Soul Society but there's no such thing as curses...right?"

Soifon rubbed her head and slowly made her way back to bed. She still felt sore all over but the very act of laying down on her futon seemed to grant her some relief, even as her chest ached with every breath. "Tomorrow, I will visit Captain Unohana and see what she has to say about this." She muttered. "I'd rather not let anyone know about this but I have to find out what's causing it if I'm to get rid of it."

Soifon sighed as she turned her head and sunk into her pillow. "I'm sure there's a cure for this affliction and I'll obtain it, no matter what it takes."

[geminixevans-stan]

Mob!Au! You’ve developed a rather… unconventional relationship with the head bartender of the lounge in your office building. At first, you’d began going just to take the edge off after work, have a quiet place to finish up the remainder of the day’s paperwork where no one would bother you. And Ari… well, he was a much needed bonus. He never charged you for drinks—not even when you forcibly left cash on the table, it always found its way back underneath your office door every morning.

“It’s my bar, sweetness,” he’d say. “I charge who I want.”

😈

Whew this was.... You know my love for this man like no other.

He Always Answers

Pairing: Ari Levinson x Mob!Female Reader

Words: 1.4k+

Warnings: 18+ DNI, Explicit language, mentions of death, teensy bit of thigh riding, Ari Levinson is a whole warning let's just go with it.

A/N: Issa submission for @boxofbonesfic The Monkey's Paw challenge. Congrats heffa on 7k! I hope you love this and if you don't, be gentle! I'm just a baby! Like, comment, & Reblog! I hope you guys love it as well! ♥

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The night couldn’t have come fast enough. Being the right hand of the city’s most powerful man wasn’t an easy feat to say the least.

There was always something happening and you were the one to clean up the messes and keep everything in order. As Always…

Days like this were always the same. Wake up, see who wanted to fuck with the boss, and to make sure all the numbers were straight.

Salvatore Meroni could have gotten anyone. But he trusted you.

You were sharp with a gun and able to break down any discrepancy in the books like it was nothing.

Yet the night was always your favorite time. A little bar just around the corner always called to you like you belonged there.

Sometimes it felt that way as your feet brought you to the buzzing establishment almost every night.

The drinks were top notch but if you were to tell the truth, the hands making the drinks were what you were really there for.

Ari Levinson was a sight to look at and every time that bell rang announcing your presence at the same time every night, you were greeted with a small smirk from him that only you were privy too.

You were such a predictable visitor as he would always have your first drink right at the same spot you always sat at.

A Manhattan with just the right amount of Whiskey always welcomed you first. You never could understand how he got it so perfect each time.

As the night would dwindle on, you would always find yourself watching Ari clean up as you sipped on the last drink of the night, taking in every part of him.

His brown locks were always feathered perfectly, framing his face while his neatly trimmed beard complimented his hair.

At some points, you could even see specks of red in his facial hair, a sight you only got to see if the light hit his face just right.

Ari was a walking sin and you would have been a fool to not want to indulge.

His bar was your safe haven from all the work that you had to do and then some. The night always ended with some flirting, you telling him that he should live a little.

To that his only response was, “I’ve lived enough gorgeous. I may accept that offer one day,” his baritone voice always comforting you.

Like he was right there…

The flirting would end and you would wait until his back was turned to slap a few bills, more than you owed, and bid him a goodnight.

When the morning came around and you got to your office door, those same bills would be nestled neatly in an envelope and a simple message written across it.

My bar, my rules…

He would never charge you. He felt that it was an insult to accept your money. His bar was spoken for and everyone knew it.

Of course your presence caused the more unsavory people to stay and for that, Ari was grateful to you.

Those were your nights. How you wished that maybe the days would be just as amazing.

You could do what Salvatore could do twice as better in half the time. Which is why he kept you around. But being his clean up girl was becoming a little daunting to say the least.

Without you, he couldn’t handle this city if he tried. A shame the priesthood couldn’t see it. There were days where you wish that you could be queen.

Wishful thinking…

Or was it? Because as you stand behind the glass door of the morgue, a lifeless Salvatore laying on the metal slab, you had to think life was playing a sick joke on you.

Salvatore Meroni died in his sleep, no foul play, just natural causes. It was bullshit to you because he was the healthiest man you knew.

Sure he was stupid but he was conscious about his health. He was you friend, so the lump forming in your throat wasn’t too out of the ordinary.

Funeral arrangements were quick and the priesthood could find no one better to oversee the large city but you.

Life had a funny way of playing with you and as you walk away from the many mourners at Salvatore’s grave site, there was nowhere you would rather be right now than in front of a perfect Manhattan.

The ride to the bar was a blur as your mind swarmed with excitement yet, guilt. You shouldn’t be happy at a time like this. Not when Salvatore was laying six feet under.

But you couldn’t help it. Everything that you wanted was now yours and a celebration was in order. For life and for your new throne to this city.

As the bell rang as you pushed open the door, you were met with an eerie silence.

