#i have to see all of the scars from those may hospital visits every day and now theyre turning a year old and its just crazy

[surfs-up-brian]

One year ago today I was drunk and sat in the street covered in my own blood waiting for an ambulance, doing anything I could to put myself in harms way. I survived the worst year of my life, here I am. One year later. I have a job, im on medication that actually makes my life enjoyable, I'm engaging with my hobbies and playing games again, im trying out new things, my art is colourful again and not just me venting in biro, and now I've started testosterone. So, I guess life can get better?

[with-my-calamitous-love]

SIX WEEKS (8 YEARS) OF BREATHING CLEAN AIR / I STILL MISS THE SMOKE

touya todoroki x reader

you finally bring yourself to visit your husband in the hospital.

mha official ending spoilers

part 2/3, part 1

inspired by the black dog

what a long 8 years.

touya’s defeat came at no surprise to you. as much as you wanted to root for your husband, to hope he achieves the twisted, revenge-filled dreams he dedicated his like (death) to, you knew his attempts would be futile.

you knew that the moment shouto’s fists connected with your husbands, it’d be over. the flames would subside, and dabi’s fiery reign would come to an end. for just a moment, in the midst of the blue and red flames, you saw a glimpse of two broken brothers. just a glimpse.

what followed wasn’t any less heartbreaking. touya was kept alive in his own, high tech cell. though he had made sure to keep you hidden from the world, you heard from short whispers that there was nothing that could be done about his current state. he could only manage a few words, his vessel slowly slowly dissipating into nothing but ash.

you absolutely could not bring yourself to visit. not in any of those 8 years. maybe its because you knew you could very well be hearing your last words from him soon.

too many memories engulfed in fire. his arsons match and your tear-stained eyes, watching it all helplessly.

so for as long as you could, you stayed in your house, grieving for the living.

until now.

it wasn’t a surprise you were eventually found out. when you opened your door, expecting the mail, you were greeted with a familiar face- not when you were angry about seeing, but not particularly delighted by any means. his dual coloured eyes and scar similar to that of your husbands- not by look but by origin.

you honestly couldn’t remember how he convinced you to leave your home. he may as well have dragged you by your feet, into his car and to the facility they were keeping touya in. this man was technically your brother, too. but seeing him felt like a wound reopened.

touya laid there, his body weak and emaciated, as the machines beeped and whirred around him, monitoring his vital signs and keeping him alive. a futile but admittedly impressive effort by his rich father, wanting to somehow make amends. everyone knew, however, that he was not saving a life- he was prolonging a death. the death of his firstborn son, to be exact.

his mind was hazy, his vision blurry as he struggled to keep his eyes open. the sound of the machines became a constant, familiar background noise, almost like white noise.

as he laid there, fading in and out of consciousness, one thought ran through his mind again and again: you.

while you stood outside the room, touya’s barren body laid in his tomb. his eyelids could hardly closed, so he was more or less forced to take in the grief-stained drywall. he thought about you, every single day. wondered where you were, how you could be doing- he hoped it was better now that he was gone.

your hand was wrapped shakily around the doorknob. just one twist and push. but it felt as though that door was made of iron. why was it suddenly so heavy? why was it being weighed down with the weight of your love and grief all rolled into one?

“…i don’t think i can do this.” you say shakily, a single tear rolling down your eye at the thought of seeing your dying husband after all this time.

a hand is placed on your shoulder. a comforting touch, like one who is learning to navigate through the grief alongside you.

shouto stood silently beside you, his expression stoic as he waited for you to make a decision.

he knew how difficult this must be for you, the years of pain and guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders. if he was grieving a man he hardy knew as his brother and more as a villain, he couldn’t even grasp how his wife must be feeling- someone who had loved him despite it all.

“you can do it.” he says softly, his voice firm but gentle as he tries his best to hold it together. he doesn’t want you to face this alone, though he knows he cant enter that room with you.

“you’ve made a good name for yourself.” you say, acknowledging shouto’s growth. at least one of the two brothers can still live, still be happy. “no one even calls you endeavours son anymore.”

he nods silently, his expression softening slightly at your words.

“i guess so.” he said quietly, a small hint of a smile on his face. he doesn’t dare to jinx his success. “ i’ve… i’ve tried to separate myself from my father’s shadow, to be my own person.”

he says for a paused moment, looking at the small glass panel that gave a window into touya’s room, his hand still resting on your shoulder.

“but t wasn’t easy. it never is.” he says, taking a deep breath before speaking his next piece.

“the doctors think they can buy him a few more months, maybe.” shouto reveals. the extent of your absence towards your dying husband finally begins to sink in. you waited until it was almost too late to see him. its a guilt like no other. what could you possibly say about to him after all this time?

“…i’m going in.” you say, pushing the door open and letting it close behind you with a click that rings through the room.

theres constant whirring and beeping from the technology keeping touya breathing. he lays there, his body held together by planks of metal and wiring. god, as morbid as it may seem, you wondered why they were even trying at this point?

he doesn’t seem to notice you, not till you walk closer to him. its hard to move his head with that brace around his skull, anyway.

his eyes weakly tracked your movements as you weakly made your way over to the bed, pressing your hands against the glass keeping him inside of his pod. he recognizes you, because how could he not? he married you, after all.

“…hey.” you manage, despite the dryness on your tongue.

your heart clenches as you watch him try and respond. his throat was dry and raspy, like his quirk had given him sandpaper for lung. he was forced to swallow several times before he could even mutter a word.

“hey..” he finally croaks out, his voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and strained.

you take a deep breath, silently cursing yourself for your already shaky words.

“you look like shit.” you have the audacity to chuckle at him, the numb laughter devoid of any empathy. you were grieving, grieving yet angry. as much as you understood and wanted to understand, he still left you.

touya would be nothing if not an asshole.

“thanks, doll.” his voice almost mechanical. “..don’t look too hot yourself.”

there he is. that smartass touya you love. his quick tongue and his smart heard, smarter then he lets on. you love his remarks, his sass, his demeanour. and it seemed that even through all this pain, he still managed to give you some of it.

the tears are already sliding down your cheeks, knowing that this is likely the last time you’ll ever get to feel it.

and for a moment, through your hazy eyes, a silver glimmer catches your eyes.

“…you kept the ring..?” you have to rub your eyes, unsure if its just a grief-stricken illusion.

he scoffs, as if it should be obvious. “yeah… course i did.”

his time is running out and you both know it. you cringe watching his weaken state, trying to slide the ring off his finger. you quickly hush him, your delicate hands carefully reaching into his pod to help him remove the band. though most of his nerves are killed off, he feels as though he’s truly lost his favourite part of him.

his eyes continue to grow tired, but me fights them valiantly to catch a glimpse of you slipping the ring onto your own hand. he had taken that part of him, and given it to you.

you sob, pressing your forehead against the glass. your hand just barely grazes his, feeling the charred skin you still loved, no matter how dead.

“i love you.” you sob, baring your soul to your husband. his eyes close, feeling the exhaustion sink in- but he can’t give in. not when this is his last chance to see his wife.

despite the pain and the knowledge of his imminent death, he manages to find his voice and responds, his voice hoarse but filled with a raw intensity of emotion. he’s doing everything to stay with you right now, though you know it can’t ever make it up.

“… i love you… too…” he croaks, letting what soul he has left reach itself out to you.

“and i’m so mad at you.” you sob. “not just you… i’m mad at the world.. i’m at the world that let your father get away with abusing you and breaking you down.. i’m mad at the world that didn’t see you were a boy who needed help. i’n mad at the universe for not giving you and i a chance… i’m mad at your god damn fire for taking you away from me.”

your tears slide down the glass, only continuing as you see his eyes close. he’s still breathing, yes, but either he was so exhausted from fighting death, or he couldn’t bare to see you in this much pain. probably both.

“i know… i’m… sorry…” he prays you know how sorry he really is. for doing this to you. for exposing you to the evil of the world when he should have been protecting you.

“..don’t cry..” he rasps, asking more for him than for you. you scoff.

“i’ll cry if i damn want to, touya.” you chuckle. “i lost my husband.”

just for a second, its almost like he smiles.

“you… still… call me.. that?”

without a trace of hesitation, you nod. “of course i do.”

he’s having trouble forming his next words and you can tell. you know you have to do it. you somehow have to say goodbye.

“i love you, touya todoroki. i love you so much.” you declare, showing your soul to him right before he enters the afterlife- maybe so he knows to look for you once your time comes as well.

“…i… love you.. too..” he rasps. he’s trying and you love him for it, despite the sobs that choke out of you seeing his struggle just to speak.

“i’ll never ever, ever forget you. i wouldn’t dream of it.” you whisper.

“you better not…” he rasps out weakly. what a fucking smartass you married.

you cant kiss him. but you do press your forehead and your lips to the glass, and give his hand once last squeeze. you have to rip yourself from the room and out the door, otherwise you might have stayed in there forever.

the door clicks behind you. a breath escapes your lips, knowing that you have truly said your goodbye. you still clutch his silver ring on your finger.

the ring served as a reminder. that no matter what happens now, a part of your soul forever belonged to touya todoroki. that no matter how many of your clothes you burn and how many exorcisms you perform on your house, the love you shared with touya will never leave. no matter how much clean air you breath, a small part of you will always miss the smoke he gave. always.

you vowed to never forget him, anyway.

tags!🪽

@the-dumpster-fire-of-life @greenmanshoe @connorsui

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Hi there,

Saw your post about Cajun/cowboy Alastor and OMG! I don’t have many ideas other then maybe he plays poker for souls or something like that and maybe a reader comes into town and is just as good at poker as he is. And he cannot seem to win, leading him to become mildly obsessed over winning their soul.

Thats all I have as I don’t know much about cajun/cowboy stuff.

I’ll let you know if I have any other ideas!

Thank you!

Alastor - [ ACE OF HEARTS ]

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A/N: Omg, I love your take on cowboy Al! It got me thinking about it for days. I have never played poker, so I had to watch multiple YouTube videos to understand the game while writing this. Hopefully, it came out accurate enough! Also, this is a very, VERY traumatic/smut-heavy fic I'm working on, so please be aware and know I don't endorse anything I write.

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ GUN PLAY… ] + [ SLIGHT DUB CON….eventually.] + [ SLIGHT/IMPLIED AGE GAP ] + [ MENTIONS OF GORE/BLOOD/CANNABILISM ] + [ KIDNAPPING…sort of?.. ] + [ PARENTAL PHYSICAL AB*SE…eventually..] + [ ANGST/TRUAMA…]

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**Cowboy Alastor** is known for his record of killing, is a skilled bounty hunter, and is far from a decently moral one. Everyone assumes his motives, guessing who his next target is and if he’ll ever feel guilt for what he does to them.

He doesn't.

What kind of demon would he be if he did…

Besides, the people he kills owe him in one way or another, all in debt to the red demon by their stupidity and lust for life, so he feels nothing for them when the time comes for the price of their deals to be paid.

Alastor arrives for them in the dead of dry nights, taking their last breath with a single bullet to the head or a clean cut across the throat. Their pleas do little to affect his decision.

“A deal is a deal…”

He reminds them that escaping a bloody end is impossible, already solidified by their selfish desires, and no amount of begging will change his mind. They curse his name, glaring at the grin on his face as he draws nearer with deathly intent in his eyes, and it only grows as he derives pleasure from their refusal to cooperate.

The riches, the riding, and the roughness he endures daily are nothing compared to the satisfaction he gets from killing. Others may deal in chasing oil, farming land, and cattle, but he stakes his fulfillment in the business of blood.

**Cowboy Alastor** dabbles in gambling when he's not off-striking deals with lowly souls or wreaking havoc on those he deems deserving.

Every city south of New Orleans with a bar or saloon welcomes his visits and not by choice.

Those who don't meet his standards or demands of hospitality drop from the face of the earth at his will, burning to a crisp full of the dead occupants who so lightly offended him, and never to be rebuilt out of fear he'd return to demolish it again.

He surely would, but no one has yet to test the theory in fear of a painful death by his hands.

Alastor leisurely travels the expanse of Louisiana's countryside, partial to riding wherever the wind blows, but he’ll always return to the rumbling city of New Orleans.

Whether for personal reasons or because his beloved mother wished to see him, it becomes second nature for the deer demon to reside there randomly. It was his hometown, after all, and he preferred the taste of whiskey from a familiar place over foreign alcohol in far-off dusty taverns he'd never visit again.

The saloon he fancies sits opposite the central townhouse, a tall building at the end of a main street that never seemed to rest.

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar

Summer nights brought out and drew in more people, filling the bar with patrons who knew of his deeds and those who’d only heard scarring stories about him through the ladder. The knowledge of a red reaper roaming the towns of Louisiana varied, but their fearful respect of him was abundant the moment Alastor stepped foot into the bustling bar.

He was there, in good spirits for the most part, but still an impossible threat they couldn't brush off.

**Cowboy Alastor** greets the silent patrons with a sly grin, tipping his hat to the fear-stricken owner who eyed him from behind the packed bar.

“Don't let me interrupt the fun, Cher. I'm not here to cause you trouble… that's if you're kind enough to indulge me.”Alastor chuckles, not waiting for a proper response from anyone as he stalks over to his usual spot in the smokey parlor.

A group of cattlemen stiffen in their seats as he walks by, all grabbing their drinks as swiftly as possible before leaping up from their table to avoid him, and their skittish actions cause Alastor to laugh as he settles into a particular backroom booth.

It was customary for people to keep their distance from him, some deterred by his striking appearance while others simply didn't want to risk involvement with a known killer. He saw nothing wrong with their aversion, glad that his reputation proceeded him, but there were those single few who saw him as a challenge rather than a threat.

Poor fools…

Mortal or not, he ran into them regularly, welcoming their duels like a bored child getting a new toy to destroy, and though he knew they'd fail to win against him, he'd never turn down a good game.

Ever…

**Cowboy Alastor** lets the saloon wind into chaos again, humming along to the melody of music and rowdy singing while getting comfortable in his secluded spot.

His hat rests low on his head, shielding most of his red gaze from those who look his way, only leaving the view of his Cheshire smile and effectively signaling his oddly calm demeanor. Alastor slipped his riding jacket off, tossing the tailored burgundy clothing across the back of the booth, his leather and suede black gloves following suit.

“What a day it's been…” he mumbled while flexing his long fingers, relaxing his posture while leaning back and rolling his neck until a soft ‘pop’ was heard.

Consequently, the tension tangled in his limber body from riding all day unraveled. Alastor sucked his teeth at the feeling, licking his lips as a satisfied groan left them, and just as he sat forward again, the owner hurried to his table with a bottle of alcohol and a tray of cigars.

“Your usual, Al,” he split out, setting the items in front of him with shakey hands, and Alastor clicks his tongue at the nervous tick. He'd come to this bar for years, and the old man still trembled in his boots around him. The poor fool wouldn't dare admit his fear either, rushing off as soon as he reached for the bottle, and though some might consider his retreat rude, Alastor found it amusing.

Flattering, even.

**Cowboy Alastor** drinks slowly, letting the whiskey burn his tongue and drowning the malt taste with languid drags from a cigar.

Eyes scan over him, women whisper about him lustfully under the rowdy music, and the men keep their senses about them with happy trigger fingers.

Because as they say: “Red Reaper, Red Reaper. The devil's solemn deal keeper. Beware him & the hell he seeks…”

Alastor imposes his intensity, grinning at those who stare too long, watching the women who drink him in with an equally sultry stare, and daring the men to throw a bullet his way with a knowing smirk. He invites trouble, waiting for it like a preying snake in tall, dry grass, but after some time, he assumes no one in the saloon will accept his invitation.

That is until you step in, looking lost among the worldly thrills of a bar but unafraid to venture further into it with an air of certainty surrounding you.

**Cowboy Alastor** makes no move to approach you, laid back as ever, as he observes the gentle way you speak to men who drunkenly approach you. They make offers to dance, almost crowding your more diminutive form as you trail to the bar.

“Sorry, boys, but I'm here on business, not pleasure. Now, run along..” you wave them away playfully, purposely flirtatious but avidly stern.

He expects them to continue bugging you; you're a doll, after all, prettier than most women he's seen. However, the men retreat politely, leaving you be as the owner approaches your side, and you immediately turn to hug him despite his apparent concerned expression.

Alastor observes the exchange closely, reading your lips perfectly while sipping at his drink, and it's all too easy for him to assess the situation.

The daughter of a businessman returns home after finishing school in the north, wanting to visit him at work as a pleasant surprise, but he's far from happy about a young lady like yourself being out late at night in a place like this.

You're too mannered to be seen around the patrons, it's dangerous for you to ride alone in the evening, and your father isn't pleased you intend to stay out to celebrate your school completion.

He tells you it's best to go home, that he'll come with you, but you insist on staying and remind him, “I'm not your little girl anymore, Daddy!..” The older man can't seem to rein you in, having to drop the lecture as a small brawl breaks out in the corner of the saloon, which draws his attention immediately, and this leaves you to wander the scene freely.

A perfect time for Alastor to reel you in close and personal…

**Cowboy Alastor** whistles when you walk past his area, catching your attention with a short, soulful melody, and you quickly notice him in the dim back room.

“Hi there, lil’ lady. Searchin' for somethin'?” He inquires playfully, tone bordering sensual, and his grin slipping into a closed smile as your gaze settles on him.

You’re curious, not scared of him like most are, and the moment he speaks to you, questions race through your head.

Who is he?

How have you never seen him here before?

Why, in God's name, is he sitting away from the masses?

Is he a rider, a hunter, or maybe a convict?

It was hard to tell from a distance, so without a second thought, you flashed him a gentle smile, gradually approaching where he sat, “Hello, and who might you be, sir?” You chirp a greeting, resisting the urge to bite your lip as he stares into your wandering gaze.

Alastor assumed you’d been away from the South too long to realize who he was, that your father's earlier warning didn’t sprout from overprotectiveness but rather fear of his presence.

You didn’t see him as a threat, nor a danger, but a new face in an old town.

He chuckles, putting out his cigar after taking a particularly long drag from it, blowing smoke past his lips with a coy hum. You blink as the convoluted air fans your face, unbothered by it and itching for a taste of tobacco yourself. It’d been a few years since you’d let loose, not allowed to frequent bars or act unladylike in the limelight of northern modesty.

“A loyal patron, but it’s been some time since I’ve paid this place a visit.” He answers you politely, an odd trait that most men only reserved for themselves but refreshing to experience.

“Oh, well, that’s nice to hear, but your name is what I would like to know.”

A tender smirk stretches your lips, a red hue dusting your cheeks as he tips his hate apologetically before uttering a response, “Alastor Hartifelt. A pleasure to meet you, Miss…” he pauses, quirking a brow at you expectantly, and you take a moment to analyze him further.

You've heard your father utter his name many times before your departure to the north. He'd described him brutally, having less than pleasant things to say about bounty hunters in general but especially about the man in front of you now. You'd heard people talk of his deeds, deals, and evil.

He was dubbed the ‘Red Reaper’ for a good reason, lurking around in the bitter nights and drawing blood from one poor soul or another in his travels.

Supposedly, he was a terrifying monster, but you'd always found beauty in the demented. It was one of the reasons your father had sent you away, but fortunately, the influence of the posh upper class did nothing to change your consciousness.

Besides, the rumors had failed to mention how attractive the red reaper was, let alone dashing. He seemed nice enough hadn't flashed his weapon, threatened, or catcalled you disrespectfully.

So, you found no harm in telling him your name, “Y/n L/n. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Hartifelt.” You blink slowly, drowning in his red eyes, unconsciously swaying where you stood, back to a wall that hid your presence near him from your father's eyes and the curious stares of others.

Alastor glanced at the space beside him, silently asking that you join him, but unlike most women, he rarely took an interest in, you didn't move until he asked you outright.

“Would you care to join me for a drink, Miss L/n? I'd like to have your company for a while..”

He doesn't speak any louder than needed, using every bit of charm he has to lure you in, and you let him believe he's succeeded with a sensual laugh and purring laugh.

“Why, I thought you'd never ask..”

**Cowboy Alastor** asks a lot of questions. Subtly gathering information about you that he has no use for.

You give him answers; some are lies, others are indiscriminate truths, but you can't bring yourself to be completely honest with a stranger known for his cunning. He keeps your glass full, pacing the liquor with you, reveling in your gentle laughter after every sip, and softening faster and faster the longer you conversed.

You kept your wits about you as best as possible, inviting his fleeting touches but never going further than whispering in his ear or tapping a finger under his sharp chin when he'd stare too long.

Alastor didn't mind your soft hands on him, nor your lingering gaze and confident provocations. He absentmindedly returned the gestures just as boldly.

Your fifth glass of whiskey was running low, and without a hint of hesitation, he refilled it alongside his own. You watched as the amber liquid filled each glass, utterly relaxed as he spoke to you tenderly, “You say your father sent you far up north. May I ask why?…”

He peers at you, sliding the transparent glass into your waiting hand, and you chuckle wryly while taking a sip. “Daddy says it was for my good. You see, my mother is a stickler about manners, and I didn't have much of any growing up. Ironic, seeing as I was raised well enough.” you paused, frowning at the memory of your strict but loving mother.

She was lovely to look at and kind most of the time, but her ambitions for you outweighed her patience. Alastor noted the haunting sadness in your eyes but said nothing as you continued, looking out into the crowd of patrons fussing about as you did.

“My mother died a few years back, leaving daddy to handle me, and when he realized he couldn't manage the business and a daughter, he sent me away. Couldn't blame him either; I was getting into trouble left and right and had some bad habits on the rise, too.”

His ears perked at the words ‘bad habits’ leaving your lips, naturally drawn to knowing a mortal's darkest secrets, so he pressed for clarification.

“Bad habits, you say? I couldn't imagine a sweet thing like you havin’ such things.”

You scoffed, glad your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol buzz to mask the blush his comment invoked, “Well…I did. Still do if I'm honest.” you admit in a hushed tone, knocking back the last of your drink before glancing his way.

“It's hard to resist doing things you're good at.”

Alastor leaned back into the seat, drink in one hand, the other fixing his hat so it sat back on his head. The adjustment gave you a peek at his fluffy red hair and the distinctive blood-marked x on his forehead. You thought to ask what the mark meant but saved the question for later, as he agreed with your statement.

“Very true, ma chere. Although I'm one for killin’, your passion may not be so grizzly and easier to alleviate.”

