#catatonic* and then. and THEN. he puts his head on her knee. and its like. oh i get it now. no one else could have played this role.

[earlyspringtranscendence]

michael scofield is th best character in the world because he’s got so many emotions constantly leaking outta him in waves of pain (or whatevr mitski said) like i think a lot of this is how irl gay man wentworth miller plays him but he displays so much vulnerability and even in his interactions with sara (which ok arguably exist in a different sphere because he’s not being watched by other men in the infirmary) the positive emotions or the flirty emotions he displays are far more open than are socially acceptable for a man (let alone a man in his position) and like im currently on 1x17 in which sara says she doesnt go for nice guys but the tortured ones she can fix and like. michael DOES fit that mold but only bc he quite literally does have tortured issues that are on constant display in prison, not because he’d go around pretending he doesnt have them just to have The Wife Back Home fix him about it. i cant put words to it. he’s so real.

[alicentflorent]

That’s the exact flavor that a lot of Rhaenicents like. Alicent is nothing if she is not begging at Rhaenyra’s feet her being her biggest cheerleader. They don’t actually care about our the character otherwise. They’ve been waiting for Rhaenyra to take Kings landing just they can see Alicent actually on her knees begging her for mercy.

Ultimately most of the blame goes to the writers who turned Alicent into a punching bag and their sole device to project lessons of karma, misogyny and hypocrisy on and not any of the more deserving characters. As proven by the new write up of viserys’s character this season. How do you intentionally show us that he is not only an awful father, but husband and king as well. Have multiple characters think this and completely rewrite history the next season about a man who said “Look me in the eyes” to his 10 year old that literally fucking lost his eye minutes ago. How do you say Alicent had a loving marriage when she dreaded visiting this man at night, went catatonic underneath him and he knows she doesn’t like it, knows she’s absent mentally and he still forces her to look at him while he rapes her?

The writers constant need to put Alicent into her place and then knock her down a few more pegs still. At this point it’s gratuitous and heavy handed. We get it, Alicent is not the right kind of woman. She can’t right a dragon, fight with a sword or shoot a bow. She doesn’t secretly wish she were a knight or a man. She’s not a guys girl. Therefore we shouldn’t root for her. We get it, we got it season 1 pre time skip that saw a completely innocent girl aged 14-18 whose worst crime at the time was gossip, be pimped out by her own father. Married to an old and ailing king who would never love or respect her. Endure his nightly rapes and become a mother at 15 and would spend most of the next 5 years pregnant who would never love his children. Show her support to her ex best friend who has ignored and treated her with hostility for 3 years and be laughed at and treated like an outsider by her husband and his gross child grooming brother who deserves nothing but the worse.

Daemon gets a redemption arc which will only fuel the Stans baby girlification of him while not only will team black hate Alicent, now a lot of team green hate her too. Opening her AND Olivia up for more misogyny and hate.

Those “take all of their misery and give it to______” memes are popular in this fandom but the writers really took that to heart. They take everyone’s misery and gives it to Alicent. Take an absolutely horrible character, take the horrible shit that they do and pay it back to Alicent 10 fold.

Take the worst man you know- a murderer, a child groomer, a proud misogynist, a woman beater. Have this man be directly responsible for Alicent’s 4 year old Grandson’s murder but make it Alicent’s fault for having sex with the man she’s had feelings for since she was 14 years old. She has this consensual, pleasurable sexual relationship- her first consensual relationship with this man who is devoted to her. A sexual abuse victim of 2 men finally feels comfortable enough with a man that she has sex with him with no clothes on, in the daylight and at night- sometimes in the same day. Shes not going away in her head during. She’s not being blackmailed. It’s not without religious guilt but it’s something she wants, she even initiates and takes lead.

They take this relationship, these consensual encounters with the man who she considers her “Lover” and they flip it on them, on her. They completely change the scene from its book counterpart and make it her fault because she was being a “whore” and a “hypocrite”. She was having sex while her Grandson was being murdered- an event she had no idea that was going to happen. It’s framed in a way that it’s her fault. Not Daemon’s, not B & C’s, not Aemond’s, not Viserys for planting the seeds for 2 decades- longer than that when you consider all the times we welcomed Daemon back at court after doing things like grooming his daughter and murdering his wife (and people say Alicent covered up for Aegon? What would they expect to happen when Daemon gets away with everything including murder? When Ironrod is the master of laws and can barely muster up respect for Alicent, wtf do TB think he would’ve done with Aegon? Castrated? The wall? Lmao, Alicent’s slapping, yelling at him and attempted disowning is more of a punishment than those men would give to Prince Aegon Targaryen who they were all planning a usurpation for)

It’s something Alicent needs to feel guilty for while the responsible parties are either unaffected or given scenes to make them sympathetic or a redemption journey. They keep showing that damn dog but Jaehaerys has become he who shan’t be mentioned.

Helaena has to forgive her mother who apparently nicked one of those glass candles from the Hightower as a small child, taught herself how to use it with that Hightower sorcery, used it to look into the future and saw when, where and how blood and cheese would take place but just decided not to stop it because she had a dick appointment.

Yet she’s coming to Daemon in his 3 eyed Raven dreams to tell him that he knows the role he has to play in saving the world- when he said a few episodes that he would walk away from his family if they loss. He also sent the Blackwoods to rape and pillage the Brackens and other Riverland families. Apparently he is deserving of redemption, for the fans to go “See, he never wanted to rule! He just wanted his family’s love and approval!” “He is in full support of Rhaenyra”

You know who else wanted her family’s love and approval- anybody’s love that she didn’t have to give parts of herself away for? This mildly bitchy woman who is actually one of the softest characters in the series, Alicent fucking Hightower. After her life ended at 14 years old, she’s spent the last 20 years in misery, she’s given all of herself to everyone else. Surely she has redeemed herself for the crime of not being the one to have Aemma sliced open and marrying her daughter’s 14 year old friend. She is the reason that Rhaenyra wasn’t caught off guard and murdered at the order of her father and council. Surely after losing for so long, she’ll get a win and the love she never had but nope, she is never going to get it.

Instead she gives up on her family aside from her daughter and granddaughter (and honestly, I can’t entirely blame her.) instead of just leaving, finding the son she saved and telling him to bow out. She goes to Rhaenyra for no logical reason at all, hands Rhaenyra the castle AND most of the people she loves on a silver platter and gets nothing in return but more humiliation, called a whore again, no guarantee of safety for her daughter, granddaughter or innocent youngest son and a clown nose.

Alicent is smarter than this! Or she was.

The people in the writer’s room hate her so much and that’s why they could never make me hate her.

You’ve summed everything up perfectly! Great point about daemon being given a redemption arc while Alicent is punished by the narrative for not fitting Condal and Hess’ idea of an ideal woman which is super problematic. Good comparison on Alicent covering up Diana’s rape vs Viserys and to a lesser extent, adult Rhaenyra covering up all of daemon’s crimes including Rhea Royce’s murder (and sitting at the table with viserys as he mocked rhea’s family and threatened to take their claim) and Rhaenyra presumably won’t hold him accountable or acknowledge the raping and pillaging daemon arranged in her name and forgive him for also murdering a 4 year old in her name. Alicent was definitely wrong for keeping dyana quiet and not doing more to help her but none of those men on the council including Otto would have done anything to Aegon over the rape. Otto might’ve yelled at him in I’m mad that your choice of victim is speaking out not that you’ve done this terrible thing kind of way. The only time daemon was held accountable was when the riverlords demanded justice for the war crimes and Oscar Tully, a child, ordered daemon to execute the Blackwood who committed those crimes on daemons orders (there’s also a reason we didn’t see the children being killed and women being raped, it’s because it would be harder to view daemon as redeemable just like seeing Aegon’s traumatised, named victim has much more of an impact than if we just heard Erryk say that Aegon sexually assaults serving girls)

Back to Alicent, they can never make me hate her.. if they think a woman needs to be humbled and revert back to her teenage self after a season of what felt like one long humiliation ritual, sex scenes that didn’t make the Final Cut and made Olivia feel uncomfortable and instead of ending all of this in some kind of catharsis for Alicent they have beg for forgiveness and mercy from the other female lead who will call her a whore and a hypocrite to appease fans who have been saying Alicent is a hypocritical judgmental whore who needs to be put in her placefor day one. This meeting with Rhaenyra will lead to the deaths of every single person Alicent loves (her sons, including innocent daeron, her daughter who she spent the season trying to protect, her father, her lover, her brother who is also innocent as in he hasn’t been involved in any of the usurper politics and only seemed to join this war out of duty) and I’m sure they’ll constantly remind the audience that Alicent took down team green and Rhaenyra’s hands will conviently stay relatively clean.

[lucky-catttt]

Maxwell Lord’s Aphrodite - Pt 1

Summary: When Maxwell Lord’s world comes crashing down, you, his personal assistant bring him back from the pits of despair.

Pairings: Maxwell Lord x Reader (female), Maxwell Lord x You

Rating: Mature 18+ ONLY - I’ve also put a smut alert ahead in bold if you want to skip straight to the good bits ;)

Word Count: 7,381

Warnings: Sexual intercourse, foreplay, mentions of domestic abuse, trauma, drug/alcohol abuse.

A/N: This is my first fan-fic, so the writing might not be fantastic, but if you have any pointers/advice please tell me! I always read stories about Maxwell being a domineering guy and never stories about how he can be romantic and soft. When I watched WW84 especially at the end I saw how emotional and vulnerable he was with Alistair and wanted to write a story that portrayed him as a big cuddly teddy bear under all that masculine exterior. Enjoy!

You’ve worked for black and gold corporation for the better part of 7 years. You were hired as an intern assistant at just 21, soon after the company jettisoned from its humble beginnings inside a matchbox office suite on the corner of a strip mall, to a stock market listed company leasing the top floor in the tallest high rise office building in Los Angeles. Soon after moving in, the top floor office was packed with young, vibrant men and women who helped profits soar. But even at its busiest, Maxwell always made time for his staff. No matter what he was going through, he would give his staff his undivided attention and empathy. If they were having personal or professional problems, he would do everything he could to help. It aligned with his company motto, “life is good, but it can be better”.

He believed it was important to be as personable and helpful to others as possible, he felt that it was imperative to his own success. Only you knew this really stemmed from his less than favourable upbringing, being abused by his father, bullied by his peers and having to work hard for his achievements. He could be having the worst day, but he would never make it known to his team, all except you of course, being his personal assistant. As you spent a large amount of time together, Maxwell confided in and involved you in many personal areas of his life. 6 months after you started working for Max, he invited you and your then boyfriend to his wedding, stealing a waltz from you at the Reception. A year later, when his son, Alistair was born, he would show you picture after picture of baby photos, gushing about how proud he was to be a father. 3 years later when the company had its first day on the US stock exchange, you and Max stayed up all night at the office running through press releases, interviews and planning the next 6 months of his now very hectic schedule. When Alistair would come to the office to visit, you would babysit and play with him, change him, feed him, read him stories and sing him to sleep.

As he started to grow up, you soon rivaled Max in Alistair’s favourite person to spend time with at the office. Two years ago when you ended up in a very bad car accident and broke your arm, Max showed up personally to the hospital looking frantically worried about you. He even brought along Alistair who was helping carry a giant bouquet of flowers, a teddy bear and balloons. He stayed overnight after your surgery, sleeping in the most awkward positions on the single armchair next to your hospital bed. While you were in surgery, he made sure your work health insurance covered every cent and even provided company paid physiotherapy so you could get better properly. You knew you were in love with him since that dance at his wedding, but you had too much respect and adoration for him to be a homewrecker. Plus, you just assumed as he was so involved with all of his staff, that it didn’t mean he would be into you romantically.

As you were required to attend many of the shareholder and CCO/CEO/CFO meetings to take minutes, you became intrigued with the world of business and economics. So you enrolled in a Bachelor’s degree part time through a local University. At the time, women in business was largely unheard of, and to avoid sexist comments and discrimination, you told no one. When the Global Financial Crisis hit, it slammed into Maxwell’s dreams like a meteoroid. Overtime was required at the office and you spent most of your time in Max’s office doing paperwork for staff that had been laid off due to the budget cuts. Each day he would be on the phone, yelling at other business men on the other side of the world. You watched his positive energetic demeanor slowly chip away, as his drinks cart full of spirits and liqueurs dwindled alongside. Not long after, Black and Gold’s Chief Financial Officer and advisors within the company were arrested for Insider Trading and other shady business dealings.

Throughout all of this, you had given Max as much support, personally and professionally as you could, while still being respectful and platonic as he was a married man. With most of the staff gone and the company’s finances in disarray from the GFC and mismanagement, the universe dealt Max the final blow, his divorce. His wife, who was clearly only interested in him for his money and how it could provide her a cushy lifestyle, filed for divorce as the company was failing. She tried to take him to the cleaners financially, but Max was smart enough to have a prenuptial agreement and keep what was left of his dwindling fortune. So she used their son, Alistair, as a pawn in her game. The courts granted Max shared custody, but only one visit per fortnight. This devastated him as his son was his whole world.

He didn’t want to become destitute by giving up his fortune to his wife, but he didn’t want to lose his son, either. It started to tear him apart, leading to drunken nights in his office, alone. Except, he wasn’t totally alone. Every night, after everyone had gone home, you would stay back late each night to check on him and make sure he hadn’t done anything stupid. You would sit in one of the barren office cubicles with a vantage point to his office, but invisible to see from his desk. With tears sitting at the edges of your eyes, you silently watch him drink enough alcohol to chill out a bull, take some pills, flip through photo books of Alistair and start to sob. This went on for months. Overdue bills and foreclosure notices started to pile up on his desk. Egregiously inflated child support payment requests from his ex-wife littered the coffee table in his office.

Today was an exceptionally hard day, Max had received a resignation letter from his second last employee, leaving just you and him in the office. He slept on the futon in his office the night before, waking up looking disheveled, his tie pulled loose, shirt half tucked, suit jacket on the floor and his shoes god knows where. He looked awful.

Night falls, shrouding the office in darkness. Apart from a few desk lights, the floor is cold & dark. As you start packing boxes with office paperwork and belongings, you glance over to see the outline of Max at his desk, with his back turned, silently smoking a cigarette and drinking a glass of whiskey on ice. He reaches back for a brief moment, to press the answering machine, illuminated by his desk lamp. *beep* Message received, Wednesday, 4:33 pm “Hello Maxwell this is Brittany from AMP investments, your lease agreement with us has been defaulted for 6 months now with $150,000 in rent arrears. If it is not paid by the 30th of this month, building management will deactivate access to the floor and repossess any remaining belongings on the property. *beep* End Message. Message received Thursday, 5:43 pm “Max it’s Barb, I’m cancelling Alistair’s visit this weekend, seeing as you don’t want to pay me any extra child support.” *beep* End Message. Message received today, 7:02 pm “Hey Daddy, it’s Alistair, Mommy said I can’t come over because you’re working too much to see me. I wish you weren’t working all the time so we could play together and go to the movies and-“ you hear Barb, Max’s ex wife cut him off with “Alistair? What are you doing on the phone?! Who are you talking to?” Alistair whines, “I wanted to talk to Daddy” suddenly the sound of the receiver slams into the phone. *beep* End Message. You have no new messages.

The office is dead silent, but you can audibly hear the sound of Max’s heart shattering into a thousand pieces. He begins to cry, slowly shrinking in his chair, slumping down with his forearms on his knees and his head bowed. The cries slowly become more intense, with Max gasping for air between the long loud shrieks as his whole body shakes. “Alistair! My Alistair! My boy! I’ve failed you! Your Daddy failed you!” He wails, tears freely flooding down his face and snot dripping out of his nose, both like endless waterfalls. He drops to his knees and collapses onto the carpet, like he’s been shot right through the chest. He continues to sob & wail, forgetting that he isn’t alone in the office. You walk to the doorway of his office, frozen with indecision. Your heart was pounding and eyes on the verge of tears from what you just heard. On one hand you feel like you’re intruding on something extremely personal and maybe somewhat embarrassing for Maxwell, but you’ve never seen him like this and he looked like he was physically dying.

“Mr Lord, is everything okay?” Your soft voice quietly called out from the doorway of his office. Your medicated voice jolts Max out of his catatonic state and into a sitting upright position, as he quickly wipes his face and fixes his hair. “Oh, Ug-I’m so sorry for you to see me like this, it’s quite unbecoming of me” Maxwell apologises, trying to play it off with a light hearted chuckle between quiet heaved sobs. You catch a frozen stare, peering straight into his soul past the bloodshot, weepy but warm, brown irises.

Your heart is thumping hard, as if to try and break out of your ribcage and fly over to him. Max had been there for all of his staff, especially you. You couldn’t walk away after everyone else in his life had abandoned or given up on him. “You don’t need to apologise, Mr Lord.” You slowly reply, stepping over the booze bottles littering his office floor as you walk over to him. He’s frantically adjusting his outfit and hair, to look as put together as possible before you sit down beside him on the floor. You both sit there in silence, with the odd sniffle coming from Max’s nose. You finally pucker up the courage and say “I didn’t want to intrude but I heard the voice messages, I’m so sorry all of this has happened to you, Max”.

He had never heard you say his name before, it was always “Mr Lord”. It felt like honey soothing his dry strained throat as it rolled off your tongue. You continued, “You’ve always been there for me”, you paused to redirect attention, “for all of us. What can I do to help?”. You reach out and place your hand on his. Your warm, soft touch sends a shock wave of emotion through his body. No one has cared about him like this before, let alone touched him in such a gentle way. Max stares at your now teary eyes, realising he can be vulnerable and trust his longest and closest friend.

He collapses by your side, crying into your shoulder “I’m a failure” he sobs “My business, my marriage and most importantly I’ve failed my son. I just hope one day that he can forgive me and love me and be proud of me. He is my whole life, I just want him back”. You start to choke up but you have to remain composed. You look up and away, silently biting your knuckle and blinking tears back into your eyes before responding. “Max, you are not a failure, you are an exceptional human being. You built this company from nothing and you changed peoples lives. And don’t even get me started with Alistair, you’re the best father a kid could ask for, it’s not your fault your ex wife is being abusive”. He continues to sob, so you wrap your arm around his side and let him cry for a few minutes. The smell of his chemically lightened & straightened dark blonde hair filled your nostrils as his forehead pressed against your chin.

His large fingers and palms grip your free hand. They’re surprisingly soft & very warm. You freeze as his touch sends zaps of electricity up your arm and down your body. As Maxwell leans against you, your perfume overloads his senses, bringing him back to a conscious state. What was he doing? He thought to himself. I’m a failure, and everything I get close to fails or leaves. He looks down at your hands. I can’t hurt such an amazing person. I have to rip off the metaphorical bandaid and be cruel to be kind. “Thank you” he sighs, catching his breath after minutes of sobbing “You can go home now. In fact, I want you to take a redundancy payout so you can find another job. There’s nothing left for you here. I’m a failure and I don’t want you drowning with the ship” he says, in a clinically professional voice. Max hands you a company envelope with your name on it. He sits up to take a sip on the remaining whiskey left in his glass.

Your ears begin to burn and your cheeks redden with anger. Tears prick at the edges of your eyes, begging for them to flow. “Alfred will take you home in the company car, or wherever you want to go”. He continues, now smoking a cigarette.

“But what If I don’t want to go?” You whisper, trying to hide the sobs that are trying to break through your voice. “Please, I just want you to be happy” Max replies. You take great offence at his ignorant statements, as if he knows what makes you truly happy. “How do you know what makes me happy, Max?” You huff, standing up abruptly and folding your arms. “Well, I don’t know, but I can’t exactly see how you would be happy staying here while my company fails” he answers, shrugging. You feel your heart begin to break, realising that even being single and having such a close professional relationship with you, Max seemed to hold no deeper feelings for you and was almost starting to turn on you. You stand there wanting to run for the door but trying to think logically. Men are dim, maybe he doesn’t realise your true feelings? Maybe he’s preoccupied with his own and too overwhelmed to face them?

Max’s embarrassment from being caught in such a vulnerable state compounded with offending you takes its toll and he starts to get frustrated and impatient. “I think I just want to be alone now”. He sighs, looking away. The words cut deep, slicing you apart like ribbons. You begin to feel yourself fall apart, your emotions and thoughts spilling out with force. “I can’t leave” you sob, hanging your head in shame. Hearing you start to cry, he starts to hate himself more as he's clearly made you upset. With emotions bubbling over, he stands up, looking at you with tears in his eyes. “Why? Why can’t you leave!?” He shouts, a pained look of frustration and confusion on his face as he puts his hands on your arms, gently shaking you to get you to speak.

The last of the ribbons tying up your words from coming out fall down around you. You look deep into his crazed brown eyes, longing for an answer. “Because I love you!” You blurt out, sobbing. The tension in the room is now thick enough to cut with a knife. “I’ve loved you since the night we danced at your wedding. I fell in love with one of the most empathic, intelligent, hard working and compassionate men I know. You changed my life and every day I wish I could’ve shown you the love & kindness you deserve. That you need”. You step back from his grip, straightening your pantsuit as you compose yourself. “But I guess if I’m not needed anymore, I’ll leave you alone, Mr Lord”. The duality of your emotive declaration of love against the rigid clinical final words lurched his heart forward like a freight train and then slammed against his rib cage with the force of 100Gs.

You start to stride towards the door, but Maxwell follows behind you quickly, grabbing your hand, where you turn around on your heels. He grabs both of your hands and brings them up between you, squeezing them gently. “Pl-please don’t, don’t leave me” he begs, “you-you’re all I have left”. His dark brown eyes shimmer with tears as he shoots you a pleading gaze. He drops to his knees, wrapping his arms around your legs and squeezing tight like he's hanging on for dear life. You stand frozen on the spot, feeling Max’s warm breath on your legs as he heaves a few more cries. As you start to run your hands through his dark blonde locks, the sensation calms your mind and you reach your hands down to cup Max’s face, tilting it up to look at you. “I won't, Max” you say with a concerned gaze. “As long as you don’t push me away”. Max nods silently as he reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out his pocket square. He stands up and starts to gently wipe your tears away. “I’m so sorry” he apologises “I lashed out because I felt like a failure and I didnt want to let you down anymore and disappoint you.” he continues while making sure he’s wiped all of the tears from your cheeks and cleaned up some of your smudged makeup. “You’re not a failure, Max” you reply, “You’re an incredible man and you should be proud of everything you have achieved”.

Max gives you a small smile, blushing slightly as he gently embraces you with his big arms, pulling you close against his chest. His strong cologne masked the slight tinge of body odour from not showering mixed into a masculine and attractive scent. You quietly inhale as much as your lungs will allow, savouring every smell. As he starts to brush through your curls with his large fingers, he plants a small kiss on your head, making you feel like you could melt out of his arms and into a puddle on the floor. “I’m sorry, too.” you whisper. “Sorry for what?” he quizzes, looking down at you, puzzled. “For telling you that I love you. It’s true, but I feel like it was not the most appropriate time to tell you with everything that’s going on with Alistar, the company, your-” Max interrupts your sentence “Come with me”. Max strides you across his office floor with his arm around your waist. You both walk over to an unassuming door, which you always thought led to a supply closet. Upon its opening, you step into the room to reveal a whole bedroom, complete with a dining table, sofa, TV and ensuite. You had been Max’s personal assistant for 7 years and had no idea such a room even existed. “Wow” you manage to blurt out in complete shock. “I had this room made so that when I was working long hours my ex-wife and Alistair could stay here” Max explained, adjusting bits and bobs around the room “Although my ex-wife never stayed. She always accused me of sleeping with other women in this bed when in fact I was actually working. I kind of live here now, having sold my estate to pay to keep the company running”

He gestures to you to sit on the timber art deco dining chair, as he picks up the phone on the coffee table. “Alfred. Can you please take a drive and bring back any decent takeout food you find. Make sure to get some for yourself, too”. Max hangs up the phone before turning on the radio and then grabs two wine glasses from the small bar by the lounge and a bottle of red wine. He places both glasses on the table and fills both half way. You pick up your glass and walk over to the floor to ceiling window, overlooking downtown LA. As Max is fussing over tidying and making the room perfect, he glances over to see you standing alone, looking out the window. Lost in your own little world, you feel Max’s large soft hand intertwine with your free hand. “I started black and gold in a shoebox office inside a strip mall, over there, in South LA” he points just in front of the hills. He pauses. “I expect that after I get evicted I won’t even be able to lease that same office”. You give his hand a small squeeze. “Maybe I could help you”. Max looks at you dubiously. “How do you mean?” He inquired.

Just as you were planning to answer, Alfred arrives with some food. Max walks over to your dining chair and pulls it out, gesturing for you to sit. You take your seat and he flaps a linen napkin into your lap, before sitting down adjacent to you. Alfred had bought some delicious Mexican food, the intoxicating smell of meats, cheeses and spices filling the room. “Thank you, Alfred. I’ll call you again if we need anything” Max smiles, patting Alfred on the back as he leaves. You both sit at the table for hours, eating, drinking and talking about the company. Max finally learns the secret that you’ve been hiding about studying at University. “I haven’t officially graduated yet, but learning what I have, I could probably help Black and Gold get out of its current predicament. I also might know some investors that I befriended in the same units as me from the University”. Max shoots you a soft smile. “You really are the best assistant and friend anyone could ask for” he beams, placing his hand on yours. Embarrassed by his compliment and burning with desire to want to kiss him, you stand up and head over to the couch to distract yourself from your intense feelings. Max realises the use of the word friend was probably a poor choice. He must be honest with you and tell you how he feels. Max joins you on the couch where your arms are crossed and you’re staring ahead. You’re trying to avoid eye contact else you’ll burst into flames.

********SMUT ALERT********

“I hope you don’t think I’m rude or ignoring the impassioned declaration you made earlier” Max smiles “I just wanted to give you a semi-decent first date”. You feel your cheeks begin to blush and you unfold your arms. “The truth is” Max continues, resting his hand on yours. “I feel the same way about you. Even before my ex-wife divorced me, I started to fall in love with you. The way you are with Alistair, how committed you are to helping me. I just didn’t think you’d wanna be with an older man like me and even more so when everything started to go downhill”.

You place your hand on top of Max’s, both now staring at each other softly yet intensely. “Max” you turn to face him, edging closer. Max nervously places his hands on your cheeks. “I’ve waited for 7 years, please kiss me”.

Max finally kisses your lips, setting your whole body alight. Dizzy from the sensation, you lay back on the couch as Max follows down on top of you. He begins peppering slow, thoughtfully placed kisses down your jaw and neck. You let out a whimper as your hands twirl through his hair. Every movement he makes is slow, as if he is trying to slow down time and make this moment last forever. Max comes back up and passionately kisses your mouth, your tongue begging his for entrance. As your tongues intertwine, he holds your head and neck with one hand, while stroking your hair with the other. Max holds you gently yet strongly in his arms, like he’s holding onto a fragile Fabergé egg. With the position you’re in on the couch and the impracticality of your work attire in non-work sitting positions, he senses that you’re uncomfortable.

“May I?” He asks, holding the zipper to your dress as he places his arms behind your back. You nod and he slowly unzips it, gently slipping it off you and carefully folding it over the armrest of the lounge. Overcome with passion and desire from Max’s romantic gestures, you blurt out “I want you to take me, Max”. Without a word, he scoops you up in his arms and walks you over to the bed, placing you down gently in the middle. Max sits at the foot of the bed, marvelling at your stunning body. You’re wearing stockings and a purple lingerie set, coincidentally Max’s favourite colour.

Max leans down and kisses the top of your foot, peppering kisses up your legs before reaching the clips of your garter belt. He unclasps them before rolling down the stockings, kissing back down your legs. Burning with desire, you unclasp your bra and garter belt, throwing them to the side of the bed. Max looks up from kissing your legs to see your breasts exposed in the moonlight, your nipples hard from his gaze.

“Y-you look absolutely beautiful” he chokes before climbing up on top of you to reach your face. You blush, feeling Max’s extremely hard cock straining in his suit trousers against your thigh. “Kiss me, Max” you moan, brushing your lips against his and moving your hand down towards his crotch. Max slowly and passionately begins to kiss you, your tongues swirling in each other’s mouths, the taste of wine and chilli making for a sensual combination. As your hand reaches Max’s crotch, you begin to grope and rub his sizeable length, causing him to let out a loud moan. You shoot him a cheeky sexual gaze, but he grabs your hand and brings it up for you to cup the side of his face. “Not just yet my little dove” he whispers. You pout but decide to put your hands to better use and unbutton his shirt, revealing his strong chiseled chest. Max starts to breathe deeper from arousal as you unbuckle his belt and throw it to the floor. “I want to take my time with you” Max whispers “You’ve waited so long and I want this moment to be everything you deserve. I want to worship and pleasure you completely”.

Your pussy is now completely soaked, the faint squelches from your juices against your panties sounds in the background of Max kissing your neck. Maxwell is more preoccupied with taking his time in a combination of making up for lost time with you, giving you the best first time with him and making this moment last as long as possible. “Guide me” Max sighs between kisses, giving you his free hand. Holding it with both hands, you guide him down your neck and to your breasts. Max traces your breasts, flicking your nipples as he watches you whine with pleasure. Slowly he leans down and begins to suck on them, gently swirling his tongue and flicking. He kisses from one breast to the other, squeezing them in his hand. “Your body is perfect. Your skin is so soft.” he moans. By this time you’re rubbing your thighs together in an effort to stimulate your clit without your hands as they’re gripping Max’s dark blonde hair.

“Max, take off your pants” you pant, becoming overstimulated from all this teasing foreplay. He stands up off the bed and unzips his trousers, pulling them down to reveal his rock hard cock. “Oh Max” you moan, reaching down under your panties to touch yourself as his cock twitches. Max hurriedly crawls onto the bed and back up to your face, pulling your hand out of your panties. He brings your fingers close to his mouth and rubs them on his lips before bringing his tongue out to swirl around them, sucking your juices off them. “Touch me Max” you immediately whimper “I need your touch”. Max moans before kissing you passionately. As you both enjoy your tender kiss, Max traces his hand down your body, over your breasts, along your stomach and reaches the edge of your panties. Max reaches into your panties and gently places a finger at the top of your pussy, gently but firmly pressing down as he traces over your clit and down to your opening. Your wetness has coated every inch of your pussy. “You’re so wet” he pants, the sensation starts to send some beads of precum out the tip of his cock. “For you” you moan, writhing in pleasure at his calculated & lingering touch.