No one was seated or having a drink and the lights were dimly lit. Your brow furrowed in confusion as you stepped in, closing the door slowly.

You scanned the entire bar, hoping to see if there was any sign of life. But what you did see was that perfect Manhattan in your designated spot.

Slow clapping met your ears as you jumped, grabbing your gun from your holster.

You shoulders sagged in relief the minute that you saw the clapping coming from Ari.

“I hear congratulations are in order gorgeous,” that same smirk meeting you as you stand still in the center of the bar.

Ari holds on his hand to you, beckoning you to come closer and your feet moved to his direction as if he was doing it all on his own.

The small of our back met the soft back of the stool, thick fingers wrapping around the slim stem of the Martini glass as Ari brings the rim of it to your lips.

As soon as the amber liquid slid over your tongue, you drank until there was no more left in the glass.

“That’s it, gorgeous, you earned all of it,” the gravely voice mixed with pride. You swiped your tongue across your lips, tasting the remnants that were left, while Ari makes you another drink.

News of your reign were still private, not even the who’s who knew about it.

So how did he know?

The thought entering your head and pushed back out the minute another glass was set in front of you and Ari right beside you.

You didn’t even know how he got around the bar so quick but the whiskey flooding your mind coerced you not to care.

The rim of the glass is placed near your lips and again and you drink, gulping down the contents again, just like the first.

“How did you know?” a playful smirk coming across your lips, “Been watching me Levinson?”

His chuckle came out smooth as he cupped your cheek with one of his hands, stroking his thumb across your skin, “Always gorgeous… It’s hard not to.”

You lean into his touch, wanting it more now that ever and he could sense it from how you rubbed your cheek against the calloused skin of his palm.

A deep growl rose from his throat, his other arm reaching over to pluck you from your seat and on to his lap.

You let out a surprised gasp at his strength, sighing the minute his nose hit your neck, inhaling you.

The expensive fabric of your skirt rose up, allowing him to seat you right on the thick muscle of his thigh, causing a choked groan to pass your lips.

“You smell delicious, gorgeous,” he groans against your skin as your shudder in hold, warmth blooming in your core as the thin material of your panties become soaked.

Ari steadies your hips with one hand, his fingers pressing into your hot skin as he rolls your hips over his jean clad thigh.

A moan catches in your throat as your wrap your arms around his neck, opening your eyes to see a darkness that you’ve never seen before.

But you don’t move or can’t move. The minute you set you sight on Ari’s dark eyes, you were entrance.

“Wh-What’s happening?” you croak out, dropping your head to his as the coil tightening in your core comes stronger than ever.

Ari ghosts his lips over yours, rolling your hips faster as a sinister smile spreads across his lips.

“Everything you asked for Gorgeous.”

Confusion and lust sweep over you as you pant heavily, “I didn’t… hnngh.. Ask you for anything,” sweat forms at your brow and the slight burning smell fills your nostrils,

The dam between your legs threatens to break and as you’re about to meet your end, a tight constriction squeezes at your throat.

You let out a struggled gasp as Ari’s chest rumbles with laughter, “You should be more careful who you pray to gorgeous. It might not be God who answers….”

[rcksmith]

Desire — Kaz Brekker

(Photo not mine)

Requests: “Hello there! I've been around this blog for a bit now and you are an amazing writer! I was wondering if you would be ok with doing something with 21 28 & 29 from the smut prompts and kaz brekker? If you are uncomfortable please just ignore this!”

“Kaz brekker Smut prompts 28 66?? Love you💖!!”

“I can request Kaz smut prompts 29?❤️”

Smut prompts:

21. “Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”

28. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

29. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

66. “You know I don’t like to be teased.”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of shot, mention of desire, desire, mention of smut, explicit smut, NSFW.

Word count: 3k

A/N: All smut requests for Kaz must follow these rules.

I hope you like💕 English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

— — — —

There was something about you. Something impossible to decipher, with a glow hovering around you like a electrical energy. Wrapping your whole body in a cloak of magnetism. There was something about the way you spoke, walked, laugh. Something about what it was like to be you, in your beauty and mysteries like a sphinx.

Something that made Kaz Brekker completely furious.

You couldn't be more distorted from the image, in Kaz's mind, than what was to be a peaceful woman. Calm, controled, with steel emotions and wit in eyes. Someone who, like him, knew how to dance the waltz of negotiation, manipulation, who could blend in with the shadows and know the best time to listen more than speak.

You were not like Inej, you were not like Jesper. Hell, you were like nobody Kaz has known in all of his 28 years.

Nothing reminiscent of calm and control would be used to describe what it meant to be you.

Your soul are stormy, loud, obstinate, too stubborn and too talkative. You needed to speak loudly, laugh, move, expose your opinions to the seven winds and to whoever listened the most. You needed to question, inquire, doubt and test the limits of any situation. A direct order for you would be an affront to your free and independent spirit. A command that would curtail your freedom or tame your strong genius was almost like an invitation for you to do exactly the opposite of what they had ordered you to do.

