#just anything to make me too ill to take those exams but not like dead

[paskariu]

Why is hot water bottle perfect for soothing from bad thoughts(TM) but also it's currently 27°C in my room

Do you see the kind of stress I'm under

Why is the world so cruel

[bakatenshii]

Flushed

Dabi x Reader (BNHA)

word count: 5.1k

TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood

A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo​, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing​ for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could. 

flushed

/fləSHt/

(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.

cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it. 

Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding. 

It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted. 

He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you. 

He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun. 

It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal. 

Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.

He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy. 

He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you. 

A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour. 

That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.

Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care. 

When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.

He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time. 

He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite. 

You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?

He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy. 

That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart. 

It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.

Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use. 

A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time. 

He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.

The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean. 

Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?

It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’

Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?

You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart. 

He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream. 

The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’

The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction. 

It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself. 

He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.

You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted. 

“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become. 

He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.

Just how he likes them.

He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.” 

It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective. 

He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up. 

He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.  

He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight. 

“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.” 

It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close. 

This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.

It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue. 

It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.  

He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it. 

He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh. 

Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint. 

He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.

“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.

At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently. 

Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go. 

He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high. 

A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em. 

It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you. 

“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.” 

“Want a taste?” 

You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care. 

The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air. 

There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners. 

He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more. 

It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate. 

He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him. 

There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.

He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways. 

A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole. 

He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name. 

His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God? 

Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.

You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. 

He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed. 

Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed. 

He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in. 

“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?” 

He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out— 

“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“

A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection. 

His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.

He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours. 

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—

Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together. 

It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him. 

There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.

He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose. 

“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl. 

The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.

You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.

He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies. 

It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first? 

He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red. 

He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm. 

Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.

There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.

He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char. 

Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you. 

There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.

You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there. 

He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore,  can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it? 

He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart. 

He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.

Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth? 

It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.

At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?

“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?” 

He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really. 

A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda. 

“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best. 

It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?

“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”

Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him. 

It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.

He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy. 

When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.

[darkacademicfrom2021]

Break.

Request by @lucywrites02 (If you find some time could you write a fic about reader being really stressed about their exams and Loki saying something mean and then they break down and Loki has no idea what's happening but then tries to help the reader? It can be a headcanon or a one shot)

N/A: It do be like that sometimes. Unfortunately I think we can all relate to this state of mind. Hope this helps alliviate the tension a bit. Remember to take care of yourself; health is more important than grades.

Warnings: anxious thoughts, mentions of suicide attempt (the Bifrost thing from Loki), angst. Happy ending.

Word count: 2.3 K

(Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87, @jesuswasnotawhiteman)

You organized your folders once again, hoping the cleaner desk would give you some motivation to keep going. It didn’t, but you stayed. Your stomach growled and it hinted you to look at the clock. Oh, no. Five in the morning? But you barely started. You still had so many things to do before dawn.

You got up and stretched your legs and back. Your eyelids, heavier than ever, were not helping at all. Your mind was still everywhere, and you had to keep your head distracted to not think in the thousand things you still couldn’t get done. The mere thought of that made you shiver, almost throwing you into a spiral of anxious thoughts. You shook your head off and walked to the bathroom. Splashing some cold water in your face, you stood in front of the mirror. Eyebags that made you more similar to a racoon gave you the idea of making some more coffee. At that time you'd already forgotten you were going to get some food; your head was so full it couldn't even retain basic information.

As silently as you could, you walked down to the kitchen of the compound. You brought your books with yourself. Couldn’t waste some other five or ten minutes, couldn’t you? Filling the kettle and putting it on the fire, you got distracted watching the shapes of the fire.

“Zoned out?”, inquired Loki behind you. You jumped, frightened.

“What are you doing up so early?”, you asked.

“What are you doing up so late?”. You pointed at the books and he nodded. “You’re still with those things”.

“Want some coffee?”.

“No, thanks. I think I’m gonna try to sleep on the couch”.

He moved to the living room area and opened a book, laying down on the nearest couch. It all looked so cozy, so comfortable. You redirected your gaze to your cup of coffee and academic books, waiting for you to fry your head a little (a lot) more. Oh, how much you would’ve loved to take a break, sit in there with a fiction book and a warm mug of hot cocoa, wrapped up in… no. Don’t do this. Don’t torture yourself like that.

You probably shouldn’t have been drinking coffee. Your heart was already going abnormally fast, product and cause of the anxiety you were accumulating. But you did, trying to get your eyes opened. The table you settled in was confronting the living room area, and Loki observed you read and write incessantly in those big piles of books and papers.

You didn’t hear his footsteps. Out of nowhere he appeared behind you, reading the pages that were troubling you so much. You jumped once again. He was distracting you, you were tired and stressed, and, as if it weren’t enough, your heart was going to explode with all those frightens he was giving you.

“Are you going on the next…?”.

“Loki, I can’t give you attention right now”, you cut him off as kindly as you could. Your voice was slightly broken, so you swallowed and hid it. You two weren’t close enough to actually explain to him you were about to drown if you kept getting distracted from the assignments.

“I don’t need your attention”, he scoffed, slightly offended. “Not a puppy you have to play with”.

“Alright. Can you leave?”.

He sighed and went back to the couch. After about half an hour, your head fell to the pages and gave your brain the pause it so hardly needed. About an hour later, everyone on the compound was up and having breakfast around you, waking you up with the noises.

“Y/n, what are you doing sleeping in here?”, asked Thor. “What are all those things you have in there?”.

“Those things, brother, are books. They are for reading and gaining knowledge, I’m certain you haven’t heard of them before”, mocked Loki, gaining a chuckle from you. “It’s not like you seem to be gaining much either, though”, told you, referring to your nap.

“I was exhausted, but I’m...”.

“Mortals are such weakies”, he said, getting up and serving himself a cup of tea. “They read three pages and already get tired of using their little brains”.

You knew he was kidding, for he had told you many times before he considered you one of the brightest youngsters he had ever encountered. But you couldn’t look at the big picture right now. Your head was still overwhelmingly loud with fears, tiredness, stress. The only sight of that pile of books made you shiver, realizing how little time you had to study. And Loki was right. You felt yourself so stupid, so weak. No matter how hard you worked and overworked yourself, you couldn’t get the damn things done right.

A knot in your throat gave you the hint to leave. The last thing you needed was to cry in front of them. You went back to your room, not without another cup of coffee before. So, you grabbed your things as fast as you could and ran to the kitchen. You hadn’t noticed Loki had followed you, thinking it was alright to mock; play around. You weren’t exactly friends, but enjoyed each other’s teasing every once in a while. He thought it’d cheer you up, or make you laugh.

“Hey”, he said behind you, and you jumped once again, dropping your mug to the floor. It got smashed to pieces. “Oh, what a clumsy little human”. You chuckled at his comment, containing a sob. He read it as if it was alright to keep teasing you, so he did. “I’d say you’re dumb because of not sleeping, but you generally just are like this”.

You didn’t answer, but your heart ached. You weren’t in the mood for his tough-love, so you rolled your eyes, sighed, and tried to pick up the pieces of broken ceramic. He didn't look satisfied with your silence. You'd usually insult him back, and laugh together.

“Your hair’s gross. Have you showered at all?” he said once again, touching the tip of one strand of your hair. You haven’t, you didn’t have time. You didn’t answer, and instead blushed. “Careful, don’t touch that sink, you might get a reaction”.

“What?”.

“Since you’re allergic to water”.

“Out of all the mean things you can say you go for my poor hygiene?”.

“Would you like me to stop insulting your appearance and instead go for anything else? I have a long list”.

“Just… leave me alone”.

“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna keep trying to understand what you so clearly can’t?”, he said while you were leaving with all your stuff, and you stood in place, facing the door. You were so, so glad you were backwards, because then he would’ve seen you tear up.

He was joking, he was just playing around. But going for that just in your worst moments? That was plain mean. You shook your head, he didn’t know, you’ve never said a thing about your stress, and he didn’t see how overworked and overwhelmed you were. He didn't know that was one of your biggest insecurities.

“I’d say you give up already. There are certain things dummies like you simply can’t achieve”, he continued. He had no idea, so he just kept going, hoping to get a reaction. A laugh, a chuckle or a “fuck you”. Even a punch. Any of the reactions he would usually get from you. But he didn’t expect what followed, at all.

You sobbed. One sob, just sharp and loud enough for him to have heard it. He stopped dead on his tracks. You didn’t turn around, but you didn’t move either. He saw how you tilted your head, facing the floor, and dropped a tear. He immediately walked to you and grabbed both of your hands, facing you.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of those things, dear”, he softened his voice. “I was just joking around”.

“Yes, I know. Don’t worry, it’s just that I’m very stressed”, was what you tried to say. Instead, your sobs turned into a full blown cry. Your face went red from embarrassment, and anger, and stress, and tiredness, and it all just became too much for you to bear alone. Loki sensed it and hugged you tightly, pressing your head against his chest and hushing you tenderly.

“What happened? Is someone ill?”, he whispered, and you felt even more stupid, because you were crying over grades and papers. Not real things, like you used to think to diminish your stress and pack up all your feelings in a tiny bottle. But the tiny bottle became too tiny for your big feelings, and it finally exploded. You still couldn’t talk. Tears running down your face, you were hugging Loki back, hiding your face on him.

“Nobody’s ill, don’t worry”, you managed to say after a while. He nodded.

“I worry about you. Come, let me get you comfortable”, he said in your ear, and lifted you up carefully. You chuckled in between sobs. An emotional roller coaster. He carried you to his bedroom (and ignored the weird looks and stares from everyone else, because, let’s be honest; that was an unusual sight), and made you sit in his bed, wrapping you up in a weighted blanket (oh, you loved those).

He left for less than a minute and came back with a steaming cup of tea, some chocolate, and a few CDs. He sat in the bed by your side and gave you the cup. You wiped some tears away, and with trembling hands left the tea carefully over the bedside table and went for another hug. He wrapped himself around you, as a second blanket, and caressed your hair and neck with his cold fingers until your sobs stopped and you finally calmed down.

After a while, he cupped your face and looked at you very closely. Too close, even. Gave you a comforting look, with a warmth on his eyes you have never seen on anyone before.

“Better?”, he whispered.

“A bit, yeah”.

“Want to talk it out? Movie marathon? Chocolate?”.

You smiled and blushed a bit, again.

“Sorry, I’m just… really stressed. I thought I could manage better, but… this is just not it”.

“School?”.

“You must think I’m an idiot”.

“No way”, he assured you, frowning. “You know what I think of you. You’re incredibly smart”.

“I’m not, I’m doing so poorly on my exams and assignments, and…” you tried to explain, and the overwhelming weight of everything fell on your chest again. Your eyes watered.

“You’re overworking yourself too much, darling. You need to take a day off, or two”.

“I have no time, I won’t get anything done”.

“Well, you certainly won’t get anything done in this breakdown state of mind”, he said as tenderly as he could. He was right, and you sighed. You started fidgeting nervously with your fingers, tearing your cuticles. Almost as a reflex act, he grabbed your hands and caressed them so you would stop hurting them. “You humans run around the entirety of your lives. You spend it all running, speeding, not taking time to feel enough, to be rested and fulfilled enough”, he started saying, rocking you back and forth “you think you don’t have enough time, but for what?”.

“To do all the things I want”.

“And those are…? Careers to do? Places to visit? They all come to the same thing, love”.

“Feeling well?”.

“Yes”, he nodded. Your throat tightened once again, but this time out of relief. You really needed to hear this. “If you feel well doing these things, you won’t feel you’re wasting time once you finally rest. I’ve lived a thousand years. Do you think I always wanted to spend my life doing the same things?”.

“Well, no”.

“But it all came to the same thing when I thought I died”.

“You... what?”.

“I was on the Bifrost, about to fall. I wanted to feel good, to feel accepted, to feel loved by the people I loved”.

“It’s all we want at the end. I guess I overwork myself to make them proud”.

“I did too. And at the end, even when I tried my hardest, I couldn’t make them proud”.

“Oh God”, you said. He was still hugging and caressing you, as if the story he was telling didn’t affect him anymore. “And you…”.

“I threw myself off it”, he stated. You stopped and looked at him.

“Oh”.

“But”, he brought back to your hands the cup of tea “I survived. Even then, I kept thinking through the fogged lenses of doing something big for a future purpose, not paying any mind to my actual motivations”.