“My father thinks gambling is just as bad as killing. It doesn't matter if he's addicted to it himself or not. If I do it…I'm the devil's daughter in his eyes..” You roll your eyes, an action that jolts a nerve Alastor hasn't felt in years and subconsciously doesn't ignore.

“Gambling? That's your unproper poison?” he narrows his gaze as you nod lazily, a few ringlets of your hair falling from its pinned-up style as you do, resting on the skin of your shoulders and neck.

Soft.

Your locks look soft and silky to the touch, tempting him to run his fingers through it, across your skin, and, god forbid, under your dress.

A heavy breath settled in his chest at the possibility, a familiar rush coursing through him as you moved your lips to speak, “Yes. I see a stack of playin’ cards, and I just can't help myself. I got rather good at playing too but when you beat everyone in town at it people start to be less kind about your reputation.”

You laugh, attempting to make a light-hearted joke but ultimately grimacing at the mention of lousy sportsmanship from others. You couldn't help winning a challenge in poker, and many saw the talent as disgraceful, which prompted I'll rumor about you.

“That's a shame, sugar. Everyone deserves a chance to play a good game of their choosing.” he feigns concern, meeting your curious eyes as you shift to face him, “Everyone except me if my father has anything to say about it. Still, I suppose it's best I let it go…” you sigh, grabbing the bottle of whiskey to pour another shot.

Suddenly, you freeze, feeling his body heat invade your space. Alastor tilts his head down close to yours, breathing in your scent discretely before pressing his lips to the lobe of your ear as he mutters into it, “Why don't you play a game with me, chere? One lil’ round for fun… right under your daddy's nose, hm?”

The burn of excitement seizes your body, a shakey breath leaving your lips as his voice settles in your mind, inviting you to indulge his offer. That same heat pooled in your core with every second he spent in your space, inhaling the scent of bourbon and sweet sugar cane grass he rode through radiating off him, words just as inviting and addictive.

For a horrifying, well-feared killer, he sure did entice a woman like any natural-born gentleman…

It was a deathly combination you knew he often used, killing or not, and though it'd be wise to avoid his idea, you didn't want to risk missing an opportunity for the thrill.

It'd been so long, too long, and what's the worst that could happen?

Losing to him?

You'd never lost to anyone before, and you were confident that fact wouldn't change -even going up against the Red Reaper himself.

**Cowboy Alastor** relishes when you utter a ‘yes’ to his offer. His grin widens menacingly for a split second as he sets his glass down next to your empty one, conjuring up a meticulously detailed deck of playing cards and placing them on the table.

“You can choose which game we play, sugar…”

Alastor shifts away from you, letting you regain your composure and watching as your delicate fingers reach for the top card of the deck.

“Poker. A favorite of mine..” You didn't think twice before answering him, admiring the red and black ace in your hand, wondering where he acquired such personalized playing cards.

“Poker it is then, chere,” he smirks wickedly, removing his hat entirely to set it on the table before gingerly plucking the card from your hold and sliding to sit opposite you while dishing out equal amounts of cards between you.

Your eyes light up under the oil lamp's golden hue, studying the flick of his hands as he worked, trying hard not to wander up to his piercing gaze. Afraid he'd immediately see your attraction to his nimble hands, well to him in general, and use it against you somehow, so your focus remains on the hand dealt and not him.

As you both plucked your respective set from the table, studying the cards intently, you asked the singular most crucial question every poker match was built on.

“What will the bets be,” Your innocent inquiry earns sultry laughter from him, filling the air, raising feverish chills on your skin as he stares at you through half-lidded eyes.

“I prefer bargains of the soul, my dear. The use and price of one's existence is always more valuable than money, don't you agree?”

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A/N: Don't be mad AT ME, GUYS, PLEASE. I HAD EXAMS LAST WEEK. I'm SORRY FOR DROPPING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH… sort of, but I'm back now (please do hate me :((( ). Uh, so I might merge “Down in the Dust” with this because both stories kinda originated in my brain at the same time. However, since this is a request, I wrote a two-part tangent smut as a sort of prequel to the other fic! Also, the phrase “Save a horse. Ride a cowboy” will be unironically used…I'm sorry (I'm not lol) ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ] VOLUME WARNING!!! 🗣️

Fun fact: In the South, we have a rule that if you take a cowboy hat and end up wearing it, they catch you with it (preferably in the mutual interest of getting to know each other). That cowboy gets to fuck you (hopefully, but technically you're initiating a flirting game wearing their hat, lol). It's a cute concept and one any Cowboy Alastor enthusiast should think about. ❤️ credits to the creator.

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Hello there glad to see you have your blog back may I ask for an reaction of the HLC +professors with an MC who has their right side of their face burned and their right arm gone from the battle of the final resptory (btw fig is alive the f.f.f must stay alive aka Father. Figure. Fig)

A/N: I made MC's situation part of the canon game ending, with the exception of Fig. F.F.F.F!(Father Figure Fig Forever!) Cut because long

HLC REACT TO MC BEING PERMANENTLY DISFIGURED

WARNING: physical and mental trauma, end game spoilers

The final battle with Ranrok had left MC with more than just emotional scars. The whole right side of their face was marred and their right eyes was entirely blackened. Jagged bright red scars ran across MC's chest from their shoulder to their abdomen and their right arm was completely gone. Due to the nature of the dark magic that damaged MC's body, these scars would never heal even with magic.

MC had been in the hospital wing for several days, Head Nurse Blainey taking care of them personally. MC would drift in and out of consciousness, in and out of pain, and in and out of bouts of screaming. They would see that dragon every time they closed their eyes. The last thing they remember was a grand bright light in their last ditch effort to contain the dark magic after Ranrok fell. They didn't know that they were successful and everything is all right. Hogwarts is safe. Their friends are safe.

After three days of intensive healing, MC finally started coming around. They could awake long enough to have short conversations. Nurse Blainey notified the staff immediately and word eventually spread to the students that MC was alive.

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: He doesn't give a rat's ass if the hospital wing is off limits at the moment. Threaten him with points taken away, detention or even expulsion, he is going to see MC. He sprints to their bed and goes to hold their hand. But it isn't there. He's shaken and kneel's next to them before he falls down.

"You're alright...you're alive." He was at a loss for words. The last time he had conversed with MC, he had been thanking them for not sending him to Azkaban. They were one of the few friends he had left, and here they were, lying in the hospital wing with half their body blown off. He wasn't sure what to do, and that bothered him.

OMINIS GAUNT: He doesn't quite go running to MC. He's still on the fence about them. He does eventually visit them to at least wish them well. He doesn't fully understand what happened to them. They never extensively explained the whole ancient magic thing to him. As far as most anyone at the school knows, there was a goblin attack and it took half the professors and MC to fight them off.

ANNE SALLOW: She doesn't hear about MC personally. Just that there was a serious incident at Hogwarts through the Daily Prophet. She was far away from Hogwarts valley. Trying to find peace away from Feldcroft.

IMELDA REYES: She sits casually next to MC and looks them over, they're still covered in bandages. "Those goblins really did a number on you." She notices their missing arm. "I wouldn't worry about that too much. There are quite a few amputee quidditch players. You'll have to learn how to rebalance, though. I can teach you."

NATSAI ONAI: She brings them a bottle of butterbeer. She figured it would be a nice change of pace from just water. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, MC." MC told her not to apologize. They wouldn't want to risk this happening to her. She'd already taken the torture curse for them.

GARRETH WEASLEY: He brings some sweets as a get well present. He's horrified by what's happened to them. He's never heard of injuries so extensive that magic couldn't heal. It must have been some intense dark magic. The next time he's in the library, he's looking up potions that could regrow limbs.

LEANDER PREWETT: He visits along with Lucan, he was nervous to see them by himself. Wasn't sure what he'd say. They weren't exactly close, but he was worried when he heard about what happened to them. Even brought them some flowers he picked out on the flying lawn. He hopes they're able to attend the final feast at the end of the year.

AMIT THAKKAR: He tries to comfort MC by telling them that they won't have to worry about missing notes for astronomy. They're welcome to all of his. Not much he can do about their O.W.L's though. They are getting an extension on the exams, right? MC really can't be expected to go through all of this and then immediately take exams.

EVERETT CLOPTON: He doesn't see them until they're out of the hospital wing. When he does, he nearly jumps out of his skin. They look awful! Sorry. That came out before he could stop it. He'll bombard them with questions over what happened to them. All he's been hearing are rumors and they range from MC fighting an entire goblin army single-handedly to giant flobberworms causing earthquakes under Hogwarts.

POPPY SWEETING: She's been handling all the beasts with Deek while MC has been away. When she goes to see them, she holds their good hand and tells them she's glad they're alright. If there's anything she can do for them, let her know.

LUCAN BRATTLBY: For what it's worth, he thinks battle scars are brilliant. Anyone looking at them will know that they've seen some shit and not to mess with them. He does hope they're left-handed though, relearning how to use your wand with your non-dominant hand is rough. It's like starting over.

~

ELEAZAR FIG: He's in the hospital wing as well, in the bed across from MC. His injuries weren't as extensive, but he would likely need to use a cane for the rest of his life. He took a rather nasty fall when the cliff crumbled. He's the first person after nurse Blainey to know that MC was going to be all right. As soon as he's able, he's in a chair next to their bed to greet them when they are fully cognitive again. He tells them that they did it. Ranrok is gone. The magic was resealed. They saved the world.

No matter what happens next for MC, he promises to be there for them through it. Even the powers of dark magic couldn't take him away from them.

MATILDA WEASLEY: She has a very long talk with Eleazar before MC is conscious. She's more than a little upset about all of this being kept from her until it was almost too late to stop Ranrok. She doesn't blame MC in the slightest, but gives Eleazar a verbal reckoning.

When MC awakens, she expresses her gratitude. Their bravery would make Godric himself proud. In light of their circumstances, they will receive an extension on their O.W.L's to give them time to heal and properly study for them, without the looming threat of the end of the world.

CHIYO KOGAWA: She wasn't in the cave, but stayed up in the school to make sure no goblins got close up top. She also praises them for their bravery. She's had more than her fair share of fights with dark wizards in the past. Going up against them is no easy feat for adults, let alone those still in school.

AESOP SHARP: He sees the scars. He sees MC's missing arm. It pains him to see this happen to them. Such life-changing injuries and memories. He knows exactly what they're going through. He can help them work through it, and hopefully avoid some of the mistakes he's made.

ABRAHAM RONEN: It breaks his heart to see MC like this. They were filled with so much life, now they can barely crack a smile without wincing in pain. He will do his damnedest to make sure they are still treated fairly by the staff and students. Anyone that so much as looks at MC wrong will know just how mean he can be.

MIRABEL GARLICK: She brings a bouncing bulb. The small plant starter is extremely entertaining when one is bored stuck in the hospital. Trust her on this. She wants MC to have something to play with while they have nothing to do. She tries not to look at the injuries. She doesn't want to make them uncomfortable by thinking she's staring.

MUDIWA ONAI: Not to be ironic, but she wishes she had seen this coming. Ranrok, the repository, the goblins, any of it. She wishes she could have warned MC. She was so distracted by her concern for her daughter and conforming to her new environment, she was blindsided by the future. She is so terribly sorry.

BAI HOWIN: She wants MC to know that losing a limb is not as much of a detriment in the wizarding world as it is in the Muggle world. She knows many a colleague that have had more than one limb ripped off or bitten off and are still perfectly capable members of society. They shouldn't worry too much.

DINAH HECAT: Like Sharp, she's all too aware of what MC is going through. The irreversible damage dark magic can take on one's mind and body can take their toll on even the strongest witch or wizard. MC needs support right away to avoid potential self-destruction.

CUTHBERT BINNS: He floats on by to wish MC good health. Although, should the worst have happened, the Hogwarts ghosts are always willing to welcome another into their ranks.

SATYAVATI SHAH: What they did was foolish. Defending Hogwarts should have been left to the staff and MC should have never been put in the position they were in. To be so scarred by life so young. It's tragic. She hopes this doesn't stop them from continuing their education to give themselves a strong foundation for a good life.

PHINEAS NIGELLUS BLACK: The paperwork to the ministry over this situation has been an absolute nightmare. The goblins getting past Hogwarts charms by going underneath it, half of his staff having to defend the place, and one of his students being horrifically injured made for a long report. He only complains behind closed doors. Even he's not such a horrible person to tell MC off while they're in the hospital.

[detachedfacade]

You are Eddie Munson. You wake up late every morning and groan at your alarm signalling another goddamn day at the school you've outgrown. You pull on whatever clothes you can find that smell good enough before you remember it's hellfire tonight and search through your closet to find one of the five you own. It should be easier, shouldn't it? Given that they're the only shirts you own that aren't almost completely black but damn are they evasive. You storm out your room to the living room and before you can open your mouth your uncle is throwing the shirt across the room to you.

"You left it on the couch, I gave it a wash." He says. He's still wearing his work clothes, he just got in. "You ought to let me do some more of your laundry boy."

"Not a chance Wayne, you don't want to go rifling through my stuff you'd have a heart attack." You say.

"I can avert my eyes from any girly mags you have, I used to share a room with my brother I've seen it all."

"Ew." You say. "May I remind you that brother is my father." And you don't correct him about the girly mags because, well maybe he's not completely wrong. Those fantasy erotic graphic novels do focus heavily on the female characters. But it's the male characters you look at, when you are looking at all. And you know your uncle wouldn't judge, heck you've even heard him say as much about the young guy he works with, "Queer as a $3 bill" he said "But a hard worker and a nice kid. So I make sure the guys don't give him any stick, god knows he gets it back home." But you lost enough parents as it is, so you hedge your bets and stay closeted. For now at least. Besides you have school and you're late and you're finishing the curse of fucking vecna campaign tonight so you have a few other things on your mind.

School is soul crushing, of course. But you're grateful for at least one thing, Steve Harrington doesn't go there any more, and your planet sized crush had left with him. So it's just Jason (the prick) and a couple teachers with a vendetta (okay maybe you didn't do the homework) to deal with.

You deal drugs, you always have. You think you'll never be able to touch that tin lunch box again. You don't even wonder how you'll pay off the supplier. Because a nice girl who needed help just fucking died on your ceiling and you didn't know what to do so you ran.

You hold a glass up to the neck of the guy you used to crush on. It's hard to remember liking someone when you're being hunted down by jocks and you're pretty sure a poltergeist snapped someone's neck in front of you.

Things get crazier but you manage to calm down. Like maybe this is all just an elaborate dnd campaign. And you can convince yourself of that for a while.

And the man you had a crush on rips a bat in two while shirtless and its your erotic fantasy novel come to life, and what you wouldn't give to be the busty underdressed lady in this fantasy. Except its not a fantasy, it's real, and people are dying and you see this man is sad behind those eyes. You see he is lonely but you know he would never look at you the way he looks at her. So you tell him, go get the girl Harrington. Because he deserves to be happy, even in and amongst this shit show. But you can't stop looking at him, and you can't stop yourself from flirting with him because Jesus fuck does he look hot in your vest. And you wonder if he noticed the pink triangle pin on the inside of the lapel, you wonder if he knows what it means. But he doesn't say anything.

Not until a week later, when you survive somehow, and are covered in scars, and the pretty boy comes to visit you in hospital.

"We match." He says, lifting up his shirt.

"Fingers crossed we don't get rabies." You reply.

"You sure you don't already have it?" He says, his hand furling your hair. "You look pretty rabid to me."

You almost lose it, almost forget how to talk, but then he's placing your vest, cleaned and ironed, gently on your lap. And he taps his finger over the front pocket. "You don't have to hide this from me." He says, when he moves his hand you see its the pink triangle pin. "Hide from anyone you want but...just know you dont have to hide from me."

You convince yourself it doesn't mean what you think it means. You tell yourself you are just being delusional. He's just an ally, that's probably what it is. He knows what it means and he's an ally. But you don't really believe that, and maybe it's hope talking but you don't. So you grab an old jacket from the very back of your wardrobe and you make sure it smells okay, maybe add some of your cologne to the collar, and you head over to Harringtons. You hold it in front of you. "A gift." You say. "You can cut off the sleeves too, if you want. Mod it anyway you want. I have some patches if you wanted any, for the inside or outside."

Steve seems delighted. "I've heard acid wash is really in." He say. "I don't know if I'd cut the sleeves but maybe I'll add some patches. What do you have?" and you hold out the patches in your hand. It's an obvious ploy, and Steve knows, his eyebrow quirking and a smirk forming he gives you a look. He picks up the bisexual flag one. "Maybe you can help me sew it on?" He says. And you're in his house, and soon you will be on his couch and then his bed, and while you're there you'll decide to throw out those old mags in your room. You'll have the real thing.

[sameheart-sameblood]

Live While We’re Alive

(gif by @rex-is-best)

pairing: commander wolffe x f!reader

summary: you thought being a newly recruited civilian doctor to the GAR was hard enough until you developed a hopeless crush on Commander Wolffe

words: 2.8 k

warnings: mature, some suggestive talk, mutual pining, medical exams, co-workers to lovers, a doctor having inappropriate thoughts about their patient 

a/n: I started writing this awhile ago and then lost all creative motivation but I've been in a Wolffe mood the past few days and sad we didn't get to see him in The Bad Batch so here we are. I'd like to apologize to my doctor dad and all medical professionals everywhere lol. Also, I had intended for this to end in smut but then got lost in feelings so there mayyyy be a chapter 2. We'll see ;)

read on ao3!

You want to fuck him. It’s been decided. This realization couldn’t have come at a worse time, though. You’re surrounded by Jedi and Clone Officers in a very important meeting detailing your next mission. But you only have eyes for one of the men and he’s currently standing at the head of the room giving a briefing to the holo of Master Yoda. It’s a testament to Commander Wolffe’s presence that you barely notice the little green Jedi Master he’s conversing with. Well, his presence and his extreme handsomeness.

When you’d first met him, you’d been truly intimidated. The other women you worked with nodded in understanding, whispering they had been thrown off by his cybernetic eye and prominent scar. But that wasn’t it. You’d noticed those things, but that wasn’t what made you uneasy.

It was the fact that he took one look at you and seemed to see right into your soul. You couldn’t explain it but you felt like with just a glance, he could tell your deepest insecurities. And stars, did you have a lot of those.

You had worked your way up through the medical field and had started your residency at the biggest hospital in Coruscant. After your training ended, you had secured a permanent job there. It had been difficult, to say the least. Though you knew you were qualified, even more so than most of your male co-workers, you still doubted yourself often.

Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had come to visit you one nondescript Thursday afternoon, telling you of the need for doctors in the GAR. He said you came most highly recommended when he was searching for recruits but still, you thought a mistake had been made and that someone soon would realize and send you back to your normal life. It was a recurring nightmare you’d developed in the past few weeks that shook you from your sleep.

You had agreed to join the GAR, sympathetic to the cause and wanting to do your part. The next few weeks had consisted of you getting your bearings and meeting the rest of the staff at the base . Kix, the clone medic in charge, had helped you learn the ropes and had introduced you to all his brothers. At first, you had been overwhelmed by the sea of identical faces. As the weeks had gone on, you’d learned everyone’s names and they’d made you feel welcome, like one of their own.

The Commander and you had crossed paths several times. He was polite but distant. Not like you blamed him. He had more important things to do than exchange drawn out pleasantries. With each run-in, though, he seemed to be making more of an effort to be personable. Unfortunately, each conversation left you looking more and more like an idiot. Or a di’kut. The boys had been teaching you some Mando’a.

You were a medical professional, a well-respected doctor and yet Wolffe made you feel unsure of yourself. It had been so long since you’d had a crush that you didn’t realize this was what the beginning of one felt like.

*******

As you sit around the war room table, you feel even more like a school girl. Instead of paying attention to whatever Master Yoda is saying, you’re transfixed by Wolffe’s face. The hazy blue light from the holo reflects off his features, making him look ethereal. His scar looks even more prominent and you blush, remembering how often you’ve wondered what it would feel like to let your fingers trace it.   And his lips. They’re moving, responding to whatever the Jedi has said. They’re mesmerizing and now you’re thinking of what it would be like to kiss him. Or even better yet, to have those lips pressed against the plushier parts of your body.

You continue to stare until you realize his face has turned to you. It probably only takes you a second to come back to reality but it feels like an eternity. Somehow you’re able to respond to the question.

“Yes, Commander. All medical personnel are prepared for an 0800 liftoff. Kix will take his team with the 501st and I’ll have my staff along with the 104th. We’ll reconnoiter once we’ve landed on Hisseen.” The rest of the table nods, moving the conversation along. Wolffe stares at you for a moment, a hint of a smirk on his lips. You avert your gaze, finding the table a much safer object of your attention.

The discussion wraps up and Wolffe stands at attention, puffing his chest out, before Master Yoda disappears. Once again, your eyes are drawn to him. You’re not sure how but he makes something so mundane look indescribably attractive. Wolffe’s head turns in your direction but you’ve already bolted from your seat, hoping to cool down in the hallway.

Kix pushes through the crowd to get to you. “Hey, Doc. How’d the meeting go?” You shrug. “Nothing new to report. Just making sure we’re all set for our campaign.” He’s shifting back and forth, a sort of glazed look in his eyes. You realize he’s not paying particularly close attention. It’s the look of someone asking you something just so they can request a favor in return.

“Hmm oh yeah, that’s nice. Say, Doc, do you think you could cover for me for a few hours? I have some urgent business to attend to.”

“Since when is playing Sabacc with Fives and the boys urgent?”

“Since I remembered how terrible they are at it. I can make a real killing playing against them.”

You laugh. It’s true. You’ve come to love those men but a lot of them are really horrible at the game. You’ll need to give them a remedial course if you have any downtime on Hisseen. “Of course. What do you need me to do?” He rewards you with a huge grin. “Nothing hard! A few higher ups coming in for their physicals. Just the usual. Make sure they’re in tip top shape to get shot at by some tinnies.”

He gives you the list. It’s only a handful of men but the last one on it makes your blood go cold. “Commander Wolffe needs a physical?” Kix is oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Oh yeah, but he knows the drill. Honestly everyone can do it themselves at this point. We’re basically there to oversee it as a formality.”

You swallow down your apprehension and nod. “Sounds easy enough. Go have fun. And take it easy on them, will ya? Let them keep a little of their dignity intact” Kix just grins and shoots you a wave as he runs off.

*******

Your first few appointments go just fine. The officers are professionals and Kix was right, they could do these routine physicals with their eyes closed. You give them all your seal of approval and settle in to do your paperwork before your last, most anticipated patient arrives. The forms in front of you hold no interest and you find yourself checking the chrono every few seconds.