So, for a man of trained reasoning, subtly balanced world, and who was used to his every command being followed vehemently and promptly in blind obedience, such a personality like you was like introducing a disturbing factor capable of shaking all his judgments. Sand in a watch, or stone in a shoe, would be no more a nuisance than a strong nature like your.

The extraordinary stubbornness and mania to counter his orders - when, in your words, they were unreasonable - had made you different from all the women Brekker had ever met. Kaz liked challenges and responsibilities, a good puzzle, but you were on a level far beyond that.

You were a danger to his peace of mind. And you knew that. All his aversion to your indomitable spirit only served as fuel for your own mission in to piss him off. Few men were like Kaz Brekker, you knew that, with a strength of character too powerful to be ignored. He was not just comfortable in his position of authority as he was obviously unable to act in any other way than as a leader. His stoic figure and always so contained in a wall of indifference made you want to ruffle his hair to see if you could remove any emotion. And being a girl who hasn't always liked leaders, Kaz Brekker was a huge temptation. Few moments had been better than those that you managed to piss him off beyond what he could handle.

However, all the reasons why the two of you were so exasperating for each other, did not explain why the air crackled in ambiguity when your eyes met. The hemisphere was adorned in a thought-provoking, poignant veil, like a warm honey flowing down its throat, and there was something else in the way blood flowed like flames of fire through veins of you two.

Jesper said that the sexual tension between you was so tangible that it could be cut by one of Inej's knives, but you refused to think of Kaz that way. At least until that moment.

Not pure images of what the infamous Brekker could do to you between four walls swept you like the strong Arabian wind. Making you be surprisingly breathless. Kaz was not a man whose private life was exposed, nor was he involved with many women, but you have heard two or three of them when they were drunk saying that Kaz Brekker in the room could be incendiary.

Everyone knew that his touch reserve didn't limit him to anything, but that his job was at the top of the priority list and that sexual encounters were almost never on that list.

"It was not my fault!” Jesper defended himself one night, slightly drunk, sitting at the club's round table next to the other crows “I didn't know he was married to another man! That damn pretty face seduced me!”

"Did he seduce you?" You asked, skeptical and playful.

"I swear to God! And it had been a long time since I had sex with anyone, and I went… ”

“But you did sex last week." Inej laughed, chocked.

"Exactly!" Jesper said, as if he were obvious.

You laughed with your beer glass in your hand, taking another sip.

“Is a week a long time to not sleep with anyone?" Matthias retorted, trying not to laugh.

“Are you going to tell me that is not?” Jesper and Nina spoke at the same time.

“If a man has time for sex more than once a week, he clearly doesn't have much to do. And I'm sure I gave Jesper a lot of tasks that would keep him busy.” Kaz narrowed his eyes at his friend, and Jesper hid his guilt behind the rim of his beer glass, looking to the side.

"So you are saying that you are a very busy man?" You teased, trying not to laugh at the scathing look Kaz sent you.

"I disagree. The values ​​of hard work and discipline cannot match the hot body of a woman in bed.” Matthias said, exchanging a brief conspiratorial look with Nina, who winked at him.

"There are more important things." Said Kaz.

"Like what?" You rested your chin on the back of the hand whose elbow was on the table, the playful look of a rebellious student.

"Progress." Kaz held your gaze.

He wasn't going to take your bait. But you didn't give up easy.

"Tell me, if God gave you a deal: all the hunger in the world would be extinguished in exchange for you never being able to have sex again, what would you choose?" your eyes had a teasing feline glow.

At that moment, Kaz felt a shiver up the back of his neck, like a warm breath of autumn. Something crawled, like a snake, across his rib cage and down to his groin, pumping blood like fire through his veins.

He held your gaze, but the feline glow in your eyes promised to contain the most ardent sins. Suddenly, Kaz's mind was flooded by the wave of obscene images of you, on his bed; moaning, squirming, shouting his name and being very obedient with every order he gave you.

He would make you such a good girl...

"I don't believe in God." He replied succinctly, the predator's eyes still in your eyes audacious feline's.

A big, satisfied smile spread across your face, and you said: "As I thought. Bad luck for hungry people.”

Realizing that he had fallen right into your cunning trap, Kaz got rid of your diabolical magnetism and cursed.

“I didn't say…” he stopped, impatient “It doesn't matter. I have more important things to do than waste time here.”

But the smile you hid behind the glass was noticeable to Kaz.

After that night, the crackling, gasping flame that circled the two of you intensified to alarming levels. Kaz could feel you holding your breath when he was too close, and you could see him squeezing his cane harder when you sweetened your voice for him.

However, regardless of Kaz's wanted to fold you at a table and put an end to your brat girl pose, enjoying the groans he was sure you would let out, the two of you still fought like dog and cat.

Just as it was now.

“What do you mean, I'm not going?!” You looked at Kaz, amazed, when he told you that you would not participate in the robbery that week “I know that security system like the back of my hand!”