Looking deep into your eyes, Max rubs your folds slowly before he inserts two fingers gently but deep inside you. He begins to switch between a circling and a come hither motion on your g-spot, sending sparks shooting up through your body. You arch your back and let out a moan, while Max kisses your neck. “Oh Max baby that feels so good” you moan, gripping the sheets. “You feel amazing” Max sighs, brushing your hair out of your face so he can study your facial expressions as he pleasures you. Just when you thought it couldn’t feel any more amazing, Max places his thumb onto your clitoris, bringing you closer to climax in a matter of milliseconds. “Oh my god Max, Max I’m gonna cum” you moan into his neck, biting him. Max continues fingering you, intently watching your face waiting for you to reach orgasm.

Between Max’s fingering, his kisses and eye contact it doesn’t take long for it all to send you over the edge, riding into a full body orgasm, squirting all over Max’s hand. “You’re so beautiful baby” Max coos, holding your body close with his fingers still inside you as your back arches and your body trembles while you let out a long loud moan. Despite this exquisite display and sensation happening between your legs, Max keeps eye contact with you, peering deep into your soul, completely enamoured. As you start to come down from your orgasm, Max slowly removes his fingers and sucks them clean. “You taste incredible, so sweet baby” he moans, licking the squirt off his hand. As you begin to catch your breath, Max kisses down your body and reaches your pussy, where he begins to lap up the rest of your juices. Very gently, Max parts the puffy pussy lips covering your clit. He starts to lick in between the folds, avoiding your clit as it recovers from the intense orgasm. He travels down to your entrance where he sticks his tongue inside, tasting your juices inside you.

The hum from his moan as he eats you out relaxes you like a lullaby. Max then comes back up to your face, kissing your forehead. “That was incredible Max” you pant, staring up at the ceiling. He rests his lips against your neck, cupping your breast and gently squeezing it and thumbing your nipple. “Let me pleasure you Max, please” you beg, giving him a pleading gaze. Max obliges as you change positions with him now lying on his back. You cup his face with one hand, giving him a loving smile as his hand grabs yours. He starts to kiss you as your hands both guide down his chest, stomach and reach his groin. You begin to tease him, tracing your fingertips around the base of his cock, then up the shaft. Your light touches cause his cock to twitch. “Your touch is magical'' Max groans as your hand grips his shaft and travels up to his tip. His precum has soaked the head, giving you enough lubricant to slowly jerk your hand up and down, gripping tightly.

The sensation for Max is heavenly, panting and moaning between kissing your cheeks and forehead as you concentrate your gaze on his pulsing cock. Your jerking movements become more intense as you look up to see Max with his eyes closed, like he’s dreaming and if he opens them you’ll cease to exist. You continue to jerk him as you kiss his neck, feeling his cock harden even more and begin to pulse rapidly, like he’s getting close. “W-wait” Max whimpers. “I want this night to be about pleasuring you. Your mere presence pleasures me enough.” He kisses your hand & cups your cheek, looking deeply into your eyes. “What can I do to please you? Would you like t-to make love?”. Your heart bursts with emotion as this man is so set on pleasuring you so much. “Yes Max, I would love that very much” you sigh.

You lay back down on the bed, Max lying by your side. He begins to embrace you, running his hands over your body before kissing down your neck and chest as he rubs your clit. Max stops for a moment, studying your beautiful naked body. He then moves down and pushes your legs up, exposing your pussy. As you squeeze your breasts and look at his chiseled jaw, Max nervously lines up his cock before rubbing it on your clit, soaking the tip in your wetness. Impatient with how he’s teasing you, you whisper “Fuck me Maxwell”. Slowly, he pushes his cock down your clitoris and through your folds before the tip pushes inside. Without even being all the way inside, he moans “this must be what Heaven feels like”. With one gentle thrust, he’s completely inside, shuddering as your warm, tight, wet walls squeeze his cock shaft and tip. “Oh my god Max. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment” you moan, as he starts to slowly thrust. “M-me too beautiful” he grunts, feeling pure ecstasy wash over him as your pussy tenses, massaging his twitching length. A few minutes go by of you both silently staring intensely into each other’s eyes, kissing passionately. With every thrust you begin to connect deeper to Max, your bodies intertwining on a physical, emotion and spiritual level. Max’s cock twitches inside you as he watches you moan and bite your lip, squeezing your breasts.

“I can’t believe you love a man, a man like me” Max says still in disbelief, watching your body motion up and down as he slowly strokes in and out of you. He studies your body intensely, watching the moonlight and shadows play across your curves as your breasts bounce with every thrust. “You’re so beautiful Hermosa”, his mother tongue now coming through “como una diosa, like, A-Aphrodité.” he sighs, cupping your face with both hands. You cover his hands with yours, interlocking your fingers, turning your face each way slightly to kiss his palms and stare back at him lovingly and seductively, feeling like you could float away. “Your Aphrodite” you sigh, arching back slightly in pleasure, gripping his hands to guide them down to your breasts for him to lovingly caress and fondle. In slight shock at your romantic response, he immediately leans down whilst thrusting and peppers kisses all over your lips, letting out a sniffle.

With his eyes closed, focusing on lasting to bring you pleasure and to hide his emotions, a few tears drop onto your cheeks as he continues to thrust, now grunting each time into your neck to cover up the small sobs. You kiss his cheek, to take his tears away, the saltiness turning into sweet nectar on your tongue. “It’s okay baby, you can be vulnerable with me, I will protect you. I love you”. You choke, now crying also. Both sharing a connection transcending physically, in that exact moment, without an increase in volume, the lyrics of the Bob Dylan song playing on the radio seem to stand out and ring true in this very moment;

Storm clouds are raging all around my door, I think to myself I might not take it any more. Take a woman like your kind, To find the man in me. But, oh, what a wonderful feeling, Just to know that you are near. Sets my a heart a-reeling, From my toes up to my ears...

Your foreheads now together, staring deeply into each other’s eyes, Max whimpers “I love you so much” as his whole body begins to tense, signalling he’s on the precipice of an orgasm. Feeling his cock become even harder as it thrusts into the deepest part of your pussy, slamming the extra nerves to unlock your powerful orgasm. “Oh my god Max I’m gonna cum” you moan, slamming your eyes shut as you begin to try and slow down so this moment can last forever. “Cum mi reina” Max pants, keeping the tempo of his thrusting steady as the waves of your orgasm reach its peak before crashing down & flooding your entire body. Your body arches and trembles as you scream “Oh Max!” while your pussy clamping down & releasing in pulses on Max’s cock. The sight of you orgasming tied with the sensation around his cock sends Max over the edge. “Cielo” Max groans, shuddering all over as his cock spurts thick ropes of cum against your sensitive cervix. You both share a passionate kiss as Max’s cock softens inside you. “That was amazing Max” you pant, your body weak from the two mind blowing orgasms Max gave you.

Max collapses on the bed beside you, kissing your neck and running his fingers through your hair. “I can’t wait for us to do that again” Max chuckles against your neck. You kiss Max’s forehead, sighing as your body still slightly shakes from the two powerful orgasms Max just gave you. “I think a shower is in order” He embraces you momentarily before scooping you up in his arms and carries you off the bed, walking towards the ensuite. “Are you ever gonna let me walk again?” You giggle, nestling into his neck. “I like feeling you be as close to me as possible” Max laughs, before your feet land back on the tiles inside the bathroom. Max turns on the water and you both step into the shower, the steam now filling the room. Max has an assortment of body washes and shampoos, ranging from musky to citrusy and floral scents. You step closer to Max as he takes some lavender body wash and begins to rub it down your back, his hands dancing over the rest of your body as he starts to wash you. “I know I keep saying this, but you are so beautiful” Max sighs, running his hands over your ass, grabbing a cheek in each hand. “You’re not too bad yourself, handsome” you giggle against Max’s neck.

You both spend at least an hour in the shower, washing each other, chatting and sharing a few more intimate moments. Soon, the wine from dinner, the warm shower water, the scent of lavender and your fatigue from your orgasms starts to take its toll and you feel your eyelids drooping. Max finishes washing you and grabs a towel to help you dry off with. As your eyelids close completely Max has already scooped you up and walked back to the bed, placing you in the middle before wrapping you up in blankets and placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Goodnight my love” he whispers. “Mmmm” you moan, already in a dream state. Max soon gets under the covers with you, embracing you tightly as he watches you sleep, twirling his fingers through your hair. The smell of lavender on your skin soon lulls Maxwell to sleep.

The next morning you wake up, dazed and a little hungover, but well rested. As you look around the room, you survey the many pieces of clothes, miscellaneous items and wine bottles strewn across the floor in a tornado of passion from the night before. As your eyes adjust to the sun, you see Max in an under-shirt and pyjama pants over by the dining table. Max, in his own little world, frantically setting the dining table with some breakfast Alfred had brought up while you were sound asleep. He’s making sure everything is laid out perfectly, straightening the cutlery and pouring Orange Juice and Champagne into a glass from the bar. He hears the cotton sheets move behind him, immediately turning around to see if you’re awake. “Good morning beautiful” Max hums, rushing over to the bed to pepper your cheeks and lips with hundreds of little kisses. “Morning handsome” you giggle, running your hands through Max’s hair, in an attempt to match your bed hair. “Are you hungry, mi amor?” he asks between kisses. “I’m famished” you reply, stretching to help you wake up more. As you writhe around in the sheets you notice you’re wearing a chiffon baby doll.

“I hope you don’t mind I uh, had it in the wardrobe & wasn’t sure if you liked to sleep naked so I put it on you just after you fell asleep.” Max laughs, scratching the back of his head. You blush, feeling embarrassed that you got that drunk, but Max’s reassuring smile makes you feel at ease. “I do usually sleep naked, but I like it, it makes me feel beautiful”. Max sighs “so beautiful”, wrapping you up in a tight embrace and planting a single kiss on your forehead. Max scoops you up and carries you out of bed before you lightly plant your feet onto the carpeted floor. As you glance over to the dining table, Max comes up behind you and helps you slip on a long beautiful chiffon robe, accented with feathers on the hem.

“Another little something for my beautiful mariposa” Max coos, kissing your cheek before pulling out your chair at the dining table. You feel like you’re walking on clouds as you step over to your chair and sit down, Max flapping a napkin onto your lap. “Oh my goodness Max you’re such a gentleman” you blush. “My mother taught me to show women the highest level of respect and care. She made me the man who I am today.” Max replies, looking out the window momentarily. You outstretch your arm across the table to squeeze Max’s hand “And she would be so proud of the man that you’ve become” you beam with a sweet smile. Max soon draws your attention to the diverse spread of pastries on the table, pointing out the different fillings of each and asks if you would like coffee. You nod before noticing a large bouquet of red roses in the middle of the table. As Max places a few pastries on your plate, you feel a sense of intense attraction wash over you like a wave.

Your internal monologue starts to read back to itself, reflecting on how loving, generous and respectful Max is towards you. How much he takes care of you and oh god, how handsome he looks…you start to feel aroused by this somewhat submissive gentleman, sensing a rising heat from your core. Max submitted to your every want and desire last night, raising you up and worshipping you like a goddess, now you wanted to submit to him. Knowing now that you can be vulnerable and honest around Max, you lean back in your chair, biting down on a blueberry pastry.

To be continued..... ;) muahahahaha

a special thanks to the users below for the inspiration and encouragment!

@pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @maxlordsgf @rav3n-pascal22, @pedrostories, @absurdthirst @pedrosbrat​

[sickficsies-and-whumpsies]

hi, may i ask you sick semi eita fic? he went amusement park with his team despite feeling a little bit unwell. Later he feels dizzy & nauseous, his team then take him to doctor/dorm. thank you 🥰

Oui oui, mon amie!!

TW: dizziness & nausea, vomiting, hospitals, brief mentions of IVs.

1.4k words, Gen.

ー ー ー

“Oh, the queue for that one isn’t too long!! Let’s go, guys!!”

Semi sighs. While Tendou’s volume doesn’t usually bother him, right now, stuck in the middle of Yagiyama Benyland, surrounded by screaming people and running children, he wishes his friend could turn it down a notch already.

The fabric around his neck feels constricting, suffocating. Semi tugs at the collar of his shirt lightly, clearing his throat silently as he trails behind the rest of the team.

He massages his stomach under the grey hoodie, feeling it gurgle under his touch. It was only two days ago when the pinch-server’s stomach first sent a painful, sudden jolt of white-hot pain throughout his body, making him shudder and gag, taken aback. But since his appendix has long been removed, Semi’s confident that it’s probably just a matter of too much coffee and too little water in his guts. It’s been a stressful week, after all. Nothing he can’t fix. It still hurts, though.

“Are you sure we’re tall enough for that ride?” Goshiki jokes, and everyone laughs, Tendou wrapping a lanky arm around the first-year and ruffling his head with the other hand. More laughter echoes among the group.

Semi shudders, chills running down his spine, stomach twisting. He struggles to even only force out a tiny smile.

ー

The safety belts press against his stomach and shoulders uncomfortably, and Semi doesn’t think he will make it. Next to him, Ushijima sits quietly, waiting for the ride to start. He briefly glances over, humming.

“Are you scared, Semi?”

There’s no malice in his voice, no curiosity either. It’s something along the lines of… Concern? Annoyance? Both?

“M’fine.” Semi gulps, “Just excited.”

“It’s okay to be scared.”

“M’not.”

“Alright. But if you were, it’d be okay.”

“Ushijiー!!” he gets cut off, abruptly, as the thing finally starts to move.

The higher it goes, the more Semi knows he’s not going to make it. There’s no doubt about it. He quickly tries to recall if there’s some sort of trashcan near the exit but he realises that he hasn’t seen any. 

His complexion bleaches rapidly. The thing is, Semi isn’t scared of roller coasters, he quite enjoys them, to be fair. Right now, the thing he fears the most is puking all over himself or worse, over the team’s captain.

And he knows it’s going to happen.

The people in the front row start screaming, Semi only a few rows back. It’s only a matter of seconds before he feels himself falling, and the world tunes out.

ー

He doesn’t actually pass out, really. Instead, once the operators remove his safety belts and wish him and his friends a fun day, he lets his shaky legs guide him down the metal staircase, eyes glazed over, blind. He’s not quite sure he’s moving, either. And he looks green.

Semi doesn’t even register that Ushijima’s strong hand is wrapped around his right upper arm, the left in the care of Tendou himself, eerily quiet. They set him down on the first empty bench they find, the team quiet behind the three.

It’s Reon to crouch in front of the ill teen, a firm hand squeezing his knee encouragingly. “Semi? Dude, hey.”

“...up…” he murmurs, seemingly catatonic, staring somewhere behind the team that has gathered in front of him, eyes filled to the brim with apprehension.

The setter swallows, a thin trail of saliva making its way down the corner of his chapped lips and down his twitching chin. He opens his mouth to speak, to say something, but nothing comes out, and soon enough he ducks his head between his knees and retches onto the pavement without a second warning. 

His teammates gasp, horrified and worried, but Reon is quick to avoid the onslaught and immediately usher the others away, leaving Tendou and Ushijima behind. The taller guy rubs at his back firmly, while the other puts a palm flat on Semi’s forehead, preventing him from giving himself a whiplash. 

His skin feels cold and clammy, ashen. Tendou hisses. 

Not long passes before Semi throws up again, more and more bile splashing between his feet, little droplets staining his shoes and jeans. He retches and gags, helpless, eyes stinging painfully, about to pop out of his skull.

Reon jogs back a minute later, stopping a couple of meters away to give Semi some breathing room. “Should we call an ambulance? He looks like death warmed over...”

Ushijima shakes his head. “We should try and make him drink something, first.”

“I don’t think he’s up to it, Toshi.” Tendou reasons, “Semi-Semi, hey, you need to take a breath, my man.” he adds, patting the boy’s shoulder while Ushijima keeps massaging circles on his back.

But Semi doesn’t. He can’t. His stomach twists and knots painfully, and he doubles over, arms wrapped protectively around his abdomen as he hiccup and dry-heaves weakly. 

“Does your stomach hurt?” Reon asks, careful, calm as ever, “Do you need an ambulance?”

“Yeah, we should call ‘em.” Tendou says, “It’s not normal to feel this sick after riding a roller coaster as bland as that one, andー”

“He was feeling ill before the ride, too. I didn’t think it was this bad, though. I apologize, Semi.” Ushijima interjects. “I think the ride was simply the last straw.”

The three stay quiet for a moment, Semi’s desperate struggles and pants and hiccups drowning out every other noise. And finally, blissfully, about ten minutes after sitting down, his jagged breaths come to a halt, and he slumps to the side, crashing into Tendou.

“Semi-Semi...? Oh shit. Is he dead? Semi-Semi?” Tendou gasps, “Guys, a little help?”

The ill teen is quick to blink his eyes open, glassy and dull, spent. “H’rts.”

“What hurts?” 

“S-stomach. Head.” 

Reon nods, serious. He then takes his phone out and quickly types something, before glancing at Ushijima and Tendou, who are both massaging Semi’s trembling back, subconsciously. 

“Okay, the closest bus stop is about five minutes away on foot from here, and then it takes about ten minutes to get to Sendai Red Cross Hospital by bus, and another minute on foot after that. What do you guys say?” Reon asks.

Tendou is fast to nod, “Let’s go, we might catch the first bus available if we hurry.”

“I’ll carry him.” Ushijima adds.

Semi then struggles, shaking his headー aggravating his nausea and gagging silently. “Th-the others, and y-you, th-the pa-park and- and the tickets andー”

“Woh, woh, slow down, Semi-Semi!! It’s fine, we’ve been here for hours already anyway, and the entrance fees aren’t that expensive. No worries, okay? Let us worry about the rest.” Tendou says, cheerful, “We’ll text the others to let them know we’re leaving. We can always reschedule for another time, alright?”

“Done.” Reon smiles, waving his phone, ‘Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club’ chat open and rapidly flooding with texts from everyone. “Let’s go.” 

ー

Luckily, and unsurprisingly, the bus is perfectly on time, and Semi doesn’t even have the time to register that he’s an eighteen year-old being offered a piggy-back ride from another eighteen year-old. He couldn’t care less. Instead, once he’s on the bus, he drifts, drained.

ー

“Anyone here for Semi Eita?”

Tendou, Reon and Ushijima are quick to reach the doctor, wide-eyed. “How is he!?”

She smiles, “Your friend will be okay, nothing to worry about. He was terribly dehydrated and overall exhausted, courtesy of the raging viral gastroenteritis he has. The nurses gave him an IV to pump some fluids into his system, and once it’s done, I’m going to prescribe him some probiotics to help with the infection and he’ll be free to leave.”

“Can we see him?” Tendou frets, “Is there anything else we should do? Are you sure he’s okay?”

The doctor nods, her expression firm and reassuring. “Viral infections are extremely common, we treat thousands of similar cases each day. I promise you, Semi-san will be okay. And yes, you may see him, of course. Come with me, please.” 

The three follow the kind doctor quietly as she leads them to Semi’s bed, in the ER, the thin curtains between his and other patients’ beds being his only source of privacy. 

Upon seeing them, Semi sits up, grinning sheepishly, cheeks tinted in red. “Hey there.” he grins.

His friends chuckle, rapidly making their way toward his bed, ruffling his hair and pushing him around with calculated motions.

He’ll be fine. 

ー ー ー

I got carried away and started researching how to get to the closest hospital from Yagiyama Benyland, a real amusement park in Miyagi. And yeah, the Red Cross Hospital’s real, too, and the bus as well. I had so much fun researching this stuff. So yeah, I hope you liked it, let me know!!

Also, anon, if you have an AO3 tell me so that I can gift this fic to you when I post it there in a few days.

September 2, 2021

[rohad93]

A Touch

A 900 word drabble focus on touch starved Amity

~

Amity was nearly in a daze as she sat in her seat staring blankly at the chalkboard, the abominations professor droning on about something that was probably important but she couldn’t, for the life of her, get her mind to focus on the words coming out of his mouth. Everything was a distant, blurred echo in her ears. Her mind acutely focused on something else.

Luz

More accurately, Luz’s knee pressed against hers under the table as she half paid attention to the witch as he paced back and forth in front of the room, lecturing. She was jotting down the occasional note, tongue poking out of her mouth but mostly she was doodling in the margins of her paper, completely heedless to the near catatonic state she put the other witch in. 

 It was utterly ridiculous.

That the simple touch of Luz’s knee on hers could all but freeze her solid. 

It wasn’t so much that it was Luz, though in many ways it was.

Physical touch, it wasn’t something she was used to. Something that played a small part in her everyday life. Her parents hardly ever said a kind word to her, that wasn’t backhanded in some way, her mother, or totally apathetic and uninterested, like her father. A kind touch was even rarer than that. The most she was familiar with was when her brother or sister ruffled her hair or forced their way into her personal space, smooshing their faces against her. While it was hardly malicious, she was hesitant to call it affectionate, though, for the twins, she supposed it was. 

Truly, unpatronizing, warmth and affection was something so foreign to her that she hardly knew how to respond to it. Didn’t need to, not until Luz. 

Luz, who was warm and bright.

Touchy

Not in the way the twins were, patronizing with an undercurrent of affection, Luz’s was blatant, upfront and frank.

When they first met, her up close and personal nature had affected Amity like anyone else’s presence. It unnerved her, in a way. Made her skin itch and muscles twitch with a deep, uncomfortableness that she couldn’t explain, never had been able to but for as long as she could remember, it had always been there. An automatic response to physical touch that made her recoil. 

It hadn’t really been a problem. The aloof and standoffish nature she had developed since her separation from Willow kept most people at arm's length.

Till Luz.

Wonderful, thoughtful and affectionate, Luz. 

Like her crush, it had developed slowly, so slowly she didn’t realize it at first, till the automatic revulsion she felt at most touch didn’t rear its head anytime Luz reached out and grabbed her hand or wrapped her up in a bone crushing hug. 

No, now she had a different problem. 

Now, instead of recoiling anytime the human touched her, her skin tingled and buzzed, sending her heart to beating against the confines of her ribs and her blood racing, usually straight to her face.  

Some of it was her feelings for Luz but how much? A single brush of fingers against the skin of her hand shouldn’t have sent her heart into palpitations the way it did; making her feel overwhelmed and her brain to fizzling out, allowing for only the simplest of functions, like breathing and blinking…

She craved it now. 

Even the smallest of touches sent that bright, lightening feeling rushing through her veins and as much as it unnerved her, she wanted it just the same. 

So here she sat, Luz’s knee pressing against hers and Amity was intimately aware of it, like it was the only point of her body tethered to the mortal coil. The rest of her could very well have been as incorporeal as the ghosts moving around the school grounds for all it mattered. 

She hadn’t even noticed the teacher had stopped talking, not until a hand on her arm made her almost come out of her skin. She whipped around to find Luz, staring back at her with bright, brown eyes, blinking curiously.

“Sorry, did I startle you?” she asked, smiling sheepishly and Amity did her best to form some coherent thought but her mind was decidedly stuck on the warm hand resting on her forearm and the shivers it elicited. She could feel every individual finger pressing against her sleeve, warm. 

“I’m fine!” she managed to squeak, finally taking notice that the room was emptying of students. Had the bell sounded already, how had she not heard it?

“It’s lunch time, are you ready?” Luz asked, smiling, Luz’s hand was still sitting on her arm and her skin may as well have been on fire at the point of contact; in a good way. 

“Oh… y- yeah.” She stood so fast her chair skittered back, anything to break the points of contact between her and Luz. Not that she really wanted to but for the sake of higher brain function, a necessity. The moment she did though, she felt bereft. Like the warmth had drained out of her, though her face remained plenty warm. 

“Let’s go, it's ghoulash day!” Luz grinned and grabbed Amity’s hand, racing out of the room with the witch trailing behind her, trying to keep up.

Her heart rate spiked and warmth prickled up her arm, bristling through her, both pleasant and not all at the same time but she couldn’t, for the life of her, even think of letting go. 

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

‘Til I Forget About You | Reggie Peters

JATP x BTR Week - Day 2: BTR

Song used: ‘Til I Forget About You - Big Time Rush 

Pairing: Modern Day!Reggie x Reader

Summary: When Reggie’s girlfriend breaks up with  him, he’s completely devestated. Now it’s up to y/n, Luke, Alex and Julie to cheer him up again. With the help of parties, movie nights and just overall fun things, Reggie completely forgets about Lisa. 

A/N: Thanks @jatp-btr, @meangirlsx and @darlingsteveharrington for this amazing idea! Honored to be a part of this! Extra special shoutout to @darlingsteveharrington​ for making me these amazing time jump headers!! I am forever grateful and appreaciate you so so so much! 💕

Warnings: Underage drinking, party, alcohol, heartbreak

Words:  5,880

Reggie sat by himself in the garage one afternoon, plucking the strings of his bass guitar soothingly as he tried to forget about the screams and clatter of plates breaking at his house. Things had gotten heated again when his father came home drunk for the nth time that week. He didn’t blame his mother for slowly losing her patience with her husband. Sure, he couldn’t help it if his boss fired him instantly and he couldn’t find a new job. Albeit he didn’t search for one either. 

His thoughts were thankfully interrupted by his phone buzzing on the coffee table in front of him. He halted his fingers before leaning over to see if he could ignore whoever needed him at this moment. 

Confusion rose within him as his girlfriend, Lisa, smiled back at him on the picture that had appeared on screen. “Hello, gorgeous,” he said upon picking up, a smile playing on his lips. A smile that faltered as soon as it appeared when he heard sniffles coming from the other side. “Are you okay, Lis?” he asked, worry lacing in his voice. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Reggie. I… It’s over. We’re done.” 

With those simple words, Lisa hung up, leaving Reggie frozen in place. He couldn’t move his muscles, let alone feel them. His mind had blanked. His eyes focused on the closed white doors in front of him.   

He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong for Lisa to suddenly break up with him. It wasn’t like anything had happened between them. In fact, last time they saw each other, everything still seemed peachy. More than peachy. They’d spent the night together, which seemed to have been the very last one at that too. 

“Oh, hey, Reg,” a voice made him jump out of his trance. He finally dropped the phone in his lap and stared at the girl that had entered the garage. “Are you okay?” she asked, growing worried for her friend. He almost seemed catatonic. 

“No,” he muttered, and finally remembered to blink. “Lisa.... I think Lisa just broke up with me?” Tears pooled his eyes as everything dawned on him, the words repeating in his head. Over and over again. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. “Lisa just dumped me…” y/n’s heart broke at the sight of the confused and broken-hearted bass player. 

“What?!” y/n exclaimed as she moved over towards the boy. She grabbed his bass and gently placed it on its stand again before pulling him to his feet and wrapping her arms around him. As he cried, y/n rubbed circles on his back, trying to soothe him a little. “I’m so sorry, Reg.” 

He sniffled once more before gently pushing the girl off him. “I-I think I’m gonna go for a walk,” he said and made a beeline out the door as Luke and Alex walked in together with furrowed eyebrows at the haste their friend just left in. 

“Is he okay?” Alex asked y/n, pointing back to where the other boy had just left. 

“He will be, I think… Lisa just broke up with him.” Y/N’s forehead creased as she frowned, concerned for her friend’s broken heart. “Before you ask me, I don’t know why, I don’t know how. I just know she dumped him and that he’s pretty distraught.” 

Luke only moved one muscle, intending to follow behind Reggie, but y/n stopped him. “Let him be. For now. He’ll come back when he needs us.” 

He did come back that night, but only for band practice and only because he knew he needed the music to numb his brain that was overflowing with thoughts about his now-ex-girlfriend. 

He’d been breaking his head over the reasons why Lisa would ever break up with him. They were doing so well. What changed that she ultimately decided to break it off. Has he done something wrong? 

For days, he’d tried to call her, went to her house, tried something to get her to talk to him. But it was all in vain. Lisa cut off all communication. She blocked his number, told her mother that if he ever came to their house, she’d have to send him away, … She didn’t even grant him one glance when they passed each other in the hallways at Los Feliz High. 

His friends were at a loss. Reggie was so disconnected from the real world, he didn’t even care if he missed a few chords during rehearsals or his notes sounded flat. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted Lisa back. 

For days they tried to patch him up. They’d talk to him about the most random stuff they could think of that wouldn’t remind him of Lisa. None of which seemed to have an effect. Even at the boys’ banter Reggie just chuckled half-heartedly. Even when y/n made him a peppermint hot chocolate, he shot her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Nothing worked. 

“I’m at a loss, you guys,” y/n mumbled as she got up from the couch after the Julie and The Phantoms band rehearsal that night. 

Reggie had just left the garage to go for another ‘walk’, which they knew by now just meant going places that reminded him of her, and left his friends with a sour and tense feeling lingering in the air. 

Julie nodded her head as she turned her keyboard off, but stayed put on the stool behind it. Luke placed his guitar on its stand while Alex came out from behind his drum set, leaving the sticks behind. Julie then said, “I really wanna help him, but I don’t know what to say to him anymore… I’m so scared I’ll say the wrong thing.” 

“We can’t just keep tiptoeing around him though,” Alex chimed in as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket. 

Y/N started pacing the floor nervously whilst going over some ideas in her mind that could possibly help out her friend. 

Reggie had been there for her so many times whenever she’d gotten her heart broken by someone. He’d cuddle her, make her peppermint hot chocolate, let her cry for a while and watch 10 Things I Hate About You with her as it was her favorite movie. It gave her the opportunity to open up the floodgates without having to feel guilty about crying her eyes out. 

Luke grabbed her by the shoulders, stopping her from making him so nervous. “This is not a runway, angel,” he told her before turning to the others. “We need an intervention.” 

Alex pointed a finger to his friend in agreement. “Yes! Any ideas?” 

Y/N’s brain immediately went to one occurrence during one of her very many heartbreaks. Reggie’s very own intervention to the road to happiness. She remembered his words to a t, “The only cure to a mended heart is a party and alcohol.” 

Her friends’ heads whipped around to face her after her mumbling. 

“I know what we need to do.” 

Reggie plopped down on the armchair after yet another failed band rehearsal. He pulled at the fabric of the piece of furniture, silently cursing at himself and Lisa for letting him fall down this far. 

With one collective glance, the boys, y/n and Julie turned towards the brunette bass player. All four of them crossed their arms and glared at him sternly. Reggie felt their eyes burn on the side of his face and he already knew what was going to happen. 

“Don’t even try,” he warned. 

Y/N uncrossed her arms in defeat and went to kneel down in front of him, placing her hand on his to make him stop tearing the chair apart. “Yes, try. Reggie, we’ve let you be miserable for an entire week. It’s time for an intervention.” 

“Guys…” Reggie sighed, shaking his head in objection. 