It’s not easy but you manage to finish your work. You set it aside and take steadying breath. Five more minutes and he’ll be here. You scold yourself. The Commander has never been anything but professional. You’re the one thinking these very unprofessional thoughts.

And you’re a doctor, for kriff’s sake. Your patients should be able to come to you without worrying you may be fantasizing about what they look like naked. But these are uncharted waters. It’s your first time having to deal with a patient you’re this attracted to. They really should take your medical license away.

Just as you’re thinking of packing it all up and handing in your resignation to the Jedi Council, a knock at the door snaps you to attention. Well, here goes nothing. You scold yourself once again for checking your reflection in the mirror before answering the door.

You had tried to adopt a passive, professional look to your face before greeting Wolffe but it must not have worked. “Everything alright, Doc? I’m not early, am I?” You shake your head.“Not at all. Punctual as always, Commander.” You beckon for him to come in and take a seat. You close the door, then sit across from him at your desk.

Your datapad hums to life and you busy yourself opening the appropriate forms you need to fill out. The weight of his eyes is heavy on you and your cheeks heat up in spite of yourself. You push on through as best you can.

“Well, Commander, how are you feeling today?” There’s that ghost of a smirk again but it vanishes so quickly you're not sure if you imagined it. “I feel like a million credits.” You giggle despite it not even being that funny. You’ve got it bad. “Glad to hear it. This should be quick then.” You gather your equipment and get to work.

First, you take his weight. Then, you listen to his heart. You press the stethoscope to his sternum, thankful you can do this over his blacks. He observes you the whole time. “And what about you? How are you today, Doc?” You risk a glance and meet his eyes. That was a mistake.

“Me? Oh-um just fine. Maybe not like a million credits but a few hundred at least.” You trail off dumbly but he humors you with a chuckle. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard that sound from him before. It’s like music to your ears. “Anything I can do to help? You do look a little flushed. Are you sure you don’t have a fever?” You avert your eyes again.

“No. I’m alright. It’s just, uh, hot in these uniforms. The coarseweave doesn’t breathe.”

“You sure? Maybe I should be the one giving you a check-up.”

You realize he’s toying with you now.

“That won’t be necessary, Commander.”

You move on to check his lungs. “Breathe in for me.” You move the stethoscope to his chest, then move it around a few different spots on his back. “You can call me, Wolffe. If you’d like.” He breathes in every time, not even needing prompting, ever the dutiful soldier, even when he’s teasing you.

“I would like that. Thank you, Wolffe.”

Next, you measure his blood pressure. You’re shocked that it’s so low. He sees the look of surprise on your face. “Something wrong?”

“Not at all. The opposite, in fact. Your pressures are great. I just thought with your lifestyle they might, understandably, be a bit higher.”

“What kind of lifestyle do you think I have?”

You’re backtracking as quickly as you can. “I just meant, your life as a soldier, it must be extremely stressful.”

There’s that smirk again. “It is. But you don’t get to be a Commander by not being able to handle the pressure.”

“Of course. But even so, if you’d like some stress relief techniques I can suggest some.” He hums as if really thinking it over. Thankfully there’s only one part of your exam left. Which is good because you’re not sure how much resolve you have remaining.

“Everything looks great. I’ll just do a head and neck exam and then I can send you on your way.”

You need to touch him for this part but you stop yourself, hands hovering but not quite meeting their destination. You feel like once you touch him, really feel his skin under your fingers, there may be no going back.

Wolffe sees your hesitation, then slowly reaches out to take your hands. You watch with wide eyes as he guides them to his neck. He looks up at you innocently enough but you can tell he’s laughing internally. You try to reign in control of the situation.

“Sorry, I just got distracted.” The Commander studies you but this time it’s in earnest. “Are you nervous? This’ll be your first time in an active war zone, right?” You had been anxious but not about that. But now that he mentions it, yeah, you honestly don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Yes, I’m not sure what to expect. I guess you could say I’m a little scared.” Wolffe gently holds your chin, directing you to look back at him. “I won’t lie. It’ll be overwhelming and frightening. Battles can seem never-ending. But I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You’re staring into each other’s eyes and you don’t want to stop. But then he’s clearing his throat and gently removing his hand from your skin. You realize you’ve been resting your own hands on his shoulders this whole time. “Thank you, Wolffe. I do feel much better knowing you’ll be there.” You offer him a smile, hoping it conveys just how much you appreciate him looking out for you.

You begin your exam, gently kneading where his neck meets his shoulders, checking for any anomalies. Then you move to his throat. The throat you’ve so often been distracted by. It’s featured prominently in your daydreams. You move your hands along it, under his jawline. Having a man this powerful baring one of the most vulnerable parts of his body to you is intoxicating. Focus, di’kut.

Everything feels normal except for some knots you find resting right below the surface of his smooth skin. “Lymph nodes feel good. You’re a little tense, though. But I bet it’s from that bucket you have to wear most of the day.” He hums in thought. “True. But even so. Maybe you could give me some of those ideas for stress management?” He looks up at you with big eyes. There’s mischief in them but something else. Vulnerability?

You gulp audibly. “Of course. There are a few that work particularly well, um, like deep breathing techniques, going on walks, talking with friends, meditation, journaling, physical activity…” You’re rambling, fighting a losing game against your resolve. Wolffe thinks on it. “Physical activity seems like a good place to start.” His hands come up to gently cover yours that are still resting on his neck.

The sensation of his calloused fingers on your skin sends shivers down your body. You close your eyes, feeling the last of your self-control topple over. “Wolffe,” you whine “We shouldn’t…” He immediately drops his hands, worry etched on his face. “I’m so sorry. It’s just- I thought you wanted-.” He cuts himself off, snapping up to his feet and to attention. “Doctor, you should report me to General Plo Koon for immediate disciplinary action.”

Dank Farrik, you’ve just ruined everything.“Wolffe! No, I’m not reporting you to anyone. If anything you should report me for being so unprofessional.” His shoulders relax a bit but he still eyes you as if you’re a live grenade that might explode at any second. “What do you mean?” You sigh in frustration. This isn’t how you wanted to confess your feelings to him.

“I…want you, Wolffe. The second I realized that I should have asked to be re-assigned to a different battalion. Instead I thought I could push those feelings down and continue to do my job. Looks like that was a mistake.” You hang your head, avoiding his piercing gaze. He’s silent for just a moment but it feels like an eternity.

“So, you want me and I want you?” You nod your head, ashamed, as he continues. “Then what’s the problem, Doc?” Your eyes snap to his, not believing what you’re hearing.

“Isn’t it wrong of us?”

Wolffe sits down on the exam table again, genuinely thinking on it. “I don’t see why. We’re both consenting adults. We don’t work directly with each other- I report to General Koon, you report to General Kenobi- so there’s no real conflict of interest. The worst we’ll face is a little ribbing from the boys if they find out.”

You raise your head to look him in the eyes, needing to make sure he’s serious and that this isn’t some twisted joke. What you find staring back at you is hope and promise. He senses your trepidation and gently takes your hands in his. “I’m sorry if I came on strong. But the thing about this life is that there are no guarantees. Tomorrow isn’t promised and so I figured I’d rather go for something, someone, that I want and have my heart broken rather than regretting my inaction.”

Your eyes roam the scars on his face, evidence of just how true his words are. You’re heading into active battle tomorrow. One or both of you could be injured, or worse. You step towards him. He spreads his legs so you have room to get closer. You rest your forehead on his, breathing him in.

His hands come up to caress your sides. You take a shaky breath. He questions you softly. “Cyar’ika?” Ah, now that’s one of the new words you definitely remember. His vulnerability makes you ache and the decision to hand your heart over is an easy one. “You’re right, Wolffe. Might as well do some living while we can.”

*******

[tripleaxeldiaz]

nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

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Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.

The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.

Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.

Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.

He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.

He doesn’t call the therapist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.

Talk about shitty timing.

Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.

If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.

So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough. 

It has to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”

He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”

Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him. 

So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.

Just another thing he has to get used to.

He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?

Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.

He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.

Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him

“You look tired,” Buck says. 

Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”

“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”

And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn’t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above. 

He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.

The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt. 

The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.

Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.

The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.

He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.

He’s wrong. 

The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.

He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.

Bobby notices the shift right away.

It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much. 

Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.

He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”

The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”

“There’s still three hours left of shift.”

Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”

Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.

He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.

“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”

I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start. 

He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.

He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.

They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt. 

There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.

Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.

Shit.

As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.

Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.

He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.

“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.

It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”

It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers. 

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.

Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”

He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.

“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”

Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.

Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.

Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.

Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”

“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”

He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.

He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”

Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.” “Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”

“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.” 

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”

Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”

He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”

“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”

And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.

“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me if I’m okay.”

Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his. 

“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”

The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.

“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”

The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.

It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.

“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”

His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow. 

And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.

He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.

He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.

[szallejhscorner]

This will probably be my last request for a while, cause I’m running out of ideas XD. Staying in that “they-remember-everything” AU from my first request, s/o’s first time visiting/finding Chishiya at the hospital. Basically just make it a happy and (probably pretty) emotional reunion ^^. Maybe also up to the point then he finally gets out of the hospital. If you want, you can also use the forelast chapter of 'HliF' as reference again, because it was so heartbreaking beautifully written 😭

So sorry you had to wait that long! But I finally managed to finish this, and I hope you like it as much as I do (:

Thank you for all the asks you have sent me. I enjoyed every single one of them x3

Reunited

It is weird – pretending that you’re fine even though you’re not. In fact, you’re everything but fine. The images still haunt you; all the blood, the death… the pain. What you experienced in the Borderlands is too much to talk about to anyone who hasn’t been there, but people don’t believe you anyway. You have heard the weirdest explanations for hundreds of people waking up after their heart stopped beating for a minute straight, with the same memories of the same cursed parallel world. They can’t accept the fact that whatever happened cannot be explained.

But you’ll manage to get over it somehow. All you need is to see a certain face, kiss those lips that you have kissed hundreds of times, make sure he’s alive and okay. The only problem with that: Chishiya Shuntarou isn’t stationed in your hospital. You don’t know where he is, and they won’t let you go until you have recovered enough to be exposed to the world outside of those hospital walls again.

So you make them believe what they want to see. The physical injuries aren’t the problem, since most of the wounds seem to be older already. Just another thing people can’t explain, no matter how hard they try. What’s hard for you are the scars cannot be treated with gouge and dressings.

You muffle the screams escaping your mouth whenever you wake up from another nightmare, you eat although you’re not hungry and force every fiber of your body to keep it together so you won’t throw up everything again. You force a smile, no matter how much it hurts your cheeks. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re FINE.

You will be fine, once you’re with him.

-

With every day passing by, you wonder if he has made it. If he was able to survive long enough to get proper treatment for the wounds that were about to kill him. If he remembers the Borderlands as well.

If he remembers you.

The day arrives, and you chase through the hospital floors like a shooting star. Sunlight hurts your eyes, the noise from the street is almost too much to bear, but you don’t care. Nothing is important right now except one thing.

There’s no need to take out the note safely placed in your pocket. A nurse told you that it had been found in your clothes, but you wouldn’t have needed it. You were given days to find out where his university was located, and the hospital linked to it will be the very first place you’ll start your search. And yet the walkways are too long, the underground drives too slow. People seem to purposely walk into your way to slow you down, and you want to scream and shout at every single one of them. But you don’t.

It feels like hours until you finally find yourself in front of a certain hospital, panting heavily and the pain in your wrists almost killing you. Not that it’d cause you to slow down in any way; you almost stumble over the desk and scare the hell out of the poor reception lady.

“Chishiya Shuntarou. I… is he here? Can you… can you tell me his room number?”

She makes you repeat his name three times until she finally understands enough to search for him in the system, but you don’t like the frown on her face.

“May I ask who you are? His girlfriend?” pale grey eyes look you up and down while you think about how to answer. What are you, now that the Borderlands are left behind?

But the fact that she’s asking in the first place means that you were right about him being in the hospital, and he has to be still alive. So you take a deep shaky breath and nod, which seems to be enough of an answer for the lady. She gives you a room number, tells you to move to the left corridor once you’ve reached the second floor, and something more but you don’t listen any longer because your feet have already started to run again.

Second floor. The elevator takes too long, and you sprint up the stairs instead – less people to cross your way at least. He is here. That means he is alive. He has survived. And now you can finally see him.

Crashing through the door into the second floor, you knock over a petite nurse with full force but manage to remain on your feet. The contents of her tray scatter on the ground, a glass breaks and people shout in surprise, but you don’t have the time to care. You shout an apology and continue to run, shove away shoulders too close to you while doing so.

Room 1504. Why is it so far away? Why did they place him at the other end of the hospital – don’t they know you’re in a hurry?

1544, 1542… 1532… 1522, 1520, 1518… 1506…

There!

You’re about to feint from exhaustion when you press your hands against the wall, panting and breathing heavily although each move of your lungs burns like fire. Ten breaths, that’s all you allow yourself before you lift your head.

1504. This is the room.

As you open the door, dozens of beeping noises greet you together with the smell of disinfectant. Two beds are inside, and you immediately spot the blonde hair you have longed to be with for so long now. Chishiya slightly moves his head to see who has entered, and the moment your eyes meet, you know that he remembers too.

Before your mind can even realize it, your feet have begun to run again and you throw yourself into the embrace of the man you love so much. He groans in pain at the sudden weight of your body, but his hands tighten around your back nonetheless. Even if you wanted to release him from your touch, he wouldn’t let you.

Tears start running uncontrollably, and your body is shaken with sobs, so heavy that it hurts. “You’re alive!” you whisper in between two hiccups and finally move to cup his face into your hands, covering his forehead with kisses. “Thank god you’re alive.”

Chishiya places his hands upon yours, causing you to lock eyes with him. His touch is still weaker than usual, but his hands are warm. They are nothing alike to the cold, weak hands that tried to caress your face back in the Borderlands.

“So are you.” His voice is hoarse, pressed, but it’s Chishiya. The tears blur your sight so heavy that you can’t see him clearly, but that’s fine because you know he’s here without having to see him. “Stop crying now, will you?”

You laugh at the familiar smirk on his face and press your lips against his, and the salty taste brings back memories of the last time you did this.

You bend over his face to plant a kiss onto his lips, and it’s laced with the salt of your tears and the metallic taste of Chishiya’s blood. “I love you. I love you more than anything.”

It feels like an eternity ago that you cried those tears of sorrow while you had to watch Chishiya slowly slip away from the land of the living with nothing you could do. Both of you are here now, and the drops cascading down your cheeks are tears of joy.

A tremble passes through his body, and you can hear how he shakily breathes in. “I… like it when… you say that…”

“I love you.” You have said it a dozen times back then, and you’re ready to say it a thousand times more. “I loved you in the Borderlands, and I will love you here. As long as you’re okay… I’ll be as well.”

Chishiya chuckles softly, and you wonder for a moment how much he remembers from the last hours where you feared for his life. “Alive, yeah. Okay… we’ll see about that.”

“Oh, geez, you really have to do that next to me?”

A sudden voice from the left makes you jolt in surprise, and you realize that you didn’t even care to look who else is sharing this room with Chishiya. But this voice, even though it is weakened and brittle…

In less than a second, you’re back on your feet and cling your hands around a neck that’s covered in bandages. All monitors around you sound the alarm, but you don’t care about the rapid beeping noises.

“You!” The hatred chases away all the remaining tears as you stare into a pair of sleepy and confused eyes. Niragi looks much worse than Chishiya, and yet he doesn’t even deserve to be still alive. The one who almost killed Chishiya, recovering right next to him…

Something pulls you back with a sudden force just in time before two nurses hastily enter the room to check the systems. You realize that Chishiya has reached for you to stop you from doing something stupid, and it shows in his pained expression.

“What’s wrong?” one of the nurses asks while resetting the monitors, and she doesn’t seem able to decide if she should worry more about the heavy coughing attack shaking Niragi or the face Chishiya makes.

You drop down on the side of the bed, unable to move or say anything. How can they share a room and be so calm about it? How can those nurses not see that Niragi is a murderer?

Chishiya pulls away the blanket and you utter a cry at the sight of the dark red spot spreading on the pale blue fabric of his hospital shirt, immediately feeling sorry to have caused him so much trouble shortly after your first reunion. But this wouldn’t have happened at all if Niragi didn’t…

“The wound started to bleed again”, Chishiya quietly explains to the nurse as if this had been the reason for sounding the alarm. He squeezes your hand tight, most likely to keep you from saying anything, but you wouldn’t have been able to anyway.

How stupid! If one of the nurses had caught you strangling one of the patients, you would have been thrown out of the hospital immediately. Surprisingly, Niragi doesn’t give you away, but he seems too occupied with his own coughs to do that anyway. Good for him.

You bite your lower lip while you watch the nurse patch up Chishiya’s wound. It has to be painful, but Chishiya doesn’t show much of it. His eyes are focused on yours, and you can see them twitch once in a while whenever there’s a new sting of pain. With your own eyes, you try to tell him that you’re sorry, and behind your back you can hear the other nurse giving something to Niragi that eases the cough.

It takes them too long to leave, but they do so eventually, and you exhale the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“I can’t believe he’s still alive”, you hiss with a nod towards Niragi, and said man drops his head back into the pillows with a tired sigh.

“No thanks to you, obviously.”

Chishiya pulls the blanket back up again and shifts a bit in his bed to lie more comfortably. “They found us close to each other and put us in the same room, since we both required intensive care.”

“Yeah, but he tried to kill you!” you shoot back, still confused about how they just don’t seem to care about the past.

Niragi laughs, a dry and cackled sound. “So did he. Never wondered where those burning marks came from?” The laugh turns into a cough, but it’s not so heavy this time.

“We’re even, I guess”, Chishiya smirks and you feel how his fingers start to play with your hair. Oh, how much you’ve missed that! “If only he’d stop that coughing. It’s hard to sleep with so much noise.”

“I’ve already tried to die more quietly.”

It sounds like a joke, but when you throw another look at Niragi, you wonder if it might be the truth. Is he actually dying? Most of him is hidden under the blanket, but his face is almost entirely covered in bandages. There are several tubes and infusion bags connected to him, and you spot a feeding tube as well.

Chishiya still has infusions too, but not nearly as many as Niragi. And he doesn’t seem to need artificial nutrition. “You failed, obviously”, he jokes back, but this isn’t funny to you.

“If you’re actually dying…” the hand in your hair moves down and softly pulls on your shoulder while you speak, “you should hurry up instead.”

Niragi laughs again, but it doesn’t last long before it turns into pained groans and coughs. You focus on Chishiya instead, letting him pull you into a hug while you try to find a halfway comfortable position next to him in the hospital bed.

When you close your eyes and snuggle up to him, it’s almost easy to pretend you’re in the caravan again. In the place that had become your home during the second stage, where you could feel safe despite the cruel world you had been trapped in.

“Don’t worry about him”, Chishiya hums after a while, when a light snoring has begun to sound on the other bed, “if everything’s good, they want to relocate me to a normal room tomorrow. My injuries don’t require intensive care any longer, it seems.”

-

It is true: when you visit the next morning, Chishiya has been moved to another room in the third floor, which makes the visit way more comfortable. Not only are you allowed to stay longer than only half an hour, which apparently has been a strict rule for intensive care, but there’s no Niragi nearby and no monitors, just a single infusion bag. You don’t know the other patients in the room, but they’re not of any interest and hidden behind white curtains anyway.

The first days you spend mostly with lying in the bed next to him, not talking too much since it seems to tire him. Sometimes he even falls asleep, and you feel like you’re the one protecting him in this most vulnerable state.

Since you tend to spend hours in the hospital now, you start to bring along something to drink and eat. Coffee for you and always something sweet for Chishiya, every day a different cake or pastry. And after two more weeks, you’re the one to support him when he’s allowed to take his first steps.

Chishiya obviously doesn’t like to be so openly called out as weak, with the infusion stand rolling on one side and you on the other while he tries to acclimate his legs to the weight again, but you’re the least person he seems to bother about. It is only a couple of steps at first, but the distance grows longer with every day. Another couple of days pass and Chishiya has become strong enough to walk to the balcony with you, where he drops down into the seat with a heavy sigh.

You pull up another chair and take a seat next to him, reaching for his hand and resting your head upon his shoulder. The view from the balcony isn’t exactly beautiful – it shows destroyed buildings and streets, remnants of the chaos left by the comet. You have become used to the sight of it, but for Chishiya it’s something new - judging by the frown on his face as he examines the city.

“A miracle we actually survived this, isn’t it?”

He hums in agreement, his thumb absently moving over the back of your hand. A very long time ago, you have done the same with his. “It will take years for Tokyo to recover, if not decades.”

“Well… the doctor said I should be able to get back to work soon. And since my old employment has been destroyed, I… I thought I could move closer to you.”

It has felt weird to return to your apartment without Chishiya. Sleeping alone in the hospital has been something else, but the following nights in your own bed, knowing that Chishiya was alive but not next to you… In those nights, when you wake up from just another nightmare, you miss the Borderlands the most, despite everything cruel. But at least Chishiya had been with you to calm you down.

“And you think you’d find a new work here?”

You shrug, a weird move considering your current position. “I don’t have a chance other than to search for something new, and this district is as good as everything else.” Holding tight to his hand, you move it up to your face and press a kiss onto the warm skin. “I’m not saying that we should move together immediately. Although I wouldn’t mind, you know that. But… it’d be easier to live closer to you.”

Without having to work, you can spare the extra hours that it takes to travel from your apartment to Chishiya’s hospital. But once you have returned to a normal daily routine, you won’t have as much time for that.

“Sure, why not?” Chishiya doesn’t go into detail with your idea of moving together, but he doesn’t say much more at all, so maybe he’s just tired again. You continue to sit there for almost half an hour without talking, and more than once you look up to check if he has fallen asleep. But his eyes are open, casually moving over the cranes and scaffoldings covering the city.

Time flies by, but you keep returning to the balcony once in a while just to sit there in silence. The infusion stand is the first thing to disappear, and after a while, Chishiya doesn’t need your support anymore. He still holds on to your hand, though.

While he becomes stronger with each day, the city changes as well. Fragile buildings are torn down, wreckage disappears and streets are being rebuilt. Despite the hard times Tokyo is facing, you find both a good job and a nice apartment not far away from the hospital. And while you can’t spend whole days with Chishiya anymore, you soon find a new routine that works perfectly fine.