It was true, what you had of stubbornness, you had of technological intelligence. There was no computer that you would not hack, a program that you would not hack, and a system that you would not unlock. Your genius with technology made up for all your lack of obedience.

But Kaz ignored. “I've already told you. It's a more dangerous mission than you're used to and we don't have time for the plans you come up with right away.” He needled you.

“Are you referring to Switzerland?” You were never anything short of direct and inquiring. It was logical that you would question every orden. “But I already told you that when the alarm went off your plan didn't work anymore! I was more useful inside to deactivate the alarm than waiting outside.”

And stubborn. Holy God, how stubborn you were!

"And it cost you to get shot."

"But it was just a shot!"

Kaz looked at you, puzzled. “Just?! And wasn't it enough ?! You put the whole team at risk!”

“But if I hadn't deactivated the alarm, we would all be arrested! And only I knew how to do that!”

"My fucking God, isn't there a speck of common sense in you?!"

But you answered boldly: "Not when you impose clueless plans on me."

Mortified would be an understatement to describe how he was now. What an unbearable creature! Kaz felt the anger spread from his neck to his face, igniting his breath and squinting his eyes in annoyance.

Why was it so difficult for you to follow a simple goddamn rule?!

“Besides, your initial plan was flawed and there was no reason for me to be out when it was necessary inside and...” And you kept talking!

If you had noticed Kaz's completely enraged state in front of you, you would have been scared, shut up and ran. But, truth be told, Kaz suspected that even if you knew how to read the murderous humor in his eyes, you wouldn't have left that office. Much less be afraid. You could argue with the demon. And you would probably beat him out of tiredness.

However, regardless of the desire to shake you up, to see if that put any good sense in you, in that second, watching you gesture with your hands, defending your point of view as if it were the england queen's crown, something swept Kaz's body from the top of his head with dark hair to the tips of his illustrated boots.

The sound of the world was drowned out by the flow of blood itself in his veins. His heart hammered hard in his chest and, in that instant, a sharp sting in his groin and the pit of his stomach set him on fire.

His gaze went down to your mouth, which kept moving. And when it came up to your eyes, your stubborn and defiant gaze sent Kaz's rationality into space. He dropped the cane abruptly, which toppled to the floor with a hollow crack, and advanced towards you in firm and determined steps.

Gluing his gloved hands to your face, Kaz silenced all your protests with a strong kiss. Hot, fiery, domineering. The kind of kiss that held years of camouflaged desire, years of irritability, years of an unnerving desire to make you shut up with all the perverse forms that existed.

You weren't afraid of him. But you should. You should if you knew everything he wanted to do with you.

However, as if you have been burning in the same desire for years, you responded to that kiss with the same urgency. The same hunger. Kaz slipped his hands into your hair, closing his fingers there and deepening the kiss with ferocity. He felt beside himself, like a hungry wild animal that had been denied food for years and that only now had its teeth set on its prey. You moaned against his lips, bringing your hands to his lean, strong biceps, squeezing your fingers there.

You both needed air, but neither seemed to give a damn about that. Misted of desire that burned like a fire in their bodies, Kaz pushed the two of you backwards, slamming your back against the wall and swinging a frame beside. You gasped, and the gesture made it possible for Kaz to invade your mouth with his tongue, hunting every piece of hot meat. You two fought the same battle in that kiss: invade, dominate, conquer.

They both wanted to take the waltz, but Kaz would never let you conduct the show.

He pulled your wrists up, pinning them with one hand against the wall, leaving you immobile while sinking his mouth further into yours. Kaz felt you try to get rid of his tight grip, but he was stronger than you. And much more when he have a objective.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He murmured against your mouth, the tip of his tongue playing with your bottom lip. “You know I don’t like to be teased.”

Was impossible for you to control the loud moan that escaped. Your body trembling with desire, your legs wobbly, your wet core vibrating with his words. Kaz Brekker was a fallen angel. With a beauty and charm you've never been immune to.

How can you think you'd win the dominance game with him?

And, like the fallen angel he was, his smug and arrogant smile painted the corner of his lips when he saw what his lines did to you.

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” Kaz mocked “If I knew it was only necessary to do this for you to shut up...” he brought his lips closer, his voice hitting yours “I would have fucked you like the naughty brat you have been a long time.”

If his caustic and maddening kisses hadn't been enough to break you in half, that statement would have done all the work.

In that second, you hoisted your white flag, biting your lip in a needy moan and closing your eyes for a second by the overwhelming vibration of your core. God, you needed more. Whatever he gave you. Anything he wanted to give you. You just needed more.

"Are you going to be good?" He played with the dough you were in his hands, his devilish mouth going down your neck, leaving a trail of fire and debris wherever he went.

You agreed, desperately. “Yes, Sir."

That title seemed to do things with Kaz. Because in the next second, his mouth was back on your. More urgent, more needy, more dominating. You shifted your hips for more friction with his, and Kaz rewarded your obedience by pulling one of your thighs forward, making your skirt go up, aligning your thigh on his hips and giving access for his member to fit perfectly against your pulsating core.