“Reggie,” Julie stated sternly, capturing the boy’s attention. “We’re gonna help you forget all about her. Okay? We’re gonna party, we’re gonna spend so much time together to the point you’ll be focusing on how sick you are of us and you’ll have forgotten all about her.”

The dark-haired boy glanced at the boys first before his eyes landed on y/n’s, who was still crouched down in front of him. She nodded her head encouragingly. Then finally, a soft smile fell to his lips before he got up from the chair slowly as if moving was against his own will. 

That night, they all got ready together for the night ahead. While y/n and Julie were doing their makeup and jamming to all the tunes that were bursting out of the speakers, the boys were chilling on Julie’s bed. Neither of them were ready yet, but they said they were going to bequeath the girls their precious time in front of the vanity mirror. 

“The mirror is all yours, pretty boys!” Julie sang as she pressed her glossed lips together and popped them before getting up from the stool. 

Luke and Alex both whistled as the two girls stood in front of them in their party outfits. Julie opted for a tight purple dress from her mother’s chest of fashion treasures while y/n was wearing a black mesh top and a pleather skirt, paired with black over-the-knee boots.

The two girls striked a pose, both pouting their lips simultaneously. Their giggles filled up the room until y/n’s eyes landed on Reggie, who was just staring at her with a bright pink dusting his cheeks. Her giggle faded and changed into a simple smile. A smile that said ‘I see you’. A smile that caused Reggie’s heart to skip a beat. 

Julie had picked up on the change of vibe that exuded from the interaction between her two best friends, and a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Get ready quickly, boys. We wanna partyyyyy!” she dragged out the last word and threw her hands up in the air, clearly ready for letting loose on this wonderful Friday night.  

The gang arrived at the Wilson estate an hour later than the party actually kicked off. “Being fashionably late” Luke had called it, though that was just an excuse so the girls wouldn’t complain about him taking so long to style his hair. 

“You took longer than we did and we’ve done a full face of makeup!” y/n had teased him which had earned her a glare from the perfectly coiffed guitarist. 

They stood in the doorway for a moment, looking at the grinding bodies in the middle of the living room as the music thumped through the speakers and the stench of alcohol filled up their nostrils. It was an overwhelming feeling to arrive at a party that was already in full swing, and y/n could tell Reggie was somewhat agitated. 

To ease the tension in his shoulders, she reached for his hand and squeezed it, saying, “The only cure for a broken heart…” She didn’t even need to finish her sentence for he already had a smile climbing up his cheeks. 

“Let’s start with shots!” Alex suggested excitedly and skipped through to the set-up bar in the kitchen. The remaining four glanced at one another and collectively chuckled at the drummer’s eagerness before following behind. 

The blondie stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a pretty long-haired boy the gang knew as Willie, Alex’s long-time crush. Nobody was really sure what was happening between the two, but they did find them sneaking off at every party they went to together. 

They were lining up six shots of Tequila, ready for their friends to shoot back. Every party the group attended, these two took care of every beverage. Whether it was lining up shots for their friends or shaking up a good cocktail. They were the pros out of all of them. The self-proclaimed Liquor Kings.   

“Tequila for the pretty lady,” Alex handed the small cup to y/n, sending a blush straight up to her cheeks, but Alex was too busy handing out the drinks to even notice the effect his flattery had on her. Y/N always blushed whenever somebody complimented her, even if it were the people she had been friends with for a long old time. 

Willie handed her a lime slice, which she held between the fingers of the hand her shot was in as he needed her other hand to line up the salt in the crook between her thumb and index finger. She shot him a quick thank-you wink before turning to the rest of the group who’d been equipped with all the ingredients for the perfect tequila shot. 

“Ready?” Willie asked as a wide smile lit up his face. The group nodded, one a little more excited than the other, and Willie started the countdown. On three, the entire group licked the line of salt off their hand, threw back the shot and then sucked the lime. 

Y/N’s face scrunched up as the three tastes mingled on her taste buds and the burning sensation of the liquor slithered down her throat. Reggie was mirroring her expression with the slice of green between his lips. 

She giggled at him as he groaned, throwing the sucked-dry lime on the counter. “Feels great, doesn’t it?” Reggie coughed and reached for the two cups their Liquor Kings handed over. 

“Amazing,” Reggie mumbled with a chuckle, though his smile fell almost immediately as he brought the red cup to his lips. Y/N knew Lisa was still on his mind and she’d have to do a lot more than just have him drink a shot of Tequila. 

Determinedly, she grabbed his hand and led him towards the living room where all party attendees were dancing. Reggie looked scared for his life as y/n started to move to the music, coaxing him to follow her lead. 

“Come on, Reg! The best cure to a broken heart is a party!” She tried again when he didn’t even move a muscle. “And at a party, you dance!” Next thing he knew, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her hip while her hand sneaked up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer towards her until their chests were pressed together. Slowly but determinedly, she started to sway her hips to the music, automatically forcing him to move along with her.  

Reggie moved along absentmindedly as his cheeks heated up at the close proximity in which they were dancing. He had never seen his best friend in any different way. Y/N had always been there and she’d always been just a friend in his eyes, but dancing so close to her gave him a whole different perspective. 

He blamed it on being vulnerable post heartbreak. 

After a refill on behalf of the Liquor Kings and a few songs dancing together, y/n was suddenly being pulled away by Julie and Flynn as they shouted, “Come on, Bitch! This is our song!” Y/N mouthed an apology to Reggie and joined her two best friends in their dance circle. 

With his support system gone, the dark-haired boy had fallen still. He didn’t have another move inside him, not without her, at least. It was like y/n was the battery and now that she wasn’t empowering him to dance, there was no energy left inside him. So, instead of standing in the middle of the dance floor like an absolute loser, he shuffled into the kitchen to get something else to drink. He was in need of something stronger. 

Luke had been chatting up a girl when he saw his buddy walking in, looking solemn for someone who loved going to parties. He excused himself and walked over to where Reggie was pouring himself a glass of whiskey. 

“You okay, buddy?” he asked with worry laced into his voice. Reggie offered him an unconvincing smile as he poured the liquor into the empty red cup. 

“Yeah, totally.” 

Luke sighed and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the boy’s hands. He poured some into his own cup before placing it a little out of reach from the sad bass player next to him, who glared at him. 

“I’m sorry, bro. But you’ve been sad for an entire week. We let you be miserable but it’s gotta stop at some point.” Reggie scoffed as he stared at the brown liquid in his cup. “Listen, I know Lisa meant a lot to you and she was amazing and everything but you gotta let go. I know it’s hard, but you gotta forget about her.” 

“How can I forget about her when she’s literally everywhere I go?” He nodded to somewhere behind Luke and when he turned his head, he saw the auburn haired girl talking to Carrie on the patio outside. “She’s doing this on purpose,” Reggie said through gritted teeth before chugging the 5 ounces of whiskey. 

The guitarist blinked a couple of times, impressed at how Reggie could just throw that back without even flinching the tiniest bit. His ear suddenly picked up at the beginning notes of a song the bassist would always go crazy on at parties. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as an idea popped into his head. 

Reaching over the counter, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey again, poured a bit into Reggie’s cup and guided his hand towards his mouth, demanding him to drink it. Confused, but obedient, Reggie threw back the bit of liquor. The burn in his throat felt right. Numbing. 

As if on cue, three girls waltzed into the kitchen, singing along loudly to the first verse of the song as they approached the two boys at the counter. A smile befell on Luke’s lips as y/n tapped Reggie’s shoulder and beckoned him towards the dancefloor as Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight) by ABBA blared through the house. 

Chuckling, and mostly because the alcohol was forcing him to, he obeyed to y/n’s rules. Luke, Flynn and Julie followed behind them, shouting along to the lyrics. The commotion lured the Liquor Kings to the dancefloor as well. This was the song Reggie needed all along. 

“Come on, Reg!” Julie demanded as he was moving now, but not belting along to the words like he normally would. 

As the chorus floated through the speakers, the magical powers of the ABBA song finally reached his brain and he started to shout the lyrics. The rest of the group threw their hands in the air, cheering the still brokenhearted boy on. 

All he needed was his ABBA song to get him loose, to get him to forget all about the girl with the auburn hair. All he needed was his friends and a good party to let loose of all the negative feelings that had been bottled up inside of his chest over the past week. 

By the end of the night, all six had to support Reggie as they walked to Julie’s house where they’d crash in the garage. He was singing a remix of all different ABBA songs whilst the others tried to quiet him down. Their giggles tangled up in the shushes and Reggie’s singing, carrying through the fresh, spring air. 

“I love you, guys,” he slurred as y/n tucked him on the mattress. “Gimme hug,” he pulled the girl on top of him and held a tight grip on her body as she giggled. His lips pressed a kiss to the crown of her hair whilst she tried to wriggle loose. 

“Reg, lemme go!” 

“No! It’s cuddle time!” He protested and didn’t let go of his best friend. 

“Fine, but at least allow me a bit more air.” Reggie’s arms loosened a little and y/n got situated properly. She laid on top of him, stomachs and chests pressed together, one hand tangled up into his dark hair while the other rested on his chest, next to her head. His arms were wrapped loosely around her. 

His eyes were fluttering shut as he mumbled, “Can you stop spinning us around, y/n?” She giggled at his drunken mutters and started drawing patterns on his T-shirt clad chest. It seemed to relax him a bit as a big sigh of contentment expanded his lungs, bringing y/n’s head up with it too. “Goodnight, y/n.” 

“Goodnight, Reginald.” 

Saturday didn’t count. Everyone was hungover and didn’t want to move at all. So, they just watched movies together all day long in the garage, a tangled up heap of humans. But from Sunday onwards, Reggie was in a whole better mood. 

A mood where all he wanted to do was write songs and be productive. So, that’s what he did. Every day he worked on the song; after school, after band rehearsals, even during his free periods. The words, the melody, the beat, it all seemed to just float out of him.

On Friday, Reggie told everyone he’d written a song and wanted their opinion on it. He was both nervous and excited as Luke would never listen to any of the songs Reggie wrote by himself. Though all those songs had always been country songs and Luke didn’t think country fitted the image of the band. 

“No, Reggie, we’re not doing country,” Luke repeated for the nth time. 

Reggie was fed up with the guitarist’s neglect of his creativity. “Shut your mouth and listen for once, asshole.” His voice was strident and taut. A tone he’d never used. The rest of the group was a little taken aback and exchanged nervous glances while Reggie handed out a sheet of paper with the song worked out on it. He’d used the copier at school to copy the page in his notebook. 

They heavily discussed his idea for the melody and listened to his ideas for the beat he wanted until a song floated through the garage. Soon after, Reggie started singing the song too with Julie and Luke throwing in some harmonies that Reggie approved with a smile and a nod. 

By the last chorus, everyone had the lyrics down and sang along with the bassist.  

“Dance hard, laugh more, turn the music up now Party like a rockstar! Can I get a “what now”? I swear I'll do, anything that I have to Till I forget about… Jump up, fall down, gotta play it loud now Don't care, my head's spinning all around now I swear I'll do anything that I have to… Till I forget about you! Till I forget about you!”

As the music stopped, everyone stayed silent, basking in the adrenaline and the amazement of the song. This was exactly what Julie and The Phantoms sounded like. This was a soon-to-be hit. 

“I think we’ve found ourselves our closing number for tomorrow night,” Alex said with a grin from behind his drum kit. The bassist was surprised to see Luke and Julie nod in agreement to the blondie’s statement. Reggie had finally written a song for the band they didn’t immediately dismiss.          

They rehearsed the song a couple more times on Friday, and some more on Saturday before their soundcheck to tweak it a little bit until it was perfect and everyone had it down. Now all they needed to do was perform it at the end of their set at The Mint, a gig they landed thanks to their amazing marketing team -- Flynn and y/n -- and the fact the owner was a family friend of y/n’s. 

It was a gig. And a gig meant exposure. And exposure meant the possibility of a manager noticing them increasing. 

“You guys ready?” y/n asked as she knocked on the door of their dressing room five minutes before kick off. Her eyes darted from an all dolled-up Julie to a shirtless Luke and then to a drumstick-twirling Alex, realizing they were a man short. “Where’s Reggie?” 

Luke shrugged as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. “He said he was going to the bathroom, but that was like half an hour ago.” Y/N pulled her mouth into a straight line before turning and leaving the room to find her friend. 

Cruising through hallways, she finally stumbled on a room that wasn’t being used by them until she noticed the door ajar. She carefully pushed the door open a little further to find Reggie on the red carpeted floor with his phone in his hands and a tear running down his cheek. 

“Hey,” she announced herself as she moved towards him. He looked up at her and offered her a half-hearted smile whilst wiping the tear away. “You’re on in five.” Even though the words screamed urgency, her tone didn’t and her actions didn’t either. She went over to sit next to him, shoulders touching. 

“Yeah, I’m ready to go,” he said, but didn’t move. 

Y/N’s eyes landed on the phone in his hands, a conversation blinking at her on the screen. At the very top of the conversation was her name and the only message she could read was “I miss you, please come back.” in a bright green. 

Her body heaved as she inhaled deeply, ��You can do this without her, Reg.” The boy shook his head in objection. “I know you can. This girl is not worth your tears and frustration. She’s not worth anything if she can’t see how amazing you are.” Reggie looked up at y/n, his eyes gleaming with tears as he listened to her words. “If she doesn’t appreciate everything you do for her and how much you cherish her, she’s not worth it.” 

The girl fell silent for a moment, anticipating his reaction as their eyes were locked in an intense stare. What he did next was something she hadn’t calculated with the speech she’d prepared in  her mind on the spot. His hands lifted to her cheeks and his lips pressed against hers in a spontaneous passionate kiss. He pulled back hesitantly but when y/n kissed back, every doubt in his mind just washed away. 

Y/N couldn’t say she had ever thought of kissing her best friend, but at that moment it seemed so comfortable and familiar. Like she’d been doing it for years. Their lips just fit together so perfectly and moved in sync like a choreographed dance.  

When they pulled back for air, the back of y/n’s neck was aflame and her lips tingled. The flustered Reggie in front of her coughed as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have done that.” 

She knew the only reason this happened was because Reggie was so overwhelmed with this broken hearted feelings and she was just there. A smile formed on her lips as she patted his chest and while getting up, she said, “That’s cool, Reginald. Glad I could be of assistance to let go of your frustrations.” She reached out a hand for him. “Now, let’s go rock this place, yeah?” He placed his hand in hers and let her pull him up to his feet. Entangling their fingers, y/n guided him out of the secluded room and backstage to where the others were waiting for their bassist to start their show. 

“Sorry, guys!” Reggie said while the sound guy helped him out with his in-ears and another one handed him his bass. 

Luke patted him on the shoulder. “You okay, buddy?” 

“Yeah,” Reggie answered with a smile that for the first time in two weeks reached his eyes. He glanced over to y/n. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Okay, ready to go!” Sound Guy 1 said. Y/N and Flynn put their thumbs up to wish them good luck before the band rushed onto the stage, an uproar of cheers erupting from the crowd. They were rowdy tonight. A good omen for an amazing show. 

“We’ve got one last song for you guys,” Julie said into her mic with a smile bright enough to light up the whole room as she glanced at Reggie. “You wanna introduce this one, buddy?” 

He stepped closer to his mic, a nervous grin spread on his face as he spoke. “This last song is for everyone who has ever felt heartbroken before. Remember that even though it might seem dark and lonely without that one person there, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Follow that light because it will lead you to amazing things.” 

The other band members exchanged glances, all with proud smiles plastered on their faces. Reggie had come a long way from two weeks ago and he still had a long way to go, but he was on the right path. As long as he had his friends, his band, his family, by his side, he’d be good. Even better if the girl that stood in the wings on his right was at his side too. 

Alex counted them in and Luke and Julie began to play their instruments before Reggie’s voice floated through the venue along with the thumping beat of Alex’ drums. 

“Get a call on a random afternoon I pick it up and I see that it's you Like my heart, you were breaking the news, you say It's over, it's over, it's over.”

He looked over at Julie and Luke while his fingers were plucking at the strings of his bass. They shot him an encouraging smile, offering him a little boost of confidence as he continued the verse. 

“Heading out, cause I’m out of my mind All my friends are gonna see me tonight Stayin’ here until the sun starts the rise, And I'm, I'm gonna, I'm gonna, I'm gonna…”

The beat went up a notch as confetti cannons went off, covering their entire view in purple butterfly confetti pieces as they slowly whirled onto the dancing and screaming audience. 

In the wing to Reggie’s right, Flynn and y/n stood, dancing and singing along to the music with the widest smiles on their faces. A big perk to being the band’s marketing team was definitely the free gigs they benefited from.  

“Dance hard, laugh more, turn the music up now Party like a rockstar! Can I get a “what now”? I swear I'll do, anything that I have to Till I forget about… Jump up, fall down, gotta play it loud now Don't care, my head's spinning all around now I swear I'll do anything that I have to… Till I forget about you! Till I forget about you!”

Luke then takes the next verse, his growly tone sending some of the girls in the front row into a frenzy. A smirk tugged at his lips upon noticing but then he focused his gaze onto Julie as he sang with her harmonizing. 

“And you thought, I'd be here on my own Waiting for you to knock on my door Since you left I don't wait by the phone I'm moving, I'm moving, I'm moving”

Reggie walked over to Alex’s platform. The drummer shot him a toothy smile that could land him a spot in a toothpaste commercial. Reggie really appreciated the support his band gave during performances and with this song in particular. 

“Found a place where I can lose myself And just leave your memory on the shelf See I'm fine, no I don't need nobody else Cause I'm, I'm going, I'm going, I'm going…”

When Reggie turned back to his mic, his eyes landed on y/n, and he shot a quick wink her way. Unbeknownst to him, this sent her cheeks aflame and her stomach fluttering. That kiss about an hour ago really wasn’t just something that happened because he was overwhelmed. She actually felt something then. And she’s feeling it now too. 

“Dance hard, laugh more, turn the music up now Party like a rockstar! Can I get a “what now”? I swear I'll do, anything that I have to ‘Til I forget about… Jump up, fall down, gotta play it loud now Don't care, my head's spinning all around now I swear I'll do anything that I have to… ‘Til I forget about you!”

The bassist’s eyes now lock onto y/n’s as he sings the bridge towards her. She had barely even recovered from his wink and now he’s staring right through her soul while she had to act like it didn’t even affect her in any shape or form. 

“Spending money like you don't mean a thing Going crazy, now don't even think Losing my mind, is all I can do Till I forget about you”

He turned back to the frenzied crowd as he belted out the high note.

The band then played a musical intermezzo. Luke joined Alex at his platform and Reggie stepped up to Julie’s keyboard as she played the synth-sounding notes. The Latina girl was happy to see Reggie in his element again and actually have fun as they played their set. It was a nice change from the otherwise solemn and sad Reggie they were plagued with in the past weeks.  

For the first half of the last chorus, they all stopped playing their instruments except Alex. He went wild on the drum solo Reggie had blessed him with while the rest clapped their hands to the beat, getting the crowd to mirror them. 

“Dance hard, laugh more, turn the music up now Party like a rockstar! Can I get a what now? I swear I'll do, anything that I have to Till I forget about…”

They picked their instruments up again and continued singing. Even the crowd started to get a hang on the lyrics by now, which hyped Reggie up even more for the rest of the song.  

“Jump up, fall down, gotta play it loud now Don't care, my head's spinning all around now I swear I'll do anything that I have to…”

“Till I forget about you!”

Reggie belted out a high note, which made y/n’s heart leap. His voice had always been her favorite sound in the whole entire world but hearing it so confidently coming out of him had her on her toes. 

“Till I forget about you”

“Till I forget about you”

He turned to y/n again as  he sang the very last line with a certain glint in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place. 

“I can’t forget about you!”

The band played their very last chords, notes or hit their last cymbals, and when the song rang out, the audience were applauding, cheering and whistling. But Reggie couldn’t bear tearing his eyes off of y/n. 

She was smiling at him and he was smiling at her. 

Both of them knew that he was okay. He was going to be okay with Lisa being gone because he had y/n by his side. She was the one who changed everything around. She was the one who made him go out to Carrie’s party. She was the one to remind him that he would be okay without the auburn haired girl. She was the one that helped him forget about her. She was the one.   

  JATP Taglist: @hannahhistorian92 @marinettepotterandplagg @thequirkybookaholic @bookdealer5 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @hemmingsness @iainttakingshitfromnobody  @ifilwtmfc  @angryknightstatesmantrash  @kiss-themoongoodbye @rudysbay @thedarkqueenofavalon​ @caitsymichelle13​ @calamitykaty @wiselight @kcd15​ @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @stars-soph @kinda-really-lost @notasofti @alexpjoyner @n0wornever @kaitieskidmore1 @tefilovesreading @happinessinthedarkesttimes

Names crossed out are the ones I couldn’t tag, sorry! 

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist! 

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Together 4: Glass.

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CW: explicit language and content, torture, captivity, wounds, implied sex work, strangulation, choking, suicide (hanging), suicidal thoughts/explicit planning, mouth whump description (bleeding, asphyxiation, choking), breathing, attempted noncon, bruises, beating, conditioning, dehumanization, noncon touching, drugs, alcohol, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, whumpee as caretaker, letmeknowifimissedany

August once asked what they do to me. Mouthed it, like he couldn’t stop himself from forming the words, but didn’t bother voicing it out of horror or just because he knew I couldn’t answer. I wouldn’t fucking know where to begin anyway.

Probably down on my knees.

At this point, our situation boggles my mind even more than when they trained me to be silent. That was logical when you psychoanalyzed it but shit got fucked sideways when August came into the picture. It’s just senseless now, an unending labyrinth of manipulation and control. Double the captives means double the fun. I was lucky to be alone for so long. There were two others before him but never like this. In the grand scheme of things, they’re all mere drops of water in the swimming pool of my time here. It was another woman first, although I never learned her name. She seemed like a Tiffany or a Heather and was really pretty, too but never trusted me. Wouldn’t even look at me, as if I wasn’t just as much of a prisoner as her.

Poor thing was in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw something she shouldn’t have. She didn’t last long at all. Unraveled faster than you can say, “Money’s on the table.” You’d think she’d have a little more grit. I mean you hear stories and can only imagine the shit they put up with in that industry, but it was like something out of an exorcist movie. Crying hysterically, throwing herself at the walls and doors, and trying to strangle the life out of me like I was sitting on a key. They came in and intervened but not before she’d purpled my neck so I could barely breathe. That was the only time they ever took the shock collar off. She spent the next bit catatonic and then one day when they brought me back, she was dangling by her own diamond-studded jeggings from a pipe on the ceiling, toes just a few inches from the ground. Damn slow way to die. They took out the pipe.

I’ve given it a hell of a lot of thought myself. She’d obviously been trying something similar with smacking herself into the concrete walls, but that will only get you a concussion that makes it feel like you’ve gone a few rings deeper into Hell. No, thank you. My choice would be the naked lightbulb on the wall, next to the door. If I shoved it far enough down my throat before it broke, I’m pretty sure I would asphyxiate before they could do anything. The key would be to bleed enough into my bronchial tube and inhale enough shards of glass to shred my lungs a bit. A little internal bleeding down my esophagus wouldn’t hinder the cause but certainly wouldn’t be fatal on its own, never mind the risk of just cutting my tongue and mouth to ribbons if it breaks too early. In that case, I’d be fucked. That’s why Wyatt leaves it there, uncovered, even though other lightbulbs down the hallway have metal cages screwed over them. Tempting me to risk it. He also knows that, now, I’d never leave August. I feel responsible and that’s why he holds my life in his hands. The torture will never stop and August is better off with me to take care of him in whatever way I can, even if it doesn’t even come close to reparation.

—

The next guy was probably mid-thirties and built like a truck. I can’t begin to imagine what he did to wind up here. He didn’t take to captivity well either. Everything they’d put into him, he’d let out onto me. The first time, he was angling to get a sweeter kind of release than just wailing on me. I was pretzeled around one of the legs of my bed frame, while he punched and clawed at me, so hell-bent on not letting go, I was screaming my head off for help despite the collar. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Wyatt doesn’t like anyone to touch me. That went over like a lead balloon. Playing off his proclivity like somehow I had any right to decide not to be raped. Wyatt would have stopped it anyway and I could have saved myself the next few days of my bunkmate beating the living shit out of me undisturbed as long as he left it at just that. As soon as Wyatt decided I’d learned my lesson, or was sick of seeing me limping and bruised, that guy was fish food.

The second bed was empty for a long time after that even though I’m sure there were others. Wyatt has a list a mile-long of people he’d like to get his hands on for one reason or another, but I never saw them. Wyatt would still bring me out to toy with me in his usual ways. The buffoons would bring me out when he wasn’t around for entertainment but they know better than to touch me more than cursory shoves to keep me cooperating and even then, more often with their phones or other inanimate objects, rather than their hands. To them, it was endlessly entertaining to get me high out of my mind and mess with me or make me play Emma Fortyhands until I puked all over myself. I should have known Wyatt wasn’t wasting any time during this plateau of suffering. From what August says, he was here for a handful of days, maybe even two weeks, before they made us roommates. Wyatt just talked to him, drilling him for hours. He had been screening him, looking for the perfect match before binding us together in torment.

They always take me first and bring me straight to Wyatt. He likes to talk to me about what he has planned for August, trying to get a rise out of me. Like I’d be dumb enough to think that any amount of disgust or fear on my part would make a lick of difference for August. If anything, Wyatt would double it just for my reaction. Next, Wyatt makes sure I’ll make it through what he has planned for me without passing out. The humane thing would be to give me a second meal or something but instead, he gives me whatever his henchmen have lying around. An unpredictable twist added to my slow destruction. I’m lucky if it’s an energy shot or some gross drink that tastes like fruit-flavored battery acid and leaves me shaking. More often, it’s “just a bump” of something that makes my heart race and the whole session so unbearable I’m screaming in my head at the top of my lungs until I come down.

One time, he gave me a tab of acid. His favorite kind of experiment, the ultimate demonstration of his success. To no one’s surprise, I’m conditioned enough that I still didn’t speak and followed every instruction. That was, no contest, my worst day on this fucked-sideways merry-go-round. I was tripping so hard. Too slow and too fast at the same time, no distinction between myself and everything around me. Wyatt’s barbaric plan turned into a barbaric fuck-up. A small part of me understood what I had done even before I came down and when I stumbled out, I was met by silence instead of the usual dumb peanut-gallery comments. They threw me into the shower after, like always, but left me there for hours since I was still tripping. I was hysterical by the time they let me out. By some miracle, or just Wyatt perversely delaying the end, he had actually called a real doctor.

—

Today, Wyatt hands me a double shot of whiskey because it’s “cute” to watch me struggle when I’m tipsy. I knock it back in one swallow, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that frightens me. He finishes getting me ready and then smacks me on the ass to get me moving. Once I’m in the room, he starts feeding me instructions even though I already know what he wants from me today. This way, he’s in control of my every action, like he’s thinking for me, while I just focus on getting air into my lungs, fighting through the alcohol hitting my bloodstream and burning in my empty stomach. I can throw it up in the shower later if I need to. I just need to survive this.

By the time I stumble out, I’m inevitably a mess. Crying, shaking, and covered in sweat, even on the days I get the raw, straight edge experience. One of the baboons walks me to the small concrete room, empty except the industrial-looking shower head in the ceiling above the drain. The controls are on the outside of the room which is how they make sure the water is ice cold and stays on for exactly five minutes. They take the collar off and I get a bar of soap before they lock me in. It used to be orange soap bars that made my skin feel dry even wet. After that, it was green with the same problem but a stronger smell that clung to me all the time, which wasn’t half bad. Lately, it’s a white, rounder bar, that’s distinctly feminine, and leaves my skin soft, which would be concerning if I wasn’t already too balls-deep in my worst nightmare to care.

I used to dance in and out of the freezing shower while I soaped up but now I stay under the whole time. It’s the only thing that makes any damn sense anymore, the one small touch of reality in this shit storm. I stand under the frigid water and then shake and shiver once it’s turned off until the cold becomes a buzz on my skin and in my veins. Depending on the day, I wait for seconds or hours until they toss me a small, scratchy towel and clean clothes. The waiting is part of it. Not because I’m covered in goosebumps, muscles cramping so that I have to curl in on myself for heat, but because of what I know is waiting for me next.

When they finally let me out and lock me into the collar, it’s all I can do not to run back to our basement hole as fast as my legs will carry me to make sure August hasn’t bled out or gone into shock while they kept me from him. It’s all I care about anymore, helping him survive, making him as comfortable as possible. Honestly, it is the least I can do. It’s my fault he’s here at all, kept to be part of a set. Not to mention the heinous torture. If I had known, I would have done my damndest to kill him before it ever even started.

And I would have inhaled that fucking lightbulb immediately after.

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Taglist: @deluxewhump

[crowtrinkets]

Loved, Past Tense

WARNING: LUCIO REVERSED ENDING SPOILERS

--

Word Count: 2,123

The apprentice is now the devil, they have the undying love and admiration of Lucio. But they cannot help by miss Asra their friend. With their new-found knowledge and powers, they attempt to talk to Asra, confront him.

I was inspired after reading Lucio’s revered ending, plz don’t judge my attempt at angst too hard.

--

The click of Lucio’s boots exiting through the gate as he heads back to the mortal world echoes in my realm. That's right. My realm. I run my clawed hand along my throne admiring its handiwork. I wonder how many millennia the previous devil spent sitting here, waiting for entertainment. I do not desire to grow bored here all alone while Lucio makes conquests for Vesuvia in the name of the Devil. My name. Nadia fights back with her family in Prakra, I feel a slight tinge of remorse knowing she’s fighting so hard. I wish she would submit it would make things so much easier if my friends were on my side. Then there is the matter of Asra. My dear teacher, my friend, he left without so much as a goodbye. I wish he said goodbye. With a wave of my magic, an image appears before me. My shop, our shop. It looks like no one has been home in months. The dust building on the counter brings a frown to my face.

"I have to find him."

I will the image away placing my hands in my lap. I’ll have to meditate on this. Becoming the Devil gave me a vast knowledge of the unknown. Secrets I never knew as a mortal suddenly became common knowledge to me. I know about my past, all the details of it, Asra's deal with the Arcana. If I were not how I am now I may have lost my mind with the knowledge of my life before my death, but I’m stronger now. Asra and I share a heart, I can use my magic, my power to find him. It’s just a matter of if he will let me. Closing my eyes I reach out, with my magic or my newfound powers I cannot tell the difference. It seems they merged together. I find a thread and grab it, but it severs the minute I grab hold. Asra must have recognized me. I will find him. I lounge into my throne admiring the palace-like structure the devil created for this realm, it's a little vast for my taste but maybe I’m just used to my shop. No matter, I have other things to worry about.