Sometimes you tell him about work while he’s eating a strawberry cake, then you both chuckle over some memory from the Borderlands while muffin crumbles cover the floor to your feet.

Winter approaches when Chishiya is allowed to leave the hospital for a few hours the first time, and it leads you to a tea house with fresh waffles which are served with a full ton of vanilla cream and red berries. A couple more times you visit, no matter the thick layer of snow now covering the streets and buildings.

And then, only a few days before Christmas, Chishiya is allowed to finally leave the hospital.

His body has recovered well enough so it doesn’t require daily treatment anymore, and while he’s not allowed to go back to studying medicine for now, he can at least go home. After weeks and months he spent in the hospital, it is definitely about time for a change.

“Feel free to call me whenever there’s an appointment or anything”, you grin while walking along the street together. Chishiya’s hand rests in yours, and you carry the small bag with his belongings over the other shoulder. He has demanded to carry it, but you’re his stubborn for a reason and there are still wounds trying to fully mend, so you end up holding it despite his rolling eyes.

Your breath creates white clouds in front of your face, but the coat and the warmth of Chishiya’s touch keep you warm. He smirks down to you and gently nudges your shoulder without slowing his pace. “And I thought you’d be fed up with hospitals by now.”

“I don’t care as long as it’s about you”, you admit with a shrug. Sure, you really don’t want to smell the disinfectant or see those hospital gowns anymore, but a simple change of dressing isn’t that bad, because it means that Chishiya will be able to go home afterwards.

“Anyway… where’s your apartment? I thought it was located east from the hospital?”

The chuckle coming from Chishiya makes you look up, and he pulls on your hand when you stop walking. “Seems I forgot to tell you. I’ve given notice to quit it already three weeks ago.”

“But… where are you going to-“ you’re stopped mid-sentence by his smirk, slowly realizing what he’s up to. “I don’t even have a bed big enough for two…”

The expression in his eyes makes you laugh, and it’s hard to believe that this is actually his plan, but his next words prove it to you.

“We have managed the caravan. Can’t be worse than that, hmm?”

[fairytalesofthewind]

Can I request The Avengers with winged!male!reader, who is a new member of their team? Reader is a ball of joy and love, he's like everyone's kid, until he gets snatched by Hydra agents and later is found with one of his wings cut off, leaving a permanent and ugly scar on his back. After that he shuts down completely, lays in his bed all day long and doesn't talk to anyone : he became a wreck of the person he used to be.

I really would like to see The Avengers helping him cope and Tony coming up with some crazy idea, which lead to Reader receiving a prosthetic wing and once again becoming an official member of The Avengers.

Anon, you are a true genius!

warnings: hydra (so also torture, a bit of gore, and kidnapping)

+ implied Stucky 

I called the male reader Icarus, you’ll find out why ;) I may be a little bit too obsessed by mythology. Sorry that I didn’t write with ‘you’. 

wordcount: 2424

Requests are open!

Icarus was found by shield at age 15. He had been an experiment of hydra for 3 years. He remembered the day the Avengers had infiltrated the facility where the majority of hydra worked. He remembered hearing the explosions and screams while he was trapped in the many cells of the building’s basement. The only occupied cell what that of his.

He had felt his surroundings shaking, had felt the dust falling on him as the building was ready to collapse. And then the bombs stopped getting fired. The screams had stopped. Icarus had thought the fight had completely stopped and that the people were either dead or that the people had fled. Icarus had thought no one was coming for him, and that he was trapped in his cell, no way to escape.

But then he had heard a single loud bang. It came from the door leading to the basement. He saw that the metal door had an imprint of a fist in it. Then he heard another loud bang, and saw how the imprint expanded. After a few more hits, the door gave away and fell to the floor.

A man with a metal came walking up to him. Icarus knew who he was, emphasis on was. Because the man ushering towards him wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore. That was what the agents had told him.

“Hey kid. Hang on in there, we’ll get you out as soon as possible.” He said and came closer and inspected the outside of his cell. More specifically, the keypad in front of it. “Hey Stark, I’m gonna need your help here with some tech.” Bucky came even closer to his cell and Icarus’ eyes widen as his hands neared the glass.

“Stop!” Icarus yelled. Bucky froze at the command, and dragged his eyes up slowly to the panicked boy in front of him. “You can’t touch the glass.” Icarus warned him, his tone a bit softer. “It’ll trigger the alarms and then gas will come out of the ceiling.” Bucky frowned looked up at the top of the cell. In each corner was a camera, along with a small metal tube coming out of the walls. He supposed that the gas would come out of there.

“Is the gas deadly?” He asked the boy, there were probably going to trigger the alarms trying to get him out. But they would have to find another way if the gas is really dangerous.

“No,” Icarus started, “it just makes me go to sleep.” Bucky nodded as stepped away from the glass container. They would have to wait for a few minutes until help – the help being Tony- arrived.

“So…” The boy drawled out, “Are you really a 100 years old?” He wanted to look at Icarus with a ‘are you serious’- look but as he saw the curiosity written on his face, he responded a soft smile.

“I’m 106 years old.” He felt a pang of amusement as he watched Icarus’ eyes widen.

“Isn’t that a bit weird?” Bucky tilted his head, silently asked the boy what he meant by that. “You know…with friends, and lovers. You’re much older than them.”

Suddenly Stark entered the basement and said: “Well, Bucky doesn’t have any problem with that seeing as his boyfriend is also a super soldier and also very old.” He strutted over to the keypad on his cell. Icarus stared at him with wide eyes because – oh my God this is The Tony Stark.

“Friday baby, tell me how to get the angel out.” He said. Icarus blushed a bit, most of the agents didn’t call him an angel because of his wings. But rather demon. He didn’t which one fit the best seeing as he had neither white wings, nor black, but brown wings.

Tony was quiet for a few long seconds. He looked concentrated, not that they could see his face through the helmet, but his head was tilted just a bit. He let out a loud drawn-out sigh and said: “Yeah, no can do, that’s going to take hours. I’m just gonna blast it.”

Icarus straightened up immediately, if he were to do that he would just trigger the alarms. It wouldn’t do much to the glass either, because it was made of something special. Before Icarus could let out a warning, he heard the zooming of Iron Man’s blasters and then he heard a small explosion.

The boy made eye contact with Bucky after he saw gas coming out of the metal tubes. Just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he picked up the curse words both of the men let out.

Only a few hours later did Icarus wake up. It was very quiet around him, but there was also an unfamiliar sound that he didn’t recognise that made him realise that he wasn’t in his cell anymore. Did the agents change their mind on waiting a few more months to send him on a mission? Did they suddenly decide to get rid of him? Did they-

“Ah, you’re waking up.” The voice was so much more gentle than he was used hearing. It reminded him of how his family used to talk to him.

They were dead now, by the way, with courtesy of hydra.

Icarus opened his eyes and looked to his right where the voice had come from. He recognised the man, he was the Falcon. Sam was still wearing his suit, with his metal wings. Icarus eyes fell to the said wings and frowned.

“You know, you guys are in big trouble.” The people around him straightened up. Already thinking of the possible things the boy could say. There was something you didn’t think about, this was just a distraction and now the shield base has been taken care of properly. You lost-

“These are copyrighted.” Icarus pointed to his own wings. “I could sue you for plagiarism.” Sam lowered his head in relief as he let out a little chuckle.

“I’ll pass it on to the boss.” He said as he looked to the other side of Icarus. The boy followed the line of sight and saw Tony sitting on the other side of him. He was immediately attacked with concerned questions about how he was feeling. Tony told him that they were going to bring Icarus somewhere safe, there were going to give him a home. But all Icarus could think about was, oh my God, this is The Tony Stark.

Icarus was 16 when he started his training. He was done basically living in the hospital wing of the tower. Apparently hydra had really taken a toll on him. Physically and mentally.

He had begged the captain to train him. But Steve had refused time and time again claiming that Icarus wasn’t ready yet.

Between recovery and asking for training, he became friends with Sam. Well, he became friends with everyone. You could even say that he became their family. But it happened with Sam the fastest. Sam took care of him from the start. He visited Icarus every day to check up on him. He helped the boy get comfortable. Icarus saw Sam as a…dad?

They would fly together almost every night. They would soar over countless buildings in New-York. They would stop on skyscrapers and talk about everything and nothing. Sam became his best friend, he became his family.

Icarus was 17 when he realised how much the Avengers truly cared about him. It was his first mission, and the Avengers were acting like overbearing mother hens. It wasn’t even a big mission, it was just to pick something up and bring it from place A to B. But due an unexpected rainstorm Icarus couldn’t fly back. He arrived hours later than he should’ve had at the meeting point.

And to say he had received an ear full about it was an understatement. For the next few days after that mission, he had heard one rant to the other. It was all the same: about how he was precious, about how bad it would be to lose him because he was their family. He was their ray of sun- no scratch that- he was their sun. He was their kid.

Icarus was 18 years and 2 months old when one of his mission went seriously wrong. Sam wasn’t there to support him in the sky. And Tony was needed on the ground. But as multiple planes left to escape, he had to go after them. There weren’t only hydra agents on those plane, but also innocent hostages. Hostages that would probably get used for the same purpose Icarus had been used for.

So he couldn’t just let the planes go. He went after the plane of which he thought was filled with hostages, but was only filled with agents. He had entered the plane just before it’s backdoor had closed. He realised his mistake as he was suddenly surrounded by a dozen men with guns.

One of the men closest to him raised his gun towards him and shot. Icarus felt a sharp prick on his neck and he already knew what was going to happen. Just before he slipped into unconsciousness, he picked up the curse words his family let out on the comms.

Icarus was 18 when he was recaptured by hydra.

Hydra had claimed they had no use for him. They already had a better reproduction of him.

But that didn’t mean that we are just going to get rid of you, no stupid demon boy. We are going to have a bit of fun with you.

Icarus was 18 years and 5 months when he lost one of the most important things of his life.

He lost of one his wings. That means that he not only lost one of his limbs, but he also lost being able to fly.

He wouldn’t be able to do the thing he loved the most, he wouldn’t be able to fly anymore.

Icarus was 18 years and 8 months old when the Avengers had to save him again from hydra. But the boy they saved wasn’t the Icarus that had been captured. He was missing something –besides from the obvious; his wing.  

From the moment Icarus had returned home, everything went just a bit worse day by day. He was unhappy, of course he was. Not only had he lost his wing, but he also had a very large scar where it used to be.

He felt terrible. He would spend almost every hour buried under the safety of his blankets in his bed. He didn’t leave his room, no matter how much his family tried to get him out.

One day Bucky entered his room, he brought some tea and breakfast with him. “Good morning, little angel…” The rest he said fell on deaf ears. Icarus had buried himself under his blankets himself.

A few seconds later felt the cold rushing over him. The bed dipped beside him, Bucky sat on the blanket so that Icarus couldn’t use them to hide anymore. But it didn’t really help much as the boy just turned his back to him, his one wing currently hiding himself.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Look, I know how much this sucks. I lost my arm, I know how it feels.” Suddenly Icarus had sat up, and was now looking at him with an angry face.

“You think you know how I feel?!” Icarus pushed him off the bed. They were now both standing with Icarus pointing a furious finger at him. “You just lost your fucking arm! I didn’t just lose my wing, no I lost the thing I loved the most! I can’t fly anymore, and you know whose fault is that?” Icarus kept walking closer and Bucky kept stepping further away from the boy.

“It’s my fault! I was overtaken by my giddiness of the mission and I got distracted, I was too overconfident.” Bucky was almost in the hallway with the way he kept backing up.

“And besides, James. You got a metal arm in return. You can still do everything!” Unlike Bucky, Icarus didn’t have another wing.

And that, had given Bucky an idea.

Icarus was 18 years and 11 months when Tony had dragged him out of his wing towards his lab. He didn’t give him any choice to struggle back, he was coming whether he wanted to or not.

Tony had covered his eyes just before they entered the lab. He had made him sit on a stool. He heard a few nervous coughs, so he knew that the other were there as well.

Tony granted his sight back after a few seconds of rambling something that Icarus was too tired to listen to.

“-and we hope you will like this…”

In front of him, on a stand, was a metal wing. It was a similar size of his own. He had thought: what is the point of a monument? But then Icarus realised that what he was seeing wasn’t just a metal wing, it was also a suit. He felt a few tears roll down his cheek and immediately afterwards felt someone’s arms going around him.

“Oh, it’s alright, angel. It’s going to be alright.” They let him cry his heart out, patiently being there for him.

It was a few days later that Icarus sat in the craftsman’s lab again. Tony was securing the many straps on his new suit. He explained him the rules of the new suit, of what it could and couldn’t do. “Now, Sam will help you fly again. He knows how the metal wing work. My advice for now is to not fly too low, or too high. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

Icarus was 19 when he was given back the thing he loved most; being able to fly. He was able to be happy again. He picked up the nightly flights with Sam again. Sometimes staying away from the Tower until 5AM. He was almost back to his normal self; he was already back to being the most energetic member of the team, and he showed how grateful he was almost every second of the day.

This night he was sitting on a building with Sam eating his pepperoni pizza.

“You know, you’re in trouble, right?” Icarus looked up at Sam with raised eyebrows.

“These are copyrighted, and you know, I could sue you.” Sam pointed at his metal wings with a small smirk.

“Copyrighted my ass, you can’t beat the original.”

[captainkurosolaire]

Update ~ Return & The Swan Song 365 Challenge

365 Marks the number of days I will be challenging myself to and that voyage starts tomorrow. I will have this be my swan song. Yes it’s true no one hits harder than life, but what it’s really about is toughness, not power. Enduring is what makes us still stand, that's getting to the last round and that’s how you win. One hit and it’s just defense. And... that’s what I’m going to do! (I’m going raw in-depth beneath the cut.)

I’ve left pieces of my heart into the possession of many and I’ve watched them soon after throw and neglect it into the trash. Time and energy spent accosting my vitality. And it’s not on them strictly, it’s my own fault for being careless of the importance of where I devote myself too. I have left pieces of my body being torn and dissected to try fixing a disease and body that continues to decay and now is inoperable to fix from the holes carved into me. Hospital visits erased my opportunities and allowed me to stand side line oddly. I still recall being stuck there for a month, and I was bet against. Told I wasn’t strong enough. Watching my dreams shatter from Olympics, wrestling, everything gone, but one vital thing.

My mind is still intact. Although I deplete and have bitter limits. As long as I have that, I still have all I need. But expression is what I believe is the most important thing being’s bring; inside art you can prove that. In that atmosphere, you create worlds. And while you may get destroyed, you can convert that into something better. When things die like dreams, they can be recreated and transformed into a whole new positive landscape and impact.

I push myself to boundaries, challenge cause I need nothing ever wasted again. There is a way to do that. I can turn my entire life of years into memories good and bad, and bear it all on the table, in ONE full year... I can turn into stories, experiences, adventures. I can put it all into form and unleash it. Reveal my truth.

See although people have entrusted pieces of them to me. I have never lost it. And they are still important to me, to immortalize because every scar physically and mentally builds no matter how it’s constructed and molds you. I’ve always been second-rate in almost every regard, but I have never felt that way when sharing here and I continue to prosper and push because of the fondness and the out-pour of all the encouraging people who’ve tuned in, no matter the gaps in my appearances, or it almost seemingly like I’ve gone off to the seas and abandoned them on the shores.

I always return as one of the few constants.

Three months last year, I should just go for that alone as a benchmark, or go the normal idea and go for a consistent goal of Four, but I want more, more and more. In my heart of hearts.

One year. That’s where I want to go.

I will lay out every single emotion and I will turn it into some sort of screen set, writing, gif, comedic skits, poetry, lyrics, something to productively let out daily. Of course, I've had a handicap for one month and although that seems like a lot of distance to be ahead of me and easily achievable, I assure you all it takes is one bad day and that’s gone. A shifting wrong blow from life and it’s gone and I’m out.

Even if I don’t make the criteria of this challenge, I’ve set forth. I’ll still be happy with what I did and my opinion, alongside the love that I still can give myself daily, doesn’t change anything. 'Cause I did what makes me feel alive. Though I strongly believe, I can win this distance.

The reason is -- I’ve already succeeded in getting a month’s worth of work. Where my passion was perceived as a fire, thinking it dimmed, that the blaze couldn’t come back. I assure you, I’ve found it’s an explosive now.

It’s in my gratitude to all those who over the years have been on a life journey, being beside me, going through it all. Watching me adapt, evolve. I’m certain sometimes, there could’ve been questions if I was diminishing or regressing.

My duty is to hopefully aspire and inspire and I can take it that wasn’t easy. So that’s my apology if I’ve ever let your expectations down.

But now, if you stuck with me in this wild ride, I will deliver you the best that I’ve held in holding and couldn’t get too.

I owe it all to those who’ve come and slithered in whispers against me, targeted me with poison, aided in doubt. Thank you for allowing me to inject that into myself. It took a considerable amount of time to learn how to turn that poison into something useful, but I’ve found the antidote and gained beyond a tolerance to it, but immunity.

For those who’ve been my stars, who've been my guiding compass to return, who saw my spark, and encouraged me. Watching me leaping into turning my spark into a lightning strike here and there, I owe you a few worlds. Consider them created. I’ll go from lightning to thunder! And from there, I’ll become a whole thunderstorm of unbridled passion!

Even to those who often remain without even my presence, I have all my heart for you in this and it has given me my conviction to overcome. I’ll bring warmth into even the shadows themselves.

I’m out to develop a new writing style and form of art and trespass into it and ideally if it works, I’ll master it. If doable, I’ll be telling stories in this format. Not only easier to absorb but better for me too. But I haven’t given up, I attend to create all Captain’s stories, arcs, which I’ve hundreds remaining. Though this will allow me to ease it up and turn it into an alternative until I do so. I’m also going to be developing Captain’s final state and character arc, leading him up to being his pinnacle, prior to him going for his Last Voyage. This is a better idea instead, because it allows me to not only return to RP anywhere, but prevent partners from having to contend with any Story that is happening anymore. Now it’s strictly stories that are happening / stories that have happened. I'll be allowing them to be filled out / teased in my new style, and also one day, whenever not this challenge, I’m back to writing again, I can go at it.

Things haven’t changed though I’ll work on getting back to answering more stuff, being easier reachable for stuff. But most importantly, Build. Support. Hoist. Back to showcasing a lot of your inspiring tales, amazing works. You’ve kept all the engine running and that’s what matters. We’re all in this as a crew. Thank you for taking care of the helms and still never halting either in going through your tides. You’re what makes those seek fortune.

As always much love out to you hearties and glad to be on this vessel again, thanks for being embodiment's of treasure. But it’s land ho!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hey Steph, really adore your blog. I saw your ask about s3 and s4 John and his anger. do you have any pics that deal with that? I think his anger is caused by his jealousy. he loves Sherlock and is deeply insecure about S's love for him. I'd love to find some fics that actually deal with all of that. thank you. x

Hey Nonny!!

I DO!!! Been waiting for another ask to finally get this list up and out! Hope you find something you enjoy on this one! <3

ANGRY / CRANKY JOHN

See also:

Jealous John b/c of Other People

Jealous John

Jealous John Pt. 2 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 2 

Jealous John Pt 3 and Jealous Sherlock Pt 3 

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 4 

Jealous John and Sherlock Pt. 5

Texts and Tea by JillianWatson1058 (K, 959 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Texting, Humour, Fluff, POV John, Cranky John) – A John who is woken up at 2:30 in the morning is not a happy John. Sherlock, frankly, doesn’t care. He just wants his tea.

And, Usually, He's the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.

Hallucinations can't open doors by Bespectacled dreamer (K+, 1,330 w., 1 Ch. || Reunion, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Hallucinations, John’s Wedding, Light Humour) – In which John gets married and Sherlock gets a broken nose.

The 3x John Carried Sherlock, and Once ViceVersa by ShinkonoKokoro (K+, 1,673 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friendship, Three and One, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Worried Sherlock, John Gets Shot) – It happens more than he suspects.

Baskerville After Dark by Ttime42 (T, 1,921 w., 1 Ch. || THoB, Friendship, Humor, Bed Sharing, Missing Scenes, Cranky John, Cuddles) – John and Sherlock have to share a bed at Baskerville. Gen, but can be preslash.

Stay by sussexbound (M, 2,067 w., 1 Ch. || Post TAB, Suicidal Ideation Mention, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, Love Confessions, Frottage, Coming in Pants) –  “Why? Why did you do it? Hmm…?” He takes a deep breath, waits, lets it out again. “Look at me.” There’s no denying him when he takes this tone. “Why did you kill him? Hmm…? For her? After…” A muscle twitches in the corner of John’s eye, and he clamps his jaw down tightly, swallows and sniffs a little before continuing. “For her? After everything she’s done?” “For you.” Before he can even stop himself. Just like that.

Denial Isn’t Just a River in Egypt by satanatemycat (T, 2,107 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Texting, Bored/Cranky Sherlock) – In which John makes a bet with a co-worker. If he wins, she shuts up about him and Sherlock being a couple. If he loses… well, that doesn’t matter, because he won’t lose. Because he and Sherlock ARE NOT a couple. Right?

Nothing Left Untouched by ForeverShippingJohnlock (K+, 2,617 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Romance, Bed Sharing, Oblivious Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Grumpy John, Fluff and Cuddles) – Sherlock rearranges the flat. So what if John's bedroom is now a research library. It's not like John needs a bedroom, he can share with Sherlock. They're friends and John has obviously slept in close quarters with men before and it's not like Sherlock sleeps much anyway. It'll be fine.

Those Days by StillWaters1 (T, 2,663 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD / Sensory Attacks, Caring Sherlock) – If Sherlock had danger nights, then these were John's danger days.

Extraordinary by ardenteurophile (T, 2,739 w., 7 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Romance, Second Person POV Sherlock, Pre-Slash) – Sherlock tries to understand his preoccupation with one Doctor John Watson - the one case he can never solve.

BBCSH 'The Comfort of Company' by tigersilver (T, 2,769 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF/Mary, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Bed Sharing, Grumpy John, Touching, Clingy/Handsy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Fluff and Light Angst) – It's a trope that John and Sherlock end up sharing in the same bed eventually and I admit I do adore it unconditionally, along with all it infers as to the lowering of defenses and the heightening of trust. I put forth for your consideration that the notion persists because those who think about these things realize these two men are each in dire need of some good company.

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w., 2 Ch. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Breakfast, acronyms and brotherhood by Rose de Sharon (K+, 4,074 w., 1 Ch. || TBB Fic, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Fluff) – Set after The Blind Banker: my take of Sherlock and John's conversation over breakfast. S/J friendship, bromance, no slash.