You moaned louder this time. Fingers clenching, heart pumping frantically. Kaz pulled his lips away from you for a second, taking his hand off your thigh and bringing it to your mouth.

“Pull.” He ordered, referring to the glove.

You murmured a low, excited moan, bringing your mouth to the glove and clenching your teeth on the cloth at the top of his middle finger. Satisfied, Kaz pulled his hand back, watching the alabaster skin peel away from the leather fabric. As soon as he was free, he removed the glove from your mouth, replacing it with his own and stealing all your breath in that fiery kiss.

His free hand wandered over your thigh, touching you for the first time with a touch that promised to show you all the most delicious and secret sins in the world. His tongue wrapped around your again, and the moan you let out was even greater when his long fingers brushed against your wet, throbbing core.

"S-sir!" You sobbed, your hips rocking against his hand, desperate for more.

"Look at you." His fire voice beat against your lips, the tightness against your wrists getting stronger, more possessive "I’ ve only started using my fingers and you ’re already shaking"

Your body cried out in unbridled desire, sobs mingling with loud moans and heavy sighs as Kaz tormented you with his fingers. He touched you, slid, opened and sank, increasing the volume of your pleas.

“P-please" You begged, the body in need, the urge too urgent.

Kaz looked you in the eye, a dark, malicious gleam burning in his Egyptian blue irises. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" He teased you.

But you no longer cared about his teasing. With your lips swollen and red, your heart racing and the core pulsing in despair on his experienced fingers, you were already surrendered.

"Please. I n-need." You mumbled submissively, rummaging your hips in his hand.

"I bet if I wanted to fuck you against my desk, here and now, you would be very happy to do it, wouldn't you?"

He was foisting all of his dominance on you, bending you to your knees for him. And you knew that. You knew he was taking years of anger out on you. But you couldn't care less. You wanted him. Ardently. Desperately. And if it was a good girl Kaz wanted, damn it, you would be a good girl for him.

You readily agreed, your eyes shining in supplication.

“Good.” Kaz pulled you brutally off the wall, turning you over to the table and pushing your chest against the icy wood, pulling your hips at him. “Because that's exactly what is going to happen.”

Suddenly, desire and hunger roared like a wild beast. Kaz watched you, bent over his desk, obedient, surrendered, offering every inch of your body to him.

His breath was burning in his throat and it was no longer possible to order his thoughts, contain his euphoria. He would fuck you so hard that it would make that memory the only thought when you remembered him. When you dare to rebut his orders.

Kaz pulled you skirt up and your panties down, letting out a groan that sounded more like a growl as he saw your wet core. Pulsing and desperate for him. For anything he wanted to give you. It sparked a fervent desire that Brekker had never felt in his life, devastating any possibility of thinking about anything other than fucking you.

Playing with your fingers in your slick, wet folds, you whimpered again, the core pulsing whenever he teased you inside, pressing his fingertips there but never entering.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" His voice came over the top of your shoulder, hoarse, animalistic, full of profane desires.

"Please." You were quick to beg “I do what you want! But just...please, please… ”

You already felt your eyes watering from over-stimulation, your heart burning so hard it was beating, your core aching from emptiness.

You sealed the end of the game between you. Kaz had won. In a triumphant checkmate.

And you didn't have to beg again. Barely seeing when he unbuttoned his pants, you just reasoned his hard, hot, pulsating member by opening your from the inside. Claiming everything that was yours as his in a strong, desperate, hungry lunge.

"S-sir!" You screamed, your nails scraping the wood from the table, the core pulsing overwhelmingly around his rigid member.

In a more badly lunge, Kaz sank completely into you, moaning loudly as he hit rock bottom. The gloved hand slid over your shoulder, propelled you to him while the bare hand tightened on your waist, hitting you at a steady, raw, animalistic rhythm.

The sounds were pornographic, dirty and loud, echoing off the walls. The air was hot like molten lava, pungent and muffled, driving you two lost breath. Their bodies clashed as if the world was going to end tomorrow, in aggressive, rough thrusts. These were thrusts that made half of his things on the table fall to the floor, mixing in a mess that would serve as a reminder later about the sinful activities you two did.

You screamed when Kaz took on more force, his fingers squeezing you so hard that they would leave you with marks on your shoulder and waist the next day.

"Fucking hell!" Kaz snarled between his teeth, feeling your flesh throb around him, squeezing he with such desperation that he knew you were close.

You sobbed, tears streaming down the corners of your eyes as you pushed your ass towards him, trying to bring him as deep as possible, as deep inside you as possible. But every time his pelvis smashed into your ass, a loud moan and the feeling of being completely full drowned you.

You begged, pleaded, for something you didn't know. But Kaz seemed to know. Taking both hands to your hips, your pace became even more unperturbed, pushing you to the limit until you cum in a scream in his name, your lungs on fire. Kaz came close behind, sinking as deep as possible and pouring all the hot liquid into you. Almost like a brand.