—-

I stand out in the red fields, running my hand over a crater and filling it with water. I have found that Asra is partial to water magic. I have tracked his location without raising suspicions. It was all thanks to my creatures that Lucio is so fond of. I managed to find an item tethered to Julian and tracked him, being as they are traveling together, Asra as well. They’re in some far off desert town. Whatever they’re doing there I do not know, nor do I care, I just want to talk to Asra. I wave my hand over the water and concentrate on Julian's aura. He doesn’t use a lick of magic so he wouldn’t even notice my presence.

“Asra! Tubs free!” I hear the ring of a man's voice, Julian's, judging by the red hair poking underneath a towel as he walks out of view.

“Thank you, Julian, did you refill it?” Asra's voice.

“Ah I did, I hope the water is a good temperature?” I roll my eyes at the attempt of flirting. I hear Julian leave and the door close. Asra lets out a sigh, I hear the movement of fabric, as he removes his shirt. Asra approaches the tub reaching a hand towards the water, but stops when he sees my face staring back at him.

“Hello Asra,” is all I can muster to say. Asra stares stunned for a minute then starts.

“H-hello,” it seems he’s at a loss for words, rare for him.

“Why have you been hiding, why haven’t you visited me,” Asra’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“I don’t understand, why would I visit you? Do you know the carnage Lucio has laid waste to in Vesuvia?” His voice is in a harsh whisper, he doesn’t want the others to hear that he’s talking to me. No matter I do not care about them.

“Lucio is doing what I asked of him, those people don’t understand I’m doing them a service,” I continue to stare Asra down, my eyes refusing to leave his. He looks at me, his expression neutral but I can see behind his eyes. Fear, anger, sadness, I can feel it in our shared hearts.

“Allowing people to die? Raiding nearby territories? That's what you call service? What happened to you?” Asra grips the edges of the tub, disgust forming on his face. “Why did you leave us, back there, with the world turtle, you didn't even say anything, no goodbye….. No nothing,” I feel the taste of anger settle in my mouth.

“Why did you leave me!” I hiss, leaning close to the water. Asra takes a step back. “All those days you left on your journeys, leaving me to run the shop on my own, disappearing in the morning without so much as a goodbye?”

“You wouldn’t understand, MC-“

“Oh? Wouldn’t I?” I tap the water with a claw, allowing it to distort and ripple the image of Asra. I reach into the water and allow myself to be engulfed. For a second I don't see anything, then my eyes settle. I'm in the bathroom Asra is in. It’s small, wooden, there is a multitude of towels folded on shelves, countless bottles of soaps and scents on a table. A window behind me reveals a vast desert. I turn back and face Asra who looks up at me in horror.

“Do not be afraid Asra, I mean you no harm, I just want to know why,” he takes a step back, craning his neck up as I stand in the bathtub. I crouch down into the tub, sitting so my height is less intimidating. If I wanted to scare him I would’ve done it ages ago.

“I-I can’t tell you,” Asra avoids my eyes, looking to the floor instead, as he backs up and falls into a stool. He puts his head into his hands and lets out a sigh.

“I know, Asra,” he looks up at me. Before he starts I interrupt. “I know everything, I know about my death, how I died of the plague. How we were friends before… more than friends,” I pause allowing my words to take root. “Your deal, the reason my memories were wiped. I. Know. Everything.” I growl, gripping the edges of the tub, leaning forward to emphasize my words, my anger at his secrets. Asra gawks for a second, leaning his elbows on his knees before he starts.

“Then why bother asking if you know everything, I ran away for a reason, MC… To get away from you,” There's a hint of anger in his wavering voice.

“Then why leave, if you were so fond of me Asra, why did you not act on it, I have seen realities where you and I could have been together,” I can feel tears welling in my eyes, but I barely feel the sadness, it remains in the back of my mind, sitting behind a glass wall, visible but unreachable. “I loved you Asra... Loved,” Asra winces at confession.

“I should have been there for you,” his voice wavers, tears threatening to leave his eyes.

“Yes! You should have... You left the second before Countess Nadia came into our shop that night. Maybe you knew it was her, and you wanted to get rid of me... you were tired of taking care of me and you didn't have the courage to say anything,” Asra stands.

“No, no no that’s not what happened! I-I I couldn’t bear the thought of not being with you, holding you, calling you mine. W-when I would tell you of your past you would go into this catatonic state,” Asra’s voice begins to break. “I couldn’t bear to hurt you anymore so I had to let you go... B-but for you to end up with Lucio? Why would you do this to me… I loved you,”

“Lucio has shown me more love and dedication than you ever have!” I lurch forward sending the baths water over the edge.

“You call that love? Him blindly following you like a lost pup?” Asra tenses. I can see the mental battle going on in his mind. I can feel the way his heart pounds in his chest, as mine mimics his.

“Lucio stole my parents from me… I was so alone for years, having to fend for myself,” he places a hand on his chest, attempting bravado.

“Your parents brought that among themselves, they knew the terms of their deal with the devil and the took it,” I bark out, window-rattling behind me. “Lucio was doing what was asked of him by the devil, the fact that your parents even took the deal says a lot about them, about you,” Asra of all people should know that deals are not a one-sided project.

He reaches down and picks up the shirt he previously removed and grabs hold of the doorknob. At that moment I summon chains to grab hold of the knob and slam it close before Asra can make his way out. Asra flinches and stares at them, backing up and leaning against the wall, his stare shifts to me, cold and deadpanned.

“I may have forgiven Lucio for what he did to me, but that does not change his past! The things he did,”

“People can change Asra,” I say almost sing-song.

“You’ve changed… For the worst,” his voice shakes, his fists clench and I can feel his magic reach out, trying to find anything to fight me with.

“Oh yes Asra, I have changed,” I step out of the bath, one hoof at a time, sauntering towards to him, as though we were having a friendly conversation. Towering over him I can feel the fear creeping up inside him.

“But not for the worst. You and I, master, we’re similar.” Asra’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and anger. “You recreated me, for your own selfish means, why couldn’t you just let me stay dead? You wanted a weak, helpless follower. To worship you, love you and you got what you wanted,” I reach up towards Asra’s head.

“N-no that’s not what I wante-“ I grab him by his hair, angling him so he can look at me properly. He hisses in pain grabbing my wrist attempting to pull free. But my grip is too strong.

“And now that I’ve surpassed you, you can’t bear the thought. Your poor little Apprentice doesn’t need you anymore. So you run away, hide from your regrets, I will always know where you are, Asra,” I lift my hand, poking a claw into Asra’s chest right over his heart, not enough to break the skin, but enough to sting. His breath hitches when I make contact. “We share a heart remember? I know everything you’re feeling, I know you feel disgusted and fearful. But you even yearn for me. You can’t forget me,” I see a spark of magic forming in Asra’s hand, I summon chains to bind his hands above his head before he does.

“You’re no better than the last devil,” he chokes out through pained gasps. Tears fall from his face, but his expression remains full of anger. Hatred.

“Maybe, maybe not, but you can’t do anything to stop me. Killing the devil almost destroyed me. That’s why I had to become him, you could never do something like that… Lucio saved my life he aided in my ascension, you revived me to keep me to yourself,” I let go of Asra and back up towards to tub, keeping eye contact. Once again I feel tears threatening to fall from my eyes, but I do not feel sorrow. Asra on the other hand is crying. I feel his heartbreak, and mine as well but I am numb to the feeling.

“I-I hate you…” He means it.

“That may be so, but you still love me as well,” I step back into the tub.

“I HATE YOU!” Asra flings a bottle at my head but I am already sinking in the water, too fast for it to make contact. I hear a crash and then nothing.

I pull my head from the water, sitting up. I am back in my realm, sitting on the edge of the water. I look back down but there is no image, just the reflected red sky above me and my face, distorted by shadows. Something drops into the water causing it to ripple. I bring a hand to my face.

Tears.

[scarlets-maximoff]

Hi! Here's my prompt: jealous!Wanda and oblivious Agatha. Agatha is always flirting with someone, it's just natural to her, but Wanda doesn't like it one bit.

hi, anon!! I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but it is finally here: some feral, jealous wandagatha thing that might have become slightly darker than I intended!!

thank you for the prompt by the way, i loved writing it! enjoy, my dude <3

—

She followed Agatha's every movement. Every slow curling of lips, every light touch to someone's arm. Wanda sees it all. And she doesn't like it one. Bit.

Strange has asked them to help him infiltrate a party, some gathering of rich people who were—his words, not hers—conspiring to 'threaten and destroy the very fabric of reality’. Wanda knows a lot, more than she would want to admit, about reality and its workings. Why wouldn't she? She was the Scarlet Witch, Harbinger of Chaos, and—as those idiots would soon find out—Agatha Harkness' wife.

And as such, she is entitled to care for and protect what is hers. Even when she is not supposed to. Don't get her wrong, she is perfectly aware of Agatha's role on this mission. The relentless flirting, the sultry tones of her voice, the lingering touches-

It is all an act. Her wife needs to do it if they want to stop whatever threat they’re fighting against, but to do so, the couple has to pretend that they aren't married. Wanda knows it's crucial for Agatha to get the precious information they require. But she can't help herself.

Wanda can't help the way her sight blurs with red, dark, and heavy and furious when she sees a hand lingering on Agatha's waist. She can't help the sneer on her lips at the sight of her wife, her Agatha, giving in to this man's touch. The rational part of her brain, the one that controls most of her actions—nowadays, at least—tries to dissolve the other part of her from going over there and, and- Calm down, Wanda, calm down!

She doesn't.

"Um, hello there!" She grips the man's shoulder, the touch soft enough to not bruise, but hard enough to make him jump. At least he’s not putting his paws on her wife anymore. "I see that you've met my friend," There's a pleading look in her woman's eyes, it says something like Wanda, I was almost getting what we need, it's okay- Her eyes, which once were of deep, vigorous green, now flash scarlet. A warning. "I'm Wanda, a pleasure to meet you…?" Behind the man's towering figure, her wife is softly shaking her head, blue eyes worried. Wanda doesn’t budge an inch.

She extends a slender hand towards him, a strained smile on her face. Her magic starts creeping around her mind, but she wills it away. Not now, she thinks, I'll have my fun first. On the other hand, the man has a slightly confused, if not irritated, look in his eyes. "I'm Chris." They shake hands. Wanda wants to squeeze it until its bones break; until he falls on his knees and begs-

His handsome face twists into a frown as if he is constipated. Behind him, she hears Agatha snicker. "We were in the middle of something here, miss. Excuse-"

"Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt! But if you just let me borrow her for a minute…" And Wanda watches as faint tendrils of purple magic, almost translucent to the untrained eye, touch his temples. His features relax into passiveness. Shoulders hunched, a hazy look on his blue orbs, Chris goes away.

By the time she closes the distance between them, the guy is already lost in the crowd.

"Wanda, what were you thinking? I was this close to getting the intel we need! I cannot believe-” Wanda doesn’t let Agatha finish, already taking her away to the closest empty room she can find. Agatha mutters nonsense under her breath, struggling to keep up with her taller, legs-for-days wife. Wanda's rings dig into the tender skin of her forearm, and something in the back of her mind scratches against its surface. Looking up to Wanda, she notices a dark shadow looming on her gaze.

Agatha shivers from head to toe. Something is not right.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Agatha tries to untangle herself from Wanda's hold, but to no avail. As if snapped back to reality, the redhead suddenly lets her go. There are red tendrils swirling between her fingers. "Dear? What is it? Please, tell me." Wanda waves her hand and-

In a blink, both women find themselves inside a dimly lit kitchen, only moonlight shining through the half-opened window on the back. There's a confused, almost catatonic look on Wanda's gaze, and this is what scares Agatha the most. It is as if the woman herself did not know what was happening and, most importantly, why.

Approaching her wife carefully, Agatha closes the distance between them with an extended hand, which is promptly held by Wanda's. With a tenderness many would have thought uncommon but only a few knew it existed, Agatha lifts her other hand to gently caress Wanda's cheek, worry never leaving her eyes. She asks again, "What happened back there, darling?" Yet again a shadow crosses her lover's face, red flashing over green orbs.

"He was touching you, putting his hands all over you and I just- I couldn't stand back and watch it," Wanda practically snarls, the eastern accent coming through sharp and clear, like razor blades. It is then that Agatha notices arms around her waist, pulling her close.

"You were jealous?" Disbelief hangs from her words, "Oh, honey, don't be like that… Hey, look at me," At some point Wanda has buried her face in the crook of her neck, probably to calm herself down. Gently cradling her face in her hands, Agatha takes her time to kiss her lover. To soothe her. They move in sync with one another, and by the time Agatha pulls away, there's no scarlet shadow coloring her wife's eyes.

"I'm yours, okay? Always yours," She brushes her nose against Wanda's, "And no one will ever take me away from you." Kisses her swollen bottom lip, making sure to bite it before pulling away again. She feels warm lips nipping at her neck, and has to hold back a moan.

"I know," Without moving away from their embrace, the Scarlet Witch leads them further across the room, until Agatha's back hits the wall, "I wouldn't let them." And this time, Wanda bites.

Dr Strange eyes them warily when they meet him outside the manor. Why is there a hickey on- Ugh, nevermind. Sighing, the sorcerer teleports them away.

At least they got the intel, right?

[funkyhanji]

Daddy's Perfect Cock-Slut [English | BNHA]

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia (@Horikoshi Kohei) Character(s): Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, Todoroki Shouto Pairing(s): EnjiSho Rating: E Word count: 3528 CWs: Shota, Underage, Extremely Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Grooming, Mind Manipulation, Childhood Trauma, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Begging, Rough Sex, Large Cock, Cock Worship, Cock Cages, Cock-Slut Shouto, Creampie, Implied/Referenced Father/Daughter Incest, Dissociation, Dirty Talk, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Summary: - That green-haired runt [...] knew nothing about Shouto. Or about Enji. Or about their relationship and how it functioned. -

Enji's annoyed. That green-haired runt reminded him too much of All Might, with his self-righteous attitude and acting like it's his duty to go sticking his nose into someone else's business, unwanted and spewing corny bullshit. Did that kid even know who he was talking to in that way?

His Shouto doesn't need help from a kid who can't even properly control his quirk. He knew nothing about Shouto. Or about Enji. Or about their relationship and how it functioned.

[*]

It took two days for Enji to notice Shouto's catatonic state and lifeless stare. He'd been busy dealing with the paperwork necessary to hospitalize his wife after her psychotic breakdown and her attack on their youngest child. Also the press — keeping the nosy fuckers away from his family problems was of utmost importance. Good thing he showered his PR staff and lawyers in money.

It was a comment from Fuyumi which had clued Enji in on the boy's ghost-like presence around the house.

Shouto, excused from school for a couple of weeks after the incident, would be seen wandering the halls in a daze; he'd often gravitate to the kitchen or his mother's bedroom, and stay there for indefinite amounts of time. He only moved when someone nudged him out of the rooms.

His son, he also came to notice quickly, was very responsive to commands in that state. As if his brain was more than happy to be given directions or orders to follow.

Any sort of command.

«Stop right there, Shouto,» Enji ordered one day, seeing the boy walking down the corridor in front of his open studio door. Shouto did as told, making Enji hum, curiosity piqued. «Come in Shouto, and close the door.»

His son obeyed, standing just past the threshold, his face devoid of any real expression and a haunted look in his eyes. It was disconcerting, Enji had to admit, but the cooperativeness was pleasing after all the reluctance to follow directives Shouto had shown since they'd begun his training.

«Come to me, boy,» he said, waving him over. «And speak, I'm tired of you playing mute.»

Shouto slowly crossed the distance, halting beside the chair Enji was sitting in. «Father.» His voice was scratchy from disuse and a bit dull, but it was still an improvement over the contempt it held before.

Something could be bettered though.

«Call me 'Daddy', boy,» he ordered.

«Yes, Daddy.»

The word sent a shiver down Enji's spine. Something wicked and dark—a desire to claim what was his on the most base level — awakening inside him for the first time in months, maybe years. Rei wasn't here to stop him, this time; she wasn't here to distract him with her own body, or to send Fuyumi his way in her stead.

Shouto was all his for the taking, now.

«Your Mommy was taken away because of you, Shouto. And since you're the reason she's not here anymore, it'll be your job to do everything Mommy did for Daddy. Do you understand, Shouto?»

«Yes, Daddy. I'll do everything Mommy did for Daddy, because it's my fault she was taken away.»

The smirk slashing through his face was nothing but sinister.

«Good boy.»

They were in Rei's bedroom, alone and with the door locked. It wasn't necessary, frankly: his and his wife's rooms were on a different side of the house from his kids', and none of them were about to come looking for him, not after dinner anyway.

Enji had come out of the bathhouse to find Shouto once again in his mother's room, gaze lost like a kicked puppy.

Defenseless. Adrift.

And Enji was there, because it was easy to take advantage of a traumatized child when you use the excuse of providing him with an anchor, a grounding touch.

He spread out Rei's futon on the tatami mats — a half-empty bottle of lube rolled out of it as well —, sat down with his legs loosely crossed in front of him and reached out a hand toward Shouto. His other hand undoing the knot of the towel at his hips.

«Here, Shouto, come sit in my lap,» Enji ordered.

«Yes, Daddy.» Shouto plopped down in the circle his legs made, back straight and blinking slow, breath even.

He didn't protest when Enji took his hand in a gentle hold, brushing a large thumb over the white knuckles; he didn't protest when Enji cradled the bandaged side of his face in his other hand. He didn't try to back away, as Enji coaxed his jaws open and delved two thick fingers inside, the rough pads gliding over a soft tongue and gums. Back and forth, deeper at each passage and full of intent.

A flush began to creep onto Shouto's cheeks; his breath humid as it puffed over the back of Enji's hand, a spark flickering to light in his uncovered eye.

He brought his son's hand toward his groin, pleased to see him follow the movement, gaze focusing on the swelling cock nestled in dark crimson curls. A shiver coursed through Shouto's thin frame as his fingers made contact, a sigh escaping parted pale-pink lips.

«Daddy...» Shouto whispered, muffled by Enji's digits still in his mouth.

«Go on Shouto,» Enji said, letting his hand fall from the boy's face, setting it at his slim waist. «You remember what to do, right?»

Shouto nodded, too lost in the moment to respond verbally, but it was fine.

Enji picked up the lube, squirting some in the boy's palm. Cold fingers wrapped around his length — barely long enough to circle the girth of it even when limp — and stroked, the touch tentative, trembling but growing surer at each pass. The push and pull of the foreskin as it glided over the head, the stiffening of the cock under his fingertips seemed to entice Shouto. His pupil dilated the harder Enji got, the blush on his face darkening at each of Enji's pleased hums.

«Good, Shouto,» Enji praised. He groaned when his son's other hand joined in the stroking, the dual sensation of hot and cold enclosing his cock feeling nice on his burning skin. «Put more strength into it, boy.»

«Yes… Daddy,» Shouto whispered, sounding winded as his whole body shifted with his movements. Sweat started beading at his hairline from the extersion and the heat radiating off of Enji.

«Remember, Shouto, this is your duty now. Taking care of my needs, of my cock, is your responsibility.»

«… Because it's my... fault Mommy's not… here anymore...»

«That's right.» Enji smirked, dripping corruption and lust unbecoming of a hero. «Get your mouth down there, c'mon. Like I told you.»

Once the bandages came off his face and Shouto was cleared by the doctor to go back to school, the vacancy in his stare finally began to recede day by day. He no longer wandered around the house like a ghost and he talked more often, as stilted and curt as his sentences were.

A positive thing, according to the majority of people Enji spoke to — a phrase which never failed to make him raise an eyebrow. He could understand such naivety from Fuyumi, but from adults who should know better than to sweep PTSD and trauma under the rug? Bullshit. They were just trying to appease him, Endeavor, the #2 Hero.

They were lucky that worked perfectly for Enji.

He could do without the new-found sparks of defiance in Shouto's eyes whenever they crossed paths or trained in the dojo, sure, but in was worth it when all the fight bled out of his tiny frame at the first glimpse of Enji's cock. He knew playing his hand while the boy was in a malleable state would be beneficial in drilling some key concepts in his brain.

«That was weak, Shouto! Fuyumi could have punched harder than that!» Enji reprimanded, eyes narrowed in Shouto's direction at his poor attitude.

He received a glare from the other side of the dojo, Shouto then kicking the dummy in the dick with an angry yell. Enji almost rolled his eyes at the display, but a sudden groan caught his attention.

«Ah— nnh…!»

Shouto was squirming where he stood, face pinched in discomfort and the heel of one hand carefully rubbing at his groin. Ah, Enji thought, it's the cage isn't it. Of course it was — it'd been only a week since Enji had put it on Shouto; he wasn't used to it yet.

«Stop touching it, Shouto,» Enji said. «It won't help—»

«Shut up! Take it off of me!»

Enji stood up, growling low and stalking toward his son. He gripped a fistful of bi-colored hair and shoved Shouto's face into his crotch none too gently, grinding him against his clothed, soft cock. Any protest died quickly. A breathy moan warming Enji's bulge, which twitched in interest as Shouto nudged his nose further into the crease between his thigh and pelvis.

«I told you not to touch the cage, Shouto,» Enji said, looking down at the boy.

«Mmkay,» Shouto muttered into the fabric of his sweatpants; his tiny arms embracing Enji's waist. «Daddy… wanna…»

«What do you want?»

«Daddy's… Da— haa!-» Enji rubbed a knee over Shouto's trapped little dick- «cock! Nnnh— Daddy's cock! P-Please...»

Enji chuckled. «And what d'you wanna do with it, mh, Shouto?»

Shouto looked up at him, flushed face and eyes swimming with desire to please. Enji could imagine the boy's mind quickly being overtaken by thoughts of his cock; touching it, stroking it, feeling its weight and warmth on his tongue — the way he'd been primed to in the weeks after the incident.

«S-service you— ah! — Daddy… please!»

«Since you're being so polite-» Enji patted his head, then undid the pants' drawstring and pulled them down enough for his cock to bounce free- «go ahead.»

Shouto's eyes light up, a needy whine falling from pink lips. «Thank you Daddy!»

He delved right in, mouth parting to suckle on the head, tongue sneaking under the foreskin and swirling around it like an ice-cream cone. Popping off the tip, Shouto moved down the hard length, kissing and licking every pulsing vein all the way to the base; he coated Enji's cock in saliva to ease the stroking of his small hands while he nuzzled up to the sac under it.

«Suck on those, boy,» Enji grunted, a large hand on the nape of Shouto's head. «That's where you came from.»

Shouto's tongue lapped at his heavy balls with careful brushes, lips puckering over the sensitive skin, sucking gently. Over and over, he kissed Enji's sac with something akin to reverence in both his touches and his eyes. His breath was humid and hitching as he worshiped Enji like the all-consuming being he was.

A low rumble reverberated in Enji's chest, his palm caressing red-and-white hair in silent appreciation. «Yeah… like that, Shouto. You like Daddy's cock, don't you?»

Shouto moaned, long and trembling with need. «Ah! I… I-I— yes! Like-» his lips attached to Enji's cock-head once again, drinking up the pre-cum oozing from it and mewling- «mngh— l-love it Daddy!» He rutted against Enji's leg, no doubt trying to find relief for his tiny dick trapped in that cage.

«Good boy. Now back to sucking.»

Enji unceremoniously pushed Shouto's parted mouth down on his twitching cock, fucking into it fast but controlled, thrusts shallow as his son let himself be used. Flushed cheeks hollowing and puffing out in time with his movements, and small hands cupping his balls, it didn't take long for Enji to feel himself starting to cum.

«Here it comes, Shouto,» he groaned, fingers dipping into the boy's nape to keep him still. «My seed— shit! Ngh!— don't spill any!»

Shouto's muffled assent sent jolts of pleasure up his cock, pushing him over the edge until he was dumping a load of scorching cum down the awaiting throat. Shouto drank and drank, lips tightening around his length to coax out every drop.

The sight alone — of Shouto's still-developing Adam's Apple bob — arousing him enough he could go for a second round immediately. «Like mother, like son: she loved to guzzle it down too.»

«Quit your squirming, dammit!» Enji growled, a rough palm on his son's hip.

«Nooo…! Back— put it back Daddy! Too empty...» Shouto cried.

Enji ignored the whining and the wriggling hips, too busy trying to reach for the lube one-handed, to appreciate the desperation Shouto was showing. At last managing to pop the bottle open, Enji poured the lube over the boy's slightly puffy hole — a huff of laughter escaping him at the squeak it earned him — and sank a finger inside.

Shouto's body shivered, no longer fighting. «Daddy...»

«Yeah,» Enji said. His digit moving back and forth, taking stock of how prepped his son's ass was after pulling out the plug which had been stretching him. «This is better, mh? A minute without something filling you up is unbearable, isn't it.»

The only answer he got was a whorish moan and Shouto pushing back into his hand.

Enji had introduced butt plugs around three months into his molding of Shouto into his personal, perfect cock-slut. He'd been dreaming about fucking his son well before Rei had snapped and gotten herself locked away in a hospital, and after teaching Shouto how to pleasure him with his mouth, Enji had decided it was time he started training that cute, round ass to take his cock. It'd been a couple of painstakingly long years. Years filled of better and better blowjobs, thigh-fucking — and occasional Fuyumi-fucking, because sometimes he missed the familiar feeling of a cold and wet pussy soaking up his boiling-hot cum —, and the slow-increasing girth of butt plugs up Shouto's hole.

The wait was finally over.

Enji was already rock-hard at the prospect of sinking balls-deep in Shouto.

His son seemed eager as well; spine curving sharply upward, hands gripping the futon under his shaking body in a vice. «Hhhnggh…!! O-oh! Da-Daddy! More— aah!— moreee!»

Enji smirked, a second finger pushing alongside the first to scissor and loosen Shouto; a third was quick to follow, and a fourth, the blushing rim stretched deliciously around his fingers, shiny with lube and fluttering. Enji shifted his hand back a little, calloused pads prodding at his son's prostate, licking his lips at Shouto's shocked yell. He kept up the touch until Shouto's walls were quaking and he was orgasming with his ass, his little caged dick limp but twitching uselessly over the sheet.

«Look at that, Shouto, you mastered the art of cumming like a woman,» Enji praised, fingers popping out of the boy with a squelch.

Shouto was out of it, drowning in post-coital bliss. «… Like a wo… man… did good?... Daddy…?»

«Yes, you did good. So good, you deserve my cock.»

Shouto didn't have time to say anything, Enji lubing himself up quickly and thrusting inside the small body in the next minute. Both moaned, when he bottomed out, then he pulled the boy up to sit on his thighs. Hands at a slim waist — leaving bruises on the milky-white skin —, Enji began ramming Shouto onto his cock at a brutal pace, the slapping of skin on skin loud and obscene, a nice background to the gritty grunts and the breathless mewls they made.

«How's Daddy's cock, mh, Shouto?»

«Mmngh! Aaah! Oh— l-l-loooove it…! Daddy!! Oh! Hhhgaah— yes! Cock!! Co— AH!»

Shouto was a mess of snot and tears and drool, with barely enough functioning brain cells to form words while he was mercilessly bounced on Enji's cock. His guts were speared continuously, his stomach visibly bulging every time Enji thrusted into him; his prostate was brushed against over and over to the point of pain, but Shouto kept moaning and sobbing in pleasure like Enji had molded him to—a slut for anything Daddy's cock gave him.

And Enji made sure to tell him.

«What a... whore! Happy to be a— ngh— rag-doll in my grasp...  just to get my— shit!— cock. Ready to crawl— haa!— on your knees and choke on it! You're a bitch in heat, Shouto— my bitch. My cock-slut!»

«Yours, yes! Yesyes! Slut— AH! DADDY! AH! AH!»

Shouto orgasmed again, body like jello in Enji's hands as he shook and shuddered and pissed all over the futon. He kept up his onslaught anyway, fucking up into Shouto through his walls' clenching down on him until he was cumming violently inside, still thrusting while he rode it out, uncaring of the seed spilling down his cock and adding to the nasty mess.

«Thank… you… Daddy...»

«Mmh, good boy, Shouto.»

[*]

He sees his son walk towards him, on his way to compete in his first match. «Shouto,» he calls, «I'm expecting to see you use your fire today.» Shouto scowls, seeming determined to ignore him and that won't do for Enji. He steps in front of his son, blocking the passage with his large frame; this time it's him who ignores Shouto's gritted «Get out of my way». He bends at the waist until their faces are as close as can be with Enji's quirk active. «I put up with this defiance at home,» he says. «but here and now? It's going to ruin your performance and I won't have that.» «Fuck o—» Shouto starts, only for the words to die out as soon as he sees Enji unzip the fly of his hero suit and pull out his limp cock. He smirks. The change in demeanor is instantaneous: Shouto's pupils swell, black overtaking gray and blue irises; his jaws grow slack and his lips part; a rosy tint blossoms on his cheeks. Tense shoulders sag. In the next second, Shouto's on his knees in front of him. «Daddy...» he whines. «Aah, that's better,» Enji says. He reaches out, weaves his large hand in bi-colored hair. A low moan leaves his son's throat. He can practically see the saliva gathering on the boy's tongue in anticipation, can see him squirm on the floor as the seconds pass by. Shouto moves closer, nosing at the crimson pubes at the base of Enji's cock but not touching the half-hard shaft. He wasn't given permission to yet. «Need your Daddy's cock to calm down, mh?» Enji teases. «Like a baby with his pacifier-» with his free hand, he strokes himself, quickly growing fully hard at the sight of Shouto panting and sniffing at his crotch like a dog- «wanna be a good boy for Daddy?» Shouto nods wordlessly, slowly humping his boot and Enji can vaguely feel the chastity cage rub on him through Shouto's clothes. «Yes! Yes, please Daddy...! Please, your cock— oooh I want it! Daddy, please... pleasepleaseDa— mgahghn!» Enji grabs a fistful of white-n-red hair and pulls on it, shoving his cock past slack jaws without hesitation. «Suck Shouto,» he orders. Shouto moans around him. His hands grope Enji's thighs, blunt nails digging into the muscle as an anchor while he starts bobbing his head over the massive length. His tongue swirls around the shaft in just the right way to make Enji groan; Shouto's throat constricts as he's swallowed past his son's gag reflex, the vibrations from the mewls travel all the way up Enji's spine. His son's mouth is perfect. «Yeah, that's more— nngh— like it! Fuck, Shouto— you love my... cock mh? That's a good whore—» Wet and tight around him — it almost reminds him of Rei's and Fuyumi's pussies. «Cool yourself down a bit boy,» he grunts. When his son does as told, Enji moans at the feeling and fucks himself deeper, harder past Shouto's lips—they're stretched and puffy and red, with drool oozing down his chin. Shouto chokes on his cock yet keeps working it like the greedy slut he is. He ignores the tears running down his flushed cheeks and the snot mixing with his spit and Enji's pre-cum. His face looks dazed and Enji knows Shouto's brain is mush right now: the only words blaring in there are "COCK" and "DADDY" and "DADDY'S CUM". Exactly the way Enji wants him. It's what Enji's taught him ever since Rei had disappeared from the house, eight years ago-and his youngest cock-sleeve has grown up to be exceptionally great at giving head. The most talented at it since his mother. «Take Daddy's spunk, you slutty boy!» Enji says through gritted teeth as he feels himself getting close. He rips Shouto's mouth off him, gripping his cock and stroking himself quick and harsh until his balls draw up and he's throbbing in his own fist. «Open up and say— fuck!— thank you!» Shouto whines, swollen lips parted and tongue lolling out, waiting to be fed. It's enough to push Enji off the edge. With one last stroke, he's cumming, the thick ropes of seed landing on his son's eager tongue as well as on the bridge of his nose and his left cheek. He milks his orgasm to the last drop, staring down at Shouto with a dark glint in his eyes as the boy slurps up all the cum sizzling on his face. «Thank you Daddy...» Behind him, Present Mic's voice calls for Shouto's name.