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w., 1 Ch. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn't seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can't tell what's real and what's not. How will Sherlock react?

What John Doesn't Know (Won't Hurt Him) by blueink3 (NR [T], 4,392 w., 1 Ch, || S3 Fix It, Pining Sherlock, Snippets of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Fluff and Angst, Five and One, Hopeful Ending, POV Sherlock) – Five people who see Sherlock's scars before John Watson. But Sherlock's secrets were never something he could keep from his blogger for long.

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Dev. Rel., Embarassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart (T, 4,743 w., 1 Ch. || PTSD, Character Study, Rescue, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Trauma, Danger, Drama, Kidnapping/Captivity) – The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 5,034 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

This Year by DiscordantWords (T, 6,283 w., 2 Ch. || TEH Divergence / No Mary, New Year’s Eve, John’s A Mess, Jealous John, Awkward Conversations, Trapped in a Closet, Estranged After Return, John POV, Semi-Reunion, Angry John, First Kiss, Reconciliation, Clueless Sherlock, Happy Ending) – Last year, Sherlock Holmes showed up at the Landmark with a fake moustache and a bad French accent and threw John's entire life into disarray with two words: "Not dead." This year, there are more surprises in store.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

BANG by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 7,016 w., 3 Ch. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Worried / Scared Sherlock, Alternating POV, Whump, Hospital Recovery, Open Ending) – 'I should warn you,' Sherlock says, his voice steady and his eyes fixed on Moriarty. 'You are sadly misinformed.' And he fires. Prequel to M Is For Moriarty

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5, 798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) –  When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalize Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Shuteye Shenanigans by Ayakae (K+, 13,263 w., 8 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Epic Bromance, John’s Nightmares, Angsty Fluff, Bed Sharing, Humour, Cuddles, Taking Care of Each Other, Domestics) – John Watson has never slept with Sherlock Holmes. Never ever ever. And never will, thank you very much. Well, there was that one time, but John didn't count that. It was completely different, just like the second time it happened. And the third. And the fourth. Epic bromance, but it can be read as pre-slash if you wish.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination?, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

A Quiet Life by DiscordantWords (M, 25,176 w., 6 Ch. || Post S4, Retirement, POV Sherlock, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Minor Character Death, Questionable Parenting Choices, Non-Linear Narrative, 20 Year Old Rosie, Meddling Mycroft, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Angst, Sherlock Whump) – There had been three days of silence and a funeral. Sherlock had the terrible feeling that whatever happened next would depend, entirely, on him.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 28,347 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF / Pre-S3 Divergence, BAMF John, Anger, Fighting, Sex, Bed Sharing, Stalking, Case Fic, John’s Past, Introspection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crime, Mythology, Darkness) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. Sherlock finds that coming back is not enough to fix all of the damage that he caused by leaving. A post Reichenbach, post reunion re-discovery fic.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w., 68 Ch. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case ... and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

A Goose Quill Dipped in Venom by Polyphony (M, 52,748 w., 16 Ch. || Celebrity John AU || Alternate First Meeting, TV Host John, Supermodel Mary, Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Case Fic, First Kiss/Time, Meddling Mycroft, Drug Abuse, Doctor John, PDA, Deductions, POV Sherlock, Toplock, Sexual Tension, Angry/Rough Sex, Hopeful Ending, Asperger’s Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is called in to a very ordinary although brutal murder. Something is badly out of tune with the whole scenario and Sherlock finds himself becoming more and more obsessed with the crime - and also with the victim.

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post S3, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV, Light Humour, Reconnecting, Declarations of Love) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets,  Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love,  Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) –  A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w., 43 Ch. || Pining, Love Confessions, Rape/Sexual Assault, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock First Person POV, Parentlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Love Making, Possessiveness, Depression, PTSD, Kidnapping, Virgin Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending) – "For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face." Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Asexual Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Flashbacks, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Case Fic, Sherlock’s Past, Awkward Conversations, Anxious Sherlock, John Separated From His Child) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (E, 102,493 w., 12 Ch. || xxxHolic Fusion || Spirits / Ghosts and Magic, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Soul Mates / Fated Lovers, Adventure, Immortal Sherlock, Powerful John, POV John, Frottage, Wish Granting, Angst with Happy Ending, Nightmares) – John has been plagued by a secret his entire life that has made him feel hopeless until he meets a mysterious, seemingly omniscient man named Sherlock Holmes who owns a wish-granting shop. Their meeting sets off a series of inevitable events that will change the course of both of their lives forever.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton  (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic / Meta Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Demisexual Sherlock, Holmes Family, John Whump, Gay Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Drug Addiction, Parenting, TFP is a Nightmare, Virgin Sherlock, Slow Burn, Minor Character Death, Switchlock, John’s Past, Sherlock’s Past, Eurus, Love Confessions) – Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

[cherri-cherri]

Pairings - Yuuji Itadori x Reader x Ryomen Sukuna

Synopsis - Ever since Yuuji moved away to Tokyo, you've been noticing some odd changes from him, it's almost as if...he was becoming another person all together.

Theme - Monster by Imagine Dragons

A/N - An idea hit me in the head while I was working and I wanted to try this out so badly with both Yuuji and Sukuna! A concept of 'What if the vessel wasn't just the vessel?'. The vessel would eventually merged with the being to become something new altogether, and I thought...yes. why the heck not. This is gonna be a long one, So let's hop right it! Because I really like this idea, theres a good chance this is going to be either split up into parts or I'm gonna keep visiting this every now and then.

Warning - The characters in this story will be aged up due to NSFW content here. Dirty NSFW scenes sprinkled in, Gore Warning, Abuse, Etc.

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He didnt want this...

All he wanted was to keep those he cared about safe. Lying to you at the time seemed like a good idea, especially since you weren't tied into the mystical world he was now tied to, and he didn't want you too. But now, perhaps he should've told you everything.

About the finger, about the school, and...

About Sukuna.

You couldn't exactly remember why you originally said yes to the pink haired boy when he asked you to join his occult club activities that night. Maybe it was because of the fact you have nothing really better to do, or maybe because traveling through a forest of possible gruesome death seemed the most attractive thing to you at the time, yet you an Yuuji grew close together that night. Truth be told, walking through those woods during the dead of night was actually creepier than you thought but he was there by your side to comfort you the entire time, holding your hand while cracking a few jokes every now and then to calm your nerves.

"You're not scared? You seem so..well calm?" You asked, looking up at Yuuji with furrowed brows as he just smiled down at you. "Nah, not really. It's just darker and a few trees are around. Not really anything scary, right?" He said, rubbing the back of his neck while chuckling.

Maybe it was because of the warmth of his hands wrapped around your own or how comforting the presence he gave off was to you but it was probably then that your feelings for Yuuji began to grow.

"What you're going to Tokyo?" You questioned, watching Yuuji prepared a few boxes to pack his things. "Yeah, transferring schools. I'm, um .. I'm recieving a sports scholarship at a school there." Placing a few more of things away was when he finally turned to see you, clearly upset over just now being told this. Sure, you should've been happy to see your best friend be able to leave to accomplish more out of his life but it was the thought of him leaving you here that hurt the most. When he saw your face and the conflicted look on it, Yuuji stepped over towards you before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in your embrace.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I just—" before he could finish his sentence, you stood up on your toes and wrapped your arms around his neck and simply smiled to him. "You don't have to say a thing, Yuuji, I'm happy for you. Just promise me that you'll stay safe out there for me, 'kay?"

Your words alone reminded him why he had to leave, why he had to go and leave you here. It was to keep you safe, safe from curses and safe from the curse lying dormant inside of him now. "R-right...Thank you, Y/N"

The school days were quiet once when Yuuji transferred schools. Sadly enough, the occult club had to disband after he left due to them not having enough members with Iguchi still hospitalized. Now it just seemed..boring without him there but he still seemed to have brighten your day with the photos he would send you every day of the bright city lights and bustling streets. His little messages and calls always well timed to reassure you that just because you aren't blocks away from each other anymore doesn't mean you won't still be friends.

So far, you've became pretty happy with Yuuji and how he's able to come so far in Tokyo. He speaks greatly about his sensei and his new classmates known as Fushiguro and Kugasaki, who from the sound of it, are a bit of a handle but great friends who still treat him well. Every week when he had his day off, he would spend time on video call to talk to you and even show you cool things that he either found around the city or around the school's campus.

Tonight however..he was late. Sure, it didn't bother you really if he was punctual or on time since this was Yuuji we were talking about here but there was a tad bit of worry lingering in your head. Soon enough, as soon as that ugly feeling of worry and doubt began to surface, Yuuji's icon appeared on the screen on the laptop as it began to ring to which you quickly opened.

"Yuuji, hey— oh my god, your face." You said right away, gasping a little at the cuts and bruises littered not only on his face but from the looks of it, his arms and shoulders too. Has he been fighting? "What? Oh, oh! These! Yeah, Fushiguro and Gojou-Sensei kinda roughen me up a little today during training but it's no sweat, really! Barely feel a thing," Yuuji tried to give you a reassuring smile while patting his right shoulder only to wince a little in pain from the impact of the pat.

"First the weird scars on your face, now bruises? Dude, I get that this is a sports thing but don't you think it's a little extreme?"

Hearing the worry in your voice, Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand nervously as he tried to think of a way to reassure you until a deep voice came from that same hand, chuckling softly.

"What's this? A woman talking to the brat...? How amusing." Sukuna.

Hearing the voice, Yuuji instantly flinched and lowered his arms out of the camera's view. Panic shot through his body as you stared at the screen with a raised brow. "Oh, is someone there with you now? Didn't know you had a roommate."

Oh good, you didn't see him. It wasn't as if he was afraid of you meeting Sukuna, he was afraid of telling you the truth about everything. About how he was now a vessel for ancient being, how he was studying cursed energy and jujutsu, how he died yet came back to life..dumping so much on you with the chance that you might never speak to him again out of fear, out of disgust. That you stop being his friend, and that he would never..he would never—

"Yuuji?" Tapping the screen a little on your laptop as it shook the camera, he soon stared back at you and laughed nervously. "O-oh right, he's only here for a little bit of time, so I figured what's really the point in telling you"

"Really now? Could've swore I was here to stay with you forever. You could at least introduce me to your friend here." Sukuna felt a great amusement watching Yuuji squirm just to keep you in the dark. Yuuji quickly began stammering on his words, throwing you off as he made a quick excuse to leave the call early. Before you could even say a single word, he clicked ended the facetime before sighing to himself and leaning back against his chair.

"...What is the point in keeping me hidden? We are practically one now, me as you and you as me, Brat." Sukuna said, his mouth now appearing on the left side of his cheek with the eyelid opening to stare up at the boy. "Are you scared of me paying your little toy a visit? Young and no doubt a virgin, I could have some fun with her—" Yuuji quickly slapped a hand against the mouth in attempt to hush the curse only for Sukuna to migrate to the hand.

"I won't let that happen, Sukuna." Yuuji said, frowning as he heard the curse chuckle. He didn't like the sound of how he described his bond to the soul sleeping inside of him, how they were one in the same. Shaking his head, the boy tried to reassure himself that he was nothing like Sukuna and simply went to turn off the lights and sleep on it. The last thing he heard before slumber took him were the ominous words of Sukuna,

"You'll see I was right soon enough, brat..."

A week later, Yuuji came back home to visit you. It was one of the days where the school allowed their students a break from their studies and classes and so he wanted to spend it with you as a surprise. And indeed you were surprised. When you had rushed downstairs, you did so wearing only a red sleeved t-shirt that the pink haired male might have left behind with a pair of gray shorts, and so when you opened the door to see the cheery face of your best friend well...it may have left you a bit flustered.

"Hey, Y/—" you quickly shut the door in his face, collapsing on your knees as you felt your cheeks beginning to burn. 'Why of all days, Itadori?!' You thought to yourself as she slowly stood back up and cracked the door open to see Yuuji's baffled face. He looked like a puppy..a sad puppy who was just kicked off his owner's bed and it broke you. Before long, he was now in your house and sitting in the living room couch while you were in the kitchen preparing tea. Your father was currently away on business while god knows what your mother was..it was just the two of you.

And it was awkward.

As you prepared tea on the kettle, Yuuji couldn't help but look at the shirt you were wearing as a small pink blush was lightly spreading on his cheeks. In a way, it filled him with a strange feeling seeing you walking around in something of his, seeing you wearing his shirt made him..prideful. didn't help with how short your shorts were either, it was practically hugging onto your as—

"So, it's just you? Dude, you should've told me you were coming! I would've been more prepared..I barely have any snacks or anything here right now." You grumbled, snapping his attention away to listen to what you were saying. "Hey, no worries, Y/N. Honestly, I'm just hungry for something else..." that last part through him off as he covered his mouth. That wasn't his voice. No, it was but that wasn't him speaking.

As he turned his head to the side to the balcony door, there the boy saw it in his reflection. The eye of Sukuna staring right back at him, causing him to quickly cover the eye.

"Huh? Alright, well what are you hungry for? Theres probably some ramen around here someone or we could just go out to a place to eat if you want.." you questioned, back turned away from him as you began to take the now whistling kettle off the stove. No, he couldn't deal with this now, not while you were only feet away from him. Yet the more he watched you in the reflection, the more he saw your curves in those pretty little shorts or your braless breasts bounce with ease under his stolen shirt...

Shaking his head, Yuuji soon stood up from the couch and placed on his jacket. "I'm sorry, N/N, But I have to go—"

"Wait what but–"

"Sorry, u-um, Gojou-Sensei said something came up and I have to go back! I'm sorry but I'll make it up to you— I promise!" Before you could even protest, he was already out of the door and gone. As he left, you could've swore you saw an eye on his cheek where one of his scars were but that was impossible, right?

-----------------------

He honestly had no idea where he was going to run off to but the boy knew that if Sukuna had a chance to take over and you were in front of him, would've hurt you or worse. Seeing your disappointed face yet again almost shattered his heart completely and when Yuuji finally came to a halt, he found himself beside a small stream and sighed. This was all for the best. It was to keep you safe, or so he kept telling himself.

"Damn, to think you would actually run away when she was begging for you to take her there. What a wimp.." Sukuka said, mouth manifesting on Yuuji's neck as his eye looks up at frowning boy. "Its not often you get an open invitation from a woman. If I was in control, I would've taken her then and there and ram my co‐" Yuuji quickly slapped a hand over the mouth as a faint blush appeared on his cheeks, him now thinking back to you and how pretty you looked wearing his shirt. "S-shut up. Don't go saying such gross crap."

"You know you feel the same. I can see that she affects you even now judging by the sight of your pants. You wanted to stuff her with your seed just as much as I did." Sukuna said, the mouth now on his hand. Much to Yuuji's surprise, his dark brown eyes quickly shot down to his pants and just as Sukuna said, there was a raging boner standing up at attention. Swallowing his guilt, he tried to cover it only for his pinky finger to slowly graze the fabric and giving his cock a small jolt. The boy hissed a little and quickly placed his hands to his side.

"I-i..I just.." "No need to be embarrassed. That girl isn't anything typically special but just seeing her, seeing her ass in such revealing clothing. Women of this era must be extremely dirty~" Sukuna chuckled "and hearing your thoughts, you certainly surprised me, Brat..." the more Sukuna spoke, the more Yuuji thought back to you. Seeing your breasts and ass was truthfully hot, even if you weren't exactly his type, he still found you beautiful. Slowly without him even noticing, his hand slowly motioned for his cock once more and in the silence of the forest, Yuuji Itadori thought only of you during his time in pleasure.

-----------------------

It wasn't until later on into the night that Yuuji had finally texted you back, saying he would back tomorrow to make things up with you. Sure, it did cheer you up that he would be back but the way he was acting lately made you feel like something was wrong. If you ever asked, he would change the subject or just smile at you awkwardly as if admitting to hiding something but you won't force him tell you what was wrong. When He was ready, he would tell you for sure and you'll wait for however long he wanted.

"N/N, Everything alright?" Yuuji asked, gaining your attention as you snapped back to the present and out of your thoughts. Looking around, you found yourself staring ahead at a bag of popcorn and the large bright ights of a ferris wheel constantly in motion. That's right, the local fairgrounds, Yuuji had wanted to go one more time before he returned back to Tokyo and since you always liked the food here, you of course said yes. "O-oh, yeah! I'm fine. Just looking ahead at the wheel. Remember last time we were here some kid ended up puking on Sasaki from a cart above us?"

"Haha! Yeah, she smelled of salty tuna for weeks afterwards and it left a stain on her uniform" He laughed, staring at the wheel as he thought about the memory. As you stared at him and watch his smile, it had then reassured you that this was still your best friend and you smiled back. For a moment, the two of you were having a blast at the small fair, playing some of the games set up by the booths (and being turned away after Yuuji broke a few with his strength..) it felt like old times all over again. "Wanna play another game or play at bumper carts? We still have some time to kill before you gotta go back?" You asked, carrying some of the plushie prizes the two of you (mainly Yuuji) earned, you looked over to your side and saw a cotton candy display before your attention turns back to Yuuji, The two of you decided just for a moment to sit down at a small metal bench to rest your feet for a moment

Seeing the display, an idea popped up in his head and the words of Gojou appeared in his mind. 'You want advice on how to swoon a girl? Well take small hints when she gives them to you, if her eyes are lingering on something then that's probably a sign she wants it—'. Seeing as how you kept looking up at the cotton candy, he thought this might have been his chance and sat down his own plushies. Without saying a word, Yuuji got up and walked over to the stand, leaving you there by the table alone with your horde of plush creatures.

Seeing you seating there at the bench by yourself, a group of punks who looked to be close to your age strolled up to you, two of them taking a seat on each side of you while the third one was standing right behind you. "Fine evening, isn't it, love. What's a sweet little thing like you doing here by yourself, you looking for some fun?" The purple haired male said on your left side, lowering his shades as he stared noticeably at your chest. "Actually, I'm here with a friend and this seat is for him so if you could jus—" "oh a 'friend'? But I don't see this friend now, so maybe you could tag along with us back to our place and we'll show you a fun time." The punk behind you said, his hands now pressed firmly on both of your shoulders as he leaned in a bit closer to you, causing you to flinch at his touch. "I, um.."

"N/N?"

Turning your head back to in front of you, you saw Yuuji there holding a blue and pink cotton candy stick and face emotionles. "N/N, huh? That's a cute name. This your friend, N/N?" The purple haired punk said, chuckling while rising from his seat "....." Yuuji remained silent for a bit as he stared off at the hands touching you, gripping onto your shoulder and clearly making you uncomfortable. He was typically known for being a calm guy but see this angered him beyond words.

'You see what they're doing to your woman, brat? You're just going to let it happen..?' Yuuji heard the inner words of Sukuna in his head, his eyes dart away from you to the guy standing in front of him, smirking as he touch the cotton candy from the pink haired boy's hand and taking a large bite of the webby treat. "This doesnt have to get rough, all you need to do is walk away and we'll show N/N-chan here a good time she'll never forget." He said, licking his tongue over his lips.

As Yuuji's lips parted, he heard a groan coming from you as you squirmed in the other guys hold with the second punk was now leaning into your neck. Seeing your frown of discomfort, they way they were touching what was rightful his , All he needed to hear were those small words from Sukuna.

'They're touching your woman, they're hurting her. Finish.. them.. off.'

Yuuji stood there for a moment, remaining silent as he lowered his hand, a shadow now cast over his face. Opening one of your eyes as you squirm in the punk's hold, you saw something that made your heart almost stop beating altogether. That smile on his face, that malevolent smile and empty eyes as he held onto the purple haired Male's now broken arm.

The next thing was a blur. The screams of your harassers echoed around you and you heard a wet sound looping over and over again as well as hard thuds. Opening your eyes, you saw it. Two of the thugs bloodied and bruised as their limbs were bent in ways you couldn't imagine, one of them dangling up above you on a tree branch while the other one was limp inside of the cotton candy stand. Looking around for the third one, you saw him behind held against one of the food stands while Yuuji was there gripping his hand over the punk's neck. You couldn't exactly show him any mercy and yet Yuuji was clearly taking things too far, even when the guy tried to beg for mercy and claw his way out of your friend's hold, all Yuuji did was stand there with a grin you've never seen before. It wasnt one of his innocent smiles or mischievous grins, no, it was one of pure sadism. "P-please stop, I'm sorry..I'm sorry.." "you didn't stop when she wanted you too, So why should I?" Yuuji tilted his head to the side a little, chuckling a little as his grip tightened and the man gasped out for air "you'll pay for what you did. You'll all fucking pay..."

The air in your chest almost stopped filling your lungs completely as you watch this. That wasn't the Yuuji you knew, he would've never went this far just to prove a point! Slowly taking a step forward and then another and then slowly speeding up, you reached out and held onto the arm Yuuji was holding the punk up with. "Yuuji, stop it! You'll kill him if you keep this up!" You yelled only to feel a blow strike your face and send you tumbling back a few feet, causing you to scream out in pain. "Stay out of this." Was all he said until freezing and slowly turning back to see what he had done.

Crimson was spilling from your nose onto your shirt and it was gushing out by the bucket to which you quickly covered as you stared up at Yuuji with teary eyes. Regret instantly overwhelmed him as he dropped the thug and slowly reached over to you, his senses coming back to him. "N/N?" He questioned, almost checking to see if you were alright but you backed away as he stepped over to you. What has he done..? Why did he..? He watched you slowly back away with each step, fear in your bright (E/C) eyes and it broke him. "Hey, w-what's wrong? I was only trying to protect them from you, you don't have to be scared."

As people began to crowd in, brought in by the noise of fighting and your scream, Yuuji hand ghosted over the skin of yourself shoulder and you flinched. You flinched at his touch..So many feelings began to overwhelm him that he didn't notice the look of horror in your eyes as you watched what thought were scars slowly twitch and open up, revealing bright red eyes staring directly at you.

"They were going to hurt you," 'She's scared of you now after all you've done' "I saved you! They won't touch you like that again!" 'She sees you for what you are, brat.' "I just wanted to keep you safe!" With each yell, Yuuji watched as you grew more and more scared, the people around all of you terrified as they watched and some even grabbing whatever they could that could be a weapon. Gripping his head as he felt an intense pain through his skull, it was then he noticed..how small you looked as he towered over you. When did you get so small? He thought to himself, bending down to grab you when he saw his arm.