The air was filled with sex, lust and desire, filled only by the sound of their ragged breaths that struggled to stabilize.

You were still panting when Kaz's voice came after you: "Whatever I want, don't I?"

A deal with the devil.

[alloftheimagines]

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | one-shot

masterlist | series masterlist | request | ko-fi

billy x hopper! oc

words: 2.9k

warnings: kidnapping, trauma! at hawkins lab, violence w/ guns (but no shooting), angst, comfort, strong language, superhuman oc, bad plot probably, set between seasons two and three

prompt: Hi I was wondering if you could write a Billy Hargrove x reader. She has powers like 11 and know each other. One day he sees her handcuffed and led by some men to a van and she has some bruises on her arm so he goes after her.

– I adjusted this because it fit too well with my heaven-sent series to not turn into a fran x billy heaven-sent one-shot. hope that's okay!

Billy changed the route of his daily morning jog around the same time that he and Fran became…whatever it is they are. Whatever that aching knot in the very pits of his belly means. The first day, he pretended as though he hadn’t gone out of his way to run by the trailer on the edge of the lake. The second, she caught him and offered him coffee. Now, it’s pancakes or cereal or whatever she has on offer that day, and he can never say no. Not to her. 

But something’s wrong today. In front of the trailer sit three white vans. Not her father’s, the chief’s. Just…plain, ominous white vans. He slows and yanks off his headphones, sweat dripping down his neck. And then the trailer door swings open, and his heart sinks into his stomach. Fran is being pulled along by a group of neatly dressed men, and her eyes…golden. Round. Filled with fear that can’t mean anything good. 

“Hey!” he shouts, but when they spot him, the men only urge her toward the vans quicker. Fran stumbles and strains to get a look at him, and only then does he realise she’s handcuffed. “Fran. What the hell’s going on?”

One of the men holds him back like she’s some sort of celebrity. Or prisoner. 

And a part of him already knows, then, or at least can guess what these people would want with Fran. With his Fran. She’s shuddering just like she always does when an episode happens, a speck of blood beneath her nostrils. They know about her powers. They’re trying to take her away. 

“Call my dad, Billy,” she begs. 

“I’m afraid Hawkins' chief of police won’t be able to do much this time,” the man yanking her forward drawls. As though he’s enjoying it. It makes Billy sick. 

“No. No way. You’re not taking her.” He shoves the human barrier aside and runs for the car, but his arms are pulled back and there are more of them restraining him now. 

And then a cold piece of metal presses against his head. A gun. He stops writhing, his blood going cold. 

“Let her go.” All he can do is beg, fear a shivering fist around his gut. “You’ve got it wrong. You can’t take her.”

“Just call my dad, Billy,” Fran pleads again, and then her head is lowered and she’s pushed into the back of the van. The last thing he sees before the doors close is that terror contorting her features, and those gold eyes, and the pain he knows she feels when it happens. 

A lump forms in Billy’s throat, hatred curling his upper lip, but he doesn’t dare move. What good would he be to her if his brains are splattered across her driveway? She’s right. He needs to get Hopper. “Let her go,” he grounds out anyway. “There’s a mistake here.”

“You won’t tell anybody about this.” The gunman clicks the safety off just to give his message loud and clear. If Billy talks, he dies. “Billy Hargrove, isn’t it? How’s your sister, Maxine?”

That, he hadn’t expected. They know who he is. Know about Max. Probably know where he lives. Jesus. How long have they been watching Fran? To what fucking end?

He can’t even think about that. If he gets angry, he’ll do something stupid like get them both killed, and he can’t let that happen. She needs him strong, steady, something Billy Hargrove has never felt before and certainly doesn’t feel now.

But he’ll do his damn best for her. 

“I won’t tell anybody,” he whispers. 

“Not even the chief.” The gunman’s finger hovers over the trigger.

Billy shakes his head, defeated. “Not even the chief.”

“Good.” He slaps Billy’s back, the group dispersing back towards the vans. “Glad we could clear that up. You forget about all of this and you won’t have to worry.”

He climbs into the van and slams the door, cool gaze still fixed on Billy. They drive off, leaving Billy in the dust. He watches the van with Fran inside, his lower lip trembling. What the fuck does he do now?

***

He shakes. For the rest of the day, he shakes like a fucking leaf. He goes to school because he knows he’s being watched. Pretends everything is normal; like Fran isn’t gone. He tries not to think about what they might do to her. She’s not normal, maybe not even human, and he realises somewhere along the line that he was wrong. He has seen those vans before, the night that Fran and him found Hopper underground. Those vine things alive, curled around him. 

He needs Hopper, and much as he hates it, he does the only thing he can think of. Gets the police’s attention.

If those damn freaks knew anything about him, they’d know he’s had a few run-ins with the law. So he skips fifth period and speeds around town until those damn lights follow him. Callahan takes him into the station as predicted with a smarmy, “No girlfriend to bail you out this time?”

Billy grits his teeth, remembering the first time Fran bailed him out for drunk driving. They take care of each other. It’s what they do. And it kills him that, this time, he doesn't know how. 