[sopeyb23-blog]

The Three Rules

*not my gif

Rule #1, Rule #2

Summary: Spencer X F!reader work through exhaustion and frustration while on a case.

warnings: swearing (med), throwing things?, death (not main, not graphic, but mentioned), cm style issues, thats it i think???

Pairing: Spencer Reid X F!reader

words: 4.6K (shes big)

A/N: I keep making these soooo long, so, sorry. this one is a little darker than the rest but ends in fluff per usual and has a little bit of funny Emily and funny Garcia

*I do not own any CM characters

~~~~~~~~~~

Rule #2: Always offer comfort and support

Y/N ~

Spencer and I finally moved in together about a month after the last incident. And he was right, it was more efficient. 

“We gotta go, we gotta go, we gotta go!” I waited by our front door and Spencer ran around the apartment looking for his keys.

“I know I put them in the bowl”

“Spencer! I have keys, it's fine, let's go, lover boy!” He laughed and checked the ceramic bowl on the counter one last time before giving up. 

“Okay, one last check. Coffee?”

“Check” I held up the two large cups in my hands.

“Go bags, check” he held up both of our bags on his shoulders.

“And keys, ½ so, good enough” 

We arrived at the tarmac fifteen minutes earlier than usual...but still 10 minutes late. 

Spencer~

I took both of our bags and stashed them in the jet with the others before taking my seat beside Y/N on the couch. As per usual the first teasing began from Morgan when I sat down and he saw that my shirt was buttoned wrong and my hair was noticeably more disheveled than usual.

“Oooh, looks like a lover boy had a very good morning!” I glared at him as I rebuttoned my shirt and JJ immediately took action.

“Morgan, don’t make me put you in time out” He put his hands up in a mock defense.

“Im sorry mom!” Rossi laughed before handing me my paper file and Y/N her I-pad.

“Milwaukee again, they've got a child murderer.”   The once light mood from the teasing had gone away in an instant as we all opened up our files to see the pictures. 

“That's an annihilator” My first thought was to take Y/N's hand, offering a little support for her and comfort for myself through a small touch. She took my hand gladly and gave it a little squeeze. 

“An overly sadistic one too” Morgans brow furrowed as we continued to review the case but with perfect timing Garcia's face popped up on the screen. 

“I have a present for you” We all looked at her with puzzled expressions through the screen.

“Look under your seats!” she began with her best impression of a talk show host and we all fumbled about to find bedazzled gun holsters for each of us with all of our names in special large gems of our favorite colors. 

“Wow, thanks Garcia that's- that’s really thoughtful of you!” Emily tried and failed to contain her laughter as we all looked over to see Hotch replacing his leather belt holster with the bedazzled one from Garcia. He stood up to show her and got close to the camera.

“I’d say I look pretty badass.” He said it with a deadpan look on his face and then put his gun in it and sat back down without saying another word. JJ and Y/N looked at each other for a split second before bursting out in uncontrollable laughter. Like always, if one person on the team laughs, the rest of us can't help but join in. I always like to say it's because of Y/N. Her laugh is just one of those laughs that radiates all over and lights up a room.

Once we could breathe again we all thanked Garcia and she hung up with a big smile on her face. Now on to Milwaukee.

Y/N~ 

When we landed Hotch sent Spencer and I to the first crime scene together. Whenever possible on hard cases he likes to keep the two of us together because we work better that way. There is just something about the little touches during a hard case that keeps me going. And for this one, I was definitely going to need that. 

“Poor JJ” As we walked around the crime scene looking at all of the damage done Spencer and I talked through whatever came to mind.

“What do you mean?” I love him so much. But he's absolutely clueless.

“I mean, her and Hotch both. I can't imagine doing cases like this when you have a kid of your own back home. It must be terrifying” he nodded in silence before crouching down in the corner of the little boys room.

“Do you ever consider it?” I continued talking to him even though I know we are here to work. Sometimes that's my biggest flaw. I don't shut up easily.

“Consider what?”

“You know. Having baby geniuses one day?” I gave him a curious little smile as I waited for his response and continued writing little notes about the crime scene in my phone.

“Well i mean yeah, of course. But I'm not the one who'd be carrying them for 9 months am I?” I laughed at him and nodded before stopping altogether. 

“Them?” He gave me a mischievous smile back and said nothing.

“Fine then, keep your secrets”

We finished up at the crime scene and then headed back to the police station where the rest of the team was waiting for our report. Hotch and JJ look notably defeated and Rossi, Emily, and Derek just looked downright exhausted. Sometimes our work takes its toll rather quickly, especially when it's a very emotional case. Seeing a parent sob so horrifically after you give them the news is never easy. It's draining.

“So, what was the scene like?” Rossi spoke up from where he was standing in the corner.

“It was carnage. Absolute carnage” 

“How are the parents?” I looked at JJ who out of all of us definitely looked the most defeated.

“They’re acting like anyone else would. They’re distraught.” I grabbed Spencer's arm and held it tight as we talked about the profile. The more we talked the worse everyone looked. Garcia called mid profile and even her voice sounded exhausted. But we all knew that we wouldn't rest until we caught him.

Spencer~ 

None of us slept that night. None of us even left the precinct that night. A few times while we waited for more information or for someone to come in for an interview we would take turns napping on two chairs we wedged together to form a bed in the conference room. I tried that once, but I could barely fit my torso in them so I decided I would have better luck with the floor instead. 

“Spence, you want a snack?”

“They got pretzels?” I looked up from my napping position on the floor to look at Y/N when she stood over me with a few quarters in her hand. 

“Yeah, i'll be right back” She walked away for a moment and came back with two cups of coffee and two bags of pretzels. 

 She plopped both of them on my chest and crumbled to the floor beside me.

“Dinner is served” I chuckled and took a swig of coffee- overly sugared just how I like it- and then ate a single pretzel before Morgan came running into the room.

“A boy was just kidnapped” 

In a panic we all rushed up from our various positions and walked out into the main room of the precinct. I went straight for Hotch who was on the phone talking angrily.

“They put out an amber?” he blocked one end of the phone before turning to me.

“Not yet, get JJ on that please” I nodded and started to walk over to where JJ was napping.

“And Reid, get Y/N to talk to the parents, JJ’s done enough” I nodded solemnly.

We all have to do parent notifications and walkthroughs sometimes, but JJ does them the most. Every once in a while we make someone other than her do it to give her a well deserved break. Out of all of the things that we do, notifying the families is one of the hardest. 

“JJ, another boy has been taken, Hotch needs you to put out the amber.” I shook her shoulder and she woke quickly.

“Me? I should be with the family, have Garcia do it.” I looked her straight in the eyes and shook my head.

“We got this one, you deserve a break” she said nothing but got up from her chairs and walked over to the computer to start on the alert. 

“Y/N, baby, Hotch wants you with the families” she was still sitting on the floor where our coffees sat mostly untouched.

“Oh, um, okay, let's go then” I put a hand on her thigh.

“He wants me here. Will you be okay alone?”

“Oh. yeah, i'll be fine i have the keys anyways” She looked uneasy but neither of us had any choice in the matter. I gave her a chaste kiss on the top of her head and she grabbed my hand for just a second.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, i’ll be okay”

I subconsciously noticed the way she indirectly answered my question. It was her way of saying, no i’m not okay, but go do what you do. I kissed her hand in mine and walked out of the room going to help Derek and Hotch deliver the profile while the rest of the team was dispatched to separate locations. It's going to be a long night.

Y/N~

By the time I arrived at the families house it was nearing morning and the sun was starting to rise. There were cops all around and in their house which I quickly told to go. Right now, being here is not going to do that boy any good. Only one stayed to guard outside of the house, and me, of course, being the current family liaison. One of the problems with being the liaison with the family of an abductee is that after you make the initial connection with them, you don't get to stop being their liaison until the unsub is caught. That meant hours of being by myself in their house hearing the mother and father cry over the loss of their child. That meant almost never sleeping, or eating. And worst of all, that meant being without Spencers comforting touch and encouragement.

“Hi, I’m Agent Y/L/N, I'm the FBI agent assigned to your family.” They were sitting on the couch in the living room, their son’s toys covering the coffee table in front of them. The mother was crying soundlessly, almost catatonic, the father on the other hand was silent. He bounced his knee relentlessly and had no tears on his face. 

“Would you mind if I ask you a few questions about Danny?” 

The mother stayed quiet but the father looked up from his hands to speak.

“Do you think my son’s dead?”

Danny's mother withdrew her hand from her husbands and covered her mouth as she let out a sob.

“At this point we don't know much. But, i’m not here to lie to you, if this is connected to the other abductions then more than likely, yes”

The father still didn't cry, but instead just nodded his head solemnly. 

I asked them all the questions I could. Where did Danny go to school? Is there anyone he liked to hang out with? Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Danny? Some of them were real questions that needed answers. But for the most part they were just to get a sense of the parents, and to make them feel a little less helpless. Spencer always says to me that the best thing you can do for these families sometimes is just to make them feel like they can help. Usually they cant, but sometimes taking their mind off of their own thoughts and focusing them can bring out little bits of information we never knew would be helpful. The morning came and went. I had a single orange and a cup of coffee that day. The night came and still, no news. I checked my phone constantly, even though I knew that my ringer was on. If they found Danny, alive or dead, I would be the first person they call. But until then, all I could do was wait. 

Spencer~

Throughout the entire day I felt worried and distracted. Not just because I knew that the inevitable was close, but because usually, the team works in pairs. I deny it all the time, but I always work better when there is someone else with me. Not necessarily working with me- because I prefer to work alone- but just there. Someone who will remind me to slow down and take a deep breath or just let me talk out loud to them even though I probably won't listen to a word they say. But here I was, standing in front of a map, all alone, getting more and more frustrated by the moment and having not a single one of my teammates to get me back on track.

“Hello?” I finally took out my phone and called Y/N to get an update. On her that is, not the case.

“Hey, it's me, i'm just calling to see how you're doing” she sighed and I could practically see her rubbing a hand on the back of her neck and adjusting her glasses like she always does when she's stressed.

“That bad huh?”

“Yeah, not great. How's the map coming”

“It's not” this time it was my turn to sign into the phone.

“The the rest of the team is all out doing recon so i'm at a bit of a loss here”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Look Spence, I really shouldn't be on the phone, so-”

“Oh yeah, no I get it, of course.” She hung up without a word of goodbye and let me feel somehow even more frustrated than when our conversation began. I know she didn't mean to be condescending. I know she's just as frustrated as I am. But that doesn’t help me at the moment. After about another hour of waiting the rest of the team (minus Y/N) walked back into the precinct with downtrodden faces. 

“We just found the body, kid”  Morgan walked over to me and then sat down in a chair at the conference table. My heart broke. For once I was glad I wasn't with them today. 

“Did you get a positive ID?” I turned to Rossi this time who stood next me looking at the map.

“Yeah. it's him” 

Y/N~

I sat wide awake on the couch as it neared midnight. My phone lit up in the dark room with a call from Hotch.

“What's the news?” 

“We just got a positive ID on Danny's body” I was silent.

“After you inform the parents I need you back at the precinct” I was shocked. 

“Hotch, they still are going to need a liaison, my work isn't done yet”

“Y/N, their child is dead. There is nothing more that you can do for them” 

“Fine, i'll be back as soon as I can” I hung up the phone angrily and gingerly knocked on the bedroom door, knowing that this moment would alter their lives forever.

I opened up the door to the conference room to find everyone sitting in chairs around the table. They all gave me sympathetic looks and Spencer tried to reach his arm out to me which I denied. I’m a profiler, I know what healthy and unhealthy coping mechanisms look like. I know that pulling away from anyone and everyone is not a good coping mechanism, but none of them were there with me. None of them saw the look of terror on his mother's face when I knocked on her door in the middle of the night. None of them heard her screams or saw her crumple to the ground in her son's room, holding his pillow like it was all that was keeping her anchored.  

I sat down on a chair in the corner of the room as we went through the profile and barely said a word. I saw Spencer looking back at me worried a few times while we gave the profile to the police and again as I went back into the corner of the conference room, still pulling away when he tried to grab my arm. Once everyone had gone back to researching or calling or going door to door, Spencer walked over to my chair in the corner. He put his hands on the arms of the chair and squatted down directly in front of me. Still being careful not to touch me, he tried to look me in the eyes but I averted them. 

“Y/N, you should go to the hotel”

“Are you going to the hotel?”

“No but-”

“Don't tell me that I need it more than you. Or that I've had a harder time than you! We are all struggling, we all need sleep! I can handle this Spencer!”  He flinched a little when I started to raise my voice but still stayed in his position. Hotch and Rossi upon hearing me raise my voice walked back into the room and over to Spencer. 

“Y/N, Spencer's right, you need to get some sleep.” 

“Is that an order?” Hotch paused for a moment and looked at Rossi who nodded.

“Yes, i'll see you in the morning” I clenched my jaw and Spencer quickly moved out of the way to let me get out of the chair, but not before taking a firm hold of my arm.

“This is a good thing, don't be mad at us for trying to help you” I took my eyes off of the floor to glare at him.

“Spencer, if you value our relationship or your hand, let go of my arm and stop with your condescending bullshit”

Spencer~

After she left I think it's fair to say that my mood did not improve. My frustration about the case turned into overall frustration with myself and everyone who happened to be around me at the time. I stood in front of the map without moving for hours just looking and going through all different theories in my mind. I was no longer alone but at this point that didn't matter. 

“Hey Spence, do you want any coffee?” JJ approached me cautiously and I silently shook my head. 

“Okay, well, uh, let me know if you need anything” she walked away to the hall just outside of the conference room where Morgan and Emily were standing. I could hear Emily talk to her through the glass doors that separated us.

“So?” Emily probed JJ as soon as the doors closed behind her.

“No good, didn't even speak” 

“I'm worried about him'' There was a hum of agreement between the three of them before Emily opened the doors and walked in. she approached me with less caution than JJ, but still with a little apprehension.

“Hey there, Spencer, do you need any help?” i didn't speak a word or even shake my head this time.

“You know I'm pretty good at mapping it so it happens. I could also help with a key if you want? Or alternatively you could just talk to me? Or look at me? No? Okay, well i'm going go get myself a cup of coffee from the diner down the street, if you decide to speak let me know” 

She asked me question after question and still I didn’t speak or move. Finally after staying for a moment of hostile silence she walked out of the room to where JJ and Derek were waiting. 

“So?” This time JJ asked Emily

“I asked him like five questions and he didn't even try and correct my grammar.”

 They all paused in silence for a moment before Emily turned to Derek.

“Alright Morgan, your turn, good luck” she patted him on the back and he sighed before walking into the room even more hesitantly than JJ was the first time.

“Hey Reid, you know, we’re all here for you if you-”

I turned around very slowly with a deadpan stare.

“Morgan, as politely as I can say this, if you and the rest of the team don’t leave me the fuck alone then I am going to take all 187 points of my IQ and shove them, up your-”

“Woah, woah,woah, okay pretty boy, I get the message” 

He turned and walked briskly out of the room. I turned back to my board but could hear JJ talking still from the hall.

“I'm worried, I've never seen him like this.”

“The only times he's ever been this frustrated we all know who got him out of it.” Emily stated and turned to Derek.

“I’ll see what I can do. Hey Rossi, let's take a drive”

Y/N~

I had slept for a few hours but the nightmares woke me up. It was morning now, so at least I know I got a little bit of sleep. I took a shower, got dressed, and sat on the edge of my bed, not quite ready to face the repercussions of what happened last night. I put my head in my hands as I remembered last nights events. I fucked up. Bad. After a few minutes I heard a knock on my hotel room door and got up from the bed to answer it. Rossi and Derek stood there with hands on their hips and worried looks on their faces.

“Can we come in?”

“Um, sure?” He said it as they had already walked in the room and I went back to sitting on the edge of my bed as they stood in front of me. Derek was the first to break the silence and he tore me away from where I was looking as I fiddled with my hands.

“Look, Pretty boy is in a bad place and you're the only one we know can get him out of it. If we want to catch this guy we need him, and to get him back on track we need you” he stopped and sighed. 

“Well, I have been ordered to stay here, so I guess you'll have to talk to our supervisor about that” Rossi grimaced as I said it and pointed to him. He put his head down for a second and then took a seat on the bed next to me. 

“Look kid, you were in a horrible place and I know that you know that. If you want to stop feeling helpless, If you want to get that boy the justice that he deserves, then we need your help. Spencer needs your help. You are the only person in the world that could help him right now, so I need you to suck up your pride, and come with us.” 

I gulped and sighed before standing from the bed. 

“Fine. But you both owe me a drink” They laughed and opened the door for me as we left the hotel. 

When the three of us arrived at the precinct and walked into the main area by the vending machines we saw a group of officers crowding around the hallway to the conference room. I walked right up to JJ and Emily who were making their way through the crowd towards me. JJ was the first to speak over the low murmur of the people crowding the hallway.

“Hey, thank god you're here!” She sounded so relieved you would have thought I’d saved her life.

“Um thanks? What's going on?” After I spoke I heard a loud thud and a crash coming from inside the conference room and a few people backed up from the windows. Emily got really close to me as she spoke.

“Um, Spencer’s...throwing things” I cocked my head to the side and was about to ask what she meant when another object, a book i think, hit the window in front of me.

“Holy, shit” I said with conviction and without another word walked to the front of the crowd and opened the glass doors. 

Spencer was facing away from me, but still throwing markers, and wherever he could get his hands on, at the window. Finally as he heard me approaching he stopped throwing things and put both of his palms to his forehead. As I got closer I could hear his heavy breathing and see the damage he had done. When I finally got close enough to his back I put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his arm gently. He flinched a little but didn't move away or try to get me off of him. I got on my tiptoes to whisper quietly into his ear.

“Spence, I love you and I'm sorry, but I need you to calm down right now because the team needs you. okay?” I kept my hands on him and heard him gulp in between his heavy breaths. After a minute his breathing started to slow a little.

“Good. I'm going to go get you a glass of water and i’ll be back in just a second” I took my hands off him and walked over to the door where JJ and Rossi were standing guard.

“JJ could you get me a glass of water?”

“Of course”

“Rossi, can you make everyone get away from the hallway and the window, there's too many people, I wont be able to get him to calm down if his senses are in a constant overdrive from the sounds” He nodded quickly as JJ came back with a glass of water in her hand. I took it from her and walked back into the room with Spencer as Rossi-with help from Hotch- started to disperse the crowd.

“Here, drink this” I guided him to a chair and he sat down to drink the glass. After a few sips I put my hand on his back and leaned forward so he could see my face fully.

“Okay, now I need you to tell me everything you know”

Spencer~ 

After a few minutes of drinking water I began to tell her about everything I knew for the location. At some point while we were talking I figured out where the unsub was and Morgan and Emily successfully got him and saved another young boy. As soon as he was processed we all decided that we wanted to leave as soon as possible, and not stay another second in that place. Even though it was the middle of the night Rossi was able to get the jet ready for us in an hour and we started the long flight home. 

I looked In front of me on the couch where Y/N was snuggled into my side and rolled onto my back so she could place her head on my chest. Her eyes were closed but her breathing told me that she was still awake and while she was I wanted to make sure she heard one last thing before this treacherous trip was over.

“I never said thank you” She turned her head on my chest so that she could look at me, but in the dark and quiet of the jet, it was clear she couldn't really see me anyways.

“For what?”

“For what you did back there, I never said thank you, so… thank you” She smiled widely at me but kept her eyes closed in the dark.

“Well, thank you. For not making me feel like I was helpless” she opened her eyes when she said it and it made me smile broadly. I kissed her head and turned back on my side so that I could pull her close to me. 

Rule #2, every little touch, every little word that she says brings me comfort whether she knows it, or not. I think that might have been the easiest rule to follow, after all, when you love someone just being around them is enough comfort.

~~~~~~~

Back.  Next

[alecmagnuslwb]

Time Doesn’t Love You Anymore

Read on AO3

Day One

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!” his phone rings out from the makeshift nightstand that’s actually just a stack of old yellow pages.  

Zatanna groans reaching out in an attempt to silence the damn thing, not even lifting her head from under the covers. She pushes out a little too hard dislodging one of the yellow pages from its Tetris style stack nearly knocking them all to the floor. Sometimes she really hates staying in one of John’s so-called safehouses.

Above her she hears a deep sleep addled chuckle and feels the warm press of skin against her back as John stretches for the phone. The motion moves the covers down past her shoulders and she grumbles as the sunlight rudely hits her eyes.

“What?” John says answering the phone, she grumbles again moving her pillow from under her head to over her ears. The conversation goes muffled after that until she hears the distinct snap of John closing his ridiculous drug dealer flip phone.

“Zee?” he says rubbing a warm hand up slowly up the back of her oversized Star City tourist t-shirt. With his other hand he slowly pulls the pillow from her grasp she only yields when his fingers start trailing up and down her spine slowly, a touch she always just melts right into.

She flips over and John’s hand stays put on her skin resting on her stomach. “What?” she says finally opening her eyes to look up at him.

“That was Chas, a friend of a friend gave him a tip on that cup Midnite’s been after,” he says slowly moving his thumb back and forth against the delicate skin of her abs. Zatanna hums in response. “It seems it’s right here in New Orleans and in a mausoleum not far from here.”

“Good for it,” she says and pulls the blankets up over her head again. John chuckles again tugging at the covers a bit just enough to uncover her eyes again.

“We should go check it out, last thing anyone needs is for Midnite to get his hands on yet another magical artifact to hold over everyone else,” he says. Zatanna sighs cracking open her eyes once again and lifting herself up to lean on her elbow mirroring John’s position.

She concedes his point, any chance to have something over Midnite and actually be able to bargain with is a good thing. Especially for her boyfriend, he’s always getting himself into tangled deals with the man.

That being said she has no intentions of leaving this bed just yet, they were out far too late last night dealing with some League business that had been floated her way by Diana. She was happy to do it, she’s has to keep that Justice League membership card up somehow, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to catch up on her sleep in the aftermath of it.

She trails her fingers along his collarbone and starts traveling down, down, down until her fingers trail through the dusting of hair on his chest.

“Okay, but five more minutes here,” she says trailing her finger and eyes lower and lower.

John’s breath catches when her fingers move the cover even further down and she reaches his belly button.

“Your hand gets much lower and it’s gonna be a hell of a lot more than five minutes,” he says not trying to stop her in any way.

Zatanna shrugs lifting her eyes up to his and showing him an innocent little smile. “And that’s a bad thing?”

John lets out another stuttering breath as her fingers stop their path downwards bypassing the spot he wants them most. She trails to the side lingering back and forth at the top of one of his thighs.

“And everyone thinks I’m the devil in this relationship,” he says with a smile shifting so that her back is pressed into the mattress. He situates himself so that he’s comfortable between her legs and she smiles lifting a hand to run through his hair.

“Not my fault you’re such a sucker for me,” she says cupping his cheek with her hand and running her thumb along his lower lip. John moves just a bit taking the digit into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it slowly once, twice. Zatanna’s breath hitches this time.

Slowly he releases her finger and her hand drops as John leans down placing slow open-mouthed kisses on her neck trailing a line down, down, down.

He doesn’t mention going to a mausoleum for a long, long while.

It’s the latter half of sunset by the time they reach the mausoleum, the bright summer sun low in the sky minutes away from welcoming night. The outside of the crypt is warded, but not too heavily at all; John places one sigil on the weather worn stone and it all drops.

Inside there’s not a single protection, Zatanna steps in first and waves a hand across the air forming a trail of glowing lights along the ceiling to illuminate the space. The place is largely barren, no caskets empty or filled, nothing but some broken down old gates and a few hundred cobwebs.

And there in the center sits the cup nothing special or seemingly magical about it. It looks like a normal silver chalice, worn and aged by however many years it’s been sitting in the same exact spot for. There’s not a whiff of magic in the air, unusual for any corner of the entire city.

“That’s it?” Zatanna says scrutinizing the thing, her arms crossed.

John shrugs stepping closer to the stand where it rests, “Chas says it is.”

Zatanna hums, Chas is usually right and despite its outward appearance and its lack of any sort of energy signature this wouldn’t mark the first time Zatanna has seen great power come from something so mundane.

“What’s it supposed to do?” she asks.

“Supposedly drinking from it will grant one powers unknown,” he says continuing towards it. “Sounds like a bunch of shite to me, but Midnite doesn’t think it is and I’m always happy to have one up on Mr. chose no sides himself.”

He tilts his head and smirks over his shoulder at her before he takes the final step right up to the stand.

John doesn’t even touch the cup, just hovers in its space his foot still a full inch from the base of the stand but before he so much as lifts a hand fully over it, before Zatanna can even say a single backward word John goes up in flames. The sick crackling of skin and the unnatural falling into ash happens in an instant, he doesn’t even have the chance to scream.

Zatanna rushes to his side but it’s far too late not even a full second has passed and as soon as her fingers reach him she brushes through ash drifting in the air, his bones shattering to the ground with a loud crack in the quiet echo of the empty mausoleum.

Zatanna falls on her knees to the floor alongside what’s left of him eyes wide, breath heavy, she’s fairly certain she feels the track of wet tears from her eyes, but mostly she just feels nothing. She feels vacant, like she’s not even here like this isn’t even real, like this is some horrible nightmare she’ll wake up from at any moment. She digs her hands hard into the cobbled stone beneath her the ash of the man she loves, loved, seeping underneath her fingernails.

She’s not sure how long she stays there, she’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually she’s not alone. Doctor Fate settles by her side taking off his helmet and then it’s just her friend Khalid settling a heavy sorrowful hand on her shoulder. She’s so out of body she’s not certain if he asks her what happened or just figures it out for himself, she vaguely hears him say something about feeling a surge of magical energy and tracing it to her, but none of it truly registers.

A dark gloved hand that belongs to some bat settles on her shoulder in passing and she replays the morning when everything had been okay. A red cape flits past the corner of her eyes and she thinks about how she should have not let him step inside this place without checking it more thoroughly. A ghostly energy with a flash of red hovers around her tentative and frantic at the same time and she finds herself replaying the last milliseconds of John’s life and hollowing out a little more when she realizes just how similar it is to when her father burnt to a crisp in her arms as well.

Another pair of fishnets kneel down beside her before leaning in and placing strong arms around her shoulders, blonde hair brushes against her cheek and that’s what breaks her from her semi-catatonic state, the proverbial dam breaks and she just sobs and wails and she’s certain it’s a horrible sounding affair.

Eventually between the trauma, crying and dehydration she tires herself out passing out between one last hiccupping sob and the next.

 Day Two

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!” his phone rings out and Zatanna twists and bolts upright. She looks at her hands first, clean and not marred with the ashes of the man she loves. To her left the covers rustle and John curves an arm around her gripping the phone with is fingertips and flipping it open.

“What?” he says his voice muffled by his face still buried half in her pillow. Zatanna just looks at him as he talks to whoever’s on the other end of the line waves of shock and relief washing over her. He slowly sits up as he talks noticing the way she’s staring at him; he raises an eyebrow moving the conversation along before shutting the phone and dropping it somewhere in the tangled sheets around them.

“Love?” he starts and she doesn’t even give him a chance to breathe before she’s on him, the kiss is a little desperate and John hesitates to return it at first, no doubt a little worried about her sudden reaction but between one press and the next he gets with the program responding to every movement.

She pulls back after a few more beats and touches her forehead to his.

“Whew,” he says and she feels the puff of his breath against her lips still so close, warm and real and alive. “What was that for?”

Zatanna just shakes her head. “Bad dream,” she says raising one had to rest over his heart, happy to feel the steady beat underneath her fingertips. “Very bad dream.”

Because that’s what it was, no matter how real it felt, she’s had some doozy dreams like it before so she’s not unfamiliar with the feeling. She lingers close for a few moments coming down from the shock of the nightmare before pulling back.

“You gonna be okay?” John asks quietly reaching out to brush the hair that’s fallen into her face away. She nods feeling the tension that the nightmare left behind exit her body, her shoulders loosen. “Want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head and gives him a small reassuring smile. Maybe later, right now she just needs the distraction of seeing him right in front of her.

John smiles one of those rare bright smiles he lets out and kisses her on the cheek.

“So, what was that phone call about it?” she asks.

“Chas has a lead on that artifact Midnite has been after, right here in the city,” he says and starts going on about it. Zatanna listens carefully and a little worried, it’s exactly the same thing that led to that horrible nightmare.

It’s a coincidence though, definitely. He’s been talking about this cup a lot lately so of course it was on her mind, of course her dream latched on to a thing that’s been near the top of their to do list for weeks now. It’s purely coincidental.

But just to ease her mind Zatanna plays things out differently, she doesn’t talk him into lingering in bed. John makes them a late breakfast; she puts on a completely different outfit than the one that ended up covered in ash and convinces him to walk through the city to the mausoleum instead of portaling over.

There’s a weird air of deja-vu around it all, a weird lingering of the nightmare at the edges of her mind. Everything is playing out differently than the dream, but only because she made it that way and when the mausoleum comes into view her uneasiness grows. It looks exactly like it did in her nightmare and she’s certain she’s never seen it before.