“How do you feel now?”.

“You know, if I wouldn’t have survived, I wouldn’t taste this amazing cup of tea” he said, sipping a bit from the cup still in your hands and bringing it to his cheek, warming him up. “And I wouldn’t be able to watch all these movies with you. And I would’ve missed all the Midgardians books I’ve read on Earth. And I wouldn’t have met anyone on here. And maybe, even looking closer, I wouldn’t have pushed all your buttons to break down so you would still be bottling up your stress and maybe even have had a heart attack and died unhappy and unfulfilled”.

“Wow there”. You both laughed. You rested your head on his lap and he watched you with a glimpse of a smile.

“What I’m trying to say is, take it one step at a time. Look at the big picture. Enjoy the process. All those things you midgardians say so often, they have almost lost all meaning. They sound cliché. They shouldn’t; for they are very true”.

“Thank you, Loki”, you sighed and started braiding one strand of his hair.

“Now go take a bath or something, stinky”. You both laughed. It was all fine.

[sp00kyapricotz]

Found Out About You-(Tate Langdon x Reader)

Description- Tate tells reader he’s a ghost 


A/N- (i hope you guys got the reference to the gin blossoms song “found out about you” lmao, i thought it was fitting as it was a song from the 90s, sorry if this is shit I’ve been pretty busy with school and studying for exams. And there are quite a few grammatical errors but it’s 2:04 am i think proofreading it anymore will damage it, enjoy!!)

warnings- cursing,mentions of murder,shooting,guns,ghosts,cops that’s about it

———————————————————————

You’d been living in the infamous “murder house “ for a couple of days when you had been introduced to the mysterious Tate Langdon.

He told you that he lived next door, and he wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.

You both had a lot in common, specifically music taste, and the things you wore.

Immediately you guys became the best friends.

eventually he asked you out, and of course you said yes and ever since you both had your highs and lows but overall you were doing pretty good

By now it was the 5th month of you living in the murder house

Tate would always come over every single day…and night

Today marked the 3rd month that you and Tate were together

He planned something special, though he didn’t tell you what it was you were super excited

You were sitting in your room, on your bed waiting for Tate’s sign to let him in

Your parents weren’t home, which was good. They didn’t necessarily hate Tate but they weren’t very fond of him either

Eventually you heard his signal to let him into the house

He came in through the front, he’d usually go in through the back door of the basement

You went up to your room and just kind of sat there with him,

“So... what time are your parents supposed to be home?”

“I think like 10:30, 11? It’s fine, if they come early its whatever.”

“if you’re parents come, ill find a way out, i always do”

“I know Tate” you said laying your head on his shoulder

The both of you lied on your bed, quiet but looking at each other fondly listening to a cd that Tate had burned for you

You thought it was odd but really nice how everything he did or liked to do didn’t seem to incorporate anything modern at all, but you didn’t really think anything of it as there were tons of other kids your age were into the same things

“I like the songs you put on this, they’re really nice” you said looking down at the paper with the songs he put on the cd, looking at him and back at the list.

“Yeah, i wanted to choose songs that reminded of you”he looked down at his hands and you could see his cheeks start to blush.

“Look (y/n) i need to talk to you about something I’ve been meaning to tell you about for a long time” Tate mumbles, the smile on his face fading.

“Uh yeah? What’s wrong”

“Well,look uh I really don’t know how to tell you this, at least not in a way that you’d understand or believe”

“Tate, what is it?” a distressed tone appeared visibly in your voice

“I can’t,you’d- i don’t know”

“Id what?”

“You wouldn’t wanna be with me anymore”

“Nothing would ever make me not want to be with you, ok? Just tell me”

“Alright fine,(Y/N) I’m dead”

“same” you laughed and punched his arm playfully

“(Y/N) please! Just look at me, why would i be say something like this and make it seems so important for no reason”

“ To be funny I don’t know? Tate you’re right in front of me how are you dead”

“They shot me, the cops- in 1994”

“Are you seriously gonna keep up with this act all night Tate? It’s not April fools day its the middle of January ”

“(Y/N) i told you! You weren’t gonna believe me. Forget it just- forget i ever told you anything”

“Wait-I’m sorry but I don’t understand what you mean, how are you dead?”


“I’m dead, I’m just- a ghost, I’ve been dead since 1994”

“This- this isn’t real, w-why are you doing this to me”

“I’m sorry- i- i shouldn’t have told you” he went up to hug you but you pushed him away

“I don’t understand are you being serious”

“Just forget it okay”

“No I can’t fucking forget it you just told me you’re dead and you aren’t telling me anything else except that, and now you expect me to”just forget it” i feel like I’m losing my fucking mind”

“Look i was just joking , don’t worry about it lets just stay here until your parents co-“

You cut him off before he could say anything else

“No! Tate you clearly weren’t fucking joking if you’re talking about it like this. Shit, I don’t know what to do right now how is this even possible”

“I understand if you don’t wanna be with me anymore, but i died in here so... you’ll obviously be seeing me around sometimes”

“What do you mean you died in here”

“I told you the cops shot me”

With this you started getting confused and a wave of one too many questions went through your head

*why would they shoot a random innocent boy*

*did he do something?*

*no, tate wouldn’t do anything that bad. would he?*

“Tate what did you do?!” you started panicking which you could see made tate panic as well

“ I- I didn’t do anything! They thought i was someone else, you know i’d never do anything”

“I guess so… whatever. But i have one question about all this”

“Mhm?”

“Can you walk through walls and all that shit?”

“Really? uh kind of i can skip around from one place to another but i can’t go past the gate”

“Oh, seriously? You know this better not be another one of those jokes of yours because i’ll turn you into a ghost if it is”

“I promise, it isn’t!”he said speaking inbetween laughs

“I’ll have to take your word for it i guess”

“I guess you will”

[britt-writes]

hi lovely i have a request for you because youre work is absolutely amazing aHH ! could you maybe so some headcanons/oneshot on lucas making his gf cry cause he's getting all pissed with his computer n is getting angry and then accidentally takes it out on his gf?? there's no pressure at all, I really do love your work and I'm so happy you write for Lucas <33

Thank you so so much, I really appreciate it, and I'm happy to do this request for you! I went for a little drabble with this one. Hopefully, I didn't make you wait too long for it. 💕 (I added a cut since it was getting a bit long and, and I don't want to invade people's dashes.)

Prompt: Lucas making his girlfriend cry

Drabble title: Poor Choice of Words

Word Count: 2008

With the semester coming to a close, you found yourself balls deep in what felt like never-ending exams to study for and detailed research papers to type. Needless to say that the hefty accumulation of college work had been piling up on you, leaving you stressed and fatigued, ultimately leaving you with no motivation or desire to get work done; just this huge blank whenever you stared at your books.

Barely able to hold yourself together with this massive headache from the free-for-all death match your thoughts were having up there, you were in desperate need of some quiet and rest. You were sure that you’d eventually break down if you didn’t.

Lucas was nice enough to let you get that quiet you needed, letting you take over his bed to nap and rest your head and eyes while he tapped away on his computer. He kept it down, which you appreciated. He’d always been the strong, silent type of guy. The only noises you could hear were the clicking of his keyboard and his foot tapping at the ground—a little tic of his, being rather fidgety.

You hadn’t quite fallen asleep, being quite restless, but you did occasionally lull in and out of consciousness. Maybe it was the damn heat wave that hit Dulvey that kept you up, or maybe it was your headache, but nonetheless, it felt nice to lie down and do nothing, worrying about nothing.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you had decided to lie down in your lover’s bed, but as the seconds ticked by, you could hear Lucas’ foot tapping becoming faster, seemingly aggressive. His fingers had also joined in, just tapping at the desk.

You didn’t think much of it at first, brushing it off as Lucas simply being his regular, fidgety self; he’d probably stop in a minute or so. But then you heard a low growl from him, followed by a series of curses muttered underneath his breath.

“C'mon, ya slow piece o’ shit,” you heard him say.

Shifting around, you faced him, opening your eyes. Lucas was having some issues with his computer, and one quick glance showed that his programs and even cursor were running at abysmally sluggish speeds. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t heard it at first, but his computer’s fans were loud as hell, probably working their asses off. When was the last time Lucas cleaned them? The poor old box computer sounded like it was suffering.

“Motherfucker!” Lucas suddenly yelled out, nearly jolting you out of your skin.

You flinched as he began smacking the computer, making you sit up on the bed as you stared at Lucas while his patience ran thinner with every passing second. You remained still and quiet, worried about his state of anger, but also unsure if you should intervene in an attempt to get him to simmer down. Truth be told, you hated watching people get angry, even if the anger wasn’t directed at you; it put you in a state of anxiety, wanting nothing more to keep the situation from escalating further.

“Aw, what the hell?! What now?!” He yelled as his screen seemed to freeze.

“Um, hey, babe?” You intervened, sounding very meek.

He didn’t reply, continuing to aggressively fumble with his computer, still spewing insults and curses at the device. Maybe that should have been your cue to leave Lucas be, but you didn’t take it, wanting to help him.

“Babe?” You said again, a little louder this time in case he hadn’t heard you the first time over the sound of his own voice.

“What?” Lucas said rather sharply.

“Do you want me to help or something? How about you turn it off and try cleaning the fans to start off? Then, maybe-”

Lucas whirled around to face you, the annoyed look on his face immediately shutting you up.

“What the fuck would yer dumbass know? Shit’s already fucked, so I don’t need it worsenin’. I don’t need yer fuckin’ help, so mind yer goddamn business,” he said before going back to his computer, not paying you any further mind.

You had never been on the receiving end of Lucas’ outbursts until now. Maybe you were being too sensitive, but you couldn’t help the tears threatening to fall. Sure, you and Lucas have insulted each other plenty of times in the past, but it was all obvious playful banter and teasing between the two of you with no ill intentions. This time around, he held this dead serious expression and tone, making you feel like he actually thought that of you.

Lucas was short-tempered, prone to outbursts at the slightest inconvenience, and you knew that he ran his mouth faster than his brain during those moments. He often did or said things that he didn’t truly mean, letting his anger get the best of him. He probably hadn’t even realized what he said, but that still didn’t mean that you didn’t feel as if your heart shattered in millions of pieces at his poor choice of words.