His nails were a dark purple shade, sharper and three black markings were on his wrist. Turning his head a little to one of the booth's and staring into the window was when the truth hit Yuuji hard. His body was different and taller now for some reason and Sukuna's markings were slowly appearing over his face. He was..slipping?

"Y-yuuji, what the hell is happening to you.." he heard you whisper yet before he could respond, there was the sharp pain of something blunt hitting his shoulder. Looking to his feet, he saw a medium sized rock and there another and another. The people were launching what they could at him, yelling at him to leave the girl alone and to leave. Yelling for his death, calling him a monster, calling him a curse. He stared at you for a moment, seeing how now tears leaking from your eyes and Yuuji stepped away before fleeing.

"Yuuji, wait!!" He heard your frantic yell from behind him but it didn't slow him down as he kept running further into the distance and leaving you behind. Your yells becoming drowned out by the mad laughter of Sukuna echoing in his mind.

-----------------------

No, he didn't want this at all. The day was meant to go differently, it was meant to be just the two of you having fun together and end with the ferris wheel and him finally telling you that he...

Thunder crackled outside of the decrepit shrine the boy had taken shelter in, rain pouring outside by the gallons. As he watched the raindrops in silence, Yuuji saw how the scenery slowly began to shift around him as the sky became more malevolent and the cold concrete he was sitting on now a pool of crimson water with piles on top of piles of bones surrounded him. The memories of the fairground echoed in his mind over and over again on loop of him hitting you and your look of fear haunting him, causing his eyes to water.

"Aw, are you going to cry, brat..?"

Yuuji remained silent as he waited for Sukuna to appear at any moment, yet he never came, only his voice lingered around him. "This is all of your fault.." Yuuji whispered, staring off into the rain. "My fault? I don't understand. If I recall, you were to one who eat my finger. You were the one who signed up for being my vessel, everything that has been done was all you..I merely watched from here."

"Bullshit! You made me hurt her..you made me like this!" Yuuji screamed out, flashes of who he did to those thugs showing through his mind, "You made me hurt them!"

"...No, that was all you. You can blame me all you want but I felt what you felt, saw what you saw and you loved every second of that fight. Whipping those who displease you in place, kicking the asses of the men who touched what was yours. Gotta say, made me tear up watching everything unfold" Hear the curse's chuckle echo around in the shrine, Yuuji quickly stood up and yelled out for Sukuna to show himself, only for him to collapse on his knees when feeling an sharp pain in his torso.

"No need to show myself, I'm already with you as close as I can."

Gritting his teeth in pain it was then that Yuuji saw his reflection staring back at him in the water, grinning ear to ear with malice in those sharp fangs.

"You see , Brat, becoming my vessel didn't just mean I was trapped inside of you..no no..You would slowly become me. Your small soul means shit compared to mine and it will be swallowed whole by me. I just needed us to be bound for some time and you would be mine..."

As the reflection spoke to him, Yuuji screamed out in pain as he felt his bones inside of him crack and twist as if they were rearranging themselves. His stomach felt as if it was being cut open entirely as the flesh began to slowly pull apart while tearing open the yellow hoodie in the process, the meat of his torso was forced open as a tongue lulled out and licked his abs like they were lips. The sides of his waist felt as if someone was taking a pair of axes and were merely swinging it down as flesh began to bubble through and bones formed one by one until two new pair of arms were fully shaped. Taking a deep breath, Yuuji slowly chuckled as one of his hands reached up to his head and gripped it and the others wrapped around his waist.

"N-no..no..i.."

"You should be honoured, Yuuji. You get the privilege of becoming one with me, my power is now yours and yours mine." His lips, against his will, began to speak the words of Sukuna as they formed into a forced grin. "N-no..I haven't told her yet. I haven't told N/N that I love—"

"Yuuji?"

Once when he blinked, Yuuji found himself no longer in the shrine but sitting inside of his desk in his old desk with you standing beside him. Seeing you before him, safe and smiling at him, the boy quickly stood up and wrapped his arms around you which took you for surprise in the process but you simply allowed him to let it all out when you hugged him back. "Well hello to you too, welcome back to earth, how was your trip to space..?" You said, chuckling before feeling something wet on your shoulders. His tears.

"Y/N..I..I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything, I should've told you everything. I should'nt have hit you. I just wanted to protect you because...because...I love you!" His words surprised you but you simply smile. "I love you too, Yuuji."

Staring back down at the reflection before him of the boy hugging onto you tightly as he weeped, dark brown eyes shift to that of a bright velvet shade. Sukuna chuckled while stretching out his newly formed body. How good it felt to be back in control, to have actual flesh again and to see this brand new world all to himself. Sure, his power was not what it used to be but he would regain all of his fingers soon enough. As his domain faded away and he found himself back in the decrepit old shrine, he smirked to himself while debating his next order of business.

"Y/N L/N...Maybe I should do this body a favor and seize you for my own."

-----------------------

He wouldn't answer any of your calls or texts. No one has heard or seen of him but now there was a witch hunt for your best friend. As you laid in your dimly lit bedroom with bandages over your nose, you stared down at your phone anxiously awaiting something from Yuuji.

Ring~~~

Ring~~~

Hearing the sound of your phone vibrating, you quickly shot up from the covers an grabbed the phone, unlocking it right away and placing it to your ear.

"Hello?" There was nothing but silence on the other end, the soft howling of the wind being the other thing you could really make out. "Hello..?"

"N/N.." your heart practically stopped for a moment but you felt almost a wave of relief hearing his voice on the other line. "Oh thank god, Yuuji..Are you ok—" "N/N, open the window." Was all he said before then line went dead and you were left sitting there baffled. Did he make it back to your house? Slowly crawling out of the bed and slipping on your bedroom slippers, you walked over towards the window and moved the blinds down only a little to peep outside. Standing there in your backyard, shirtless and with his hands in his pockets was Yuuji, seemingly back to normal and everything. There were not increased height, no weird markings, he looked fine and apart of you wondered if it was just the force of his punch that made you see him change. No..because everyone else saw his appearance too.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted up the blinds and unlatched the window. The second that it was free and opened up, Yuuji had jumped above onto the roof and crawled inside to your room. "Y-yuuji, you have a lot of explaining to do— Whoa, whoa!" You took a step back cautiously but he soon grabbed ahold of your wrist and pulled you close to his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head in the crook of your neck. "I know I do, but first I just want to say I'm sorry to you, Y/N. I never meant to hurt you.." he said, whispering in a soft tone as his hold on you tighten a bit.

"I'm leaving here after tonight but I just had to see you to tell you that I..I love you. I love you, Y/N" Taken back by his words, you felt yourself being pushed onto your bed and watched as the boy loomed over you before crawling onto the mattress.

He loved you. Those words practically made your heart skipped over so many times that you were positive that you had stopped breathing. "Let me come with you, Yuuji." You said, reaching up to his face and caressing his cheeks, "I don't know what's happening but you can trust me. I won't let you go through this alone and I'll always be here with you."

He didn't say much after that. All he did was lower his head a little until your lips were merely inches away from each other before he pressed them together. The sensation you felt was one like fireworks. Those butterflies in your stomach exploding and multiplying over and over again as you felt his tongue licking your bottom lip but you pulled away before he could fully explore your mouth.

"Always..? So you will always stay with me, N/N?" He whispered, head dipping down to your neck as he left a trail of kisses down your warm skin until he kissed the base of your throat. "Yeah..I will." "Do you swear..?" His hands began to grip your hips, running the tips of his fingers against your clothed thighs while he began to press his own hips to your own.

"I-I swear.." you said, staring up at Yuuji with a small smile. He stared at you for a moment, smiling down at you before sitting up, his large hand covering the upper half of his face.

"That's all I need to make you mine." Sliding his hand upwards was when you saw it. Those spare eyes once again on Yuuji's cheeks, staring at you as if it you were nothing but glass. That sincere smile that calmed your soul became a mischievous grin, showing the sharpened fangs he now had. You watched as those pitch blackp markings began to spread over his skin and yet the moment you sat up, two fully grown arms pinned you down onto the mattress. "Almost as naive as the brat himself but I suppose there is some charm to the naivete of a woman. Makes it easier to influence, to change.." 'Yuuji' said, dipping his head down to your ear before biting down on the lobe of it. You gasped out, squirming in his hold.

"Let me go, Yuuji! I don't know what's going on but I want to help! Just let me help you!" You yelled out to him but soon silenced yourself as you noticed the scenery of your bedroom changing. All of your furniture began to disappear one by one as a red hue began to spread around the two of you

In the blink of an eye, you were taken to Sukuna's innate domain. The water that replaced the softness of your bed now causing your back to soaked and your hair now spread out and floating in the depths. "Yell all you want but that brat can't hear you anymore. Gone forever in a dream that will never come true, but I promise I will keep you company in his stead. By the time I am done with you, will forget all about him. All you'll want is me, all you'll ever need is me. The name Ryomen Sukuna will burned into your soul and you'll learn to worship me, N/N..."

With a single swing, the soft yet wet cotton fabric of your shirt and shorts was torn off of you with ease and revealed your now exposed flesh to the cold. Sukuna stared down at them, his tongue licked over his long and sharp fangs as his eyes motioned down to your folds. His hand traveled down your thighs before his finger swiped against the outer circle of your lips yet he looked displeased from what he felt. "Dry as a drought but that's fine. I'll be fucking you regardless" he said, his index finger slowly pushing inside of your virgin cunt causing you to gasp out for air and arch your back. "You tighten just now, dirty whore...Did you often fantasise Yuuji stuffing his cock inside of you...?" he whispered into your ear intimately, he kissed the bottom of your ear and moved onto your neck, sucking until he found the soft spot that made you inhale deeply. 

Sukuna sucked on your neck while constantly kept inserting his finger in you, pumping in and out, eventually adding a second digit. He curled his fingers and caused you let out a faint moan as his finger crept closer to your sweet spot over and over. It was too much, you thought as he bit down onto your soft skin, and you were feeling so good from it so far and it made you ashamed. this demon, this thing was in your best friend's body and now he was using it to currently assault your body but the feeling of it all was too good. You had to keep your eyes shut for looking up at Sukuna tugged at your heart as all you saw was Yuuji.

"Oh you are loving this..." parting from your neck,he looked pleased seeing the angry red hickey left behind.

"I-im not...I'm not..." A moan escaped your lips, feeling something wet replace his fingers. Lifting your head, you saw a mouth on the palm of his hand and its tongue gently licking the nub of your clit almost like a lollipop. "Feels good, doesn't it, N/N..?" His tone was nothing less than mocking, the mouth taking ahold of one of your lips with its teeth causing you to scream out. "I said, it feels good doesnt it? Speak when your master is speaking to you. "

"Y-yes! It feels amazing!" You tasted so sweet on his tongue, circling your clit, lapping at your clenching entrance, kissing your folds. "A-Ah~" You whimper when he folds your legs to your chest, He takes another nip at your clit, as he listened to your hushed whines. Your moans were music to his ears, yet what he wanted from you was his name. The thought of his former vessel's love screaming his name turned him on, the thought of keeping you only fueling the flames. It was harder and harder for him to contain hisself when you're drowning in the pleasure of his mouth licking and sucking at your sloppy pussy.

"I'll take you as mine. You'd like that wouldn't you? Being the woman of the king of curses, waiting for me to return to fill you to the brim." sweat felt like it was pooling out of your body from the attention he was giving to on your clit. Your bucking hips were a clear sign that you were close and so, he pulled his hand away.

"You don't get to come yet. You're only allowed to when you're milking my cock."

The things he did to were things no man has ever done before. Scratches and cuts littered your flesh and bruises were on your sore ass and stomach. There a few times to where you had even blacked out from the amount of pleasure he had given you..

Now you found yourself with you riding his swollen cock as he stared up at you with satisfied eyes, grunting while large hands were pressed against your abused breasts as his hips pumped up into your leaking cunt. Your head felt like it was spinning as you screamed out, orgasm crashing hard as your cunt tightened around his shaft.

As you felt his throbbing cock inside of you, his hand grabbed ahold of your chin and your lips made contact. Sukuna only pulled away when he silently cursed, his seed releasing inside of you for what felt like the billionth time. Taking a deep breath, he stayed inside of your warm hole, not wanting a single drop to spill and kissed your cheek.

Fucking you only assured his choice of keeping you as he own. Sukuna was going to original kill you while taking Yuuji's appearance after taking you but holding you close like this as you soon became limp (no doubt exhausted), your warmth against his own and staring down at your cum stained face..it made something inside him feel strange.

A weakness no doubt, but one at the moment that could keep him entertained. Combing a loose strand of hair behind your ears, Sukuna chuckled.

"From this day forth, you will be my bride. Consider yourself lucky..."

[the-artistic-animal]

Words Left Unsaid (part 2 / final)

Daryl x Reader

Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria/Sanctuary (set in seasons 7-8)  Warnings: injury, blood, minimally implied sexual abuse, torture, death and a lot of fluffiness! Word count: 3391

Context: Daryl brings Y/N back to the Hilltop and hopes he will be able to say everything he has to say to her.

(If you haven’t read part 1, you can find it here)

The car was coming came to a stop, the people of Hilltop knew from the loud roar of the car’s engine that Jesus and Daryl were back. The curtain of dust it left behind made the everyone rush close to the vehicle, some curious and some preoccupied. Someone opened the back door where Daryl was, he didn’t take notice on who it was, focused on getting the girl to the infirmary. The crowd immediately opening a corridor for the archer to pass, his frenetic eyes looking straight ahead at Doctor Carson, who was standing at the doors of the improvised clinic trailer.

Like a hurricane Daryl entered the room, but his hands were gentle as he lowered the girl on the hospital-type bed. Dr. Carson and Enid took it as a sign to start acting, checking her pulse and looking for any major bruises or bleeding cuts. The archer told then little, as he didn’t know much of what happened to the girl, so he gave them space as they worked on her, never leaving the room. Enid unbuttoned Y/N’s flannel and Daryl’s stomach twisted at the sign of purple and yellow bruises, some shaped like hands hugged around her arms and pulse; but he didn’t allow himself to look away, taking it as punishment for not getting her out sooner.

Her legs matched the angry bruises of her chest, adding to some cuts and scratches on her knees, which she got from the fight she put up with the savior when they took her. Enid cleaned the dried blood, leaving the colored stains to go by themselves. Taking a clean shirt from the small drawer, they dressed her and pushed a thin blanket over her body; the archer analyzed everything, waiting for any sign that she was wake, but finding none.

“She gonna be alrigh’?” The archer’s voice was grave, deeper than usual, as the two finished working on Y/N. “She doesn’t seem to have any serious injuries, as far as we can see. She’s still out probably due to the trauma…” the Doctor’s words lingered in the air as he gave a final glance at her. Daryl felt a tight gulp go down his throat.

“Did they- was she… hum…” the archer didn’t dare to pronounce the remaining words, but the doctor cough on, the hypothesis having crossed his mind too. “I don’t know. All we can do is treat the outside; only her and God knows what kind of trauma she went through. All we can do now is wait.” The doctor patted Daryl’s shoulder before passing through the curtain, Enid was already gone.

Daryl moved to the side of the bed, sitting on the old chair resting there. He took her hand in his and rested his head on the thin mattress. The quietness was interrupted by Maggie and Sasha entering trailer, the metal door ranging loudly. “How is she?” Maggie’s voice was quiet, careful, but her eyes matched the apprehensive look of Sasha’s. Both the girls weren’t much familiar to Y/N but seeing how much she meant to Daryl was enough to make them sympathetic to her condition.

“Doc says we have ta wait. She’s all… bruised, I don’t…” The archer pressed his hands to his face, eyes closed, a tired sign escaping his lips. Maggie pressed her hand to his shoulder in a gesture of comfort, and Sasha offered to take his place for him to go eat something or just rest. Daryl was quick to reject the offer, even though his eyes showed how much he needed it.

After some more useless insisting, they both left, promising to bring lunch for him later. Throughout the day, Daryl watched people come and go through the infirmary trailer, some to see Y/N, some to see other people who were staying there too. The tight knot on his stomach didn’t undo itself for a single moment as he waited. When he got up to look out of the window, the dark of the night had already englobed the Hilltop, but still the girl showed no signs of waking up.

Daryl stayed by Y/N’s side through the whole night, at some moments the tiredness got the best of him, eyes closing for a couple of minutes, but never longer than that. The doctor came in at some point to check on a coughing patient at the bed behind the curtain that divided the room, taking some time to also check on Y/N. According to him, she was stable, but the words did nothing to calm Daryl down.

The next day washed away way too slowly for the likes of the archer, still no change on the girl’s condition, not even when he sprinted to the bathroom of the Barrington House to throw some water on his face, Enid taking his place for, as she said, ‘as long as he needed’. But he didn’t take more than five minutes to burst through the trailer doors, cursing at himself for even leaving. But still nothing had changed.

It was only the second night that Daryl felt some semblance of hope. His head rested on his hands, elbows on his knees and eyes moving from the girl’s eyes to her hands, and from hands to eyes, as if at any moment they would open, or her fingers would slightly move. That’s when he heard a low groan coming out from her throat, eyes not opened yet, but he noticed both of her hands closing in tight fists. The archer was immediately standing, a breath of excitement and fear was held as he waited. Until then, his mind was so caught on the fact that she was still unconscious, that he didn’t prepare for the moment when she would see him. Would he say he was sorry? Would he have the guts to ask her what exactly happened? Would she even want to tell him? To see him at all?

But none of those questions mattered, because when Y/N’s eyes locked on his all he could identify was fear. She was afraid – not of him – of everything, but he couldn’t hide the hurt he felt when she moved away from him on the limited space of the bed like a cornered animal. He raised his hands to show how he meant no harm, and as a reflex her eyes closed – that’s when his heart broke. “Y/N… I- ya’re safe…” his voice was shaky and uncertain, much for his dislike, as the archer wanted to assure her of the safety of the place. Her eyes were wide now, mouth slightly open drawing shallow breaths through her lips. When the girl blinked a few times, eyes never leaving Daryl, she seemed to finally come to reality, and her voice came out so raspy as she spoke his name in a whisper.

And then she was flying to his arms, and like they were made for her, his arms opened to capture her fragile body into his chest. Daryl was glad no one entered the trailer during the time they stayed like that, clinging to each other like their lives depended on it. Perhaps it did. Only when he felt her tears soaking his shirt, he gently pulled away to look into her eyes. Seeing her so close to him, he could not contain his own tears from dropping as he whispered how sorry he was.

“M’sorry- shit, m’sorry I let this happen to ya… I didn’t know-I didn’t…” Daryl couldn’t stand to look at her anymore, his trembling lips spilled the words quietly as a round of tears fell from his eyes. But the archer didn’t realize that the girl didn’t know he was alive, as the last time she saw him the saviors were loading him bleeding up into their trunk.

“You are alive… I thought I’d lost you.” Her bloodshot eyes were soft, and she searched for scars and bruises adorning his face. The moment her hands found his cheeks Daryl was frozen, and gently she was lifting his chin up so their eyes could meet. Both of her hands involved his face now, her soft fingers contrasting with the roughness of his sparse beard, and at that moment the archer swore he never felt closer to heaven. Y/N swallowed her tears before continuing, “that guy-Dwight… he kept saying- he talked about you and… and you weren’t there, I thought you were… gone.” The last word came out as a mere whisper.

She didn’t want to ask how he got out – even though she wished to know –, instead she just accepted the fact that he was there, at that very moment of time, and the girl surrendered to the need to hold the archer close. As Daryl held her, check pressed to her hair, he kept saying how he didn’t know she was at the Sanctuary, but Y/N didn’t pay attention to that, her eyes tightly closed, letting her body and soul sink into the lingering felling and sent of the archer..

“Listen,” Daryl removed himself from her embrace to look at her face. “I have to tell ya. When we lost the prison…”. Y/N was confused and about to interrupt him when the archer continued. “Nah, just listen, if I don’t tell ya now, I may never do.” His expression was so serious she didn’t dare to interrupt him anymore. When he opened his mouth, the door cracked open, slow at first, but when Doctor Carson saw Y/N had woken up, he rushed to her. After that, the afternoon was filled with visits from absolutely every person of Hilltop, even Gregory, whom Daryl made sure to keep an eye on at all times, a concentrated frown resting on his handsome face, Y/N noticed. The archer didn’t leave her side during the visits, keeping his distance but making sure his presence was known, by the girl and everyone else, like he was guarding her.

As much as the girl appreciated the attention she was getting from the community, she couldn’t help the anxiety that creeped up every time she would take a glance at Daryl – and every time he was already looking at her, examining. When it seemed like everyone had already paid their visit to the infirmary trailer, the Dr. was back to check on his patient, and after checking through vital signs and asking the same questions she had already answered, her hesitant eyes were expecting the final verdict.

“So, can I go now?” Carson’s eyes went from hers to the archer and them back to hers, Daryl was leaning on the trailer wall, arms intimidatingly crossed in front of his chest, but his eyes held an expression far from that – he was worried. “It’s best if you stay one more night, so we can keep an eye on you.” A pout was set on her lips, Daryl noticed the subtle trait of stubbornness that he knew so well and couldn’t avoid the smirk on his lips.

“I know you are the Doctor, but I know for a fact that I’ll feel much better after spending the night out of this bed.” Her tone was firm and defiant, but warm and pleading all the same. “Daryl will stay with me… won’t you?”. It’s was almost imperceptible, but the archer noticed the insecurity on her final words and he was quick to come stand next to her. “’Course I will, but maybe ‘s best if ya listen to Doc, he knows best…”.

“No. Look, I just wanna take a shower and sleep on a real bed… please.” Her eyes flashed at Daryl first and them at the Doctor, who was busy analyzing a particular stitched cut on her arm. “Alright. But you keep an eye on her,” his words were directed to Daryl, who seemed to listen closely. “and you, I want to see you tomorrow morning. Don’t push yourself, you’re still recovering. Take these painkillers, you will need them.” As the doctor moved to reach the pills from the top cupboard, Y/N was already protesting, but Daryl was quicker, as he took the little recipient from the man’s hand and shoved it in his pocket, receiving a frown from the girl.

On their way out, Daryl watched her every step as if she was made of glass. The girl could only think of how glad she was everybody seemed to be inside their houses and trailers and the sky was dark above them, since she was only wearing a way too big shirt, underpans and a pair of flipflops someone left at the infirmary. Considering the dark bruises that covered a great amount of her thighs, she imagined she was quit the sight.