They get in just as easily, there’s still barely any sort of magical signature around it. John puts one sigil on the stone and it falls away like there was never a thing in the way in the first place. It’s the same as it was in her dream she just doesn’t brush it off this time.

“Wait,” she says tugging John’s coat before he can step inside of the crypt. John raises an eyebrow in question. “I’ve got a bad feeling, my bad dream it was just like this and it didn’t end pretty.”

“How not pretty?”

“Like you dead not pretty,” she says eyes lingering over his shoulder looking into the mausoleum, it’s just as dark but she’d bet money that cup is sitting in the exact same spot on the exact same pedestal.  

“You think it was a prophetic kind of dream?” he asks turning fully towards her his hands on her shoulders.

“I mean that’s not usually my thing, but it’s way too similar,” she says reaching up and holding his forearms a sense of urgency in her voice. She does not want him going inside of there.

“Okay, then I won’t go in,” he says easily. Occasionally stubborn as he can be sometimes he just listens to her and she’s never been more grateful for those moments until now.

She breathes out a sigh of relief tugging him further back from the entrance.

“Let’s run a few more spells over it, make sure nothing’s off,” she says hand already outstretched to start a few more scans.

John nods his head. “Alright, I’ll take the back you take the front,” he says with a wink as he turns back to shut the mausoleum gate he’d easily broken into. He shuts the gate fully and winces.

“John?” she says turning back to him and he pulls his hand away and looks down.

Flames crackles at his skin and not the bright orange ones she’s familiar with him carrying.

“Shit,” he says and just like in her nightmare they take him over completely.

This time she screams his name when his body succumbs to the flames to the ashes, she screams because this time there’s no way it’s not real; this time she won’t wake up and it’s a nightmare, maybe it never was in the first place.

When Khalid shows up this time she’s sitting with her back to the mausoleum her fingers gripping into the grass tightly. She’s crying still when he leans down and reaches an arm out to comfort her, crying because she could have stopped this, she saw this coming. Something out there gave her the foresight and she brushed it off as a dream. She knows better than to ignore something like that, goddammit she knows better.

She knows better and now John’s dead because she didn’t listen to it.

When Khalid takes off his helmet Zatanna can’t bear the look of sorrow, of pity on his face so she shuts her eyes tightly and curls her fingers even tighter into the grass.

 Day Three

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!”

Zatanna sits upright in an instant watching as John stretches out behind her for his phone clumsily.

“What?” he answers it and Zatanna snatches it from his hand.

“Chas?” she says confirming it for herself.

“Hey, Zee,” he starts and she cuts him off hanging up the phone immediately. She moves to throw it to the end of the bed, but changes her mind flipping the phone over and taking the battery out for good measure. Her phone is somewhere around here and she vaults from the bed to give it the same treatment for when Chas inevitably tries her next.

She can’t blame him if he does after that display of panic she just provided, but she has good reason to be in a panic.

She finds her phone in a pile of last night’s clothes and dismantles it as well. She lets out a breath as she tosses the battery to the other side of the room.

“Um, Zee?” John says voice filled with concern and confusion. She turns standing to a full height to look at him, him alive and well at least for now.

“I think I’m stuck in a time loop, and that cup you’ve been trying to find, well Chas found it and it started this whole thing,” she says running a frustrated hand through her hair.

John runs a hand across the stubble on his jaw and nods as he works to get out of bed himself.

She’s not sure if it’s the worry in her voice, the no doubt look of fear on her face or just his unstoppable faith in her, but he doesn’t question it, doesn’t second guess it or think she’s crazy for a beat. He just simply says, “Tell me about it.”

So she does, she settles down at the kitchen island a cup of coffee in her hand grounding her to the now and not to the what could be and tells him everything about her past two Wednesdays.

“So we don’t go to the mausoleum,” he says easily when she’s done. He curls a hand around her wrist stroking the skin lightly.

“John I don’t think that’ll work, it’s all connected to there, so there is where answers might be,” she says moving her hand to link their fingers together.

“It is, but the only way to know if breaking it is just not going is to not go,” he says. “I don’t die maybe it’s over.”

Zatanna shakes her head. “You know it’s not that easy, it’s never that easy.”

John shrugs, “Maybe just this once it will be.” It sounds borderline optimistic which means it must be really bad, she’s the optimist not him.

“But the day doesn’t reset when you die, trust me I have to live with it for a while,” her voice cracks a little when she says the last part. John shakes his head and rounds the counter pulling her into his arms.

“I know this is gonna be hard, but it’s the only way to know for sure that it’s not this easy,” John says. He presses a kiss into her hair. “If the day starts over again whether I make it through today or not then you tell me all about it again and we figure it out together.”

She pulls her arms around his middle tightly and takes a deep breath.

“We need to look up more about that cup, I need to know everything I can about it no matter what,” she says pulling back and looking up into those deep blue eyes she’s seen burn up right before her twice now. She can’t stomach seeing it again.

They spend the day buried in a few hundred books she conjures up from every library she has access to and a few she doesn’t but can’t be bothered to ask permission for right now. This is a time sensitive situation she can deal with the fallout if the day doesn’t restart.

The cup has barely made a peep in its years of existence, most of what they find correlates with the vague knowledge that John had given her on the first day.

It’s surrounded by myth more than fact. No one’s ever had it in their presence for longer than a few minutes. It’s powers, if any are largely unknown. Most of the accounts even the ones from some of the greatest magical minds in history have chalked it up to nothing more than a totem of luck at best. She disagrees, she’s had the opposite of luck since they came into contact with it.

She hovers over him a bit more than she should brushing her fingers across his skin or through his hair every time he passes by. They make it all the way to 11:50 without incident and for a bright hopeful moment she thinks that maybe he was right, maybe this will be easy to get through.

So of course, just as she thinks that it all goes to shit. They’re sitting on the couch surrounded by books and Chinese takeout boxes John has a cigarette hanging from his lips his focus on an old weathered book when the window rattles. Zatanna notices it not eager to brush it off as something as simple as the wind. She stretches out her hands magic already brewing at her fingertips.

The weather picks up lightning strikes and thunder rolls, the window shatters and Zatanna ducks. The last thing she hears is John shout.

 Day Four

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!”

Zatanna groans into her pillow and reaches out an arm shoving over the entire makeshift nightstand. She doesn’t know what the fuck happened last night, or this night last night, whatever the hell it is, but she’s pretty sure John wasn’t going to survive or if he had midnight was going to trigger a restart one way or another.

“Damn luv,” John groans leaning over to look at the tossed about stack of yellow pages and his phone. She lifts herself up and flips over rubbing a frustrated hand over face as she looks at the ceiling staring angrily at the crack that’s streaking along the discolored white paint.

She turns her head looking him in the eyes with a sigh. “We need to talk,” she says praying to someone that this will be the last go around.

This time they decide they have to go to the mausoleum, staying at home didn’t achieve much. They scan and spell and do a million little ward checks and safety sigils on John before they even get within a hundred yards of the place.

This time he makes it all the way in, even picks up the cup, only to end in ashes and flames.

***

Ten days pass much in the same way. She wakes up, screams bloody murder at John’s phone, tells him everything and then they get to work. For ten days they call friends for leads, friends of friends, even a few friends of friends of friends much to no avail. Very little new information comes their way about the cup itself and as for time loop well every time loop spell is different every time loop spell has its own eccentricities and lessons to be learned.

Every day she watches him die, sometimes it’s just like the first time, sometimes like the second, every now and then they don’t even get inside and he still bursts into flames. Once they spend the whole day going through the entire graveyard, checking for anything that might have a connection to their mausoleum and somehow a zombie pack rises from a corner of graves tearing into John’s flesh and hers before midnight even hits.

Every day that passes she feels a little more broken, a little less hopeful.

 Day Fifteen  

She doesn’t even stand a chance this time, John’s dead before breakfast. She ignores the phone ringing; she just stays in bed and lets John kiss her and slip out the door by himself this time. She doesn’t feel like explaining the time loop, she doesn’t have it in her to watch him burn today.

Just one day, she needs just one day to try the one thing she hasn’t, to reach out to the one person she hasn’t yet.

Tracking down Doctor Fate is never an easy thing to do and he never appreciates when people just summon him up without warning, but she’s beyond caring about that now. She gets dressed quickly and pulls her hair into a ponytail and moves the couch and coffee table out of the way to draw the sigil to summon him on the living room floor all while trying not to think about John dying alone.

She says the words and the sigil lights up gold and blue with an angry Doctor Fate floating in the center, or she assumes he’s angry it’s not like he has facial expressions.

“You know I don’t like to be summoned this way Miss Zatara,” the voice inside the golden helmet booms. “I have no-“

Zatanna raises a hand, her eyes cold and hard cutting him off.

“Listen, you can give me the whole respecting the laws of my magic and interference speech later,” she says knowing there won’t be a later. “I don’t need the all-knowing Doctor Fate to tell me he can’t tell me things right now; I need my friend Khalid. So, if you could drop the helmet and let me talk to him that’d be great.”

Fate tilts his head in consideration. “That’s quite demanding of you,” he says his feet finally settling to the ground.

“Yeah well I tend to feel pretty demanding when Constantine keeps dying,” she says frustrated, she doesn’t have time to argue or listen to his philosophy.

The glow around him settles and finally the helmet comes off at that. Khalid looks at her concern overtaking his young features. She’s seen that look on a lot of faces lately and suddenly she’s missing the unfeeling glow of a golden helmet instead.

“Keeps dying?” he asks stepping outside of the sigil and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Time loop,” she says and tells him everything, well not everything, there’s a lot of useless information she’s learned over the last few days. He listens to it all and she’s pretty sure the helmet does too.

“You’ve learned a lot,” he says when she’s done. “And you’re certain no one has specifically placed this curse on you, it’s the cup?”

She nods. She’s already gone through the list of usual suspects; Midnite stays neutral so it can’t be him even if he wants to get his hands on the cup, Nick is locked away tight, Faust isn’t clever enough for something like this and anyone she’s fought with the League is preoccupied with trying to destroy other League members or the world at large not just fucking with her.

Khalid is thoughtful for a moment his arms crossed, the helmet glows from where he’s sat it on the coffee table.

“I don’t have any answers that you haven’t already found, but he might,” he says gesturing to the helmet. Zatanna sighs, Fate tends to be more ominous than helpful, but she relents.

Khalid puts his hand on her shoulder one more time giving a comforting squeeze before he puts the helmet back on. A burst of light and Fate is once again floating before her.

“You know as well as anyone, that sometimes you cannot fight magic. Sometimes you must let it take its course,” he says and with another burst of light he’s gone. She shields her eyes as he goes, dropping her arm when the bright white light fades.

She huffs angrily at the space where he’d been.

“That’s all he’s got, let it take its course,” she says flopping down onto the couch. “Fuck that.”

Letting it takes its course will get John killed and she’s not about to let that stick anytime soon.

***

The days start bleeding into one another from there. She can’t remember what number day things happen on, but she remembers every excruciating detail. She tries to act like she doesn’t know just how many days it’s been on the ones where she decides to tell John what’s been happening, but she can tell he sees right through her.

She knows exactly how many days it’s been; she knows exactly how many times she’s watched John die. She remembers when the hellhound showed up and tore him to shreds, she remembers every flame that’s burned him away, she remembers the day he slipped in the shower and cracked his head open bleeding out and she didn’t even know it and for as long as she lives she won’t ever be able to forget the sight of him taking a magical lance to the heart to save her from another Faust scheme.

Every day she’s given some new horrific memory that if she ever does manage to get out of this will haunt her for years to come.

 Day Twenty-Five

She feels stuck, he always dies and it’s not always the cup anymore. Today she lets it happen doesn’t even fight him to stay in bed a moment longer he picks up the cup and he’s gone just like that. She doesn’t scream or cry this time; she just freezes and clenches her fists so hard that she feels the skin break and blood drip down through her fingertips.

She turns her phone off and covers herself in enough glamours that no one will be able to find her unless she wants to be found.

She wanders through the city, aimless and uncertain for hours, blood drying on her hands. She just walks and walks until her legs are as tired as the rest of her. She falls heavily onto a bench and watches the people pass by. Couples hand in hand pass her and she wishes so desperately that could be her and John. Today, the first today, should have been an easy day off in a city with good food and instead it’s become all this.  

A girl in all black and a boy in a trench coat pass by her and it’s too much, she opens up a portal, not even caring if anyone sees and rushes through. She doesn’t realize where she’s sending herself until her feet land on cobbled sidewalk and she literally walks right into a familiar yellow cab.

Chas must hear the thump of her running into it from the driver’s seat because he’s out of his seat in an instant, already standing before her.

“Zatanna!” he says happily, that big smile of his she’s always glad to see. He wraps her up in his arms in a big bear hug that she easily returns lifting her off the ground a little. She smiles a little sadly wishing she could be just as happy to see him. He’s always been, and always will be, her favorite of John’s seedy friends. He’s a good man, maybe the best man she knows choosing to help and stay good even if he’s not really superpowered in any way.

Any other day she’d smile right back, she’d ask him about Renee and Geraldine and they’d laugh about whatever new stupid thing John’s gotten himself into. But today something about his warmth about his joy makes her break immediately.

It’s been quite a few days since she let herself have a good cry she guesses it was inevitable the dam would break again. She sobs into his chest as he settles her back down on the ground, his arms go around her a little tighter.

“Woah, Zatanna, you’re okay,” he says reaching his hand up to brush against her hair soothingly. “You’re okay.”

She’s not sure how long she stands there crying into Chas’ flannel shirt making it a mess of tears, fading makeup and snot. She calms down eventually pulling back a little but he keeps her close his hands rubbing up and down her arms comfortingly.

His face isn’t pitying, she’s gotten a lot of that over the days, it’s just kindness and care.

“I’m fine,” she says hastily wiping the tears from her face.

“You’re not,” he says lifting her head up with a gentle knock under her chin and a smile. “And that’s okay.”

“I should tell you,” she starts sounding the most tired she thinks she’s ever sounded.

Chas shakes his head. “Only if you want to, you sound tired darlin’ and you sound like you don’t want to have to say it all right now and that’s fine.”

Zatanna smiles gratefully brushing a hand uselessly across the damp spots on his shirt.

“Sorry I ruined your nice shirt.”

Chas snorts looking down at it for a moment, “I think being with John all these years has made you forget what a nice shirt on a man looks like.”

Zatanna starts to laugh, but it comes out with a small sob. Just the mention of John gets to her now, especially from someone who loves him as much as she does. She’s glad he’s okay with her not talking, she doesn’t have it in her to break his heart too.

He notices the slip and reaches out again taking one of her hands between his own.

“Hey, so what do you need? Need to cry some more or would punching me in the face relieve some of that heaviness you’re carrying even, I’ll let you have three good hits for free,” he says and Zatanna smiles a little. “Or maybe we can take a drive and just be, I’ll only charge you for half on the meter even.”

Zatanna laughs at that a real genuine one.

“A drive sounds good,” she says and he squeezes her hand once before walking her over to the passenger seat. He opens the door for her and she soaks in the familiar comfort of his cab while he gets in. He turns on the radio, some oldies station that he’s obsessed with and they just drive.

He doesn’t push her for answers about her behavior he just hums along with every song that’s on and drives.

“I’m totally not paying the meter,” she says long into their drive, the sun has gone down and she’s starting to nod off. Being comfortable like this she’s staring to wonder how much sleep she’s actually gotten through all this, if she’s gotten any.

Chas chuckles warmly and that’s the last thing she hears before drifting off with her head against window. When midnight comes she doesn’t know not until she wakes to the loud ringing of John’s damn phone the next morning.

 Day Thirty-One

She beats him to the phone; it’s been a month, a full month and she’s so tired. She’s tired of losing him, tired of fighting to stop it for it to only happen no matter what she does. She’s tired of going to everyone she knows for help and coming up empty on answers. She feels powerless, like her magic is a waste of time and space right now, like she’s just a waste of time and space. What good is magic and being a supposedly all-powerful witch if she can’t even save the person she loves most in the world.

She talks to Chas longing for the day she had with him where she didn’t have to go through explaining all this to someone; she nods and agrees with what he says at the right spots leaning far enough away that John can’t hear a single thing he says on the other line. She parts with a cheery goodbye and lies straight to John’s face making up some story about his cab that won’t get John moving to go anywhere.

She wants to make the most of this day, it’s a depressing time loop anniversary for her and she wants to forget for a little while, forget with him.

They waste away the morning in bed, if the sex feels a little more desperate than usual, a little more intense John doesn’t say a thing. They have breakfast in bed, feeding each other in the sappiest ways. She glamours a book that has some stories about the cup into the latest novel in a mystery series she’s been into and sits on the couch all afternoon. John lingers reading something of his own and giving up eventually choosing instead to rest his head in her lap with a cigarette in his mouth. She runs a free hand through his hair tickles of sparkling blue magic playing across her fingertips. They walk down the street to a little bar that makes a damn good veggie burger for dinner and she pulls him back into the bedroom as soon as they’re in the door.

Soon enough he falls asleep. She watches him sleep for a while, his sandy hair tousled, the eyeliner he fell asleep in from the night before still smudged under his eyes and only half his nails painted black. She wants to sear this into her memories, not the horrific visual of him burning to a crisp in her arms.

He shuffles in his sleep a bit, instinctually rolling just a little bit closer to her. She reaches out running her fingers through his hair slowly before she glances at the phone that has become her greatest enemy seeing that the time still gives her an hour till midnight. She slips from bed quietly and waves her hand over John letting some sparkles of peaceful sleep fall all over him to make certain he doesn’t wake.

She gives him one last lingering look as she slips out of the room, he may not remember each day but if there’s any lingering pain when all is said and done at least this time she hopes he won’t even wake up to feel whatever takes him from her this time.

She goes to the mausoleum alone, she shouts backwards words and walks in without a single check, she steps up to the cup and just stares at it.

Nothing happens. No fire, no brimstone. At least not to her, maybe she unknowingly just lit her boyfriend on fire in bed which feels and sounds terrible even if she’ll get another day to stop it.

“What do you want from me?” she shouts at it the sound echoing into the empty mausoleum. Nothing, it just sits there like a boring old cup.

She picks it up from its stand curling the stem hard in her hand.

“Tlem yawa dna ekat lla ruoy cigam htiw uoy,” she snarls at it and nothing happens her magic just fizzles out around the cup. It’s not the first time she’s tried something of this nature, but it’s the first time she’s been here alone.

She lets out a frustrated shout and tosses the cup into the nearest wall hard, it doesn’t even crumple. That’s not new to her either, she’s tossed it into walls, sidewalks and everything in between. It doesn’t even seem to care if she takes it out of this mausoleum the same thing always happens and it never even bends. She picks it up tossing it again and again until her arms are tired, until she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket the five-minute warning till midnight she’s started setting each morning letting her know her time is up.

She uses it wisely taking her frustrations out on the cup again and again and again.

***

She tries to save him every day and fails.

So one day she just leaves. The phone rings and she’s up out of the bed in an instant, tossing on the first pair of pants she can find. John chases after her ignoring the phone that keeps on playing that same damn song.

“Love, where are you going?” John asks hastily following her. She’s barely dressed and she’s already halfway out the door, she just has to get out of here.

She sighs pressing her forehead to the half-opened door before turning back to him.

“I just need to get out of here,” she says and it comes out a little more desperate than she intended.

“Alright, well just give me a minute and we’ll leave town if you want,” he says already turning to get ready and get the hell out of dodge with her. She appreciates his unwavering loyalty to follow along with her no matter what more than he’ll ever know, but she just can’t be with him today.

“No, John, I just need to go alone,” she says grabbing his hands that are reaching for his own discarded pants from the night before. He looks at her his face a mask of worry.

She steps closer and cups his face in both of her hands.

“I swear I’ll explain everything when I get back,” she says knowing that she won’t be coming back and even if she did he won’t be here when she does. She leans in kissing him soft and slow, she savors them all a little more these days, fearful that one will become the last.

“Just trust me, okay?” she says when she pulls back from his lips. He lifts his arms up holding her wrists and rubbing his thumbs into her skin.

“Alright,” he says letting her go. She slowly runs her hand down from his cheek and along his chest before she turns away.

“I love you,” John says. He doesn’t say it a lot, but when he does he pours everything into it and it breaks her heart and pieces it back together at the same time.

She turns quickly to meet his eyes, making sure he knows she means it just as much. “I love you too. I evol uoy oot.”

She catches sight of a small raised smile at the corner of his lips before she shuts the door behind her. She portals to San Francisco, smashes her phone into a hundred tiny little pieces, puts up a glamour spell to protect her from being found and spends the whole day in her old bed. She doesn’t know if it’s the cup or something else that kills him that day, she doesn’t want to know.

She stares at the bright red numbers on the clock beside the bed until it turns to midnight and the day starts all over again.

 Day Fifty

“What if it’s me?” she asks studying the ash underneath her fingertips. It was the cup again this time, just far earlier in the day than usual. She ran before any Justice Leaguer could show up not needing to once again see and feel their sadness and pity alongside her own.

She still had four hours till midnight so she’d wandered and wandered until she ended up here in the House of Mystery leaning back against the bed that’s sometimes theirs, a bed she hasn’t gotten to wake up in in fifty days.

Boston found her there about two hours ago and settled down beside her the best he can. He hasn’t said a word, he’s just listened as she’s spilled out the condensed version of the past fifty days to him.

“What if what’s you?” he asks.

She sighs dropping her hands between her knees. “What if it’s me, what if I’m the one who’s supposed to die?” she wonders, it’s not the first time it’s crossed her mind. Aside from the zombie incident she’s never even been physically scathed on any of the days so maybe it’s her. “Maybe if I die, he doesn’t. Maybe this finally fucking stops.”

She’s so tired, so fucking tired.

“Tanna,” Boston says with so much pain in his voice. John’s his friend and he’s dead and here she is talking about her own death so casually. Just because everyone else gets to start over every single day with no memory of this doesn’t mean they don’t still hurt in the moment.

“He’d never want that, he’d never want you to die for him,” he says. He reaches out hovering his hand over one of hers, the closest to a touch he can muster in this form.

“He’d die for me,” she says and she feels the tears coming, she keeps thinking she’ll run out, but she never does.

“Yeah, well the bastard is a hypocrite that way,” he says with a chuckle and for a moment Zatanna smiles. “Plus on a selfish note, I’d miss you.” She turns her head to look at him, his white eyes look serious and caring.

It’s a good reminder that she has friends in all this, even if she feels completely alone.

“No dying okay,” he says holding her eyes. “You’ll sort this, or the universe will or something, you’ve never been beat and you never will be.”

Zatanna smiles a sad smile his way and lifts up her hand her palm hovering under his, very nearly holding hands.

“No dying,” she says as she leans her head back onto the bed keeping her hand steady beneath her friends. She stays put like that till midnight feeling a little bit lighter just for having him there.

 Day Fifty-Six

She’s decided that this is hell. Knowing the fate that awaits someone you love and not being able to do a damn thing to stop it. Despite the pickup of Boston’s optimism days ago, she still feels too defeated. She’s done a few thousand spells, played the day out fifty-six different ways and she’s still got all that’s left of John under her fingernails.

She’s sitting in a bar on the far side of New Orleans well on her way to finishing a bottle of whiskey the bartender has kindly left for her.

She doesn’t even flinch anymore at the bit of ash at her fingertips she catches sight of as she tosses back her latest glass, she’s becoming more and more numb to it all which is more than concerning. Problem is there’s no one to be concerned about her anymore, anyone who is will just forget to be when the clock strikes midnight.

“Hey, gorgeous,” a voice beside her says sliding into the stool next to her like he belongs there. Zatanna eyes him, he looks like his name is Chad and she’s instantly annoyed by his presence.

“You look lonely, maybe I can help,” he goes on and yeah she may have infinite time these days, but she doesn’t have time for this. Her patience is thin at best fifty-six days into the same day.

She gives the man a fake joyful smile and for a moment she can see he thinks he has a chance.

“The love of my life has died in front of me fifty-four times and this bottle here,” she pauses pouring herself another glass. “Isn’t for sharing.”

He looks like a deer in the headlights and opens his mouth surely about to say something that will just make her more annoyed.

“Og yawa,” she says flicking her fingers in his direction. A blasting magical wind takes hold of him flinging him across the bar and out the door. Everyone in the bar freezes and stares, she ignores them turning back to her bottle and sliding an extra twenty towards the bartender for his troubles. He just shrugs pocketing the money and moving along.

Slowly the other people in the bar decide she’s not a threat to them and go back to their own business. She slowly sips on her refill until someone else slips into the stool she just flung Chad from.

“Well that was quite the show,” Papa Midnite says tapping the bar once signaling the bartender. He slides a drink in front of him without hesitation.

She hums in agreement, she’s not surprised to see him, this is his bar after all.

It's the second time she’s seen Midnite since all this started, the first time had been confrontational Zatanna still holding on to some little bit of hope around day twenty. She’d confronted him fast and violent with John’s blood still drying on her hands from where he’d been mugged of all things. She’d held magic flames close to his face, a thing she usually wouldn’t do, and forced answers out of him about why he wanted this cup so bad.

“Because I like the illusion of power, even if it’s just an illusion,” he’d said. He knew less about it than she did at that point. Whatever that damn thing is it’s not an illusion of power at all she knows that all too well now.

This time though she’s not here to fight him she’s just here to drink.

“Don’t worry I won’t throw you out a door too,” she says taking another sip and looking at him from the corner of her eye. He raises his glass to her in appreciation.

They sit side by side quietly for a few beats before he puts down his drink and turns to her.

“So, where is your lesser half?” he asks.

Zatanna swallows the last of her drink hard. “Dead,” she says feeling her heart lurch at the word.

Midnite’s head drops a little and he hums. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says running his hand over his goatee. His tone is surprisingly genuine, so much so that she has to turn and look him in the eyes. He looks genuinely sorry, maybe even a little sad with the glow of the bar lights in his eyes.

“He was a right bastard,” he continues on raising his glass and tipping it to her empty one still tight in her grip on the bar. “But he always kept things interesting for me.”

He takes a sip of his drink before turning back to face forward.

“You don’t want to know what happened?” she says refilling her glass.

Midnite shakes his head and waves a hand dismissingly in her direction. “Why bother, you’ll find a way to fix it.”

Zatanna snorts. She wishes she had the same belief in herself that Midnite seems to have.

“Not this time I don’t think,” she sighs running her fingers along her glass, a bit of the ash slips into her drink and she feels bile rise in her throat pushing the glass away from her fast.

Midnite laughs a deep, smooth thing that sounds like how French press coffee would if it could chuckle.

“Bullshit,” he says. He twists a ring on his finger and hovers his hand over Zatanna’s glass. It disappears in a cloudy whisp replaced with another fresh clean one already filled for her.

“Stubbornness is the thing you two have always shared in common,” he says tilting his head thoughtfully. “You show it in different ways, different reactions, but when it comes to each other it’s the same. He’s slipped through hell for you and you’ve put a beat back in his heart against the better wishes of the universes magic, he’ll be back annoying me soon enough.”

Zatanna shakes her head gulping down the new drink in one go. He will be back, that’s true, but it won’t matter because it’ll just end the same way it always does again and again. She doesn’t have to tell him all that though, she doesn’t have the energy too, so she just deflects.

“Is the neutral party encouraging necromancy?” she says trying to make it sound teasing, but it falls flat. This time loop has beat all the humor from her.

Midnite lets out another low chuckle. “Not encouraging, just being smart enough to know to stay out of your way if you choose it.”

He downs the last of his drink and pushes up and away from the bar leaving her to it. She’s drunk enough this time to not even realize when midnight comes.

***

For a brief unexpected run of days, she’s given some new fight. Somehow encouraging though without context words from someone who’s not a friend gives her new drive to fight.

But that drive turns into anger eventually.

One day she just snaps and the only person around to take it out on is the person she’s trying to save. The phone rings and she tosses it against the wall immediately shattering it into a hundred pieces.

John looks at her like she’s gone crazy and before he can even so much as question her she’s railing into him.

She doesn’t know why, it’s not like he planned this, it’s not like she blames him, but she’s just so angry.

Angry at the world, angry at this curse she can’t seem to break, angry at Midnite and Chas and everyone who’s ever mentioned this cup. Angry at John for dying. Angry at herself for not solving this yet. So she picks a fight, yelling at the cup isn’t cutting it anymore evidently, she doesn’t even know what she says first to provoke it, but it’s something harsh enough it stuns John silent. She shouts and says things she doesn’t mean and walks out eventually with a loud slam of the door.

It hurts her to hurt him, but she’s just so damn angry.

The upside is tomorrow she’ll get another shot. She’s not worried about running out of chances to redo this anymore, she can say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, act as out of character as she wants because tomorrow she’ll be the only one who remembers it, the only one who has to live with it.

She’s out of fight, she’s out of answers, she’s just out. So when the phone rings the next morning she’s determined to just make the most of every second even if it means she’ll lose him again before midnight strikes no matter how hard she tries not to.

 Day Seventy-Eight

Seventy-eight days, seventy-eight deaths most of which she’s seen and she’s finally decided to listen to what Doctor Fate said to her what feels like a lifetime ago.

She lets the magic takes it course. She’s done everything she could think of, she’s altered every course she could and the result is always the same. So this time she just lets the magic dictate the day.

She just accepts fate, destiny whatever the fuck it wants to call itself, she accepts she can’t save him even if it breaks her heart.

The day goes much like the first had just with a few different bumps and changes here and there. She doesn’t fight anything, she doesn’t argue. She just takes it all in in ways that she hasn’t allowed herself to on any of these repeats.

She doesn’t bother checking the time on her phone, she slips it in her pocket out of sight and out of mind. She just keeps her fingers twined with his and listens to him rattle on about finally having an upper-hand against Midnite the next time they have to see him.

She soaks in every word, every bit of his accent, the way he says her name and the way his chuckle sounds when a cigarette is dangling from his lips.

She just soaks it in, accepts whatever this day brings. She’s done being reckless, she’s done fighting. This day has been the closest to the original one yet and she’s letting it go.

It’s a little closer to midnight than usual since they decided to shower together after breakfast when they finally walk into the mausoleum, easy breezy just like it always is.

She lights the place up and feels her minutes to midnight reminder vibrate in her pocket. She ignores it, silencing it quickly as John investigates the space. He steps up to the cup and Zatanna closes her eyes, just because she’s accepted what’s inevitable doesn’t mean she has to watch it.

There’s no sound. No shouts or screams, no sick burning flesh, no ash floating in the air. Just the sound of John making the start of a humming sound.

She opens her eyes as John touches the cup and nothing happens, just nothing. He picks it up and passes it around between his hands back and forth, back and forth like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s breathing, he’s whole and he’s humming a fucking Metallica song under his breath tossing an ancient magical artifact around like it’s a tennis ball.