Wordlessly, you lied back down, facing the wall as you curled up underneath the blankets. A few tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried your best to keep quiet, not wanting to make a scene. You just hoped that Lucas would soon enough calm down on his own accord.

~~~~~~

He’d say that a little over half an hour had passed since his computer started acting up, but Lucas had since abandoned the device to fool around on his phone, feet propped atop his desk. At least he was distancing himself from the source of his anger.

Maybe about a year ago, Lucas would still be fuming and smashing things around his room, but ever since you came into his life, he’s been getting better at taking breaks, not fixating on whatever was irritating him in order to cool down a bit. You were there to comfort him, listen to his venting and clear his head.

Overall, a model lover with the patience of a saint to deal with him— Lucas himself would be the first to say it.

So, why the fuck did he yell at you the way he did earlier? He absolutely hated any asshole who dared make you upset; Lucas always promised to make quick work of anybody who hurt you, and all you had to do was say the word.

But now, Lucas was the one to feel like the biggest shithead ever.

Earlier feelings of fury were slowly being replaced by regret, which was an odd feeling. It was a first for him; he’s never really given a shit enough to feel regret or shame for his actions, even when he knew that he was in the wrong. But it felt different when it involved you. Maybe he still felt anger, anger at himself for treating you like shit when all you wanted to do was help him because you cared.

You were already stressed enough in the first place with all the work you had to do, and Lucas wasn’t helping by taking out his anger on you. It was an accident; he really regretted it.

Looking back at you, Lucas saw that you were still curled on his bed. You hadn’t said anything in the last half hour, so he wondered if you had fallen asleep, though you may just be ignoring him after the things he said. He didn’t like that thought, but he knew he deserved it.

He could feel panic settling in his chest— what if he fucked up for good? What if you drew the line there? What if this was the moment you realized you could do better than him? What if you walked out on him?

Those ‘what if’ questions made him nauseated. Lucas was shit at showing it, but you were his entire world. This relationship was his only motivation to even bother trying in life. Without you, he was sure that he’d either end up thrown into the streets or in jail— just some loser with no chance in hell to make it.

He had to calm the fuck down, he thought. He knew damn well that having an internal breakdown over something that was his fault in the first place wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

He stood up from his chair, cautiously approaching his bed, almost unsure of what he should do. It was like he was second-guessing himself— maybe he should let you sleep it off.

But Lucas ultimately decided to join you in bed, slowly scooting against you and draping his arm over your waist. He already felt like shit, but the feeling only worsened when he felt you flinch, and after an uncomfortable minute of silence, Lucas finally found it in himself to say something.

“Are ya mad at me?” He asked.

And he wanted nothing more than to ram his head against drywall, not impressed with the way he chose to open up.

“Are you mad at me?” You countered in a shaky tone that split his heart in two.

“Wasn’t mad at ya… jus’ the computer,” he said.

“Do you really think I’m dumb?” You asked, voice nearly inaudible.

“C'mon baby, y'know I don’t,” he said.

The silence on your end was goddamn unnerving, absolutely stressing him out. As the seconds ticked by, Lucas could feel his breathing become ragged and heavy, the atmosphere making him increasingly more anxious.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, realizing that he should have said that in the first place.

Lucas didn’t remember the last time he apologized to someone. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he ever did in his lifetime.

“I just wanted to help,” you said, voice quivering. “But you just yelled at me instead.”

And then the sobs came; Lucas could feel your body shake against him. Oh, God. He made you cry. Lucas didn’t think it was possible for him to feel any shittier at the moment, but here he was.

“No-no-no-no— don’t cry,” Lucas shushed, holding you tighter and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby,” he apologized again. “I know ya just wanted to help, 'cause yer just the sweetest thing out there.”

“You looked so serious… like you really meant it,” you managed to say through choked up cries. “I feel like I’m the stupidest bother to you.”

“Didn’t mean a goddamn word of it. I know it ain’t no excuse, but I wasn’t thinkin’ right. Aw, shit— I’m the stupid piece o’ crap here. Yer hella smart, darlin’; there ain’t one part o’ ya that’s dumb,” he said. “Y'know I love ya, right?”

You were taking your sweet time to respond, making Lucas all the more anxious. He thought that he had royally fucked up beyond repair.

“Do you… d'ya still love me?” He asked, finding himself ridiculously pathetic for asking such a thing; the shakiness in his tone didn’t help either.

“Of course I do,” you said.

Lucas found some relief in the swift response at his question— no stuttering, no vague answers, no skipped beat. Your crying had also started to die down.

“So, you ain’t gonna, ya know, leave or somethin’?” He asked.

“No. I wouldn’t break up with you over something like this. It’s not worth our entire relationship,” you said. “I’m just a little sad over it. It’s… not really fun getting yelled at by someone you love, you know?”

Lucas nodded. “Yeah.”

Of course nobody liked getting into fights with their loved ones. He sure as hell knew that he’d blow a fuse if you yelled and insulted him the way he had.

“I have anger issues…” he mumbled.

“I know,” you said. “But you’re not as bad as you used to be.”

Lucas could only promise to get better going forward, and with your encouragement, he was sure that he’d be able to do it. But he’d have to try hard, and he knew it.

“Y'ave been hella stressed lately. Want me to help you study later, or somethin’?” He offered.

“If you have time, that’d motivate me.”

“Yeah, I got time. Don’t got much to do in the first place.”

You turned around to face him, wiping the remainder of your tears and offering a small smile before pressing your lips against his in a soft, sweet kiss. You then nuzzled Lucas’ chest as he cradled you protectively against him.

Apology accepted.

[imhereiguess556]

Hello! Thank you so much for the reblog and follow! May I request some of the slashers who’s with an S/O who dresses goth. Their S/O’s attire making them look scary but they are actually extremely sweet? Thank you so much, if not it’s totally understandable! Have a wonderful day or night!

Yes absolutely!!! I also wanted to make sure to get their favorite slashers so lets give Chromeskull and The Collector some love! Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull):

- I feel like he's one of the slashers who would immediately be into the look

-He also likes the elegant and sophisticated look of black, plus skull rings. (He thinks it makes him look badass and scary)

-So when he bumped into you while he was scoping out a new victim, he expected you to blow at him or swing at him. But when you softly apologized for bumping into him then commenting how cool his mask was, he was taken back.

-He wanted to make you one of his victims but you where different? He was confused with his feelings.

- You would start to see him popping up more often where you usually hang out or work. When he would talk to you and you ask him how he's doing and if he's work isn't too stressful on him. Your sweetness makes his heart melt.

-You start to get gifts like new platform boots and skull accessories. (He wants you to match his skull aesthetic. He will never admit to it!)

- Eventually he invites (kidnaps) you to his home, he does everything you make sure your happy. What ever expensive goth clothes/ accessories you want, you get, baby always get what they want!

-When you two go about, if anyone dare says anything about how you two look, he will make sure they are taken care of, no one talks ill of his sweet goth S/O!

-"Jesse are you coming home soon? I miss you. I hope Preston isn't being to much of a jerk today. Thank you for the new earrings! I'll wear them tonight for our dinner date!" These are the texts he lives for. Some days if he gets these text, he will leave the office immediately so he can hold you in his arms once more, your just to sweet!

Asa Emory (The Collector):

- Asa also like the look of black on his body, he likes the way it makes him blend into his environment at night. But he is more traditional (Teacher/Dad style).

- There are a lot of goth kids on the college campus where he works at so he is use to having a handful of the little creepy bat children come into his class. He likes how they into the macabre like he does (Along with the dark humor he gives to his students)

-So when you come to him when it was one of the last few classes you two had with each other before the final exam, he expected you to ask him for some dead pined bugs (Those goth kids loved their pinned butterflies) He did not expect you to thank him for teaching the class. No one has every thanked him for the classes he teaches. It made him feel......something......

- He starts to watch you around the campus. You were so polite to everyone and he didn't know how to feel when he saw you help a small caterpillar onto a tree. So.....sweet.

- After grading (Giving you the A you earned of coarse) he brings you to his hotel. But he does not put you in a box. Asa will not really talk to you at first, he doesn't want you to figure out who he is yet.

-He is not gentle with you at first, he would hang you up from the wall. But after a week he didn't want to pin you to the wall. You where too sweet to be pinned up. You needed to roam around for him.

-He gives you a private room in the hotel, giving you what ever you need. He lets you decorate how ever you want in the room. You want black walls or black bed sheets, he will provide it for you.

-One day you break him. He came into your room with dinner and you said "Thank you for taking care of me. I don't understand why I'm here but thank you."

- He pauses but slowly takes the mask off. " I hope you like it here. Cause you are my butterfly now. Forever."

I hope you like it!

[9tzuyu]

my guitar is slightly out of tune, but i’m eternally yours.

[reuploaded and revised from my old blog.]

↠ prompt: you have a terminal illness but you have a chance with treatment but you deny it, then you meet wanda and you feel alive again.

↠ warnings: kinda angsty, but worth the read :>.

requests are always open!

masterlist

∘∴∙*⋆∙∴⋆∘∙*. ∘

“Oh–” was all you managed to say. “I recommend we start radiation treatments-” You zoned out and watched your feet dangle from the edge of the exam table. Was this it? Was this really all there was for you? It seemed hopeless to even do anything at this point. You figured if this was affecting you again, it was for a reason. 

"No. I don't want treatment." The doctor looked at you and his gaze faltered. "You do understand that if you refuse treatment this will inevitably kill you?" You nodded. The words felt empty, they carried no weight behind them anymore. Nonetheless, the doctor continued to try and persuade you. 

"I said I don't want the treatment. I'm refusing medical advice. I don't want to have to go through this again, it's obviously not going away. Now where the hell do I sign the papers?" You exasperated. The doctor gave you one last look before getting the papers for you to embark your signature on.

“You’re one-hundred percent sure about this?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I've got nothin' left for me here anyways. Might as well just let nature take its course.”

"Well surely you've got someone, a friend maybe?" You shook your head.

 "Nope." You replied, popping the P at the end. The doctor seemed to finally grasp the situation when you handed the papers back to him as if you were turning in a job application.

He pursed his lips, "I'm going to give prescribe medication for the pain. Based on the size of the tumor I'd say you have about eight months to live, but only about half of those months will be enjoyable." You nodded your head in reply and gathered your stuff together. 

So how were you going to spend your last months on earth? That was the question you asked yourself. You walked out of the building and found yourself in a coffee shop. It was busy, but you found yourself a seat next to a window in the back of the shop. Your eyes gazed out the window as you pondered your question from earlier.

'I could move to New York and see broadway shows I've never wanted to see'

'There's always casinos–'

'–Or what about splurging your money on dumb things that you'll quite literally never need?'

You laughed at your thoughts. You made up your mind right there, you were going to live the rest of your life just the way it was. It’d be easier that way. You didn't have friends, no longer had parents, so it's not like anyone would really miss you really. All you had was your pet cat and your guitar. And truth be told, that's all you needed. 

Coffee.

"Hello?" You snapped out of your gaze to see a beautiful brunette standing in front of you. The second thing you noticed was her accent, you'd never heard it before. “I was wondering if this seat was taken?” She softly smiled at you. You returned the gesture and shook your head no. "The place is cram packed and you seemed trustworthy. I hope I'm not disturbing you or anything, you seemed to be pretty deep in thought." The young woman blushed a crimson color, "I'm sorry I probably seem weird or something, I'll go."

Normally you would have cared, but at this point in time you didn't mind the company. So, with the slightest bit of hesitation, you called out for her.

“Wait! It’s fine, don’t worry. I-I’m all alone.” The woman’s smile widened as she took a seat across from you. “Thanks. I'm Wanda, what's your name?”

"Y/N." 

"Y/N..." She flexed your name on her tongue, "That's a beautiful name."

"I'm stuck with it for life, so I sure hope it's at least a decent name." You narrowed your eyes at her as you joked. A giggle escaped the gap between her lips, causing a small flutter to emit in your stomach.

"So what do you do?" She asked, intrigued by your presence.

"Well I do a lot of things, I walk, I talk, I breathe-"

"Oh shut up! You know what I meant." Wanda’s eyes gleamed with friendliness and warmth. She seemed like the type you'd be friends with if you weren't dying. "Okay, okay, I play guitar and sing while my cat eats her food." Wanda's eyes lit up at the mention of a cat. 

"You have a cat? What's her name?" Her elbows were propped up on the table with her head resting in her hands, showing just how actually interested she was in you.

“Her name is Nala. You know, from The Lion King?”

Wanda’s brows furrowed together. She’d never seen The Lion King, much less heard of it.

Your jaw dropped at her confusion. “You mean to tell me you’ve never seen The Lion King?”

“I’m Sokovian, what do you expect?” 

“Ahh, I see. Well, do you at least have any pets?”

"My apartment doesn't allow pets."