“Hum… I know I said you would stay with me, but you don’t have to. I-I can just go the Barrington House, I don’t wanna intrude.” As abruptly as she stopped walking, the words nervously came out of her mouth. “Nah, yer staying with me. Unless ya don’ want ta…”. Y/N noticed he was as nervous as she was as he spoke, so she just nodded, assuring him that that was what she wanted – more than anything, she wanted to know what he had to say, but she chose to leave that part out for the moment, as he led her to his trailer.

As they walked in, she took a deep inhale, his sent filling her lungs even though he barely stayed inside the room,, specially given the events that filled the past few days. After the first awkwardness, he offered her to take a shower, which she gladly accepted, walking up to the small bathroom with the clothes Maggie left for her earlier that day.

When Y/N walked out, Daryl was sat at the small couch, which had more holes in it that actual fabric. His expression was unreadable, hand resting over his mouth as a sign that he was deep in thought. “Sorry… I took a bit too long, right? The was so much dirt to scrub out.” A nervous laugh was followed, but Daryl barely smiled as he assured her it was fine just before walking to the bathroom himself.

Y/N didn’t take offense in his behavior, knowing already how the archer was when his mind was working millions per hour. She sat on the couch and waited for him, allowing herself to enjoy the feeling of tiredness sinking her body to the cushions. But when Daryl returned, she was alert again and he seemed so lost that she couldn’t help asking if he was okay.

“’M fine, I just… hum… Ya can sleep on the bed, I’ll take the couch…”. At that she frowned, even though she was exhausted, his words from earlier that day hadn’t stopped playing on her brain for a single moment. “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me what you were gonna say before… if you’re not too tired?”. His hand brushed on his neck in a nervous motion “Nah, but ya need rest and… Doc said–“.

“I’m not tired yet, and you said if you didn’t tell me then you wouldn’t tell me ever… so tell me, what is it?”. At that point he was practically shaking, and when she moved to leave enough room for him to sit beside her, his legs almost gave out as he walked up to her.

His eyes didn’t lock on her just yet, instead he looked at some of the bruises her shirt didn’t cover. “Did they hurt ya? Like… I mean, were ya… did they touch ya?”. As much as it killed him to ask, he could stop it, he wouldn’t rest until he knew. “What?” she was confused at first, but also disappointed that that was his question, but she answered anyway, taking in the blush that creeped up on his face, partly from the embarrassment, but mostly rage.

“No! Not like that, if that’s what you’re thinking. Negan has his policy, his torture is nowhere like that… you know what I’m talking about, you were there too. But no, these are mostly from when his men found me. At least I gave them a little bit of work…” Her tone was sad, Daryl noticed, but he couldn’t help the somewhat relived sign he let out.

“’M sorry I didn’t take ya out sooner-“. Again, he was interrupted, but he didn’t mind it because her hand was holding his now, and involuntarily he sucked in a breath. “You already apologized, and I already said it was not your fault. So maybe we could move past that…” The archer could only nod, as he took in the sight of their hands joined on his lap, his palm turning upwards with the final blast of courage he had to hold hers.

“What I wanted ta say… what I want- shit, ‘m not good at this.” Y/N was patient and now her thumb was softly stroking the back of his hand in such a calm way that he was able to continue. “When we lost the prison, I thought I had lost ya and I promised if I ever saw ya again I’d say it, but then there was Terminus, and we were starving and Beth… and I- I didn’t say it but ya were there with me.” He stopped to take a breath and Y/N searched for signs of where he was going with all that, but his eyes only met her face briefly before the archer continued.

“When Dwight shot me and after Gleen and Abraham…” Her hand held his tighter by the second as she tried to give him as much comfort as she could as he showed his bare heart to her. “I thought I was never gonna see ya again, but then I came back, and I waited for ya to come with Rick, but when he said ya weren’t in Alexandria… I lost it.” His eyes searched for hers now, delicate tears matching her own. When she reached out to wipe a single drop that fell from his eye, he found the last bit of strength he needed to keep his speech.

“When I found ya, on that cell, I thought… ya were just crumbled there, ya didn’t even look like ya-“ he exhaled heavily, like it physically hurt him to describe the vivid scene from his memory. “Tha’s why I have ta tell ya. Fuck…” the archer cursed under his breath and Y/N almost didn’t catch it, wasn’t from the dead silent around the place. Her hand still hadn’t let go of his as she waited for him, the blood pumping inside her ears was so loud she was afraid of not hearing what the archer had to say.

“I can’t lose ya.” His words were firm and steady, contrary to the trembling chill that run throughout his body. His mouth opened and closed slightly a few times, the girl noticed, and when his blue eyes, quite red from all the crying, flashed at hers, she couldn’t resist the urge to hold him, and she didn’t. Daryl was surprised at first, and she wondered if it was a mistake, until both of his arms finally wrapped around her torso in a desperate move. She felt him relax against her, a deep breath he seemed to be holding for way too long left his mouth and his eyes closed.

“I can’t lose you Daryl.” Her soft words was all it took for his eyes to shot open wide, but he didn’t let go just yet. “I love you.” The archer’s body stilled like a statue at that, his mind racing as he tried to decide if it was a trick – he could possibly be dead at that moment, he couldn’t tell. It felt like so much heaven over him.

His body and soul were pulled out of the trance abruptly, she was pulling away from him and he wanted to desperately hold on to her and the feeling she was giving him. But when Y/N looked at him, cheeks softly blushed, he was sure that being able to simply see her was a divine sight. She didn’t have time to apologize or assure him he didn’t have to say anything back because, before she even started, he let them out – all the words that were once left unsaid – “I love ya too.”.

Autor’s note: HOLY CRAP!! Back by popular demand, part two is finally out! I’m sorry it took so long, but consider that it has a lot more words too hahaha

I really hope you enjoyed this and it’s as good as you expected! I really put effort into this so please tell me what you think! I read every single comment and appreciate them so much. It gives me all the motivation I need to write more for you guys!

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[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 33

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L   Warnings: Swearing, unhealthy defence mechanisms

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Playlist 】

Chapter 33: Betray The Moon as Acolyte

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September 8th, 1976

Remus peered up to the night sky, resplendent with a coruscating kaleidoscope of stars and the full moon. He yawned, acutely aware of his bones shifting, aching and cracking. Resting on a small cot pressed against the wall in the corner of the shrieking shack, Remus felt his temperature rise and skin stretch too thinly across his body.

“I’ll be back once the sun rises, dearie,” Madam Pomfrey called out, the door millimetres from locking shut.

“Wait,” he said and Madam Pomfrey re-opened the door with a warm, motherly smile.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For always helping, I know it can be… tiresome.”

How long has it been? That Pomfrey had been helping him out, every full moon — had known of his affliction and been there to assist? It was years now, countless hours of her time wasted on him.

Was he that much of a burden? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, that made his face pucker and heart lacerate itself in fresh wounds.

“Don’t concern yourself with me, honey.” Then the door clicked shut and he heard her utter a spell; to confine the beast within the four walls.

The tormenting plague increased every minute as the countdown to his transformation loomed. His heart thudded stridently and his breathing was ragged and strained. His teeth grinded against each other and his tongue swept across them, feeling them elongate and reshape in preparation.

Remus grabbed the hem of his jumper, exasperated by the overwhelming heat and because he didn’t want to shred it in the process. As he slipped out, feeling the adored red fabric, tattered with holes and frayed yarn in his hands, the door opened and he could already smell Peter and James. Subconsciously, he shielded his body from them, to avoid them from seeing all of his scars.

Remus became dizzy instantly. James wore a particularly strong perfume that day.

More than anything, over the pain and hint of repugnance, he was nervous. It would be the first full moon since… the prank that the Marauders would be together for his transformations. Or all the Marauders aside from one and nobody wanted to address it.

A sharp pain thundered through his skull and he knew time was slipping from him. Remus couldn’t recall the last time the moments before his transformation were that painful.

“You okay, Moons?” Wormtail asked, dropping down beside him. Prongs followed in suit, taking his sweater and folding it neatly.

“I’m fine — umph —”

“Shit! Prongs, get back and turn. Now!”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

After a week of lessons, there were considerable adjustments to the curriculum. Everyone noticed and it quickly dispersed a sombre milieu on all of Hogwarts.

Classes were smaller, many parents deciding to transfer their children to other magical schools around the world. Y/N even received a few worried letters from Matthew that there was an abundance of new British students attending Ilvermorny.

In his worried letters, Matthew informed her that the MACUSA and French Ministry of Magic had been stepping in, fighting forces against the wizarding war. It was all news to her. Ever since James’ parents cancelled their subscription to the Daily Prophet after their beliefs that they were biased, she hadn’t been able to catch up.

More defence and attack spells were taught and everyone became well aware of why someone of Professor Elway’s reputation and skill was there. The same went for the Duelling re-opening and even Flitwick initiated small tutorial sessions for students of all grades to teach them defensive spells.

Defence Against the Dark Arts became nothing more than a Muggle military camp. Elway drilled the students; attack and defence spell after the other, never stopping for a second. Transfigurations focused more on concealment and vanishing charm and every day McGonagall looked as if she aged a decade by the solemn, haunted look that nowadays was permanently carved into her.

Herbology went over a vast majority of life-saving plants, herbs and how to make their own medicine. And Potions heavily focused on identifying spiked potions with poisons and how to create reversal serums in case of emergencies.

The students of Hogwarts weren’t brainless. They knew they were training them for war.

She tried to ignore it, but if anything Y/N felt foolish. The magical world was meant to be an escape, not a guardhouse.

It didn’t help that the murders from the summer played heavily in her mind along with the rumours of Voldemort recruiting students from Hogwarts, prompting a spike of distrust to spread rampantly. It wasn’t time to fight or lose people but to keep those you trusted and loved close. So Lily keeping her distance had her worried.

Sorted into the same dorm as last year, she reckoned she would have some time with Lily but every day it seemed like she was busy with prefect duties, or had homework, or reading, or a new study group she needed to rush off to. She and Lily hadn’t resumed their usual nightly routines either, hadn’t sat with her in the Great Hall since the welcome back feast and hadn’t said more than a word to her.

It was evident that Lily was avoiding her and only her.

Maybe Y/N had gotten clingy, got too close too hastily because it felt too similar to how her mother treated her. It caused the imminent, spine-chilling feeling of wanting to push everyone away.

Extreme distress was starting to pile up.

Luckily, James stayed a constant consistency in her life and a lot of her pent-up fears dissipated by his presence. He never ignored her, if anything he went out of his way to be nearer. Even Peter and most notably, Remus, had become part of her daily life more than ever.

It was terrifying and everything told her to run. Don’t get too close, don’t get too comfortable. But it was hard not to.

That morning, James crept up to her dorm, knocking softly as she popped out, ready for the day. He looked exhausted; his eye bags were prominent, darkened and cradled in his arm, he held Remus’ rabbit.

“To keep him company,” James explained, yawning while escorting her down the staircase, passing the rabbit over. “It was a rough night.”

It would be the first time they would try to incorporate Y/N into replacing Black and balance out James’ other priorities with Remus’ moon cycles. And unable to reschedule Quidditch try-outs to another morning and James forced to leave prematurely, she would have to step in.

But her fears skyrocketed. Were they pushing it? She was only visiting him… It wasn’t out of pity and she genuinely wanted to be there to support Remus.

“What if he doesn’t want visitors?”

James rolled his eyes. “It will be fine. He’ll appreciate it more than he’ll let on.”

But then a faint floral and citrus smell flowed through the distilled air as she took a deep breath.

“James, you smell really good... Are you wearing perfume?”

His frown transformed into a prideful simper. “Bought the same perfume as my mum. Helps when I miss her.”

She gasped. “A mama’s boy!” And then pinched his cheek.

About to step out of the portrait, James must’ve accidentally activated a prank because the moment his hand brushed against the portrait, four Muggle stereos floated above his head, blasting break-up songs on the highest volume. It rattled the walls and made their ears bleed.

“Fucking hell!” James shouted, his wand swishing around to stop the music while Y/N stuffed Remus’ rabbit inside her bag and bewitched a silencing spell around it.

“Students are sleeping!” Lily shrieked, rushing down the stairs and charmed away the stereos.

“Oi! You think we don’t know?” James retorted, a hand clutching his ear. “Emmeline…”

“Emmeline?” Lily repeated, shaking her head. “May Merlin himself save the poor girl daft enough to end up with you.”

The only enlightened that took away from the war and recent murders was Emmeline and her friends pranking and wreaking havoc like the Marauders onto James as a punishment.

He deserved it and even James agreed.

“Where are you two headed?” Lily inquired and for the first time since the train ride, she addressed Y/N head-on.

A glimmer of hope.

“Aw, finally starting to care about me, Evans?” James joked although it’s laced with uncertainty.

Y/N cut off Lily before she had the chance to speak, eager to answer her question. “It’s Remus.”

Recognition filtered through her, gaze shooting up to the large grandfather clock beside the bookshelves. Lily’s head bobbed repeatedly, pressing her lips together sympathetically. She considered James for a moment.

“Will you be back in time for lessons?” Lily then whipped her hands around. “Y’know what, forget it. I’ll take notes for… both of you.”

Y/N felt James nudge her foot, simultaneously forcing out a cough. His hand went to scratch behind his neck. “R-right. Erm, I — we appreciate it, Evans, but ugh — we have a free period this morning.”

Lily’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Sorry.”

“NO!” James said a little too loud. “I mean, no. It’s fine. Thank you.”

Y/N pursed her lips, her neck bending as her shoulders tensed while watching their interaction play out. “Alrighty, we should go. Thank you, Petals.” She interjected. Her hands spun James around as they walked out of the common room and to the hospital wing.

Both students groaned out loudly. Black was there, sitting on the ground and back pressed against the wall to the wing.

“He doesn’t want to see you,” James challenged. His feet pivoted to Black, before her hands pressed against his chest, preventing him from touching Black and starting yet another fight. “Leave it.”

His eyes flickered from her to Black. Sighing, he made a slight rearward movement and removed his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Just don’t follow us.”

They walked inside without sparing him another glance.

“Here comes the fucking sun, Moons!” James chirped, his mood altering drastically. But she staggered behind a beat.

Remus was already awake, quietly chatting to Peter. His bed curtains were half drawn and she took his rabbit from her bag, pulling it close to her chest.

His head snapped in their direction, but instead of his eyes landing on James, it went squarely to her. She smiled, eyes analyzing every ripple of expression. He didn’t seem angry. No, not at all, but stunned.

Once James realized she wasn’t by his side anymore, he turned and looped an arm over her shoulder. He whispered, “Moony won’t bite. It’s okay.”

“I wasn’t expecting you.” Remus finally said, smiling.

“Of course I’d come.” Confidence now circulated her body as she approached him, handing over his rabbit. James was delighted at his response while the rabbit nuzzled its way into the crook of Remus’ neck, tickling him. She murmured into his ear, not wanting to peer pressure him by others' wants, “You don’t mind me being here, do you? I’ll leave, no hurt feelings.”

Remus shook his head, petting his rabbit. “No, please stay.” He croaked, voice deep and tired.

“Oi!” James said, albeit quietly.

“Flirt somewhere else,” Peter added with false annoyance.

James nodded. “So, little Moony —”

“Little Moony?” Remus groaned. “What?”

“Aw,” she teased, “Is moody Moony making an appearance?”

“Did you come just to make fun of me?”

But then Peter grinned cheekily, moving to softly slap his hand down on his thigh in the same tempo as Here Comes the Sun. Y/N and James immediately caught on, ready to chagrin while Remus shook his hands in front of his face to get them to stop.

“Don’t you —“

“Here comes the sun, moody Moony —“ “Crikey.”

“Here comes the sun, and we say it’s alright!” They sang, keeping their voices to a minimum to not worsen his potential headache. They had to hold back their laughter as Peter began to replicate the horrible instrumental with his voice. James sang the loudest. “Little Moony, it’s been a long cold moon cycle.”

Madam Pomfrey poked her head from her office, ready to tell the visitors to be quieter than a mouse — or kick them out in favour of Remus’ rest but she froze. Remus was poorly attempting to cover his smile, his cheeks burning a bright red and she hadn’t seen him that happy after full moons. And after what happened last year, his happiness was all she wanted. So she sat back down, smiling to herself at the horrid sing.

“Little Moony, the smiles returning to the faces —”

“Guys!”

“Little Moony, it feels like years since it’s been here.”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

James eventually left, rushing to tryouts with Marlene with a great deal of apprehension. When the bell rang, students rushing down for breakfast, both Y/N and Peter departed momentarily to the Great Hall, grabbing a few snacks and tea Remus requested.

But the moment Peter stepped foot outside the hospital wing, it was as if any sort of energy left his body. He became sluggish, moving slowly and yawned multiple times.

“Pete, go back to him, I’ll get everything,” she implored. “Or get some rest. I can’t imagine staying up all night can be good.”

“It’s —” A yawn. “— Sorry. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t push. They made their way around fast and exited quickly before a group of seventh and sixth years swarmed Peter. A few even greeted her, attempting to strike a conversation.

Peter sent her a dejected look, passing her the rest of the snacks and teacup.

“I’ll meet you there.”

She rushed back in record time. Black was still sitting outside the wing and she could faintly hear him muttering her name but she disregarded him wholly.

But the sight inside the hospital made her heart shatter.

Remus was haggard, dishevelled and face screwed together in pain. He tried to push himself up multiple times to reach behind his head, to his pillow. But it was futile.

The crinkling of the wrapper in her hand made her wince; it became the loudest object in the world at that moment. It forewarned Remus and she gently padded over. She sat down gently on the edge of his bed, setting down everything on the metal tray.

“Don’t push yourself — here, let me.” Remus visibly reclined into himself, covering his scarred arms with the blanket coiled by his side. But he listened without complaints as she reached behind his head, fluffing his pillow and helped him lay back down gently. “Not feeling too good?”

“Like shit.”

It became awkward fast.

“Um… Peter’s coming. Was held up with a couple of seventh years.” “You can leave if you don’t want to be here,” Remus blurted out, “I won't force you —”

“Woah there!” She felt as if she was slapped by him. The sudden change had her wheeling. “Who said you’re forcing me? You’re my Moony, no?”

He breathed out a chuckle and shifted towards her. She glanced at the tray with a few potions. What he said stuck to her.

“Do you mind if you can pour those into my tea? Thanks.” Remus croaked.

She nodded, unscrewed the cork to the vials and mixed it into the drink. The clinking sound of the spoon tapping against the porcelain cup.

“What is this?”

“Um… a mixture of powder silver and Nightshade,” grumbled Remus, trying to push himself up as she handed him the cup. “Helps with the pain and fogginess.”

Her mind was restless. “Can I ask some questions?”

His eyebrows knitted together. “Questions?”

“Y’know, about being a werewolf.”

He took a giant gulp. “Did you just skip all the Werewolf questions on the OWLs?” Remus laughed.

“I bet half of it’s false.” She admitted truthfully. “Besides, how am I supposed to help next time if I don’t know?”

Remus stayed quiet for a long time after she said that and she wondered if she pushed a boundary. But then he nodded, urging her to continue.

“Okay… so silver doesn’t hurt you, right?” She watched as Remus sip his tea before having to put it down to laugh.

“Myth.”

“So all the silver bullet stuff..?”

He gave a full-body laugh. “Myth. Sorry, not what you were expecting?”

“No,” she admitted after a bit, embarrassed. All those children's stories were false…

“Silver can’t hurt me, I don’t grow hair rapidly. I like eating rare meat; I have trouble sleeping, I don’t have curved fingernails or low-set ears. I can’t run super fast but I can see better in the dark, can hear, smell and am stronger than the average Muggle or Wizard.”

“Can you always smell or hear better? Or does it increase near the full moon?”

“It becomes stronger near the full moon and after for a while.”

“Wait… Does that mean you can smell people. Like me?!” She was appalled and crossed her arms over herself as if the action would suddenly cover any scent.

Remus barked out laughing before wincing as a dull pain shocked through his system. “You smell fine. Don’t worry.”

Her hands found their way to cover her mouth. She was mortified. “You have a way with words, Lupin.”

Remus was on the verge of tears, nearly choking on himself to prevent laughing. He endured the deep bruise on the side of his ribs digging into him but he couldn’t stop.

She slapped his arm playfully and took the now empty teacup from his hand, setting it down on the metal tray and ushered him to slide over in his bed. He doesn’t hesitate.

Y/N slid beside him, and she could feel the fluctuating rise and fall of Remus’ chest as his chuckles came to a slow halt. She took the rabbit from his lap, holding it in her arms carefully.

“Does she have a name?” She questioned, scratching behind its floppy ears. Remus chose the least threatening rabbit.

“No.”

“We should think of one then.”

Remus watched her, listening to the words pouring out. But then he cringed inwardly, reminded of his cruelty to her a couple of months ago. He wasn’t expecting her to visit and it came as a pleasant surprise. It made his heart flutter. She wasn’t scared. She hadn’t been lying that night. He was accepted.

He tuned in to her heartbeat: steady and calm. Slow.

Her words echoed in his head. I feel safe with you.

Safe.

Remus felt a whisper of a smile worm it's way onto him. As soon the realization came, the dull ache in his body subdued, the burning in his throat faded and the hollow ache in his heart filled with a golden glow. Just a bit.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

September 10th, 1976

“I’m sorry,” Black said, his eyes wide and pleading as he sat beside her in the Great Hall. She ignored him.

“I need to explain, please,” Black begged in a hushed voice while she searched the library’s premises for Regulus. She ignored him yet again.

“Tesoro mio,” Black flirted, both sitting in the common room as she added notes in the werewolf section in her textbook. His new tactic caught her off guard but she prevailed, getting up and leaving.

“Talk to me,” Black whined. “Please.” She ignored him, continuing to walk to class calmly and held her head high. She just left the hospital wing and Black was trailing her.

But he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a nearby broom closet and closed the door.

“Get off of me!” She nearly screamed. Thankfully, he was smart enough to keep a healthy distance away. She kept her hands balled into a fist, preventing herself from taking one of the dust brooms and smashing it on his head.

“Sorry! But you won’t talk to me any other way!”

Darkness enclosed them, only the light seeping through the cracks of the old wooden door illuminated Black as every ounce of restrengthen was pushed to the edge.

A flurry of apologies fell from his lips but she wouldn’t have it. Simply looking bored at her nails and tapping her foot against the ground.

“I know you’re mad — you have every right to be! I get that, I understand.”

“Then leave me alone?” She jeered sarcastically, handing grazing the doorknob.