She pulls her phone from her pocket and there in bold letters across a picture of her and John from that day they borrowed the Wayne mansion pool for themselves is the time.

12:01 A.M.

It’s a new day, it’s Thursday.

She doesn’t know if she should scream or cry or laugh, but evidently her body chooses for her, chooses the thing it thinks will be the most cathartic for her. She laughs, hard and loud and frankly maniacal. She feels like the final girl at the end of a horror movie, like she’s riding off in a stranger’s truck as a man with a chainsaw can’t quite catch up, like a girl who just watched the rich bastards who spent all night trying to kill her explode one by one. She won, she fucking won and she doesn’t have a clue how and it feels impossible, but she did and all she can do is laugh.

She probably looks and sounds crazy, cackling like the witch she is, tears of joy? Relief? She’s not sure which, streaming down her face. John freezes with the cup in hand staring at her a look of worry on his face. Something about the look on his face makes her double over in laughter even more, she crouches closer to the ground head down and hands on her knees.

John comes over to her side a gentle hand on her back.

“Luv, you alright?” he says sitting the cup down on the ground. She catches sight of it and falls further to the ground flat on her butt, her legs kicked out on the ground purposefully kicking the cup away from them.

“I’m fine,” she says through hiccupping laughs as she finally starts to calm down. John settles down beside her a hand on her thigh. “Best I’ve been in seventy-eight days.” She giggles a little lifting her head to the ceiling. She wipes under her eyes clearing her face of the tears that fell during her unexpected laughter.

She curls a leg under herself and turns to him lifting her hands to his shoulders.

“I need to tell you something,” she says shaking her head in disbelief.

And tell him she does, everything. She tells him all the little details from day one to day seventy-eight. She tells him the good, the bad and every bit in between. She tells him about the days she didn’t handle it well and the days she made the most of.

She tells him the things she regrets, even if he doesn’t remember them. She even tells him about the day Boston talked her out of letting herself die to save him and he holds her hands a little tighter. She lets it all pour out, seventy-eight days of heartache, frustration and anger and he takes in every word.

It’s well after midnight by the time she runs out of steam, runs out of things to tell him and he pulls her in close. He presses a soft gentle kiss to her forehead.

“You are the strongest woman I know, strongest person I know,” he says his eyes looking a little glassy. “I never could have survived all that, I never could have handled losing you so many times.”

He’s said that before, he doesn’t remember of course, but it’s more comforting and fulfilling today than it was before. Because today he’s alive and she won’t have to go through this same damned day again.

“Let’s go home,” he says rising from the floor. He holds out his hands that she accepts immediately and pulls her up alongside him. “Forget this cup ever existed.”

The cup. Yeah she’s not leaving without dealing with it first.

She drops his hands and raises one of her own putting a protective wall around John. He opens his mouth to argue about it and she silences him.

“Nope, this thing has killed you, so bubble boy it for a minute for my peace of mind,” she says turning and picking up the cup from the ground. She doesn’t bother with trying to destroy it, it’s never worked before and she has an inkling it won’t today either.

She sits it back where it started and closes her eyes. She twists her hands in a complex movement and speaks loudly echoing across the mausoleum.

“Dnes siht raf yawa dna reven tel enoemos eb deppart nihtiw s’ti sehctulc niaga!”

A swirl of her magic, a kaleidoscope of colors swirl around the cup and lift it into the air and in the next second it’s gone puffed out of existence, or at least her existence, in an instance.

She breathes out a sigh of relief waving a hand to drop the protective bubble from around John. She walks over to him and wraps her arms around his waist.

“Home now?” he says rubbing his hands up and down her back. “You need some rest.”

She nods her head into his chest, her nods matching up with the beat of his heart.

 Day Seventy-Nine (aka Thursday)

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!”

Zatanna shoots up immediately from where she’d been curled comfortably in bed her head against John’s chest. No, this can’t be happening.

No, no, no, no, no.

She saw the time, it passed midnight, John’s alive. It’s a new day and this can’t be happening.

John grabs his phone from his own nightstand, not hers where it usually sits, and silences it quickly.

“Sorry, luv, I should have changed it, I didn’t think,” he says reaching out and putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. She deflates with his words and his touch, reaching up to curl her fingers around his.

“Never use that ringtone again,” she says turning towards him. “I never want to hear that song for the rest of my life.”

“Consider it done,” he says moving their joined hands to his lips and kissing the back of hers softly.

 Day Eighty (aka Friday)

She spends more of Thursday, Thursday god isn’t that a nice thing to be able to say, than necessary trying to work out what exactly it is that broke the time loop.

John never leaves her side as she pours over her memory and over the books she’s already memorized but nothing quite adds up. All she can chalk it up to is the cup protecting itself, why it cursed her instead of John who got closest first she’s not certain, but it’s the best she’s got. Hopefully the spell she cast on it will keep it from ever putting someone else through what she went through.

She eventually decides to settle on what Doctor Fate said all along, sometimes you can’t fight magic. And maybe when she finally stopped fighting the fight stopped for her.

She wakes on Friday to a normal alarm and John’s arms around her. He presses kisses across her shoulders, he indulges her need to be a little more cautious and her occasionally overprotective moments as they come one by one.

He definitely doesn’t complain when they shower together and only snorts a little every time she bubble boys him. He even doesn’t bat an eye when she won’t let him use the toaster. She already saw that electrocute him once and she’s good without witnessing that again.

John’s in the kitchen now flipping some stir fry in a pan over the oven’s open flame. Zatanna had only flinched a little when he lit it and the protection spell she sent his way when he did, well it was a small one.

She uncurls herself from the couch and joins him slipping her hands up under his barely buttoned shirt. She warms her hands rubbing them slowly across the light trail of hair on his chest. His skin is always borderline fiery and it’s soothing against her cold hands. She’s so glad she won’t have to go without this anytime soon. So glad he’s breathing and still just as hot blooded as he’s always been.

She drags her nails just above his waistband and his breath hitches a bit.

“So handsy,” he says with a wink over his shoulder to her his focus still on the food in front of him. She shrugs, she’s going to be very tactile for the foreseeable future just to remind herself this is real.

She’s also going to need to make a few of those therapy sessions she’s been skipping up, but that’s a job for Monday. Because there actually will be a Monday, and every day of the week after that. It just feels refreshing to think about.  

A few minutes later their food is done and she backs away from him slowly still trailing her hands across his back. They curl up comfortably on the couch with their plates in hand and some cheesy Godzilla movie on tv, Zatanna’s legs thrown across John’s lap.

When she’s done she leans over to sit her empty plate on the table alongside John’s just as a flame appears on the coffee table. She pulls her hand back quickly and John’s grip on her thigh tightens as the flame dies out a piece of crisp burnt at the edges paper appearing in its place.

Zatanna grabs it slowly and brings it up so that she and John can both read it.

The note is written in delicate, old style cursive that she doesn’t recognize.

‘Thanks for getting that cup for me, New Orleans and its superstitions happen to be all too true for me. Too much hallowed ground and all that, especially with an artifact so shrouded in mystery. Sorry, the process had to be so daunting, they do say that cup can be unpredictable, but hey acceptance is important, right? – your favorite enemy, Circe.’

A second piece of the flaming paper appears on the table as they finish reading the first and she snatches it up.

‘P.S. I’ll let you know if I figure out what it does, or if it’s really good you’ll just hear about it ;)’  

Zatanna turns from the notes in her hand and meets John’s eyes.

“Midnite never did say where he heard about the cup from did he?” John says. He takes the notes from her hand where she’s started to grip them a little too tight. He crumples them up and tosses them into his half-filled glass of water.

“She whispered in his ear and he didn’t even know it, she knew you’d find out and want to beat him to it and she knew that I’d help, she knew we would make it safer for her,” Zatanna says gritting her teeth. This whole time she’d been so angry at so many things and it never crossed her mind that Circe would want something so inconsequential. A cup that for all intents and purposes is nothing more than a trap.

“I’m gonna kill her next time she makes her way to this dimension for putting you through that,” John snarls.

“Imprisonment seems more fitting,” she says in response drifting her hand up and into his hair. She moves her fingers along his scalp and feels his anger simmer down just a bit.

John turns from where he’d been staring at the soaked notes in the glass and looks into her eyes. He leans in and kisses her hard.

“I’ll hunt her down,” he says fiercely pressing another quick kiss to her lips.

Zatanna smiles resting her hand at the base of his neck. “Okay, but can you do that tomorrow?” she says because the word tomorrow won’t lose its novelty any time soon. “I just want to keep basking in your aliveness for now.”

“Tomorrow,” he whispers into the space between their lips. Tomorrow. Isn’t that a beautiful thing?

[rhetoricalrogue]

Five More Minutes

Inspired by all the talk about various detectives turning and knowing that Astrid needs to be Dramatic™️ at times, here she is, giving her boyfriend (and mother, and honorary mother figure, and best friends, and...) grief post-turning. This most likely would take place a couple of years into a relationship with Adam, and she’s had a while to decide that this is the path she wants to take for the rest of her (hopefully long) life.

As always, Fiona belongs to @asaucyginger. I borrow her from time to time for shenanigans and to antagonize Adam. Astrid also has Chris Hemsworth giving out complements as her alarm clock on her phone, but only has that alarm on when Adam’s not around since while she may appreciate waking up to the sound of her celebrity crush, she knows the feeling is most definitely not mutual for Adam.

She slept for a solid week after making the transition from human to vampire. It’s wasn’t even a typical for her type of slumber - eyes twitching behind closed eyelids, breath soft and limbs relaxed - she slept as if she were literally dead, stiff, no movement whatsoever. If it weren’t for the sluggish single beat of her heart every ten seconds (Adam knew, every count of ten had been absolute torture until he heard it beat again,) Agency doctors would have deemed the procedure a failure.

One of the few positives for her being unresponsive after her change - a change that had been fairly uneventful, boring even, blessedly peaceful in it’s own way with a minimum of pain - was that she hadn’t been awake to witness the doctors perform surgery on her leg to extract the various screws and plates that she had lived with since she had been nineteen. Adam wondered how their absence would change the way she fought, seeing that she and Fiona had worked to design a swordfighting style to accommodate for a weaker knee and to protect her ankle.

The scar would remain, the doctors told them both, fairy and vampire momentarily setting aside their differences for the person they both loved as they had both paced the waiting room in worry. There was a slight tone of apology to that announcement, but both of them had breathed a sigh of relief.

One of the things Astrid had worried about was losing her scars, voicing a fear that everything her body had gone through in her short thirty-three years of existence would be wiped clean and rendered meaningless. Adam hoped she would be pleased when she discovered it hadn’t, even though the last traces of the scar Murphy had inflicted upon her had vanished, her new nature taking care of what Agency magic and medicine had started. He wondered if she would be relieved to have it gone, seeing as its presence had always bothered her and she took pains to hide it, even though it hadn’t been that visible to the ordinary eye.

Since she’d still been unresponsive after the first hour, her first feeding, and every other feeding since, had been done intravenously. Adam watched through the security cameras as Elidor had carefully set her up for the transfusion. No one had voiced it out loud, but everyone knew about how she had bitten Murphy in a similar situation. If she had bitten off a piece of his face as a human, there was no telling what she could do as a vampire if she suddenly woke up and had a negative flashback response. To his credit, Elidor had been unafraid, patting her limp hand and holding a cheerful, one-sided conversation with her the entire time.

A day passed and visitors arrived at the observation room. Markus and Tony became fixtures, both refusing to leave even after Tony almost got into a fight with security about not being allowed into Astrid’s room. She was too unstable, they said. There was no way to know how she would react if she woke up: she might be fine, she might decide to make a snack out of one of her oldest and dearest friends. It took both Fiona and Markus to talk him down and lead him back down the hall before he got kicked out of the facility.

Adam and the rest of Unit Bravo learned a lot of goofy stories about Astrid from the other three. Markus tended to stick with anecdotes from battle re-enactments and drunken post-fighting party hijinks while Tony went on tangents about their many annual Fancy New Year’s Eve parties in the City. Fiona’s voice grew soft as she recounted Astrid’s childhood and what it had been like to be a caretaker turned honorary mother figure to her since Astrid was two. Rebecca, who hadn’t budged from looking at her daughter through the monitor, thanked her for being there for Astrid when she couldn’t.

On the sixth day, the doctors allowed Cashew in, thinking that a familiar pet would bring her out of her catatonic state. Cashew, Adam was relieved to see, was unfazed by his mistress’s transformation. He merely gave her chin a few headbutts while honking plaintively before curling up at her side, his head resting in her elbow and his feet fitting into the palm of her hand. After an hour of no response, Cashew was put back into his crate and taken back to Adam’s room in the Facility. Adam knew that he wouldn’t stray far from the place until Astrid could go home, so prior to her turning, the two of them made sure Cashew would be comfortable there. Aside from a few honks to let them know he would have rather preferred his own home instead of the temporary setup, the cat had seemed fine.

Adam broke rank on the seventh day. He didn’t know if it was his fear that the woman he loved would never wake, agony at being so close yet so incredibly far from her for an entire week, the fact that he desperately needed to sleep - Nate had begged him to rest, promising that he would wake him at the slightest hint of change. Adam had refused; how could he sleep with Astrid in this state? - or a combination of the three, but in the early hours of the morning, he silently made his way out of the observation room, moving past everyone dozing in chairs and cots that had been set up for them, and walking purposely down the hall. The lone security guard only made the barest of attempts to stop him before standing down, most likely because the look on Adam’s face had stopped them in their tracks.

Astrid’s room held a faint antiseptic scent to it, most likely from the wipes used on her arm for her daily transfusions. The monitor she was hooked up to beeped in time with the slow beating of her heart and now that he was there with her in person, he could see the shallow, barely there rise and fall of her chest as she drew breath. Adam sat at the edge of the bed and counted: ten beats for her heart, twenty for her breath.

“Must you be so dramatic?” he asked, his hand reaching out to bring hers up, his lips pressed against her knuckles before turning her hand over and leaving a lingering kiss to her palm. “This has gone on long enough, don’t you think?”

The video in the observation room, no matter how crisp, had failed to capture the almost luminous quality of her skin correctly. She’d always had a healthy glow to her pale skin, but now it was highlighted even more. The freckles that dusted the tops of her cheeks and across her nose were still there as well, but they were subdued, like constellations obscured by a cloudy sky. Adam winced at the thought, knowing Nate could come up with a better metaphor.

He pressed a second kiss to her palm, then another to her wrist. Aside from the barest of changes to her complexion and a brighter, healthier sheen to her copper hair, Astrid had not changed. It wouldn’t have mattered to him one way or another: Astrid was Astrid no matter what she looked like and he would love her in any form she took, but he knew it would matter to her. Adjusting to whatever new preternatural abilities she gained would be an ordeal in itself, adjusting while feeling like a stranger in her own body would have added a level of difficulty to the process.

“I know you hate to wake on time, but please.” Adam reached out with his other hand and tenderly cupped her cheek. “Wake up. For me.”

Moments passed. Three heartbeats, two exhales. Adam hunched down and pressed his face against her chest, silently hoping to feel her fingers comb through his hair. “You’re forcing my hand,” he told her, gathering her close. Moving until his mouth brushed against the shell of her ear, he closed his eyes and grimaced. “The things I do for you.”

“Hey you. Yes, yes, yes you. Today is your day. You’ve got this. You’re absolutely crushing it at everything you do.” He leaned back when the familiar sound of her heart sounded at eight seconds, then another at seven. “You’re more than capable of taking on the world, the whole world, by storm.”

It was faint, but he swore he saw her eyelid twitch. “Speaking of the world, did you know that it’s a better place with you in it?” He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “You’re strong, you’re confident. You’re intelligent, you’re charismatic. On a scale of one to ten, you are an eleven.” He held his breath, desperately trying to find a change as he continued to recite words from a video she’d set as her usual alarm clock. The heart rate monitor next to the bed gave one beep, then two, the long, flat line on the screen making more regular jumps.

It would figure your blasted favorite actor would cause a reaction, he thought, pressing his forehead to hers. “You make me want to be a better man. Astrid, please. Open your eyes.”

One heartbeat, then two, then more until Astrid’s heart gained a cadence that was oh so familiar to him. Her breathing patterns reminded him of lazy Sunday mornings, of her asleep in his arms and half-mumbling about five more minutes. You’ve had longer than five minutes, he thought, hand tilting her face up. He didn’t have long, even if people woke to cause a diversion, until Agency doctors burst in with protests about how unsafe it was to be in such close proximity to a newly made vampire, no matter how well-fed they ensured her to be.

Astrid would never intentionally harm him, he knew that fact down to his bones. His faith in her was the reason he held no fear as he kissed her, hoping that the wishes he held back for her safe return to him would take root.

There was a twitch, the barest feeling of being kissed back that had Adam slowly sitting up straight so he could better look at her face. Ever so slowly, Astrid’s eyelashes fluttered until she blinked up at him.

“Hi.”

Adam let out a relieved laugh, heart soaring at the sound of her voice, cracked and groggy from sleep as it was. “Hello.”

She took a deep breath and blinked again, looking as if she were taking a mental inventory of her surroundings and wincing at every sound. “It worked?”

He nodded. “It did.” Reaching over, he turned off the monitor so it wouldn’t continue to irritate Astrid’s sharper hearing. “How do you feel?”

She peeled off the sticky sensor from her chest and made a move to sit up, Adam standing and offering his hands to assist. “I feel…” she looked around, her hands squeezing his. “Different, but sort of the same? I can’t describe it. I’m me, but…”

“Take your time.”

She grinned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, eyes instantly locking onto her leg and shoulders sagging in relief at the sight of a familiar scar. “Sort of have all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

Adam pulled her to her feet and held her close, fingers sinking into her hair. “That we do.”

“So, how long was I out? Did we miss that special on the History Channel we were going to watch while sipping on blood bags and eating a cheese board?”

He held her closer, the side of his face buried against hers. “Astrid, you’ve been asleep for a week. We most certainly missed the show, but I recorded it for you to watch when you’re ready.”

She jerked up, the top of her head banging against his chin. “What?” her voice was louder than normal and she winced at the sound. “A whole week?”

“Trust me, it was troubling for us all too.”

Her eyes widened. “Cashew! Who’s been taking care of my cat?”

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Adam settled for raising an eyebrow instead. “Our cat. Don’t worry, I made sure he didn’t starve.”

She froze, head cocking to the side. “There’s someone coming down the hall.” Her nose crinkled a bit. “This is so weird, how the hell do I know that’s Tony by smell alone?” She sniffed again. “And why does he smell like the cotton candy from that boardwalk we always go to on his birthday?”

“You’ll get used to it. I don’t think you’ll have a lack of vampires ready to help you answer any questions you may have.”

Astrid’s arms tightened around his waist and he felt the barest of trembles. Knowing her as he did, he knew she was trying to put on a strong front as she attempted to center herself in her new reality, acute senses and all. “I do have one question,” she stated, head against his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Would it be possible to get a few minutes to myself? Markus is coming down the hall with like five other people and…” She looked up at him, the barest hint of fangs peeking out from behind her lips. It was maddeningly endearing. “I love them all, but it’s a little much?”

He nodded, kissing the crown of her head as he did so. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He had his hand on the doorknob when she called back to him. “Once you stall them, will you come back? I don’t really want to be alone-alone, and you…”

He understood the look she gave him, the unspoken sentiment that hovered between them. There would be time later to express it - and how light he felt, knowing they had today and tomorrow and a million other tomorrows after together! - but he knew what she meant. The noise and the presence of others may be a bit much, but just being around her was a balm to his senses, the sound of her voice soothing, the feel of her hand in his right, clicking into place as if he had been made to be at her side.

She was his home, and it still astounded him (and most likely would forever astound him) that she regarded him as hers.

Adam nodded, his mouth curving into a smile that matched the one Astrid gave him. “Always.”

[justkeeptrekkin]

Your Life is Golden

a ficlet inspired by my need for angst and badass Aziraphale content. 

***

“Crowley. We’ve known each other for a long time, and… no. That’s not right.”

Aziraphale steps in a puddle, and it splashes muddy water up his leg. He sighs, continues walking. “Crowley, old chum. Six thousand years, eh? Or was it longer? We’ve been through an awful lot, you know, and… no, no, no. Bother.”

He passes a shop window and catches sight of his twisted, anxious expression. He tries to correct it, looks away. Shakes his head to himself and starts rewriting his speech in his mind. 

“I’ve been in love with you for a good few decades now, Crowley, and I think it’s about time I did something about it… how about we go a little faster, after all?” Aziraphale nods a little to himself. “Not perfect, but it’s something.”

Aziraphale turns the corner opposite the bookshop, a bottle of far too expensive wine in his hand. At roughly three o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, Soho is still busy, still filled with tourists, the smell of beer and Chinese food in the air. For the rest of the world, life goes on; for Aziraphale, the world has changed. He settles into a familiar and delicious anticipation that has always prefaced seeing Crowley, but this time, things are different. The End of Times never happened, and since then, Aziraphale has waited for the moment he could summon enough bravery to invite his friend over.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you how I feel for a while, now,” Aziraphale presses on, muttering to himself and prompting a few funny looks from passers-by. “Naturally, if you don’t want them to, things needn’t change, but…”

It’s only as he’s crossing the road that he sees that the shop light is on. 

And it’s only when he steps back onto the pavement that he picks up the lingering taste of multiple demonic auras; the footprint in the sand betraying Crowley’s recent presence. Though he’s not here any more. 

It’s when he ascends the steps to the shop door, hand poised by the handle, that dread sits on his chest and makes him nauseous. 

Aziraphale pushes open the door.

He has never had his shop ransacked before. There have been moments where he’s imagined what he’d do, if someone broke in and tried to steal anything; how far he’d go to find and punish whoever did it; whether he’d simply forgive them like he’s meant to. Worse than that, he’s allowed himself to imagine what would happen if Gabriel and Sandalophon came back, like they did during his shop launch; what would have happened if they’d simply turned around and seen Crowley, top hat and all, holding a box of chocolates.

Now, the sound of his brogues against the wooden floor sounds more hollow than it ever has before. It fills the room too much. It aches. 

He casts his eyes about the fallen books; some of them are charred. Some of the bookshelves have come down. There are claw marks in the floorboards.

He puts down the bottle of wine. The door is left open behind him, and he can hear people talking about normal things. 

Aziraphale extends a hand- a hand that doesn’t feel like his own- and sees it land on a copy of Sappho’s poetry. The pages have fallen open to one of her lesser known elegies. The fingers dance across the words like they’re scribbles, silly little pictures that no longer make sense. Crowley had bought him this particular book. His eyes turn away from the book and scan the shop, trying desperately to absorb what’s in front of him and failing. Everything in chaos. The sharp tang of sulphur in the air; demonic battle. It isn’t a smell that he’s come across in a long time. 

“Crowley,” he says to himself. 

Then, as it finally begins to settle. “Crowley.”

He steps over the shattered splinters of a table, stumbles over scattered books. He turns on the spot, looks up, around, behind and below. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for; he hopes he’ll find something that will tell him who won this fight. At the centre of the bookshop, there are more claw marks across the floorboards, little troughs like Crowley had been scrabbling for something to hold onto. 

He’d been here looking for Aziraphale. 

He breathes in suddenly, gasps like the air is forcing its way into his throat, pouring itself inside him- and he feels his hands shake. He feels himself fall back inside his body again, sees his fingers trace the claw marks, feels the jagged wood beneath his fingers, trying to reach for Crowley- too late. 

“No,” he croaks. 

Aziraphale falls to his knees and clasps his hands together, almost in prayer. He unclasps them and presses his palms together instead, poised in front of his face. And yet, there’s the ache of knowing that no one is listening. And so he runs his hands through his hair, sitting on his heels and willing his mind to think of something. But he has only ever known how to pray and hope, not knowing how to do. 

“Where are you?” he asks Crowley, asks in a whisper to himself. “Crowley, please. God, please tell me he’s alive.”

It falls from somewhere above; it falls down in front of him, tickles his face and lands on his leg. Aziraphale looks at the single black feather, picks it up and holds it like it’s alive. All that’s left of Crowley.

Perhaps you’d expect him to cry. Perhaps you’d expect him to try praying again. Perhaps you’d expect him to remain paralysed in shock, or walk out the door, or figure out a rescue plan. You’d expect Aziraphale to reason with himself- remind himself that Crowley’s wily, after all, persuade himself that there’s no way he could have lost this battle. You might wonder whether he’d fall into his old habits of staying quiet, asking no questions, or whether he’d gather up his bravery and do something. Do something, for the one being he’s loved outside the appropriate realms of angelic adoration. 

There is no miraculous plan for this catatonic mind. What happens instead is this: hope and despair and fury. Incandescent, invulnerable fury that suddenly sparks into life. Something dormant and hiding in the heart of an angel that has not been unleashed since the stars were first moulded, since the volcanoes were first filled with lava and since the first lightning kindled. Something old and deep, something that lives only in divine beings that have seen the dawn of time, something that can only be described as titanic. 

Aziraphale falls into the centre of himself. He feels himself step back and feels something else take over; not quite displacing him, not controlling him, rather covering him like a cloak. He sees its blinding light, feels its scorching heat, and he wears it. He flexes his fingers inside its gloves and rolls his shoulders against its hot fabric. Wings explode into existence; eyes open, white and burning all over his body; hot tears run boiling down his cheeks like acid. He shines all over. A perfect, blinding ring sizzles above his head, appearing slowly as condensation does from a glass on a table. He bathes in his righteous fury until everything else evaporates. 

When he stands up, his fingers gently wrap around the single, black feather. 

***

At three thirty-two in the afternoon, on the streets of Soho, people stop and stare at the wind that gushes out of a bookshop doorway like a flood. They watch as sheets of paper- perhaps pages from books?- fly out of the doors like leaves in an eddy. They marvel at the strange, beautiful, blinding light that burns through the windows. 

People in the adjacent Chinese restaurant see the windows suddenly shatter and take cover. And everyone within a three mile radius suddenly presses their hands to their ears against a terrible, ringing noise. 

A screeching bird call, an angel crying in outrage. 

***

Crowley wakes up to the sound of nothing. He knows he’s in Hell. 

He opens his eyes. Black feathers- his own feathers- scattered across the floor. His pale arm stretched out in front of him, nails digging into his palm. The taste of blood on his tongue. He groans. It’s been a while since he’s bled. 

When he breathes in, something burns. It scalds his skin and he gasps, a staggered breath that only becomes more fractured when his ribs expand and touch the chain wrapped around them. Slow, careful movements- he tries to prop himself up as gently as possible to get a better look. He sees the metal wrapped around his ribcage, sees manacles around his wrists and ankles, tastes- tastes it. It’s not blood that he’s tasting, then- it’s metal, like a horse’s bit between his teeth. He’s chained to the wall like a feral animal. 

He’d like to say that it’s overkill, but he knows how frightened Beelzebub is of him, now. 

He rolls his tongue underneath the bit, tries to swallow- it hurts. His throat is dry and every breath struggles inside of him. The manacles dig into his wrists. But none of that hurts like the chain around his bare torso, his shirt stripped to reveal his pale, almost-translucent skin and the burn marks from adamantine. Crowley pants, teeth clenched against the bit, and stares wide-eyed at the red sores; stares in amazement and confusion and horror and eventually, acceptance. Because adamantine only burns angels. 

Well that’s new, he thinks. Aziraphale really has been rubbing off on him, it seems. 

The heels of his boots kick against the dusty floor. His cell is small, bare, dark. There are bars and a little post-box shaped hole in the door, like this is a pale imitation of a Hollywood movie set. 

He growls. They’d known. They’d waited. They’d somehow known that he’d decided to surprise Aziraphale by swinging by early; he’s just that fucking predictable. His dedication and loyalty to an angel, his puppy-dog pining for Aziraphale so blatant that they’d waited for him there and ambushed him. Hastur, Ligur, Beelzebub- the three of them cornered him and they fought, really fought tooth and claw, for the first time since the Fall. 

They’d torn his wings. 

They’d thrown him across the room. 

They’d dragged him across the floor like they were auditioning for Paranormal fucking-well Activity. 

“Azzurghs,” he tries, the cold metal in his mouth flaking and sharp. Bastards is what he’d been going for. Then, “Azzuruhuh.” Aziraphale. It just comes out a pained whine.

His back meets the wall. His head knocks against it. He casts his eyes up at the ceiling. 

God. I’d ask why you’ve forsaken me, Crowley thinks, but I’m getting pretty used to it.

***

The people of London go quiet all at once as they feel the Earth shudder. 

That moment of dread and confusion- the incomprehensible scale of whatever is coming, whatever’s out there on the prowl suddenly dawning on them. People in meetings stop mid-sentence, feeling the vibrations under foot- they look through the window down at the streets below. Tourists on the London Eye peer through the glass, seeing a blinding white light across the river. Children splash in puddles, see the water tremble with the footsteps of something huge. Pub-goers stare at the shattered remnants of their pint glasses. The ringing in their ears has subsided, but the anguish of it is still echoing in their head. 

Something’s out there. Something’s hurt. And it’s fucking angry.

***

Time in Hell runs differently. It isn’t just slower; it loses meaning. After all, time is angel-created. It’s something that brings order to the universe, something that contains chaos and makes everything just a little bit more organised and tidy. Something like that has no place in Hell. It’s therefore hard to know just how long Crowley’s been lying on the floor of his cell, adamantine burning his skin and bones aching. Dust in his throat. Eyes closed. 

He’s grown soft. No- not soft. Brittle. He’s become fragile, something hollow and aching and desperate to be filled with validation and love and attention and everything that Hell isn’t. It’s made him foolish, made him someone who waits. Like a dog at the door. When will they come? 

What’s worse, though, is that it’s not Beelzebub or Hastur or Ligur that he’s waiting for to walk through that door. It isn’t punishment that he’s waiting for in particular, even though God knows that’s what he should be used to by now. Trained to expect pain after waiting, alone, long enough that he begins to wonder if they’ve forgotten about him. Yes, even though he’s been trained to live like this, they’re not the ones he’s waiting for. 

When will he learn that Aziraphale won’t come? 

***

Even if he does come, it’s always when it’s too late. Crowley reminds himself of this, as he considers Aziraphale possessing Madam Tracy. It was only after he’d pushed Crowley away that he’d come back. And-

Well. Obviously Crowley’s forgiven him for that. Forgiveness; that’s one of the only angelic characteristics he has left. 

***

Aziraphale could come.