"So? Sneak one in." You replied nonchalantly, crushing ice between your teeth. Wanda looked at you in shock. "No way! Knowing me I'd get my ass caught on the first day." You shrugged in reply and the conversation quickly went dead.

Wanda checked her phone, moving abruptly to get up from her seat. "I'm so sorry, I have to go now. I'll see you around, okay?"

“Sure.”

After another half hour of waiting on nothing and thinking about everything, you finally decided it was time to leave. A feeling of regret washed over you. The woman was kind, very friendly, something that you craved.

But you couldn’t allow yourself these things now, especially given the direction you were heading.

_____

Over the next few weeks you'd spent your time songwriting, journaling and a midst of other lonely, boring things. Sometimes you'd catch yourself thinking about the woman in the coffee shop, but you tended not to dwell too much on the past. 

You thought about your tumor and all the different ways it was growing inside you. It grossed you out more than anything, but you weren't afraid. At least not now you weren't. 

A heavy sigh slipped from your lips, and the sudden urge to go to the park overtook the need to do anything else. You’d never really visited the park in your area before, so you decided now was the time. 

The beige acoustic guitar rest heavily on your shoulders, similarly to the weight of the world. It was bitter, no taste of sweetness was left over in the aftermath.

Leaves crunched under your feet as you made your way into the park. The smell of pine and bark surrounded you, just as the pinch of cold air that struck your face. It was tranquil.

You marched your way over to a nearby tree secluded from everyone else. Setting your guitar down, you nested cozily against the wood. Your journal rest aside your hip as did the pen that exchanged your thoughts into words.

Humming quietly, your fingertips grazed the instrument’s delicate strings. Music filled the air around you, but it came to a quick stop nearly ten minutes after you’d begun.

"Hey, I know you. Y/N, right?" You heard a familiar accented voice behind you. You turned around to find Wand standing above you. "Uh yeah, that's me. What's up?" She sat down beside you, making you a little uncomfortable, but you figured you could deal with it for the sake of being nice. 

"Nothing. I just saw you and thought I’d say hi. What about you? I see you have your guitar."

“Just singing,” you mumbled quietly.

She smiled and pushed a strand of hair out of your face that was blown in from the wind. "You’re really pretty." You bit your lip and you could feel the heat rise to you face. "Thanks."

"Mhm. So last time I didn't get your number, maybe I will this time?" She asked (although her eyes were begging). You couldn’t help but feel something while she bit her lip, her doe eyes unintentionally focusing on your lips.

"I'll have to give you mine, I didn't bring my phone with me – don’t use it much." You replied. She handed her phone to you and you typed your number in.

"Do you not have family or friends you keep up with?" Her brow quirked in curiosity.

"Parents died, no siblings, and no friends. I don't have many people to worry about."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine, I don't mind." She looked down in her lap before asking another question. "What about a job? Do you work?" Wanda was definitely a curious one, but each question she asked carried you in a way you’d never felt before. It was refreshing to have someone interested in you, and not your disease. 

"Nope, when my parents died they left all their life savings to me. It's plenty enough for me to live on." Your fingers began lightly playing the chords of a song. It was often that you unknowingly played when you were scared or nervous. You'd only realize afterwards. 

"That's good– not that your parents died, but you know, you have money and stuff. Even if it's– oh my god- " 

You cracked out a laugh, causing her to look at you in terror. Noticing this, you rest a hand on her shoulder. "Wanda, it's okay. You're fine, I know what you mean." She nodded shyly and looked up to the sky. 

"Hey, it's sunset! I love sunsets, I used to watch them all the time with my brother back in Sokovia." Her voice wavered at the end of her sentence, and you easily picked up on it.

"Something wrong?" You asked. She laid her head on your lap and you stiffened, but quickly relaxed. This is fine. This is okay. You set your guitar aside and began to play with her hair.

"I miss him. Pietro..." She paused for a second before continuing. "He died a couple of years ago from cancer." You felt your heart drop for the first time at the mention of the horrid disease that stripped you away from most of your life. "Oh." The word seemed to become your go-to for whenever you didn't know how to accept information you were given.

"He was the other half of me. We were twins, I felt like my whole world fell apart. After he died I moved out of my country and moved here. Since then I've made some good friends. You might like them." 

“I’m sorry about your brother. I’m sure he was wonderful, Wanda.” You whispered, bringing a piece of her hair to the end of a braid. “I'm happy you've made some friends." Wanda nodded and snuggled closer in your lap. "Maybe I can be your friend?" You gave it a thought. You weren't sure you could do that to her, not with your illness anyway. Guilt nawed at you already. She’d already lost someone so beloved and close to her from it, how awful you began to feel if you had to put her through that again.

"Y/N?"

You stared at her for a few moments before answering. "I don't know, maybe." She turned over to face you, but you avoided her gaze. "I'm going to figure you out you know." You stifled a laugh, "And you'll be sorry you ever did."

"Whatever."

____

Four months passed and you thought they would be empty, meaningless months, but with Wanda nuzzling her way into your life you began to feel alive for the first time. When she came around it was like a switch you couldn't turn off. 

Right now, you sat at your desk strumming your guitar while watching Nala play with a toy dinosaur you’d bought her just weeks ago. This life was good too, you thought. But it was lonely.

You weren't quite sure what Wanda meant to you yet, but you were slowly discovering that whatever the two of you had, blossomed into something more each second you spent together.

Popping a Vicodin in your mouth, your phone buzzed. It would be no one else but Wanda.

be there in a few, it's urgent. 

Panic set in your body as you worried for the safety of your friend. What could possibly be the matter? Normally Wanda talked about what was bothering her.

A knock at your door brought you out of your gaze and you stumbled to answer it. Wanda was distressed, her hair a mess and her eyes red.

“Whats wro-” You were cut off By Wanda smashing her lips onto yours. 

She pulled back in shock. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I-"

You shut her up by pushing her into the wall, door closing behind you. Her lips tasted of strawberry and her hands began to roam your body.

One thing led to another and you both ended up naked on your bed. How amazing it must be to wake up and know that you won’t be dead in the next few months.

"You're good. Almost too good. Where did you learn all that from having no friends?" She smirked at you. You gave her a smile and kissed her again. Your arms wrapped around her nude body and together you felt the utter bliss and excitement radiating from one another.

. . . . 

Three weeks later yoy began to shake. It was hardly noticeable, and it just so happened to occur when you were playing

It’s downhill from here and you know that.

"Can you fix it? Can you fix this?" You yelled at him, despite knowing it was all your fault. If you would've just taken the treatments you wouldn't be in this place. But back then your life had no real meaning, it was just you and your cat.

You hadn't planned on falling in love with someone. 

"There's nothing I can do now. Treatments won't work, it's too far gone. I'm surprised it took this long to start showing symptoms."

For the first time in years, you felt tears beginning to build in your eyes. "You don't understand, I love her and now I'm just going to leave her? This can't be happening, you have to do something!" You pleaded, but the doctor’s eyes were solemn, giving you the only reply you needed. 

You stormed out of the hospital and made your way to Wanda. Silence rang through your ears.

Tell her. You have to tell her.

It will be over.

Sobs wrecked your body as you fumbled with the keys to your shared apartment. The door opened to a sight you wanted to live forever.

There she was, perched on the couch while massaging Napa’s scruffy fur. She was content, happy, and here you were to ruin it.

"Y/N? Baby what's wrong?" She got up from her spot and rushed over to you, worry etched on her face. You clung onto her for more life than you had left. And god, You weren't scared before, but you sure as hell were now. 

"I have terminal cancer."

Wanda froze.

"That's not funny, Y/N. You know how I feel about this topic." Her glare was hasty, burning into your skin.

"I was diagnosed almost five months ago, please Wanda you have to believe me. I have tremors, don't you see?" You raised your hand up to show her, but she slapped it away. "You're making yourself do that, Y/N. Stop joking, or I'm leaving." She crossed her arms

"W-What?" Your chest tightened.

"I said stop joking."

"I'm not joking, Wanda!"

"I'm leaving," She huffed, snatching her jacket before slamming the door shut.

And it was true, she did leave. However, Wanda didn't leave for the reasons she gave you.

She loved you, but she couldn’t handle another loss like this.

. . . . 

During the next two months you experienced the most heartache you'd ever felt before. The combination of vomiting, body aches, and dizziness didn't help. If anything, it made it worse. You missed Wanda. Everything about her gave you a reason to live.

You were on your seventh month and the pain was unbearable. It hurt to reach out for a cup of water, your hands shook uncontrollably all while sending jolts of scorching pain throughout the entirety of your arm.

Undoubtedly, the hospital bed became your next best friend (although it was the worst one you’d ever had. But it somehow managed to weasel its way back in your life).

Wanda was nowhere to be seen, and if anything that only progressed your disease. The only thing that kept you sane was your guitar, and the fact that Nala was being taken care of by a sweet, old nurse (who sometimes snuck her in so you could see her).

It was about the small things now. 

More days passed and each one was getting worse. By now you just wanted to end it all on your own, but you were physically too weak to do that.

There was a knock on your door, but you ignored it thinking it was just another nurse. "Y/N?" The voice was soft, it felt like it'd been years since you last heard it. You turned your head slightly to see Wanda standing in the doorway. A weak smile formed on your face.

"Hey you." 

Wanda quickly dropped her things and ran to your side. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She mumbled over and over again as you calmly stroked her hair.

"It's okay, you know it is." You whispered in her ear. She looked up at you and shook her head, "But it's not okay, I left you when you needed me the most." You stared at her adoringly and the tips of your fingers gently rubbed away the tears from her face. "But I'm still here, aren't I?" She laughed through her cries, "Yeah... you're still here."

Both of you knew you didn't have much time left, but you ignored that other than the fact that you made her promise to take care of Nala when you were gone. She held your hand and got you everything you needed.

And you love her so deeply for that.

One night you had the feeling that your time was coming soon, so you woke Wanda up from her sleep. "Sweetheart?" She stirred a little before finally sitting up. 

"Yeah?"

"Hand me my guitar?" She tilted her head, "But your shakes?" You ignored her and asked for it again. 

When she handed you your beloved guitar you took it with grace. "Come help me, I wanna play a song." She nodded and came to your side.

Your fingers struggled as they strummed the delicate strings on the instrument. You picked one of Wanda's favorite, and when you were done you spoke lightly.

"My guitar is slightly out of tune, but I'm eternally yours."

[meichenxi]

Obsession, ‘productivity’ and habits vs routines: starting learning in a healthier way

cw: perfectionism, obsessiveness, allusion to eating disorders, depression, anxiety (very non-explicit) I’m going to be writing a series of posts from some asks I’ve had waiting for me, on how to build a cohesive language learning routine, but I wanted to preface that first with something we talk about less than we should in the language learning community: obsessiveness, perfectionism, recovery from mental health, and how to approach language learning in a better way. If the personal stuff bores you, feel free to skip the first two paragraphs. 

I have been trying to ‘be more productive’ - in healthy ways, and unhealthy ways - since I was about ten. If you don’t fit in, for whatever reason, hobbies - and especially creative or ‘productive’ ones - are a wonderful escape. They make you feel that it’s ok not to have friends; they let you look down on all those other stupid children with all the misplaced arrogance of every single bored, clever pre-teen. When I was twelve, I realised there was no point eating with people that didn’t like me and went to the library instead, because that was ‘dead time’. When I was fourteen, I realised getting the bus was ‘dead time’, and started doing Anki for two hours a day. When I was sixteen, I realised walking was ‘dead time’, and started either listening to podcasts or talking out loud. By the time I was eighteen, I was doing four A-levels in school, an EPQ, teaching myself an extra Latin GCSE, and taught myself the Spanish A-level in 3 months right before the exam. I also worked out for two hours a day - because eating lunch was ‘dead time’, and sleeping was ‘dead time’ - trained martial arts four evenings a week, tutored twice a week, had a part-time job as a waitress, played the flute in a prestigious orchestra, and was 150,000 words deep in the first draft of a very gay, Norse-mythology inspired fantasy novel. 

I had it all under control. My marks were excellent; I was a well-rounded person, musical and sporty and already decently on the way to becoming a polyglot, I was training to be a teacher, and I had plans to publish my novel. My home life was painful, but I was painfully independent with what I now like to call the ‘Elsa complex’. Or, actually, like Zuko: I could look after myself, by myself. It was all under control. 

I guess everyone can see where this is going. School ended, and with it came endless, open days. I fell apart. 