“Wait! Please, just hear me out — let me explain —”

“Explain what?” She lashed out through gritted teeth. “You should count your stars that you don’t have an attempted murder charge.”

Her heart thumped rather fast and would have been distressing had she not been controlled by anger. Everything was overshadowed by a grim penumbra sweeping over them, closing in on her and Black and it wasn’t because of the lack of light in the dingy closet.

She was revolted by him. Sick of seeing his sad face, moping around the hospital wing or looking at her or the other Marauders in yearning.

“Do you think I’ll care about what you want to say?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology not accepted, dipshit.”

His head bowed. “I deserved that.” “You think?”

“It’s just that —”

Her temper spiked to the highest level and her hand drifted to her back pocket and grazed the tip of her wand.

“I —”

Something in her snap. “Shut up. Shut up! Stop trying to defend yourself! Stop it! I don’t want to hear it!”

Black was visibly shutting down. “Please, just calm down…”

And then everything poured out.

“Calm down? Calm down?! I gave — I put my trust in you and you immediately ran with it, breaking it twice and then broke everyone else’s! How am I supposed to talk to you like everything’s okay? I get that you don’t like me, that you don’t like Snape, but really? What do you not understand?!”

He was nodding his head, taking it, never once trying to defend himself. His head hung similar to a child being scolded, hands curled around himself.

“You must have never cared for them.”

Black went oddly still. “That's a bold lie and you know that.”

“Do I?” She ridiculed. “Do you want to know the funny part? I was starting to care for you. Apparently, you never did.”

“That’s not true.”

There, a flicker of rage. Finally a reaction other than pathetic regret and guilt. Something cold crept into his eyes, hardening and entirely stormy and silver, reminding her of last year where they constantly fought. But then, it was washed away with a blink.

“I was nothing but a toy to you!”

“Y/N...”

“You. Never. Cared. About —”

“Stop it! Of course I —”

“— Me. Or. The. Other —”

“— fucking cared —”

“— Marauders —” “ — about you!”

Her eyes stung with bitter unshed, frustrated tears and her throat burned, constricting together. Emotions she hadn’t taken a moment to consider hit her within seconds and everything was too overwhelming.

The material of her shirt suddenly turned itchy. Her skin was too tight and she felt herself rock back and forth in a way to calm down.

For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer as it fell silent but she struck a nerve.

“Stop saying that!” He shouted. Now not breaking her stare and took a step forward.

“You’re fucking selfish. You betrayed them.” A step forward.

“You only cared about yourself.” Black shook his head. Another step forward.

“If you ever cared about me — about anyone else you’ve hurt — you wouldn’t have done… that.” A step forward.

They were the closest they had been in months. Their breaths were laboured and ragged. Being that close to him raised all the hairs on her neck in a way she used to love but now hated herself for.

The very notion made her nauseous. Disgusted.

She missed him. Truly. It was such a profound hurt and longing that ran deeper than wanting a quick snog or shag. But that was her problem that she was going to have to hide, bury in an air-sealed chest and throw away.

He opened his mouth and he leant forward inappreciably. But whatever words he was about to spew, he stopped himself. She could feel his breath fan her face, both of their chest raised and fell rapidly.

They stayed like that for a while and she held back from crying, feeling her heart pound in her chest.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” He asked dejectedly.

Why did you have to be so stupid? We could’ve… you could’ve had everything.

Do you miss me?

Did you ever care, even a little?

“This time,” her voice was no louder than a rustle, “I mean it. I hate you. Truly.”

Lie.

Black gave her one last glance through heavy, desolate, half-lidded eyes, closing them shut. “Ti voglio bene.”

Her frown doubled, wondering if he mocked her. Why did he always do that?

“At least you’re consistent in one thing.”

She slipped out, her hand on the door and cracked it open, leaving him there.

“Being a fucking liar.”

She slammed the door shut with so much violence that it made a couple of bystanders passing by yelp and stare. The shattering of glass from within the closet echoed and it made her breathless.

She had to lean against the stone wall, her body buzzing and numb from the adrenaline.

Sometimes everything in her life seemed so… random. What if everything could have been avoided? One simple word, maybe if she said something different, or did something different, would the outcome have been better? Or worse?

What if she had two parents? What if she had been raised by a loving mother? Would she have been that hurt by his actions if opening up was less… impossible?

What ifs…

She stumbled her way to class mindlessly, horribly late. The floorboards creaked, cutting Slughorn off while she lurked in the doorway. The teacher’s head, along with everyone else in the room, snapped up.

Lily looked at her worriedly and concern was written in every inch of her face. James had a double-take and became alarmed while Marlene on the other side of the class looked around nervously.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries, m’girl!” Slughorn smiled. “Please, take the seat next to… Severus! Now, I was saying, I have a small tradition I’d like to do every year with my students.”

Y/N didn’t even interject; too drained after what happened and sat by Snape.

“Can anyone tell me what this is?” The professor held up a tiny bottle. “Or can anyone tell me what Felix Felicis is?”

Lily raised her hand, casting a concerned gaze to her before answering. From the corner of her eye, she could see Barty and Avery, along with a few other students whispering to each other as Lily spoke; all of them forcing down a smile. Y/N vaguely sensed herself prickle.

“It’s known as Liquid Luck. As the name suggests, it makes the drinker lucky.”

“Beautiful answer! Quite right! Ten points for Gryffindor! Now, whoever brews the Draught of Living Death the closest will win this prize at the end of this lesson. Off you go!”

The class was scurrying off quickly while she made her way around leisurely. Snape’s sopophorous bean had been hitting her multiple times.

“Would you fucking —” she grabbed the bean with her hands and threw it at Snape and he hissed at. “Just take your knife blade and squeeze it down on the side with your dagger.”

Snape scoffed. “That’s not going to work you d —”

Snape shut up immediately as she crushed the bean with a sharp knife and flicked the juice into the cauldron.

“Now stop hitting me or I’ll pour your potion on the ground.”

Snape’s attention wasn’t on her, instead of trying to decipher her scribbles before taking her book away from his eyesight. She hit him with her book.

She completed the rest of the potion with ease. Snape was nearly done with his potion, she could tell he was on the right path before Slughorn sauntered around the classroom to observe the students. At James’ cauldron, he made no comment but instead helped stir his potion. Lily was given an approving nod, announcing to the class that she earned Gryffindor a few house points until making his way over to their table, peering into the cauldrons. At Snape’s concoction, he gave a bright smile and opened his mouth until he saw hers and a look of pure delight spread over him, his hands clapping together.

“Oho! Excellent! Miss L/N has done it! We have our winner!”

A small round of claps went around meanwhile James and Marlene cheered loudly, effectively embarrassing her.

“Show off,” Snape sneered. She ignored him.

Once the bell rang, Slughorn called her over to collect her vial of Liquid Luck. She slipped the bottle into her pocket for safekeeping.

But before she left, she stopped and spun around. “Professor Slughorn?”

“Yes?”

“I read in my Advanced Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, but I found that there’s no Potion to help Werewolves. I was wondering if that’s still true? I know books can be outdated.”

Slughorn gave her a pensive look. “I think that’s a matter for Madam Pomfrey. Is there a reason why?”

“It’s just —” She made up a lie quickly. “I’m nervous about NEWTs and how I’ll do in my studies and it’s merely an interest.”

“Oh, my girl! You are excellent. By far one of the best students I’ve ever had. You don’t need to worry!” Slughorn cheered. Slughorn seemed genuine and she smiled at the praise. “And for your question, no. Sadly there isn’t.”

“At all?”

Slughorn thought for a while. “If I recall, there have been recent developments with stewed Mandrakes. It’s rumoured to help lycanthrope individuals ease their way back into the original human state.”

Y/N stored the newfound information in her head. She thanked him, turning to leave until calling out again. Slughorn twirled his head.

“I was wondering if I could practice more — like I said, I‘m nervous about my NEWTs.”

There wasn’t even a delay and Slughorn beamed. “Of course! As long as you clean up after yourself, you may come and go as you please. I’ll make sure to leave the doors open until curfew.

“Oh! I’m planning to host another Slugclub dinner soon, I expect you to be there?”

“... Of course, sir.”

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

Translations:

Tesoro mio = My treasure or 'honey'

Ti voglio bene = 'I love you' but its not like what you think. It's more of an unconditional and selfless love that means 'I want you to be well.' It places an emphasis on the tender and affectionate feelings you have for the other person. It's the safer option to say to your significant other if it's a very new relationship.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[naturalbeautyhelp]

Acne Cures on a budget  (revamped)

Acne is a very tricky subject that millions of people struggle with- sometimes for their entire lives. If you have struggled yourself I’m sure you’re aware that there is no cure-all for acne, but there may be some methods for healing the skin that you haven’t heard yet so I’m going to share everything I know with you just in case.  First, the basics:

1. Drink plenty of water and eat healthy foods. This is just a given. If you want to feel comfortable in your skin you may have to make some lifestyle changes. that Includes getting regular exercise and sunlight. 2. Recognize the fact that your skin is an organ. Like any organ it has an ecosystem of healthy bacteria that ought to be treated with care- much like a garden. It will need different things on different days, and in order to reach it’s fullest potential, the gardener (that’s you) will need to pay close attention to it. 

3. Be aware that pimples are infected pores which are attempting to heal themselves. The puss inside of them is a soup of white blood cells which are trying to repair the skin for some reason. Finding the root cause of the infection before treatment is ideal. 

A few common acne culprits: Your acne could be hormonal, it could be caused by allergies (ex: food allergies, detergent allergies), or your skin may be getting bacterial infections from unsanitary surfaces or poor air quality. 

Now to get into the technical stuff: 

~If your skin is hurting, red, swollen, try putting down harsh chemicals like Niacinamide and Retinol, and try something calming like rosehip oil or aloe vera.

  Amaranthus oil, tea tree oil, rapeseed oil, rosewater, and witch hazel are all examples of gentle things that are amazing for the skin. I know natural skin healers can be very expensive, but if you can’t afford them don’t hesitate to steel them from your local, unethical corporate store. If you need tips on s***lifting,  try visiting this Reddit community at   https://www.reddit.com/r/IllegalLifeProTips/

~Rinse your face with cool or cold water every time you wash it. This seals up your pores and prevents dirt and bacteria from entering them.

~Make sure that the things that touch your face every day are clean. Make sure that the cloths and towels that you use on your face are clean. Disinfect face tools regularly and use hot water on wash cloths to kill bacteria between washes.  Clean your glasses. Change your sheets and pillow cases frequently. In addition, avoid touching your face constantly with your hands as well as your hair, and keep your hands and hair clean. 

~⚠️Don’t pick your face! Pimples are like Petri dishes full of puss and bacteria and when you pop them you are just spreading the ickiness around to the rest of your face. In addition to that, every time you pop a pimple you are damaging the barrier of your skin, which not only can cause scarring and dark spots, but it can leave your skin vulnerable to bad bacteria and cause further breakouts. For these reasons, you should only pop a zit as a last resort. 

~Popping: If you have very stubborn acne and insist on popping anyway, go to an aesthetician if you have the privilege to do so

If you can not see an aesthetician, try this method for safe pimple popping: 

Wash the affected area with hot water and a mild soap. Pop the pimple making sure you get EVERYTHING out of it, wash it again with extra hot water, dry it with something clean. Then, apply lots of pressure to the popped pimple so that it doesn't get the chance to “refill” itself (use a q-tip if you have one for at least 30 seconds to 5 minutes depending on how big the pimple is). Next, put some rubbing alcohol, and some diluted tea tree oil on the pimple and cover it with the sticky part of a band-aid. Leave the band-aid on until you are certain that it will not grow back.

~🛑 Stop using all of those skincare products. Obviously if they worked, you wouldn't even be reading this. Using certain products (especially the harsher ones) can cause allergic reactions and sometimes dry out your skin, which can trigger your skin to produce extra oil to overcompensate, which leads to acne. They also tend to eat away at you financially. Break the vicious cycle. Try tossing all of your products and use a mild soap and simple moisturizer for a few weeks before starting anything new again.

If you insist on using acne products then follow this important rule.                 🚨 🚨  Do not use multiple products within the same 3 weeks. Doing this makes it impossible to figure out which products could be helping or causing further damage to your skin.

~Know that many skin care products do have valuable substances, but they use fillers and fragrances that can ruin your skin. Try looking at the ingredients in your skin care products, researching the individual components, and purchasing said components individually. Ex: instead of buying an ‘aloe infused moisturizer’, try purchasing real aloe vera gel- or better yet buy an aloe vera plant- and use that ingredient as you see fit. It can be more cost effective, better for the environment, and a good learning experience. 

~Avoid wearing foundation and concealer. Of course it is tempting to cover acne with makeup, but your makeup can add fuel to the fire by clogging pores and spreading bad bacteria 

~If you are applying makeup to the face, make sure that you are regularly cleaning your brushes and disinfecting your pallets. Dirty makeup supplies don’t just contribute to acne, they can cause gnarly infections in sensitive areas (like the eyes) and send you to the hospital.

Now here are some advanced methods for healing the skin. Feel free to alter them so that they suit your specific needs:

🧖🏾‍♀️The Steam Method:

If you suspect that your soap is a culprit, or you just want to try something new, replace your morning cleansing routine with this (give skin 2 weeks time to purge before deciding whether or not this works for you). Get a light oil, preferably rosehip or coconut, and rub it on your face very well for at least 30 seconds. Then, take a clean washcloth and submerge it in the hottest water you can take. Take the washcloth and firmly press it against the entire surface of your face until it cools. Use the cloth to remove all the oil you can manage. 

🧖🏼‍♀️The other Steam Method:

Get a pot and boil water in it. Put your face over the boiling water (not too close lol) and let the steam open up your pores for 5-10 minutes. After you are done, use a clean, damp washcloth to wipe your face. Then get an ice cube or cold water and put it all over your face to seal your pores back up. Personally I like putting tea in the water sometimes. Peppermint tea and green tea are great. 

🩹 Bandaging:

Now this might sound ridiculous, but I have learned that putting bandages/band-aids onto your face at night can make a world of difference when it comes to acne and hyperpigmentation. My personal method is this: each night after I steam and wash my face, I put tiny bit of rubbing alcohol onto each pimple. I then wash and sanitize my hands with rubbing alcohol, apply diluted tea tree oil to each problem area on my face, and then take an ordinary cloth bandage and cover every zit that I can find. After each zit is covered, I apply moisturizer and serums to the rest of the face as I normally would. Change bandages frequently (1-3 times a day depending on how oily your skin is), and leave them on the affected area until swelling has gone down. Repeat the process as many times as you’d like. 

Usually normal bandaids are fine, but at times when my acne flares up badly I will go so far as to use gauze on large areas of my face. The cloth absorbs any oil that your skin secrets while protecting it from bacteria and sweat all night long, and the bandage seals in the tea tree oil so that it can penetrate your pores. I have noticed that the sticky part of a bandaid does the best job at diffusing large pimples as opposed to the white cloth part which is best for blackheads. 

~If all else fails and you have done your best to cure acne at home, consider talking to a doctor if you have that option. 🥼 They may try to prescribe an acne medication, but these options tend to be extremely expensive and hard on your organs. Ask them if you can try a prescribed antibiotic supplement first. 

Last but certainly not least: Sit with the fact that picture perfect skin is not healthy skin. As mentioned earlier, your skin is an organ. And it’s job is merely to protect your insides- not to get you onto the cover of a magazine. Your skin is not meant to look like the porcelain on a doll. 

💊💊💊💊💊And that is it! wow that was a long post. I hope this can help at least one person out there with their skin troubles because this took forever 

[hopeamarsu]

Hello m'lady! I'm so excited to see you're accepting prompts! If this strikes your fancy, may I request : “What happened to us?” and “I can be your reason why.” for our Frankie??? ANGST HOTEL HERE WE COME...MAYBE?!? Thank you for your time 💚🌿💚

My darling lady, I'm so happy to get your request! 💚

One huge dose of angsty Frankie coming right up. Oh, this one has a happy ending too. I hope you enjoy this, I'm sending a lot of hugs your way.

I can be your reason why

Frankie Morales x gn!reader

Word count 1,4k

Warnings: Hospitals, accident, mention of drunk driver, mention of death (Frankie was in the army), angst, sad sad sad, pining, hopeful ending

The room is so white, right down to the bedsheet that covers your lower half.

The white machines hooked on your body, keeping a check on vitals and making sure you are fine, look like something out of a sci-fi film for Frankie. He hates that he has to see them in multitudes as well as the monitors above your bed drawing lines as you breathe and your heart pumps blood and medicine all over your body, healing you.

To say he’d been surprised to get the call from the hospital at 4 in the morning was an understatement when he’d been shocked to the core. Ever since you had had a big fight with him all those months ago, something that was still unsettled and gnawed at his guts, Frankie had been certain he’d been crossed off the list for good and he had only himself to blame.

He had tried to scrub the yelling, the insults, and the low blows out of his mind, but every time he’d glance at his phone and see his wallpaper of you and his daughter smiling together and it would all come back.

“Fuck you, Frankie! I can’t believe you out of all the people would say this! You were supposed to be my friend!”

“Cariño, please…”

“NO! No Frankie, just no. You’ve gone too far this time.”

“Please, please let me explain. Please.”

“Absolutely not. I heard you loud and clear the first time Francisco and, God, what happened to us? Where did we go wrong? I thought you’d… I thought you understood… I thought...”

He can still hear the sniffles, feel the pain in his stomach as he watches you slam the door on his face on the film reel in his mind, and the desperation that creeps up his spine as his texts and calls go unanswered for weeks. He remembers asking the guys to call you and the mountain of ice spreading through his veins when Will told him that you had blocked his number and didn’t want him to contact you.

Frankie contemplated going to your house after that, but what good would it do? He was broken, beaten and lying breathless on the ground. Nothing would help him rise from there. Definitely not you. He is still all those things and more because he doesn’t have you beside him to weather out the stormy seas.

Getting cut off from you hurt him on levels he had trouble comprehending. Frankie had gotten used to you being around, comfortable in the knowledge that you had always been there as his friend and would always be there and that was his grave mistake.

All those moments in the playground swing back in teenage years when he escaped the yelling and shouting in his house, turbulent times in college where he began experimenting with his sexuality and life all the way to his high-risk career in the Army, the coke rap and losing his lady to another man. You had always been there for him.

You had been his rock and his most ardent supporter, Santi hot on your heels but never reaching the level of trust and intimacy you shared with Frankie. All the times he fucked up, needed a shoulder to cry on or a couch to sleep off his desire to go out and find one of his bad habits for a visit, you opened your door to help him. And what had he done for you? Fuck all but trouble and heartbreak and pain in measures he can never pay back.

He hangs his head, his ballcap twisted between his fists as he wrings the fabric to give himself something to do. He would do anything, everything to take back the last 3 and half months and just hold you tight and tell you that he believes in you and will stand by you in all the ways you want him.

But you are sleeping, eyes closed, hooked up to all the machines that monitor your body and Frankie cannot do that. He’s not sure if he’s even allowed to touch you, because just being in the same room as you without your permission feels like an invasion of sorts.

“Cariño, if you can hear me, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry for all the words, all the insults thrown in your face and all the pain I’ve caused you. I wish… I wish I could take it all back.”

He whispers, placing his hand next to you where it lays on top of the bedsheet. The difference between them shocks him still, your elegant fingers next to his calloused and battered ones. The way your skin is unmarred by scars where he has all these silver lines criss-crossing his knuckles.

Taking care to avoid the IV line, he gently moves your hand into his and sighs at the first connection in months. The softness of your hand against his roughness is still something out of a dream; how something so beautiful and lovely and gorgeous could ever want something so dark, drenched in the blood of people he’s killed and lost count of is a mystery Frankie never hopes to have to solve.

Like a thief in the night, he steals yet one more moment with you as he squeezes your hand gently. And like a greedy one too, he rises from the creaky plastic hospital chair and kisses your forehead, pushing his luck a little further. Frankie begins talking, his deep timbre bouncing off the walls as he tells you stories you’ve heard a thousand times already but which bring him comfort.

His thumb strokes your knuckles softly, a soothing gesture more for him than you, while he continues telling you things. Time ticks by and Frankie’s voice grows tired and gravely, but he refuses to stop. He talks about Will, Benny and Santi, the ways all of them get together weekly and he talks about Olivia, his pride and joy, and how she grows and how she misses you. How he misses his friend.

The tone tinges with sadness as Frankie starts to talk about your accident and what has happened in the past couple of days. “They caught him, the drunk bastard that ran the red light. He’s in custody and the traffic cameras have him on tape. You are not going to have to see him, he’ll be locked up for a good time. You just need to get better, cariño, so you can kick my ass in softball again and tell me Oreos taste superior when dunked in cold milk.”

He takes a deep breath, blinking away to keep his raw emotions hidden. Had you not changed your medical info and your contact in case of emergency details, he wouldn’t even be here with you, known about your accident, and the mere idea breaks him, wounds him deep. He hides his tears in his sleeve as he tries to gather himself up again. Frankie needs to be strong now, you have a long recovery ahead of you and he will do his best to help you.

“Te amo, mi corazón y mi alma. Por favor, vuelve a mi. I want to kiss you and tell you I belong to you, that I love you more than as a friend. You hold my heart already and I will gladly give it to you if you come back to me. Smile for me again. I can be your reason why, I’ll do anything to see your soft lips grinning at me, with me...” It becomes too much and Frankie folds in half, draping his upper body on the bed as he cries uncontrollably.

He doesn’t know how long he weeps, the seconds and minutes all blurring together as the sleeves of his shirt go from damp to soaked but he doesn’t care. Frankie loves you and he almost lost you for good and he cannot hold it in anymore. He loves you and he needs to tell you.

He’s so deep inside his mind that he doesn’t recognize the weight on top of his head first. But when fingers card through his locks repeatedly and the motion registers, he’s shocked into reality. Frankie lifts his head carefully, eyes blurry and almost afraid of what he will see.

Your eyes are droopy but the small upturn of the corners of your lips as you regard him softly forces another sob from his chest and it takes all of his willpower not to kiss you right then and there. Your hand doesn’t stop moving as you look at each other in silence, fingers in his curls and Frankie is finally back home, breathing freely.

His lips move, though no sound comes out, telling you te amo over and over again.

Everything taglist @clydesducktape @wayward-rose @themuseic @miraclesabound @clydesfavoritegirl @a-true-janian-reply @10blurredsmoke10 @caillea @mind-p0llution @mariesackler