Endless time swims around him in a fog; Crowley has been lying on the floor, waiting, hoping, for some indefinite stretch of no-time. 

And Aziraphale could come. That part of him fights back- the same part of him that runs after Aziraphale time and time again, the part of him that saves books from burning ruins and begs for Aziraphale to run away with him. No matter how much Hell try and kick him down, no matter how many times Aziraphale proves it wrong, that little bit of hope always flickers back into life. 

It’s pathetic. It’s all Crowley has right now.

***

He hears his rattling breath and feels something wet on his cheeks. His wings have unfurled at some point, too exhausted to keep them in. They’re tattered and tired, draped across the floor.

***

There had been one afternoon recently, after the apocalypse. It had settled on them that they could be together without the weight of impending war sitting on their shoulders. So, they’d decided to be a little frivolous and go for a day out. 

Aziraphale had suggested the beach. Crowley had shrugged, closing his eyes in resignation behind his sunglasses. “Fine,” he’d sighed. Anything for you, he’d thought. And they’d hopped in Crowley’s Bentley and rolled down the windows, plummeting down the motorway towards the South West coast. Lulworth Cove was meant to be busy that day, the warmest day of the year so far, but he knew it would be quiet. Crowley had willed it so. 

Crowley had kept his eyes on the road, the white lines streaking till they blurred, the bad local radio station chattering in the background, soon to turn into Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy. Aziraphale was smiling so much that day. Aziraphale smiled in so many ways, and that day it was like the first: angelic and beatific, the way God had smiled the day She created the world. Maybe it was because he saw the world laid out in front of them, ready for them to live it in a way they’d never been allowed before. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, Crowley had found it impossible not to stare. 

The wind had rushed through the rolled-down windows, and once they’d hit the country lanes, Aziraphale poked his arm outside and let the air pull through his fingers. Crowley had watched him close his eyes and smile again, that smile. 

“We could live like this forever, now,” Aziraphale had said. “You and I.”

Crowley had driven and known that that moment was important. Like initials carved into a wall, that moment would stick around with him. 

You and I, Crowley thinks now. Is it so naive to think you’ll come for me?

***

The ground shakes beneath him. There’s the sound of demons and poltergeists and incubi screaming down the corridor, outside his prison cell door. 

Crowley’s eyes snap open. 

There’s a screeching sound. It’s not anything demonic; he’d thought it was at first, but that was before he realised he could hear it inside his head. No, it’s something far too- far too something to be demonic.

Furious?

Hurt? Righteous?

It’s a sound that frightens him. It makes his heart stutter and his feathers ripple nervously. His pupils are dilated in the dark, but they narrow at the sound, fight-or-flight response kicked in. Something’s coming; something awful, something that Hell hadn’t prepared for. And just for a moment, the relief of that chases away the shadows in his mind. 

The sound of demons screaming, louder now, mixing with the ringing in his ears. A thud, as something- someone, more likely- is thrown down the corridor, landing close to Crowley’s door. And-

Oh, God. That light. It burns and it soothes all at once, it pours through the cracks of the door, stretching out towards Crowley like it’s searching for him, trying to bring him into its embrace.

The door falls from its hinges.

Crowley scrabbles up onto his knees. He hangs his head, turned away from the light, his hands splayed on the floor. Then he hears his voice in his mind. 

Crowley. 

The light doesn’t burn anymore. It’s like a switch is flicked and the anger in it simmers down; still there, oh yes, it still bubbles beneath the surface. But what Crowley feels overwhelmingly in that moment is not anger, but something kinder. The bright, shining feeling of his smile. 

He dares to look up. 

From his knees, prostrate on the floor of Hell, Crowley beholds the light of a star poured into the vessel of a human. The shape of Aziraphale, covered in bright, wide-open eyes and wings that encompass the room. They curve around him, like that very first day at Eden. And Crowley turns his head to watch them surround his broken body, a sunflower following the orbit of the sun. 

He looks back up. Cannot look away; there is something about that light that is less like the sun, and more like the moon. Fascinating, hypnotising, calming. And he gazes into the pair of eyes in front of him, the pair that he knows, with blue irises, watching with love. 

There’s something else in those eyes, too. There’s love, and there’s also something destructive- something frightening, something he hasn’t seen since the days of the Old Testament. Something that threatens floods and plagues for anyone who stands in Aziraphale’s way. 

A scalding white hand reaches to touch Crowley’s face. He closes his eyes, and feels only a soft warmth. Soft. Just as Aziraphale always is, even like this.

My dear, he hears inside his mind. 

His mouth suddenly feels empty. The bit and the chains are gone. 

“You came. I wasn’t sure,” he laughs sadly. 

The hand on his cheek grows warmer, almost uncomfortably hot. Aziraphale doesn’t respond- out loud, or in his mind. He doesn’t need to. Crowley feels it in the heat of his hand, feels it pouring under his skin; that they are on each other’s side; that Aziraphale will never sit by and watch ever again; that he will always come. 

He feels it in the press of Aziraphale’s lips against his.

The ground fractures beneath them. Hot air meets cold air, rain meets sun, and water meets hot oil. The room shudders with it. Hell vibrates with it and Heaven feels it, too. Two sides coming together, the order of the universe disrupted. 

God smiles when She sees it. 

And perhaps it’s because Crowley’s been awake for what might be weeks in here. Perhaps it’s because he’s been waiting for Aziraphale to come for him, to save him like this for millennia. Whatever the reason, Crowley suddenly can’t keep his eyes open. He feels himself relax into Aziraphale’s arms, inside the cocoon of his wings. 

He holds onto consciousness and feels himself being carried through the seven circles of Hell, over purgatory and back home. 

[itsinmydunah]

To Keep Each Other Safe

rated: T

Words: 3,943

Summary: Sometimes a fun hunting trip can go sideways.

A/N: A list of more specific warnings below in the end notes for those who are concerned.

Esme and Carlisle are my faves. I’m always lusting after more material for them. This one has literally been on my ipad for 3 years, incomplete. Finally got around to fixing it up. I may come back and make the ending more to my liking. Crossposted on ao3.

Let me know what you think!

——————-

Carlisle was scheduled for a long shift at the hospital so the family had decided to drag Esme along so she wouldn’t be at home alone. She laughs as Emmett playfully drags her out of the house.

“C’mon, Esme! You don’t have to always be the doting wife waiting on Carlisle. Come have funnnnn with usss!” Rosalie shakes her head at her husband’s antics, running beside Esme as Jasper and Edward sprint off as fast as they can. They’re hours from home in the Canadian wilderness when they all part ways to go after their own animals. Emmett, Jasper, and Edward are more partial to large game that puts up a bit of a fight so they head farther into the forest. Esme finds herself parted from her daughters as they all search out their meals. There’s the rustle of deer off to her right and perhaps a moose—

Then there’s a sudden waft of a scent much sweeter than animal blood - and much more tempting. Esme holds her breath, frantic eyes darting around. The human didn’t smell close, but she didn’t want to further the temptation. She also doesn’t want for any of the kids to happen upon the human. None of them enjoyed killing people, and she didn’t want their fun hunting trip to turn into a reason for anyone to feel guilty.

She picks up the scent of her boys - the ones most likely to have a slip-up - and heads towards them. Before Esme can get much farther, she is knocked to the ground by a solid mass. The noise the collision causes is akin to a thunderclap. It’s completely unexpected, and she isn’t trained to anticipate attacks like Jasper. After nearly 100 years of peace with her found family, she doesn’t foresee violence around every corner as she had when married to Charles.

Esme squirms beneath the much larger body, the strength of the being easily quadrupling her own. She tries to scream but can’t. Her feet grapple for purchase on the snowy ground as she claws with diamond-hard nails at the figure pressing her down. She’s always chosen to be a pacifist. But, knocked down to the ground with a hand around her neck trying to wrench her head from her body, she wishes she had joined her children in play-fighting.

Esme feels helpless as she hears her skin begin to crack under the immense strength of the vampire above her.

She hardly remembers what pain feels like. The only particular moments she can recall is childbirth and being turned. This sudden onslaught, however, jogs her memory of other suffering. Of her first husband Charles raping her. Of him beating her. Of crawling on the cold tile of a bathroom with a swollen eye and bleeding nose. Being pushed down the stairs when dinner wasn’t good enough. Being tied to the bedposts over night until her wrists chafed so she couldn’t ‘disrupt’ Charles. Those memories had fallen somewhat to the wayside in the 94 years she'd been a vampire. The joy of being with Carlisle, of building a family with him and growing to love herself had pushed her human pains to the back of her complex mind.

Now, though, it’s all she can think about.

The vampire gets a bite in on her shoulder, and the sting begins immediately. Another to her neck, eerily close to where Carlisle had bitten her to change her. A last bite to her cheek has enough force behind it to rip, almost tear her diamond-hard skin away. She feels air flow under the wound, knows that her cheekbone must be exposed. She wants so badly to screech. Her kicking and bucking does nothing to dislodge the body above her. Despite not needing air, she feels suffocated, claustrophobic.

She wants free!!

She finally gets a scream out and is almost immediately freed. Edward. He must have heard her thoughts of terror and tracked her location. Edward and the vampire were both crouched in front of each other, growling. Esme remained on the ground, fingers curled into the cold slushy dirt below her. Suddenly she is pulled up by a gentle hand. A familiar scent fills her nose.

Rosalie.

“Esme?” Rose is good at staying calm when the need arises, always has been. For all her theatrics, she is a level-headed girl. Her voice now, however, gives Esme pause. She sounds frantic. “Are you alright? Esme?”

Esme looks down and sees that she’s trembling. Her hands are shaking, her knees are unsteady. Her clothes are torn, and there’s venom dripping from the bite marks on her body. She looks up to meet Rose’s eyes and suddenly her daughter knows. They have an unfortunately similar past.

“Oh, Esme.” Her daughter wraps warm arms around her.

Jasper, Emmett, and Alice are all surrounding the newborn in an instant, joining Edward in keeping the hissing figure corralled.

“He was just turned. He's confused. Mostly he's angry. He was on the trail of a human hiker until Esme came into his territory. He thought Esme was going to take his hunt." Edward relays the thoughts of the newborn, his gaze remaining fixed on the violent newcomer.

“Do you know who you are?” Jasper asks, his body transforming into a non-threatening stance. He has the most experience with newborns, he knows how they read body language.

The newborn just hisses and makes to attack who he sees as the easiest target - Alice. Alice is quick, dodging the attack and leading the newborn closer to Jasper. The blonde man has little patience for those who threaten his mate and family. He has the yowling newborn in a chokehold in seconds.

“Edward?” Jasper inquires. This momentary lapse in attention is enough for the newborn to sink his teeth into Jasper's arm. At this, Alice hisses, angered that her mate will feel pain. Emmett is there, yanking the newborn's head back, eyes darting to Rosalie’s. Rose nods, eyes flinty as she stays beside Esme, a comforting presence.

The newborn's head is torn off in a second. Emmett, Edward, and Jasper set about making a fire in a clearing and burning the body. Even the thick smoke doesn’t serve to pull Esme from her trance-like state. She remains shaky and catatonic - a statue stuck in its own misery.

“Esme." Alice joins the two, squeezing her way into the hug. Esme knows her well enough to know that she believes this is partially her fault for not seeing ahead to stop the attack. Esme, however, could never blame her. Instead she sinks into them all, unable to fully support herself. Jasper comes in close, right by his wife's shoulder.

"May I?" She knows what he's asking, and gratefully extends her dirty hand. He cups it in both of his and sends soothing waves her way. Love, tenderness, sympathy, understanding - everything he feels for her. He can't leech pain, but he can lessen it by increasing her pleasant emotions, allowing her to take some of his strength. The emotions he’s sending are made all the stronger by the contact.

She wants to thank him, but for some reason there’s an ache in her throat. Her vampire body doesn’t feel aches and bruises the way a human’s does. There is no blood gushing everywhere, just venom injuries or torn limbs and flesh. This feeling is like nothing she’s experienced before. Cold, like shock.

Jasper seems to understand, however, the gratefulness she can’t yet voice. "Of course, mama." Under normal circumstances hearing him say that would make her so happy. Jasper was older than her technically, and often felt foolish calling Esme "mother" even if he did see her as the matriarch of the family. For him to indulge her so meant that he could truly feel how much pain she was in.

“Esme,” Edward comes to her side, his eyes sorrowful. He can read the static-like buzz of her thoughts, can hear the low pained howl her mind is letting out. He shrugs out of his coat and dislodges Alice and Rose to wrap her up to preserve her modesty. “Would you like to head home, Esme?” He’s so gentle with her, straightening her hair out over collar of the coat and keeping his tone low. Edward remembers what it was like for her in the beginning, the flashes she got of her terrible marriage and the abuse she suffered. He remembers what things triggered her in the early days. He experienced it all along with her and helped her move past it and embrace her gentle soul and kind spirit.

It makes him ache to see her sent back to that time, even if just in memory.

Esme doesn’t speak, merely nods.

“Someone call Carlisle,” Edward murmurs, hooking an arm around his adopted mother. She can hear someone on the phone, hear the quiet tones of her children speaking to each other. She can’t make out the individual words, but the hum of their voices is a comfort.

Her first son indicates for her to climb onto his back. She hesitates for the first time since the incident. She hates to appear weak to her children. She likes the role she’s taken as comforter and provider and guide.

“Esme, no. We’re a family. We’ve all supported each other when we’ve needed it most. We love you.” Her eyes burn as if they want to release tears. But she can’t cry, hasn’t been able to in nearly a century. Edward gives her a hug, each of her children gather close and offer silent support. She nods her head in readiness and climbs onto Edward’s back, clinging to him tightly, her face in his neck. He squeezes her hands affectionately and they all begin setting back towards Washington. Her whole family remains tightly positioned together, she and Edward in the center of their group. Emmett spearheads and Rose and Jasper are beside them. Despite her still shocky state, she feels much safer.

When they’re close to Vancouver, Carlisle all but runs into them. His hair is severely windswept. If he were human he would’ve been winded from exertion and anxiety. The moment he received the call from Alice saying Esme had been attacked, he’d yelled an excuse to a coworker and left. He swore he’d never run so fast in his whole existence. His eyes lock on to his wife clinging to Edward, noting how somber their children’s faces are. Even Emmett looks dead serious. There’s no teasing about how fast Carlisle got there - just a respectful nod.

“Darling,” he approaches cautiously, not knowing where Esme’s mindset is. The call had startled him so thoroughly that he didn’t know what he was getting into. His hand rests softly on her back, rubbing soothingly. In his mind he asks how she’s doing. Edward says nothing, just shrugs a bit. Esme’s thoughts are all over the place.

The movement seems to arouse Esme to her whereabouts. She had been able to smell Carlisle close, but her mind was a wreck. Focusing on any one stimuli was too much. Nonetheless, she looks up to her husband. Her face immediately crumples. He sees the new bite mark on her face, the skin is angry looking from being viscously torn off the bone. It had to have been truly violent to have caused enough damage for healing to still be occurring so long afterwards.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Carlisle says, pained. He can’t help himself from taking her from Edward, from holding her tightly to him. She hisses when he brushes against her shoulder, and he looks at her in alarm. He gently eases the jacket away - now noticing that it’s Edwards, not her own - and sees how her shirt is torn. His eyes are then drawn to the bite on her shoulder and one that is overlapping the bite he placed on her neck to turn her. He can smell the venom of another on her, and his nostrils flare disapprovingly. Esme sees this, eyes cast towards the ground. Carlisle shakes his head, angry at himself for falling prey to his instincts. He hooks a finger under her chin gently, careful not to bother any of her wounds, and presses a kiss to her forehead in a benediction.

Their children are still near, but have moved out of visibility to give the illusion of privacy. It is against their instincts to go far away when their matriarch is harmed.

“I’m so sorry, Esme. My darling wife.” He wraps her up tight, arms banding around her smaller body, and she clasps to his front with her legs wrapped about his waist and good arm around his neck. “Should have been there with you. Failed you - oh sweetheart, I’m sorry. You must be hurting so.” He keeps whispering to her, pressing kisses to her hair, fingers gentle on her back as he soothes her (which in turn, soothes himself).

“Carlisle, please.” Her first words spoken since the attack are gravelly, her throat tight.

“Darling, what do you need?” He’s so ready to bend to her every whim, always has been. His existence had been so empty before her.

“To go home. Want to be in our home surrounded by our family and be safe.”

“Of course.”

-

He sets her down in their living room. Alice fetches his old-fashioned doctor’s bag that houses his most basic supplies. Carlisle removes gauze and sterile wet wipes. He seems to hesitate as he reaches for her face, eyes scanning over the bite there and the area of healing torn skin.

“This will hurt,” he murmurs, stroking over her unharmed cheek gently.

Esme nods absently. He knows to help speed up the process of healing and lessen the pain, he must remove as much of the foreign venom as he can. That requires opening the cuts and siphoning the venom out. To let the venom sit is to let it permeate and cause further irritation. No man-made metal tools are strong enough, so he must use his own nails to cut open his wife’s skin.

It’s not a task he’s looking forward to. But it is something that must be done.

Edward is close at his side, ready to lend a hand. Jasper sits next to Esme, sending calming vibes her way, Alice at his side. Rosalie stands behind her, stroking her hair and humming gently. Emmett is a steady presence nearby. Everyone is ready to support her, and despite the recent occurrences, she feels so lucky to have them all. This aid was something she had prayed for at her worst times.

Carlisle takes a steadying breath, and slices over the cut with his fingernail. Esme holds in a hiss as the clear venom leaks out. Carlisle takes a syringe of sterile saline and flushes the wound, patting with the gauze. He is paced and methodical in his work. This isn’t far off from what he spends his days at work doing. He keeps his eyes on the wounds, tries not to think too hard about the attack that caused it. If he does, he’ll drive himself mad. He’ll try to save the self-flagellation for when he is away from his dear wife, away from his son who is forced to witness his every thought.

His fingers slide over her cheek when he’s done cleaning the area. The tissue can now heal without a pocket of venom beneath it to irritate the process. Despite his careful work, a pale scar is already forming on the high point of her cheekbone. He tries hard not to fixate on it. There will be no way to get rid of it, to save Esme from this new addition to her visage.

Her neck is next. Carlisle slices open the skin over the poorly healing cut and immediately squirts sterile water over it. Esme hisses, trembling fingers squeezing at his knee. He murmurs an apology, leans down to press a kiss to her crown before resuming his work. The damage here isn’t nearly as dire as what was done to her face. For this, he is glad. More force applied to her neck could’ve meant her head could’ve been ripped clean off and —

Edward grunts and gives Carlisle a look.

The doctor closes his eyes for a moment. Best not to focus on how his wife could’ve died and he could be a widow right now if not for his kids.

Esme’s shoulder is last. Carlisle has to pull Edward’s jacket off to see the wound clearly. The tattered remains of Esme’s shirt cling weakly to her body. There are tears where the newborn’s nails ripped through. Carlisle had had a cursory look before, but now he really takes in the damage done. There is a quick inhale from Rosalie, and Carlisle can’t help but look up.

His daughter’s gaze is riveted to where Esme’s shirt is torn. Her brow is furrowed and her eyes haunted.

“Rose...” Emmett stands behind his wife and wraps her up tight in his arms. Edward sends a rare sympathetic glance her way, a hand moving to cover one of hers. For once Rosalie doesn’t hiss and shake him off.

Esme cranes her head cautiously, wincing at the tug on her skin the action causes. “Rosie, you don’t have to be here, honey.” His wife, even when in her own pain, always thinks of others. She and Rosalie share a violent past and understand each other in a way none of the others do.

“No, Esme. I’m here. I just...” Rosalie grimaces and snarls silently. Her teeth are bared and her face enraged at her own memories and the violence done to her mother. Emmett clenches his eyes shut in sympathetic pain behind her; he truly hates to see his mate in pain.

“I love you. Thank you, honey.” Rose gives Esme a wobbly smile and bends to kiss her hair. The blonde woman murmurs her affection into her mother’s locks.

Carlisle is so glad to have this family that supports each other. Suffering alone is terrible, he knows that much. He recalls cold nights alone and no one to commiserate with or help carry the burden of their existence.

“You alright if I finish this up, love?” He indicates to her shoulder. Esme nods, looking impossibly exhausted. Carlisle gently removes the tatters of her shirt and bra, noting how everyone in the room respectfully averts their gaze.

There are claw marks diagonally from Esme’s lower ribs, over her right breast, and up to her trapezius. The marks are a bright white but will fade back into Esme’s normal skin tone because of the lack of venom. Still, they look uncomfortable. The only area Carlisle can really help with is the bite at the cap of Esme’s shoulder. There is the distinct scent of foreign venom clinging to this spot. Once again, Carlisle slices in and flushes the area. Esme barely flinches at this last one. He hates that she’s grown so brave.

Carlisle pats the last irrigated wound, “all done, darling.” He leans forward and kisses her forehead, pushes her mussed hair back. There are twigs and mud clumped in her curls.

Esme leans forward and collapses into his chest. He catches her easily, wrapping her tightly in his hold. She’s soon curled into his lap with her face in his neck. “Can you clean my hair?” She asks quietly.

“Anything,” he says fervently, lifting her carefully and making his way to their bathroom. He hears the kids converge to sit in a circle of comfort near Rosalie.

-

Carlisle is so careful with her that she could cry. He washes the mud from her hair with a softly scented shampoo and smooths his fingers through to ensure that there’re no tangles. She’s seated in their large tub, knees drawn to her chest. Carlisle mindfully runs a loofah over her healing neck and shoulder, sluicing away the scent of the other vampire.

“I love you so much,” he whispers as he watches the water run over her pale skin.

Esme shifts in the tub to face him, still seated. “And I love you.” Carlisle cups her face in both of his hands, smoothing his thumbs over her cheeks as he just stares at her. His touch is so deliberate yet passionate. His eyes seem almost glassy as he pushes a strand of her wet hair from her face.

“I am happier than I can ever convey that you are safe.” If Carlisle had the capability, he would be crying. Knowing that Esme was almost lost to him is a harrowing thought. As soon as she came into his life, she became integral.

Esme suddenly stands, water streaming down her body as she steps out of the bathtub. Carlisle rises and grabs a fluffy towel for her, moving to begin to dry her off. He treats each limb of her body with tenderness. A separate towel is used to wring water from her hair. Carlisle is painstakingly cautious with her curls.

They move into the bedroom and Esme slips into one of Carlisle’s sweaters, some fuzzy socks, and a pair of soft shorts. Even though she doesn’t get cold, she still enjoys cozy clothing. She holds out her hand and Carlisle follows her without question. The instinct to be close is always present after something so harrowing.

The others are still huddled downstairs. At the sight of their matriarch, they make space on the couch. Esme cuddles in next to her husband and Rosalie. Alice, from her spot on Jasper’s lap, looks restless. “Esme... I’m sorry I didn’t see it coming. He must have caught the scent of the you before the vision could even come to me.”

Esme turns to look at her smallest ‘daughter’. She knows how heavily Alice relies on her visions to keep everyone safe. She isn’t a big, hulking being but she still loves her family fiercely. “I don’t blame you, Alice. Not one bit. The only person to blame is the newborn, and even he is difficult to blame because he was so young and no one showed him any better.”

Edward scoffs and shakes his head in wonder. “You and Carlisle are far too kind.”

Esme, in a surprising show of immaturity, rolls her eyes. “I’m certainly not okay with what happened. I’m.... still very uncomfortable,” she admits. Anything that reminded her of Charles and her previous suffering was unwelcome. She doesn’t like falling back into those memories. They make her feel small and scared again.

Carlisle smooths a large hand down her arm and tries to imbue all the love he can into the simple touch. He presses a kiss to her cleaned curls, breathing in the scent of her, safe and sound.

“We won’t let it happen again.” Edward says with an unearned confidence.

“You can’t promise that, sweetheart,” Esme chastises gently. Edward huffs because he knows she’s correct. “The only promise I ever need is that you all will be a support when needed.”

“Always,” Emmett assures. Rosalie nods beside him, her eyes determined. Jasper sends Esme waves of affirmation.

“That’s the most I can hope for. Having you all makes me very lucky.” Carlisle hugs her tight to his side.

“We’re the ones who are lucky to have you.” A ghost of a smile crosses Esme’s lips at her husband’s words. She presses a kiss to his neck and nuzzles in close. The comfort of her family soothes her. Despite her inability to sleep, she feels like this security in their presence is therapeutic. The murmurs of her family wrap her up warmly. She knows that everyone will be sticking close to her for the coming months.

————-

More in-depth warnings: In general, be aware that there are mentions of past assaults during Esme and Rose’s human lives. Mentions of Esme’s human husband, Charles. There are also mild descriptions of injuries done to a vampire.

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

25 + ayem + vehk for the one word thingy

25. Cooking

Month five of the war, they're knee-deep in the dreary slog somewhere between running down Barfok and peeling Hoag's zombies out of the Eastern peninsula with Kagrenac's metal men. Nerevar's encountered a problem relating to Ysmir's newfound habit of shouting armies wholesale off of hills whenever they claim the high ground, so he's called in the experts from Mournhold, though they must travel in secret to avoid Bhag's raiding-parties, and after Khizumet'e's betrayal only the most trusted can be permitted to know about the trip, and what this all translates to is: it's the crack of dawn on the Telvanni coast, the air cool and wet while a mist rises off the low volcanic hummocks all around them, and because most of their traveling-party is still asleep, Almalexia has taken it upon herself to make breakfast.

Yes, she's the Queen, and yes, she's never cooked for herself in her life (save one embarrassing incident during a childhood visit to Ald Sotha, wherein she set a loaf of bread on fire). But they've all been riding hard to answer Nerevar's summons in a timely manner, even the guar haven't yet roused from their near-catatonic slumber beneath a nearby Emperor Parasol, and only Almalexia, a habitual early-riser and often-insomniac, has woken with the sun. She's already sent the sentry to get a few hours of sleep, and the rest of her soldiers are still audibly snoring, and even Vivec, who somehow manages to be even more nervous and wakeful than she is, is dead to the world, curled tight into a ball back in their tent.

And Almalexia cannot bring herself to wake any of them. Well, it's not fair that Nerevar, newly-minted royalty, is already using his egregious powers to put them through this arduous overland trip, and even if they must be going soon Almalexia wants only to make their lives a little easier. So she, young woman with an incurable maternal streak that she is, has of course decided to cook them breakfast.

And how hard can it be, anyway? Kneeling in the damp soil, shivering slightly in the brisk new coolness of the early morning, Almalexia kindles the fire with magika and feeds it on some soft mushroom scraps she's collected from around the comatose guar. When the fire is nice and high, she eases in a cooking-pot. She's watched Sotha Sil prepare saltrice porridge a thousand times before-- a bag of grains, ample water-- so she finds the sack of saltrice they'd brought, dumps in a healthy amount (enough to halfway fill the small pot, she wants no-one going hungry), and then fills the rest of the pot with water.

Preparations made, all that is left for her is to sit back and wait for the saltrice to cook.

The morning is perfect, the air cool and clean. The Telvanni coast is beautiful: a halfway-dissolving cluster of archipelagos and stone spires, like handfuls of crushed pumice floating gently out to the inner sea. Their road through the fractured coastline has taken them over small wooden bridges and through winding canyons dry only at low tide; the region is inacessible to a large army but perfect for two travelers and their guards making their way north. They're at the very end of the shattered coast now, on a low rising hill that represents the start of the undulating basalt-flows which paves the rest of the way, but when one turns to look behind them they can see the labyrinth of eroding dykes and tall pillars rendered jagged and lonely by the encroaching silvery waves. To Almalexia, observing the scenery with half-closed eyes, it’s all very strange and very, very lovely. Settled back against one of the supply-packs, she looks towards the distant inner sea and lets her thoughts drift into a sleepy sort of contemplation.

The scent of cooking saltrice and the musky smoke of a mushroom-fire; the snoring and sleep-braying of overworked guar; the fresh coolness of mist on skin; the last stars twinkling into slumber; memories of the heady crop-smell of Deshaani fields pregnant with ripe wheat; memories of waking up with a mouthful of Ald Sotha sand; comfort; fullness after hunger; a meal cooking... 

...

"... Ayem?"

Almalexia blinks and sits upright. The day has suddenly become much brighter. Vivec stands over her, but hir face is obscured by the sun now high behind them.

"Vehk," Almalexia murmurs, rubbing her eyes. Then, "Oh, did I fall asleep?"

"I think so," Vivec replies, kicking at the ground. Even sleepy and disheveled from the road, Almalexia thinks, ze manages to look like some spirit of legend, a guiding light sent down to Nirn by the ghost of Veloth himself. "Um."

"Hm?" Almalexia realises she's been staring and looks away. "Ah, forgive me, I must be tired!"

"It's not-- I mean to say--" Vivec tilts hir head towards the fire. "What's that?"

For a moment Almalexia fails to understand. Then she sees what Vivec's pointing at: her saltrice porridge has transformed itself into a pulsing amorphous mass and is crawling out of the pot.

Almalexia presses her hand to her mouth in horror. "My porridge!"

Vivec grins.

Then, Vivec laughs, a loud childish laugh that wakes the guar and electrifies Almalexia into leaping to her feet.

"Porridge!" Vivec shouts, as Almalexia lunges towards the fire. "That's porridge?-- wait, no, Ayem, don't go near it, it'll attack you!" Ze seizes Almalexia around the waist just as she makes a dive towards her beleaguered breakfast, pulling her back, pressing hir face to her shoulder and giggling hysterically.

"What happened to it?" Almalexia says despairingly, returning the embrace. "I just... don't laugh at me, Vehk, I was trying to make you breakfast!"

"What did you do to it? I think it's trying to make me into breakfast!"

"I don't know! It's just porridge! I added saltrice and water--"

"Saltrice expands when you cook it, didn't you know that?"

“No?” Helpless, Almalexia slumps into Vivec's arms and watches her kind gesture ooze disobediently out of its pot. Vivec is giggling still, clutching her, face pressed into her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Vehk," Almalexia says weakly, "I didn't think it was possible to mess up porridge. It seemed like it would be easy."

"No, I-- I'm sorry for laughing at you-- it's okay, honest." By now the soldiers have awoken and are emerging from their tents, and Vivec, noticing, embarrassed, releases her. "We can use it to make saltrice-cakes if we just bake them."

"I think I should leave that to you," Almalexia replies, miserable. "I was once told that I'm cursed to destroy anything I touch, and I'm starting to believe it."

Vivec, smiling still, takes Almalexia’s hand in one of hir own. Ze raises it and presses her palm flat against hir cheek.

"Well," ze says after a moment. "I feel fine. So come help me cook."