With endless surprise, I can now say that, four years later, I think I’ve come through the worst of it. I still have tendencies to get obsessive, but my anxiety and perfectionism are a lot better, I don’t dissociate, and I have - gasp! shock! - actual interest in life again. I never wrote that novel, but I’m still gay and still love Norse mythology, so I’m slowly finding my way towards writing again. What people don’t tell you about getting better, though, is that trying to define yourself, trying to find yourself, as a person who exists without mental illness, is very, very hard. Many of the things that you used to identify as core components of your personality or important values may have changed, and you may be hesitant about trying to take up hobbies that you used to enjoy because you recognise - and rightly so - that the incessant drive to be doing something, all the time, didn’t necessarily come from anywhere healthy. That those things which you clung to and which protected you may actually have ended up harming you in the end. A lot of figuring out old patterns of unhelpful thoughts involves realising that the things that you defended or framed as helping - weren’t. That’s a hard thought, especially because those mechanisms developed to try and protect you, one that’s immeasurably sad. 

Seperating your reasons for doing something obsessively and your love of it in the first place, before it became unhealthy, is difficult. And it means that when you feel - finally, finally - ready to start tackling something like language learning again, you end up sorting of approaching it sideways, shiftily, as if you’re hoping to trick yourself into it. It’s a delicate thing, like a baby bird, and it’s dangerous too, because if you do everything which you did before - the only thing you know how to do - it’s not going to work. And every time it fails is personal, because being able to do it again represents getting better, and reclaiming parts of your identity mental illness stole, and it hurts.

I’m writing this post because somebody asked me about my approach to creating a successful language learning routine. And I do have a lot of thoughts - but I wanted to preface that post with this one, to say:

If you are reading this to be more productive, if it is becoming obsessive, if you want to fit the most possible language learning into the tightest schedule possible, STOP. Take care of yourself. These tips for ‘productivity’ are for people who want to learn a little bit more about organising their time, and are in the right space to add more learning to their life. If you are only defined by what many hours you get done a day, if that’s what motivates you, these tips are not for you. Look after yourself. 

And on that note, here’s a confession: I don’t have - have never had - a successful language learning routine. Because of what happened, the only way I can keep going and prevent myself from falling into bad habits is if I approach it sideways, if I pretend I’m not taking it seriously, because I know if I don’t things will go wrong. But I want to be honest and upfront because I know a lot of people read my posts for advice and say that this doesn’t work for me. It might not work for you either. I especially know there are a lot of conceptions of successful langblrs with 7, 8, 9 etc languages in the title - that that we spend 5 hours a day on Anki, fall asleep to Glossika, and so on. And it’s especially important to mention now, because I feel like my language learning habits have only started being healthy in the last year or so - essentially since I started actually enjoying Chinese media. I could teach you how to cram every spare second with language learning, or how to successfully pass an A-level in 3 months with no teachers. I was good (and arrogant, and cocky, and needed bringing down a peg or two). But I won’t.

What I do have are succesful language learning habits. Apart from being a generally more flexible appraoch for all learners, the advantage of building successful habits over a fixed routine is that it allows for learning according to different in energy levels, how busy you are, what you find difficult and what else is going on in your life. Most crucially for me is that it is always a much healthier approach, because what I do is not based on number of hours, or number of units a week, or anything quantifiable that allows me to get obsessive again or frustrated that I’m not doing enough. 

Routine is important, especially when it comes to routinising daily tasks. The only thing I have is that sometimes - on good weeks, and once or twice even shockingly on good months - I have a decent Anki streak going. That’s it. I don’t listen every day - I don’t read every day - I certainly don’t do grammar every day. There’s nothing specific I do every day, though I usually rack up a good few hours of immersion or study - to be honest, I fail at Anki probably at least 60% of the time. Everything else - all these tips I have written about - I do as and when. Framing it in such vague terms makes it sound like I must have an extraordinary amount of motivation to keep going, that maybe I’m just lucky to be interested etc, but that’s really not the case. What I have done to keep learning regularly and somewhat successfully (I hope!!) without limiting myself to a routine which I know I will starting obsessing over is tying specific language learning behaviour to certain moods or levels of concentration. 

All routine is just habit. Habit, with a ribbon and packaged nicely. But allowing yourself to adapt your learning to the circumstances gives you more flexibility than any strict routine, and is more sustainable in the long term. What building habits rather than a specific routine does is allow you to learn what works best when, what works when you’re tired, and what is best to do when you have energy, or when you want to watch a show, or talk to people. It puts you at the centre of your language learning, rather than framing language learning as a central part of you. 

So how can we build healthy habits? How can we utilise ‘dead time’ whilst keeping it light, and fun? How can we adapt our language learning for times when we are tired, and stressed? Or what about when we don’t have time to give 100% of our attention or concentration? How can we identify our own strengths, our own weaknesses, and unite these with our personal goals to figure out what to prioritise in active studying, and what to do when we don’t have the energy for that? 

I’ll give my thoughts on all of these over the next couple of weeks, in what I hope will be a comprehensive overview of how best to practice, addressing everything from how to practice speaking to how to start as a complete beginner. If you have any thoughts or interim questions, or if you’d like to add your own experience to anything I have said, please feel free to!

In the mean time - 

chenxi out. 

[imagine-that]

Target

Warnings: none

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!reader

AN: I love the twins with all my heart but I have a very special place for Fred, he’s my bby and I’m still in denial of his death 🙂. Also figured I would post a fluffy imagine as opposed to the HEARTBREAK I posted last night for the Marauders.

“Fred! George!” You cried out, storming down the halls, a trail of Gryffindor red dust flying off of you at every turn.

Though you were often fine with their pranks and usually let them slide, this one was too much. Your hair was turning a fiery red, your skin was tinged and every inch of your uniform was dusted in red.

“Well hello y/n, what might we do for you?” One of the twins asks as he appears by your side out of nowhere. You screech in fear, a hand flying to your chest instinctively to calm your racing heart. Soon enough, the other appears, making you scream yet again.

“Care to explain?” You ask, gesturing up and down at your figure.

“Well it would appear that you’re covered in some sort of red dust. Might want to get that cleaned up. You are the Prefect after all.” The other sing songs, and in that quick second of him talking, you know it’s Fred.

“You two are both dead, especially you Fred!” You growl, pointing an accusatory finger his way.

He puts a hand over his chest with a dramatic gasp, making you roll your eyes.

“So many years together and you still can’t tell us apart y/l/n?” He asks, feigning hurt.

“Don’t even try it Fred.” You breath a laugh of disbelief, narrowing your eyes at him.

The two look at you in shock, having never had anyone so surely differentiate them from each other.

“Detention again I take it?” They ask in sync, a smile on both their lips.

“Just- stop prank bombing me and I’ll forget about it.” You sigh. They nod quickly, but you know this won’t be the last prank they pull on you.

———————————————————

A little over a week later, you’re proven correct.

You trudge out into the common room, your face burning with fury.

“Weasleys!” You shriek. All of the red headed family looks up in surprise, looking at you in even more shock when they see your hair, now a very vibrant shade of y/f/c.

“Not all of you. Those two.” You breath, pointing a shaking finger at the twins. Once again, they act completely shocked.

“Corridor. Now.” You say as calmly as you can muster, walking outside the room and trying to regain your normal composure. They slowly follow behind, both looking a mix of scared and amused.

You cross your arms over your chest impatiently.

“The both of you are the worst.” You groan, tugging at strands of your hair as they step through the painting frame.

“I must say, I think it looks bloody brilliant.” Fred says proudly but you’re too busy fuming to notice the fond expression on his features.

“How am I supposed to go to class like this?” You moan.

“Well, it’s not as if it’s against dress code.” George shrugs with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow at the both of them. “You mean go to class like this? Isn’t that a bit mental?” You ask, biting your lip, your anger slowly dissolved.

“Not at all. In fact, it’ll turn heads.” George says with a smirk.

Fred nods in agreement. “Some might even say it’s breathtaking.” He says with a smile.

“And I wasn’t breathtaking before?” You ask teasingly, your spirits slightly lifted.

“Oh no. You were actually quite ghastly looking before really.” He says sarcastically, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

“How have you two gits not yet been expelled exactly?” You quip back.

Again in sync, they shrug. “Beats us.” They reply together.

“With much discretion?” George offers.

“And much secrecy?” Fred adds.

You laugh, almost snorting at the response. “The two of you? Discreet? As if.” You say, still giggling.

They take one look at each other and shrug, obviously knowing that you are indeed correct.

“You see?” You ask with a smile.

“Think you know us better than we know ourselves there y/l/n?” Fred asks with another grin.

You roll your eyes. “I probably do but whatever. Just stop with the pranks. Let me at least have the chance to pretend I have no clue what the two of you do around the school.” You say sternly, walking away before either can say another thing to you.

“Breathtaking eh Fred?” George teases with a smirk once he knows you’re all the way down the hall.

Fred gently shoves him, sighing to himself. “Shut up George.” He laughs.

The two bicker back and forth jokingly, walking back into the Gryffindor common room together.

————————————————

You had decided to leave your hair the colour the boys had dyed it, getting plenty of stares from your fellow students and prefects but choosing to ignore them.

Within the month, people finally stopped asking about it, actually growing used to the colour change.

“Hello there y/n.” Fred says with his usual smirk as he sits down next to you in the library, surprisingly with an actual book in hand.

“Afternoon Fred. Where’s your other half? Surely you didn’t lose him?” You tease, looking up from your own book.

“No not at all. He has some studying of his own to do I’m afraid.” He responds, flitting through the pages out of boredom.

You eye him out of suspicion, unsure of what to do. Lately the only time he talked to you was to prank you. It made you a tiny bit paranoid.

“Relax y/n, we know when to take breaks from our tricks.” He assures you without looking up.

“Of course.” You mutter sarcastically.

“We are! That one was enough to last a while. With you at least.” He says, gently touching your hair and sending a shiver down your spine.

“Ah yes, it was a good one I suppose.” You admit with a small smile escaping your lips.

“I trust I got your favourite colour right?” He asks with a toothy grin.

You eye him, pleasantly surprised that he knows anything about you at all. Slowly you nod, your mouth still open in shock.

“Why so surprised? I do try to know at least something about my fellow Gryffindors. Especially the best prefect we could have.” He says, his smile widening and his eyes sparkling happily.

The two of you sit in silence, looking down at your own books until finally he breaks the silence.

“So, how goes the love life? Got anyone special around here?” He asks playfully.

You guffaw, a grin on your face.

“No, not at all.” You reply honestly.

“That’s a pity. People don’t know what they’re missing.” He comments, to your relief not noticing your surprised gaze on him.

“Yes well... I suppose maybe one day in my dreams I’ll meet the perfect person.” You sigh, smiling softly to yourself at the idea.

“You must be dreaming then because I’m sitting right here.” He says, an exaggerated wink your way.

You laugh, an even wider smile blossoming on your face along with a blush.

The two of you quiet down again, refocusing on your respective homework.

——————————————————

Against your many outbursts, reactions and screaming, the twins continued to pull their pranks on you, making your blood boil and your heart race for a reason you couldn’t explain.

Finally, a week before the fifth years had their O.W.L.S, you had fully had enough. Your stress levels had gone up and your patience wore thin.

You’d been helping the young exam takers study, feeling pity for them as you saw them looking almost physically ill from the stress.

Suddenly, as you helped one of them finally figure out the answer to their hardest problem, the twins apparated to your side, spilling water all over you.

“For heavens sake!” You scream, wiping off your face as the younger students stifle their giggles.

“You look like you could use a little help there y/n.” Fred says as he offers you a towel. You snap it out of his hand, dabbing at your face with it.

“I’m so sick of this! Detention, both of you!” You order, pushing past everyone up to your dorm and letting the door slam behind you as you collapse onto your bed and start crying.

You weren’t really sure what the reason was. It might’ve been that you figured Fred only liked you as a pranking target or it might’ve been all the stress. All you knew was you were crying in that moment.

A little while later, a soft knock at the door gets you to your feet, trudging over and pulling it open.

“Fred said he would like to speak to you.” Hermione informs you, taking in your drenched uniform with a look of sympathy.

“Of course he is.” You sigh. “Thanks Hermione.” You add with a grateful smile. She nods before walking back downstairs.

You quickly change out of your wet clothes, leaving your hair to air dry as you walk cautiously down the stairs to find Fred and only Fred sitting at a table in the common room.

“What is it you wanted?” You ask tiredly.

“Come with me.” He says simply, grabbing you by the hand before you can protest, pulling you through the painting at the door and down the many staircases and out into the courtyard.

“Where’s George? Waiting for your signal?” You ask dryly, crossing your arms and glaring at him.

“Y/n...” He starts, putting a finger under your chin and pulling your head up to look at him.

“Yes?” You ask impatiently.

He takes a deep breath, staying silent for a moment. You look over at him, noticing his unusual, almost nervous composure for the first time.