“Chief around?” he mumbles after he’s been questioned and left with a strike in his license. 

“On his lunch break,” Callahan replies. 

Great. Fuck knows how long that could last. He leans back in his seat, knee bouncing as he tips his head and blows out a long, ragged breath. 

“Don’t think he’ll be too impressed to find you here again. You wanna date the chief's daughter, you better stop being a delinquent.” 

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need to talk to him. Can you call him in?”

“No need. You’re all done here, as long as you pay the fine in the next two weeks. Another strike on your license, and it’s gone. You hear me?”

Thankfully, the station door opens and a heavy-footed Hopper struts in, a box of donuts in his hand and a bear claw in his mouth. Both are left on Flo’s desk when he catches sight of Billy. “Are you kidding me?”

“I need to talk to you in your office.”

“Oh, you’re gonna.” He glares and yanks Billy up by the collar, causing him to scowl. “Jesus Christ, what the hell does Fran see in you? What are you in for now?”

“Speeding,” Callahan supplies.

Another grumble as Hopper shoves him into his office. Billy waits until the door is closed, and then all his pent-up worry finally pours out of him. “Fran’s gone. She’s gone, chief, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to fucking d —”

“Woah, woah. Slow down. Fran’s gone where?” 

“They took her.” His voice rises with panic, no matter how badly he tries to keep quiet. “Those guys in the white vans. The ones who were there that night…they took her. Said if I told anyone, I’d be dead and made it pretty damn clear the rest of my family would be, too. I wanted to go after her, but there were too many. There were too goddamn many.”

Hopper’s features turn grave in an instant. “When was this?”

“This morning. Around eight.”

His knuckles whiten, hands curling into fists. “You should have come to me sooner.”

“They’re watching me. What the hell was I supposed to do? They threatened my goddamn sister.”

Hopper pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright. You’re right. We have to be careful about this.”

“But we can get her back, right? You know where they’d take her?”

“I have an idea, yeah.”

Billy blows out a breath of relief, still trembling all over. “So let’s go. Now.”

“We can’t just waltz in. We need a plan. I need…Jesus, I need to call Joyce. She can get us in, I’m sure.”

He knows nothing about Joyce’s place in all this, but any plan is better than playing sitting ducks. He runs a hand over his mouth, exhausted and desperate to get Fran back. “Do you think…would they hurt her?”

Hopper purses his lips as though he can’t bear to answer. Finally, his brows lower and he heads to the telephone on the desk. “No. They won’t hurt her. We won’t let them.”

Billy wants so badly to believe it.

***

An hour later, they’re at the gate of Hawkins Lab, Joyce and Hopper in the front seats. After a lengthy argument about Billy’s role in it all, he’s hiding on the floor of the back seat while they attempt to convince the guard that it’s urgent. Something about Will. A flashlight flits around the car and then the gates buzz. They’re in.

“You stay in the car,” Hopper rattles for the tenth time. “If they see you, they’ll know what’s going on.”

“Right, and they wouldn’t suspect you,” Billy retorts.

“They think they can control me. I let them think that. But you’re a livewire and you have no idea what we’re walking into here.”

“Because nobody tells me a damn thing.”

“Thank your lucky stars for it, kid. You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

“Just like Fran didn’t want to know?” It’s a low blow, especially now, but Billy is pissed off and he knows how badly it hurt Fran when she found out she was adopted. She’d come from the lab and hadn’t known it. Hadn’t known she was gifted at all until recently. She deserved better than that. She deserved the truth. 

“I’m not arguing with you, Hargrove.” Hopper pops a cigarette in his mouth before ordering, “Just stay in the damn car.”

Joyce and Hopper get out, and Billy waits all of five minutes before impatience gets the better of him. He peers out of the window on all sides before sneaking out, weaving between the parked cars and behind the back of the building. Hopper is taking the long route, but Billy just needs Fran back. Now. He can’t sit by and wait and hope a small-town police chief and Joyce Byers can take on the group he saw this morning. No fucking way.

That’s why, when a guy dressed in a lab coat comes out of the back entrance by the dumpster, Billy wastes no time in knocking him out. Neil might be a piece of shit, but he’s taught him how to throw a decent punch. The scientist goes straight down, and Billy catches the door with his foot before it closes, bending over to yank off the coat. He finds a key card in the pocket and slips the coat on, licking his palm and slicking back his curls in the hopes it might make him look less like a Brat Pack teenager and more like a kidnapping, experimenting piece of shit. 

The lab is bigger on the inside. He takes the stairwell in the corner of the building where he’s less likely to be spotted, finding a list signposted on each floor. He has no idea where Fran might be, until he’s breathless and finds the word subjects listed under the sixth level. He can’t even think about what it might mean, only that it’s the closest he’s come to feeling Fran since she was taken. So he smooths down his shirt, takes a deep breath, and steps into the corridor. 