“This better be good, I’m bloody freezing.” You murmur, a smile tugging at both of your lips as you look into each other’s eyes.

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours for a tender kiss, making your eyes widen in shock.

You pull apart, you staring at him for a minute and him looking like he didn’t even know he what he just did.

“Well... you could’ve just done that instead of the pranks.” You say, two fingers pressing to your lips where the feeling of his own still lingers.

He laughs, glancing over at you with a smile.

“Merlin y/n, I was terrified of doing it.” He admits.

“But not of me bloody killing you?!” You shout, staring at him as though he’s gone insane.

“Nah, I reckon your life’d be too dull without George and I, you’d never go through with it.” He says with another grin.

You shake your head, laughing as you bury it into your hands.

“Merlin I can’t decide whether to kiss you or push you off a bridge.” You say, still laughing.

“Can I choose?” He asks, with a smirk.

You laugh a little harder, glancing over at him admiringly.

“You’re relentless.” You giggle, burying your face in your hands.

He moves in closer, wrapping an arm and a bit of his robe around you, resting his head on top of your own.

Your eyebrow quirks up, questioning his motives silently.

“You did say you were cold.” He shrugs with a sheepish smile, something you never once thought you’d see on Fred of all people. He was always loud, confident and daring. It was strange for you to be seeing him calm and nervous, vulnerable.

“Why yes, yes I did.” You smile, kissing him again.

“Well I see you made that decision then?” He asks playfully, making you scoff.

“Ugh I don’t know why I fancy you.” You groan, resting your head on his shoulder.

He laughs a bit. “Perhaps because it’s me we’re talking about here?” He asks, a smug look on his face.

“Yes perhaps that’s why.” You agree sarcastically, standing up and holding out your hand for him to follow. “If we aren’t in bed soon Percy may find us.” You explain, pulling him along with you as he had done earlier.

“Oh yes, Percy the prefect.” He says sarcastically, a mocking grin on his face.

“Oh shush, you know I’m also a prefect.” You snap back with a grin of your own.

“Yes but you’re the better prefect. The perfect prefect!” He whispers.

“Very cheesy Weasley, I must say.” You tease.

He chuckles, the two of you sneaking back to the portrait as quietly and inconspicuously as possible.

You sit on the sofa, sinking right into it with Fred right next to you, content with just being close to each other.

“Are these pranks going to stop now? Because though I may look good in y/f/c, my hair can’t take anymore.” You ask with an eyebrow quirked, your mouth set in a line to try and intimidate him.

He grins again, a mischievous look on his face. “Perhaps.” He says vaguely, making you groan.

“You know, there are other people to prank.” You offer hopefully.

“Oh yes but there’s only one y/n y/l/n.” He argues, pecking your lips.

“Very sweet but I’d hardly call that an apology.” You say with a half smile.

He hums in thought, obviously messing with you as he pretends to contemplate it.

“You may have to work harder for that one I’m afraid.” He says, his teeth glinting with the grin he flashes you.

You scoff, tossing one of the cushions nearest to you at him and wondering what could possibly be in store for you with this red headed prankster.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Betrothed Ch. 9 - Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Epilogue: Beauty and the Beast

Summary: Leaving the Zoldyck estate to search for your husband, what will await you once you find him?

Warnings: Angst, Violence.

Words: ~2500

Story Masterlist

A/N: The plot is connected to the “Phantom Rogue” movie. In case you haven’t watched it yet (no spoilers don’t worry): The antagonist of the movie uses Nen to create puppets taking after real persons, which even possess their personaliy and memories.

All I ever wanted All I ever needed Is here in my arms Words are very Unnecessary They can only do harm

Depeche Mode - Enjoy the Silence

People tend to say you should be careful what you wish for. Apparently they were right.

At least it worked...somehow.

The last thing you knew was that you had sneaked into Alluka’s cell, wanting to free her just as much as you wanted to find Illumi. Of course her parents weren’t really fond of the idea, so you waited for an opportune moment and asked for Nanika to appear before the family could realize and act against it.

Your wish was pure and without any ill intend - so there would be no consequences.

“Please: Bring me to Illumi. I need to save him!”

So she did as she was told.

You found yourself having been teleported to an unknown place, at bright day even though it was night at the Zoldyck estate. That means you’d be at least on the other side of the world, gladly far enough away for them to quickly try and retrieve Alluka.

All you could make up in between miles of nature was an old building, almost like a chapel.

And in front of it stood Illumi.

“These eyes are strange” he thought out aloud, taking in his environment. “Everything looks so bright.”

“Illu-nii-!” You put a finger in front of Alluka’s lips, signalizing her to stay quiet. Gladly you had appeared in somewhat of an hiding, so no one had noticed you up until now.

Something was off. That thing was surely not Illumi - even if it painfully appeared so.

“Gon!” a blonde girl shoutet in visible distress, “Hang in there! Gon!”

And then it dawned to you: A Nen ability.

Cloning? But why and how? It should be impossible to make such a perfect image of another person, which even seems to think and act on it’s own.

“Give gon his eyes back!” Killua demanded, but got shut down by the clone through a proper kick in his guts. “I can’t do that, Kill.”

You were too late to stop the poor Killua from running away, instead of chasing him deciding to follow the spitting image of your husband - but he had detected you earlier than you anticipated.

“Weird...” he spoke with the voice you had missed so much, staring at you with an empty glare. “You don’t look different.”

A surprised “Huh?” was all you managed to get out at his weird assumption, defendingly standing in front of Alluka.

“Those eyes make everything shine so bright. But you look just as always” the clone statet, almost as if amazed by your sheer appearance.

“You’ve always shined to me, Y/N.”

And like that, he was gone.

There wasn’t much time to think about it, since the screams of that unfamiliar girl got you down to earth again.

“Please, Gon!” she encouraged him as he tried to leave after she wrapped a bandage around his empty eyeholes. “Don’t-”

But he was already gone, chasing Killua to god knows where.

“What the hell...” you mumbled, still holding Alluka firmly in your arms.

Now the girl, which appeared like a puppet as well given a second look, turned to both of you. “Just...who are you? And where did you came from?”

“Long story.” Your answer was short, not wanting to tell anyone about Alluka’s powers. “But I’m a friend of those children. And...I need to find the man from earlier.”

“That was just one of Omokage’s puppets” she explained, pointing towards the direction Gon and Killua ran off to. “I can explain anything on the way. But we need to find them!”

It was already night when you found those two, because even with your superhuman speed you still had a child to take care off.

Seemingly, the two had resolved whatever internal trouble they were having, and much to your surprise Leorio and Kurapika had joined them as well.

“You guys...”

“Y/N?!” All of them went into a defensive position, ready to fight you in case you were a puppet as well. You weren’t mad, though. It was the only plausible reason for them to have magically appeared in here.

“Killu-nii!” Alluka cheered, approaching her brother as fast as her small legs could carry her. You wanted to prevent a reunion like that, but well...

Of course the boy broke out in tears as he remembered his sister he was forced to forget about all those years, the weight of his guilt crushing down on him once again. “I’m so sorry, Alluka...I think I was still under Illu-nii’s influence.”

Your lip began to tremble at his words, having to bite it so they wouldn’t notice that you were about to cry.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?” Damn. Of course they noticed the shift in your aura.

“Come to think of it...” Gon said, unusual sharp intellect considering his usual, blunt nature. “How come you accompany Killua’s sister? Doesn’t that mean you would’ve broken in Kurokoo mountain and fight all the Zoldycks for it?”

“I...uh-”

“Wait a second!” Good for Killua that he regains his cool so fast after having been emotional, but you wish it weren’t like that. “Isn’t that my great-grandmother’s ring? Did you stole it?!”

“Wha- no! Of course not!”

That wasn’t his greatest concern: Did you know about Alluka’s powers, and wanted to have them for yourself? Was that the reason? But how could you ever just invade the Zoldyck property and take what’s theirs without dying at their hands?

None of it made sense, no matter how much he racket his brain around the matter.

“Illu-nii gave it to Y/N for their wedding! Isn’t that cute?”

Everyone’s breath hitched at Alluka’s innocent words, and you could feel even those whose eyes were stolen widen in shock.

Before you could even defend yourself, Killua had tackled you down before sharpening his fingernails and pressing them against your neck, drawing blood.

“Why...?” Kurapika spoke the word that went through everyone’s minds, followed by Killua’s disappointed whisper “Traitor....”

“Because I love Illumi. That’s all.”

The boy then grabbed your shirt, shaking you as if to wake you up from a deep trance. “Love? LOVE?!? You know my brother, damn it!”

“Yeah!” Leorio joined the scolding. “You know very well what he forced Killua to do all those years, and that he tried to kill Gon!”

“I know very well what he’s capable of.” Against all resistance by your friends, you still remained calm and cheerful. “But he’s my husband, and I’ll fight for him until my dying breath.”

You’ve never seen Killua so furious and hurt in your life, and you could understand him:

The man responsible for all of his pain - and someone he considered a friend to fall in love with and defend him.

“Don’t give me that bullshit...” he growled as he let go off of you, tears of anger collecting in the rim of his eyes. “He obviously turned Y/N into a needleman!”

The only one to remain silent was Gon, knowing that he shouldn’t intervene until Killua was done having his rage.

Since the truth was simple, yet hard to accept for someone who had suffered under Illumi’s influence for that long.

“Don’t bully Y/N!” Alluka suddenly  blurted out, softly punching her brother’s back.

Killua then refrained from interrogating you any further, turning around to hug his sister once again. You knew the anger he let out was not just against you or your husband, but also out of wdisappointment in himself.

“I’m so sorry, Alluka...I should’ve saved you. Instead, I tried to leave my past behind and also left you alone!”

Alluka was a smart girl, at least emotionally - her mind worked different than the other Zoldycks. She gently put her hand on her brother’s hair, consoling him even though she never really understood how severe the situation at hand was:

“It’s okay! I was’t alone!” she cheered, smiling all innocent from one ear to another. “Big brother Illumi played with me all the time, together with Y/N! We had such fun!”

You smiled gently at the naive girl, knowing everyone would believe her to speak the truth. Picking her up and on your shoulders as she always wanted you to do, you waited for everyone to just process her statement.

“Alluka has spent almost every day at home with us” you proudly declared, as if you were actually her parent. “He’s a bit reserved, of course, but he loves her very much!”

“...that’s so fucked up” Leorio declared as he thought back to the creepy Gittarackur.

Killua was at loss for words, only managing to get out a consensual nod at Leorio.

“Hey!” you snickered mischievously, rumpling up his hair. “I’m your sister in law now. A little more respect!”

“Anyway” Kurapika interrupted, “Where’s Pretz?”

Seems like changing the topic was easier for the group than to keep thinking about that almost impossible constellation.

“She’s a puppet” Gon revealed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, just for you to confirm his thesis.

“And you let Illumi steal your eyes just to follow the nen connected to them?” Giving him a head-butt, you added. “Still the idiot.”

That wasn’t fully true: Those kids sure grew since the last time you’ve met them at the Hunter Exam.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the situation, feeling like a stone was falling off your chest just by being with them.

“I’m glad to meet you again. I’ve missed you so much, guys!”

Leorio had volunteered to take care of Alluka, so she wouldn’t get dragged into the fight, while the others of you headed for Okogame’s hideout.

It was a giant church, so old that it was on the verge of breaking down. 

Fitting place for a showdown, you thought.

“You don’t understand the beauty of my art!” was Okogame’s answer as Kurapika demanded for him to set his dead friend free.

“See?” he yelled dramatically as he revealed his puppets. “Pairo’s beauty together with Kurapika’s passionate eyes.”

To be honest, that wouldn’t revoke a reaction inside of you as your mind was always wandering off.

But then, he revealed his other creation.

“And Illumi’s madness, together with Gon’s pure eyes.”

“...”

“Still the damsel in distress, I see.” God, even his voice was just like him. “I thought I’ve teached you better than that, Y/N.”

“Here he comes” Gon stated the obviously, but you had something to tell Killua.

"This isn’t completely him” you whispered as the puppet slowly approached you. “I can sense it: He isn’t nearly as strong as the real deal. And do you know what? He’s influenced by our memories of Illumi. They shape this puppet. That’s why he’s so scary to you, do you understand? That’s just how you depicture your brother.”

Killua knew what you really wanted to say: As you were now, you could easily end this - but Killua needed to defeat his fears himself.

The puppet came to a halt in front of his younger brother.

“Emotions are obsolete.” Ironically, it seemed that the puppet couldn’t avert his gaze from you, only making you crave your husband more. “Don’t value any of those pathetic commitments.”

“T-That’s wrong.” You were so proud of Killua, because even though he was almost frozen in place out of fear he was able to talk back to his brother. “I made friends, and it’s a great feeling.”

“You’re being silly, Kill” he declared as he pointed at you. “Do you see Y/N over there? I tried it myself. And guess what: They betrayed me. Ran away from me, scared. And now I’m all alone again.

Ouch. Even the puppet was hurt by your actions back then.

“But killing is something we can always do. It gives us power, makes us feel alive. Fear is the only reliable way of controling someone. We don’t need friends. We can manipulate people. Otherwise they will only hurt and betray you. So if they disobey: Kill them.”

“S-Shut up!” both you and Killua shoutet in unison.

“Kill me, then” he whispered into Killua’s ear, “Come on. Prove that I’m wrong.”

So that’s the monster Killua saw in Illumi all those years...

“Lumi...” you couldn’t help but sob, “I didn’t want to let you down...”

“Don’t interfere” the puppet spoke, throwing several needles at you at once. “I don’t have any business with you anymore. This is a family matter.”

“I like the outfit!” you laughed it off, avoiding the needles as if it was nothing. “Feels just like sparring back then!”

“You’ve always been too careless, Y/N. Because I had a soft spot for you. But I’m not going easy on you now - my order is to leave none of you alive.

A few needles pinned you to the wall, making you realize you weren’t fully concentrated.

You didn’t want to fight your husband, even though that’s not really him, so you were unknowingly holding back.

“We knew it would eventually end that way” the puppet spoke, the dark void in his eyes reminding you of the Illumi you got to know before your marriage. “Even though I’m almost sad about it.”

Your head fell in defeat, too hurt to see the love of your life suffering for so long. May as well let him hurt you a bit, to punish yourself and feel what he felt.

“I’m so sorry, Lumi.” Your answer and lack of struggle actually made him taken aback for a second, until the mission that Okogame’s nen imprinted on the puppet forced him to continue.

“Hey!” Killua yelled as he kicked another set of needles out of his hand, “We are your enemies! You said it yourself!”

Of course they had their own intentions: Getting back Kurapika’s eyes, save Pretz, overcome the trauma Illumi had put on Killua...

But you were thankful that your friends tried to avoid you having to end Illumi’s life, even if only in a metaphorical sense.

The real fight didn’t even take a whole minute, with Gon and Killua only taking a few hits until they pierced the puppet’s heart with unified strenght.

Immediately, you rushed to his side, caughting the stiff body before it hit the ground.

“Why do you stay with me, Y/N...?”

You grabbed his hand, feeling honest compassion for the artifical being as you cried out “Because you’re being loved. By me, and Alluka and even Killua! I’ll find the real you, and save you no matter what!”

“I see...” The puppet robotically touched your cheek, movements not really different from the real Illumi at the beginning from your relationship. “Maybe I was wrong about trust after all.”

A small smile played on his face as your lips hesistantly touched, while you simultaneously pressed a knife inside of him to end it all.

“Rest now” you said what Illumi had always told you when you were upset. Okogame’s curse couldn’t force his will onto the puppet now that he wasn’t able to get up ever again.

And Illumi collected the last bit of strenght as his body slowly dissolved into nen.

At least in the end he wasn’t alone - until death does you part.

“I guess dying through your hands doesn’t feel all that bad.”

_____

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[sweeethinny]

The Duke - Chapter 8

I feel that I need to apologize for the delay ahahahahahah some things - depression - have happened in my life in the last few months, along with the horrible results of my exams that made me fall into a limbo of feeling like a failure - it's no use telling me that I'm not a grade, I know that, but it still hurts And all of that was a block for me to be able to write anything I needed to think too much, and in the few days that depression left me alone, anxiety came to do her job and I couldn't control myself enough Anyway, something happened on Saturday and I wrote the last 5k of words that were missing and here's the chapter

thank you the people of discord who did not let me give up and asked for this chapter, I hope you all like it, it is by far one of the most sentimental chapters I have ever written in this story :)

TW: description of injuries that may be a little disgusting or too much for some people, be careful if you are sensitive to this

read bellow the cut or on AO3, SIYE (soon), or FF.NET

| J. P |

James still remembered the lullaby whispered against his son's sweaty, childlike curls as he cradled the boy in his arms, feeling like the happiest man in the world, with a life in his arms.

He still remembered how beautiful Lily looked, lying on their bed, sleeping soundly after breastfeeding Harry, her white nightdress wrinkled and her messy red hair against the pillow, resonating just like Harry did, hugging his father.

He still remembered putting him to sleep, kissing his forehead where a birth scar made him unique, making James think of how magical it was to have that life there, so close to him.

It was Harry's first day trying to sleep in a room separate from his parents.

James still remembered Lily's scream, how he couldn't move when looking at the empty crib, the broken window, how he wanted to vomit when the curse breaker said there were Dark Arts there.

James still remembered running through the streets of Godric's Hollow, wearing only a red robe, as he rummaged through the garbage, entered the alleys, and looked desperately for his son.

James still remembered shouting at the healers when they brought a dead child, the same size and appearance as Harry, hit by an Avada Kedavra, 'It's not Harry!'

He still remembered the photos, the stories, the chase over them, how Lily got sick with each passing hour, and how he needed to take charge of everything, even if all he wanted to do was cry and scream.

How did someone catch a child? A newborn?!

When Lily asked him to put an end to it, when she asked him to just find a way to get all those people out of the castle door, stop the reports and let them cry in peace, he said. He went on the balcony of the main hall, the one on the third floor and facing the main street in the village.

James, feeling sick to see all those people, feeling that he had been overcome by pressure from the press, from the population, from the King, raised the black flag and left, not waiting to see the reaction of the people when he confirmed that Harry was dead.

But he knew he wasn't, he knew Lily knew it too, they were just tired of looking like two nuts, when they still had to deal with the pain of having a kidnapped child.

James still remembers the taste of blood, when he fought with Death Eaters, when during one of the missions, he left for Yeovil and was caught. He still remembered the torture, the blood splattering on his face as they beheaded a child identical to Harry. He knew it was the Imperius Curse, he knew it was all a lie, but it still hurt and haunted him more than all the deaths he had seen in person.

He thought he was going to go crazy.

James remembered all of that, he still remembered when Dumbledore told him about the whole prophecy, about the expiration date that their son had.

'You are crazy!' James screamed, breaking everything he saw ahead, feeling so angry that he thought he might explode. 'My son is not dead.' He assured him, snarling at Dumbledore, the fucking King, teeth clenched and faces close together, as if James dared him to deny it.

There were so many things that James remembered; from when Lily talked about hosting the Dueling Party because a fortune teller had told her that Harry was closer than they thought; from when he spoke to Arthur and heard the man say that his daughter was going to get married, the same girl who was supposed to marry Harry, the same girl that Dumbledore said she had a power that could be even harmful to her.

James remembered all of that.

But he didn't remember where he met that man.

'Henry Figg..' He murmured, watching the Auror follow Miss. Weasley through the garden, discreetly and very attentively, while the girl spoke non-stop, which James thought it should be with the man.

'It's a pretty common name,' Lily replied, smiling at the elf who poured tea into her cup. The two were sitting on the balcony of their room, watching from a distance all the guests to settle down and have time to discover the garden, the rooms, before the opening dinner. 'Figg is a Muggle surname.'

'But he is not a squib.' James scorned, and as if to prove it, the Auror levitated a gnome who tried to pull the hem of Miss. Weasley, who didn't even seem to notice, still talking and interacting with the statues.

'No, but he may be a Muggleborn.' Lily shrugged, legs crossed, and a magazine propped there, even though he knew she wasn't reading, but was also following the guests with her eyes. She was less brazen than James, wearing a hat that cast enough shadow over her eyes so that no one would notice that she was staring at them. He had already been caught in the act by a Marquise and a Count, both of whom seemed very close for someone who has met a few minutes before.

'Do you think they would have sent him? Aurors tend to be prejudiced, you know. ' James said, sipping his own tea.

'Oh, of course I know.' Lily laughed humorlessly, flipping through the magazine when a Lady watched them. It was as if they were two jesters on top of the ring. 'That girl, doesn't she seem very interested in Mr. Longbottom?'

'Who? The one wearing a yellow dress? For sure... Do you think they have an affair?'

'Of course not, Frank is a good man-'

'-I'm talking about Mr Figg and Miss. Weasley.' James interrupted, noticing when she sat at the water fountain, Henry standing.

'Why do you think that? She's a decent girl.' Lily seemed convinced enough to drop the magazine and actually look at the girl, watching them both in silence, at the same time that Henry seemed to smile and so did Ginny.

It was as if they were talking telepathically.

'I don't know, I just thought he was too careful with her, as if at any time he could jump in front of an Avada Kedavra to save her.' James said, shrugging.

'He's being paid well to do just that.' Lily reminded him, dropping the teacup next to his, then intertwining her fingers with James'. 'We need to get down.'

'Unfortunately.' James winced. 'I feel that nothing we talk about is taken seriously, it is as if we are forced to wear black for the rest of our lives.'

'It's only a week,' Lily whispered, making him stop looking at Henry and look at her, those green eyes that made him fall in love. 'I promise it will be worth it, you will see.'

'I always believe in you,' The two got up, walking together into their room, so clean it was as if no one slept there. James had spent so many years just with Lily at home, that he didn't even remember having such an immaculate environment and people around. It was a little scary. 'But this time I admit that I'm a little reluctant.'

'You are stubborn by nature,' she said, leaving the room as she straightened the pink scarf around her neck. 'I remember you complained about my desire to have this party.'

'But I still don't understand the reasons.' James whispered, now that they were in the corridors, even though it was the fourth floor on the west side and there was no room being occupied over there.

The walls have ears. He remembered his father always saying.

'What if she is wrong?'

'What if she isn't?' Lily looked at him, eyes steady on him. 'What if our son is here?' She spoke hopefully, almost in an inaudible whisper, it was horrible when other people got into their hopes for Harry.

'I haven't seen him anywhere.' James argued, a little irritated, following his wife into the room where there was a crowd of people.

'And how would we know if it's him? We haven't seen him for more than 20 years.' Lily shrugged, stopping them before finally entering through the big white double door, wide open and making them listen to the side conversations. 'We have an ace up our sleeve, and if it doesn't work...' She seemed unable to continue the sentence, but James thought nonetheless, we will accept that he is dead.

'Oh, duchess!' A short, plump lady howled from across the room, near the door to the garden, the egg yellow color in no way favoring the pale skin. 'We were waiting for you to have tea.' James couldn't help thinking about all the teas that Lily hadn't been invited to until that last month, having to force himself to smile at that woman who was staring at them curiously.

'Thank you, Mrs Brown, but I think it will be more pertinent to start the party, it will be quite a week, and we will have so much to do!' Lily smiled happier than usual, also seeming to force herself on it.

They continued to socialize and chat with everyone there, hoping to give the right time they had planned to serve the main banquet, smiling and laughing at the bad jokes.

'I have never seen people more false than these.' Sirius whispered, reaching for James for the first time, serving him with firewhiskey.

'Thank you very much,' he thanked, the drink burning the inside of his throat. 'I don't remember receiving so many invitations to drink since I was 18 and the four of us were single.'

'Half of these people already speak ill of us, the other half will after tonight.' Sirius barked, a blonde woman looked at them as if she was afraid. 'Not unlike before, but now they feel they need to lie and pretend it isn't true.'

'Don't say that next to Lily, she's trying hard.' James scolded, watching when Miss. Weasley came into the room, her cheeks flushed with the sun and her hair a little disheveled, nothing much, she looked a little sweaty, as if she had run around the garden like a child. Mr. Figg was right behind her, camouflaging himself in the sea of ​​people, barely seeming to be seen by others as he walked over to an empty window.

The Auror kept watching everyone in the room, stopping for a few seconds to observe some people in specials, but then rolling his eyes around the room again, always ending at Miss. Weasley sitting on the couch, talking to her brother.

When he once again scanned the room, he looked at James. The boy suddenly looked scared, as if he had been caught - and he was, in a way - but soon he rearranged his posture and nodded to James, as if asking for forgiveness for not making himself so invisible.

James knew him from somewhere, he knew it, he just didn't remember it.

He didn't go to the Ministry much to end up colliding with an auror, and he hadn't visited the Weasleys' house in a long time to have seen him there. The few times he will travel and speak to Arthur, he was careful to only have them at home.

Where did that boy come from, then?

James was about a second away from going to him and bombarding the man with questions, but he was stopped when Lily took him by the arm and drew everyone's attention so she could start the Duel Party.

As if to prove that he was a good Auror, Mr. Figg was not in James' view for the rest of the day. Which showed that he was efficient at work, but that did not make James forget the restlessness that rumbled in his chest, his mind working hard to remember.

James wouldn't rest until he remembered.

| G. W |

Ginny never thought that being alone would be so much fun.

Okay, maybe she wasn't alone, because Henry was still watching her like a shadow, and there were still all eyes on her like they were just waiting for her to explode and destroy everything around her.

But still, Ginny felt a strange freedom as she walked through the garden at night, shortly after dinner, thanking everyone for not paying too much attention to social rules and that Ginny was a single woman. Maybe it was because no one else really had any hopes that she would end up getting married so she didn't need a lady company beside her.

And Henry was always there, it was hard to ignore that. At least for her.