It’s grey-walled, with sad excuses for rainbows painted along every edge of it as though this could be anything but hell. He peers through each door and finds empty rooms — until the end one. There Fran is, curled on her side with her back to him. His heart leaps into his throat and he uses the key card to get in. 

“Fran.”

She’s trembling, and he isn’t sure she’s even heard him at first. Not until she murmurs, “Go away. Go away. Go away.”

“Fran, angel.” He walks cautiously towards her, crouching but not daring to touch her yet. “It’s me. It’s Billy. Look at me.”

She stiffens finally and turns around, sitting up. She’s pale, bandaids on her elbows as though she’s had blood tests or IV drips inserted into her. Anger swirls in him. If they’ve used her as some damn lab-rat…

There are bruises, too. From the way they manhandled her, maybe. He hopes that’s all it’s from. If someone hurt her, he isn’t sure what he’ll do. 

“Billy,” she whispers, her eyes becoming glossy as she wraps her arms around him. “Oh my god. Billy.”

“I’m here.” He tucks a curl behind her ear gently. “What did they do to you? What did they do, Fran? I swear to god, if they hurt you —”

“Tests. They did tests.” Her voice wobbles, so far removed from her usual cockiness and wit. It breaks his heart right down the middle. “I’ve been here before. I remember…”

“Let’s get you home, okay? You can tell me everything when I get you home.”

She nods, her chin wobbling. “I’m scared, Billy.”

“You don’t need to be scared. I’m here.”

She places a hand on his chest as though she can’t quite believe it, and his fingers curl around her elbows to help her up. Her legs are wobbly, eyes glazed. 

And then the alarms go off. 

“We need to go. They know we’re here.” He pulls her into him and they set off into a staggering run back down the blaring corridor. She’s barefoot, unsteady, but she’s in his arms and that’s all he can focus on. Footfalls echo behind him and he knows they’re close. Breathless sobs leave her as they skip down the stairs two at a time, back the way they came. He realises at the last minute that it isn’t a good idea and pulls her into the next corridor to take another flight of stairs. Somebody will have found the guy he knocked out by now and he can’t afford to run into whoever it was. 

The lab gets busier the further down they get — but then Hopper and Joyce are there on the ground floor, relief written across their faces. 

“Go!” Billy yells, urging them all out. They do, Hopper sprinting to the car ahead of them so he can unlock it. People are running onto the parking lot now — scientists, guards, people in suits like the ones from this morning, but they don’t know where the threat is, still bewildered, and it gives them the chance to get out. 

Only the gates are closing. Billy pulls Fran into the backseat and Joyce collapse into the passenger. They don’t have time to fasten their seatbelts before they’re speeding away, and just in time before the gates close. 

Billy chokes on his relief and focuses on Fran. Still pale, still shaking, still not her. “We’re going home now. We’re getting you home, okay? You’re safe.”

She shakes her head at the same time Hopper replies, “‘Fraid not. We need to get out of Hawkins. Are you okay sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” It’s an uncertain whisper. 

“I left you on your own too damn much,” he mumbles. “Should’ve been there.”

“Yeah,” she repeats. She’s clutching Billy’s hand so tightly his skin is turning white, but he doesn’t care. He’s needed this all day. He can’t put into words just how much he's needed it. He’s alone in the world without her, floating in an abyss, and he needs her. He needs her so damn much he aches. 

He smooths down one of her knotted curls, his finger trailing down her cheek, her jaw. She gulps and closes her eyes, nestling into his chest. 

“The two of you need to stay out of sight until we’re out of town,” Hopper says. “Get down.”

They do, cuddling up on the cab floor together. Billy can’t bring himself to let go. “Scared me so damn much, angel. Jesus.” He can still feel it pressing into him, that fear.

“I’m never going to be normal,” she replies, her voice cracking. “I’m never going to be me again.”

“You’re always gonna be you.” He squeezes her hand. He wants to rip the hospital gown off. It’s too harsh a reminder of what she’s faced. What he couldn’t save her from. “And I’m always gonna be here to make sure you remember it.”

Her eyes fall shut finally, and he’s never seen her look this small, this young. He wishes he could help her. Wishes there was a quick fix. But Fran will never need fixing. She just needs to be set free, and the world won’t let her. 

“My fuckin’ angel, huh?” he murmurs, dragging his knuckle against her cheek again. “Always my angel.”

And he’d happily be her devil if she let him. He’d be anything for her. The fucking halo on her head. He doesn’t care as long as he’s hers. 

“You shouldn’t be mixed up in this,” she says.

“Too bad,” he replies without missing a beat. “‘Cos I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. It’s you and me.”

She cups his jaw finally, resting her forehead against his chin. “Thank you for getting me out.”

“I was never gonna leave you, Fran. Never.” He kisses her forehead and then cradles her head against his shoulder, snuggling in this cramped, unknown space while the engine whirs beneath them. And he’s still terrified, but he’s not floating untethered anymore. She’s here, and it has to be enough until they figure out what comes next. 

“Never,” he repeats, just to be sure she knows it.