'Do you think we can manage to reach the stream that Mrs Potter told us about? She said it looks beautiful at night.’ Ginny asked, but Henry - who was particularly awkward since they got there - said nothing, just nodded.

This upset the woman.

Not having other people talking to her, or not having men praising her as they did tirelessly with the Patil sisters, or Miss. Brown, it was something Ginny no longer cared about - she didn't care so much, because there were still days when she was sad and cried with that loneliness. But not having Henry talking to her, it looked like a much sharper knife that cut through it in a much deeper way.

'Do you think they will let me take part in the Duel tomorrow?' She looked over her shoulder again, hands folded in front of her as she walked down the stone road, surrounded by flowers, bushes, fairy lights and sculptures that waved once or twice other.

'I don't think so, Miss, I'm sorry.' Henry kept his hands back, three steps away from her, still not looking directly into her eyes.

Ginny could still see him, even though the fairies didn't seem to make much of a point of illuminating him, as they did when following her, however, she still realized that Henry's green eyes were always a spot above her head, as if suddenly he was afraid that if he looked at her something bad would happen.

Henry's coldness hurt more than the others, Ginny didn't know why. Maybe she was used to being alone, but she could always run back to Henry and be heard.Maybe she was just used to his friendship.

'A pity, then.' She started walking again, blinking away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. How silly to cry about that!

One of the fairies that flew around her, landed on her shoulder, didn't bite her or anything, just sat there, as if comforting her. Ginny continued on the stone path, completely silent.

She never imagined visiting such an elegant house, but even so, Ginny felt that if the walls spoke they would contradict themselves with the various colors that painted them and the cheerful style that perpetuated in each room, and would make you cry.

It was easy to see how dejected Mrs. Potter always looked, looking for someone in the crowd and never seeming to find. Her green eyes had a gray shade that Ginny thought was sadness, and her cheeks were so pale that it was as if her skin hadn't been exposed to the sun for weeks, if not months. She also noticed how thinner Lily was than the photos that appeared in the history books or in the newspapers that she stole from her father; Lily was taller than she, with long arms and legs, but even smaller than Mr. Potter. The fabric of her dress was very elegant, but it looked too loose even with all the ribbons tied around her back.

Ginny wondered if Lily was sick, if the sadness had consumed her, or if she had always been that way.

She did not fail to notice when the Duchess smiled at her over dinner, everyone was talking to everyone and Ginny was silent - except when her mother or Ron asked her something - and Lily was sitting next to the husband, across the table and to the right, but the woman maintained eye contact with Ginny as if she knew what she felt, smiling at what seemed for the first time that day to be a real smile.

Lily should have known very well what it was like to be lonely and have to get used to it. Not that Ginny understood the pain of losing a child, she hoped she would never know, but she could still imagine.

Before leaving for the gardens, Lily asked her if she would like to have tea with her and the other women. Nobody had ever invited Ginny before, she was nervous with the idea of ​​sitting in a room with all those women who didn't seem to like her very much, so she denied and thanked her, saying that she preferred to know a little more about the garden.

'It's a good choice,' the Duchess said, smiling and with her hand on Ginny's shoulder, not looking away even for a second. 'The stream is wonderful at night, with the stars and the moon illuminating... Very romantic.' Lily blinked, then straightened her back and turned to the other women who were talking near the bookcase, calling them to join her in a tea.

Ginny did not expect - at least, she would like to think she did not expect - the romantic mood that Lily referred to to influence Henry's attitude towards her, but she continued to allow herself into the silence of her mind to imagine if the Moon at the top of the sky and the stars reflecting in the water, they would make Henry attracted to the corset she had squeezed in, and the red lipstick that the elf stained her fingers to paint on Ginny's lips.

Perhaps because of the perfume Bill had given her last Christmas, which smelled of flowers and something French that reminded her a little of Fleur, but not so sweet.

However, when they finally arrived at the stream, where the idea of ​​a great place for dating really passed, Henry continued to stand three steps away from her, standing by a tree, watching as Ginny stretched the rug she had taken for both of them and sat facing the water.

Something inside broke when reality invaded expectation, her hand smoothing the fabric of the dress as if it were the most interesting thing. The fairy was still sitting on her shoulder, her wings were not flapping and the light was getting a little weaker, as if she were feeling Ginny's pain and trying to make Henry realize her intention of going to that part.

'Don't you think it's a very hot night for tea?' Ginny asked, trying one last time.

'It depends on the tea,' Henry replied, looking thoughtful. 'Perhaps a tea with fresh herbs will become a little refreshing, or with orange peel.'

'Who would have tea with orange peel?' Ginny looked over her shoulder, just for a few seconds, and Henry's eyes locked with hers.

'I know some Aurors who drink them during missions, when they need something that will calm them down and remind them of home, but that will keep them awake,' he said calmly, hands still behind his body, eyes looking away to watch the sky and then the various trees that were around them.

'Did you notice how that guy... Mr. Rosier, looked a little uncomfortable when dinner started?' Ginny remembered what she wanted to say as soon as she left the table, but she ended up forgetting, and also needing to change the subject and make him look at her again, feeling a little pathetic about almost begging for attention.

Henry looked at her. 'No, I didn't notice. Why do you think that? He seemed very excited when talking to Mr. Black.’

'Maybe it was nervousness, there were two pretty girls sitting next to him, and they seemed to want to get his attention. But I realized, just that, he looked a little out of place.' She shrugged, looking back at the water when Henry looked away again.

Ginny cursed herself for thinking that Henry might want something with her, she should already know that things were not as easy for her as for other women.

'Not that it is very difficult to feel out of place here,' she said, watching her reflection in the water.

'Did you find it?'

'Well, we are at a Duke's house, I don't think I will be able to not feel out of place… Mr. Potter has already met the King.' Ginny whispered the last part, as if it were a secret between them that she wanted to keep, remembering how furious her father looked when he learned that the man had come to the King to ask questions that, of course, no one wanted to tell her about.

'I don't know, there is something about them that makes me feel almost familiar.' Henry approached, she could say, because of the noise of the branches breaking and the leaves crushing under the boot he wore. But Ginny continued to look at the water.

Something moved deep inside, something she couldn't see what it was.

‘Familiar? Yes, they are very polite and seem to want to get close to people and make them feel at home.’ Ginny put her hand in the water, curious as a child looking for Christmas presents around the house.

'Didn't you feel like you already knew the two of them for a long time?' Henry asked, standing a few steps behind her, she saw him in the reflection of the water, now cloudy because she was trying to catch whatever moved below.

It could just be a fish, of course, but Ginny was skeptical of that. She heard Mr. Potter talking about how the only lake that had fish was one much further away, close to the quarries.

‘No, but it’s also like they’re not complete strangers.’

‘I don’t know, the last time I felt like this, was when…’ But Ginny didn’t pay attention, she finally got to whatever it was, it was icy and slippery like moss, but it had scales that scraped her skin. Something small and thin clung to her wrist and she screamed at the sensation, agonized by the sensation of small hands sinking into her skin.

Ginny pulled her arm up as fast as she could, screaming even more when she saw an animal stuck in her arm, big eyes and pale skin, the head bigger than the rest of the body, sinking the small nails further into her arm, and what should have been the animal's hair, burned like fire against her skin when it touched her. The mermaid's tail bounced off Ginny's arm, causing pain that seemed unreal when compared to the animal's size.

'Run.' The mermaid said, neither seeming to blink or paying attention to the fact that she was out of the water. ‘Now.’ Before she could say anything, a spell made the animal drop from Ginny's arm now red and looking irritated, falling into the water like a piece of stone.

'Come on.' Henry grabbed her, forcing her to get up.

Ginny was paralyzed, fear freezing her veins and making her barely able to breathe properly, still seeming to feel the slimy, cold sensation of the animal against her, huge dark eyes locked on hers, how the voice sounded thin and made her feel dizzy as if she had been attacked by a spell.

She didn't even realize that it was Henry who was pulling her all the way until she tripped over a rock, seeming to be enough for her to wake up from the panic trance she was in. 'What was that?'

'A mermaid.' Henry continued to hold her arm, wand drawn and Ginny's body close to him, as if he were ready to hide her behind him and take down anyone who appeared there.

'You can't think she was serious... can you?' She asked a little hopefully, feeling her arm burn and sting as if it had been cut and now it had been dipped in alcohol.

'Do you want to stay there to see if it's true or not?' Henry looked at her, his green eyes dark with what seemed to be concern, his teeth clenched. 'These animals do not lie, let alone speak to humans on a regular basis. That was not right. ’

‘Why did my arm look like this?’ The two didn’t follow the path they came from, but Henry took them for what seemed to be where the elfs walked, behind the house, in a part that had almost no fairies lighting up or statues. It looked almost abandoned when they got closer.

'It can be many things, I will have to look closely.' He knelt on the floor and opened a secret passage as if he had been doing that for years, lighting up the stairs for Ginny. 'Come down. We don’t want anyone to see your arm like that. ’

'Where are we?' She did as he was told, even though her right arm seemed to hurt to the bone, taking care not to fall off balance and fall backwards in what appeared to be an underground path. It was cold and dark, with few candles lighting up the front, and it smelled of mold.

'Under the kitchen.' Henry closed the passage, finally seeming to calm down from the latest events, pulling Ginny's arm close, lighting it with his wand. 'It hurts?'

'A lot.' She felt dinner coming back when he touched the wound, the pain almost leaving her on her knees.

'It is probably a poisonous mermaid, we will have to clean this up and... Cut it out.' Ginny warned herself then, her eyes bulging towards Henry, who even in that gloom seemed to apologize for having to hurt her. ‘It’s a small cut, just to extract the poison they contain and that’s probably why you’re feeling so much pain.’

'Great, it's the first day we're here and a mermaid attacks me,' she said, her head thrown back and a snort coming out of her lips. 'My mom will be ...' Henry interrupts her, his hand on her mouth in a silent request for her to be quiet once in her life, while they can hear footsteps above them, footsteps that don't seem to come from the kitchen, but from the garden.

Ginny hears when the person runs and stops over where they entered, Henry is quick to camouflage them with a spell and pull them close to one of the walls, as if he just waits for the person to open the door and go look for them there

But the person seemed to give up, saying something to someone that they cannot identify who it is or what is said, but they both seem quite irritated. Ginny almost loses her eyes when she realizes that the second person didn't seem to have come from anywhere, and that he was probably already around, just waiting for them. Again, fear freezes her, but this time it is a little different, she looks at Henry, who is also looking at her in fright, and it is almost as if they are communicating by mind again, because Ginny knows what he's thinking when the drags into the tunnel, at a much faster pace and without lowering the wand once.

The mermaid was right, and they weren't as safe as they thought. Someone there was planning, at best, to kill Ginny that night.

Ginny didn't even wait for Henry to pull her to run any further when they thought they heard the noise of the passage being opened, she didn't even remember the pain, or she cared about the noise of rats and other animals that got scared when they passed, moving on, not quite sure where the tunnel ended.

It was common for older houses to have these tunnels, especially if the family was wealthy, her father had said that the tunnels served as an escape route for when things got bad with the advance of the First Wizarding War, and then they became useful for wealthy families to hide their wealth or, families allied with Voldemort, to keep their prisoners.

Fortunately, the Potter didn't seem to want to keep any prisoners there, all through the tunnel there were only other paths that they would probably lead to either in the main rooms or in the office, as they had at home. Ginny and Henry passed a wine cellar too, where two elves were, but luckily, none of them heard them, or if they did, they pretended not to.

Henry helped Ginny open the wooden door that, by his calculations, would come out on the floor where Ginny was, near the winter Garden that served as the divider of the west and east wing. There was no one around, thanks to Merlin, all the doors were closed and few were the rooms that had the light on. She wondered if people had already started sneaking out to date, or did they wait at least one day.

Ginny heard many stories of couples who were married eight months after a Duel Party, and the woman had a child who was born ‘’early.’’

'My mom must have realized that I didn't come back.' She whispered, pulling Henry into her room, the two of them walking on tiptoe. They were still invisible to anyone, but she doubted that they could put a silencing spell on them without anyone noticing, even the pictures could scream for it. She herself had seen the great-grandfather's picture yell at George when he did it once.

'If she talks to me, I will say that I brought you safely but you wanted to go to sleep early.' He calmed her, looking embarrassed when Ginny put him into the room. ‘Miss, I don’t know if it’s very-’

'Henry, no one cares about my honor anymore, and my arm is turning purple.' She showed it, almost vomiting when she realized how swollen and purple the arm was getting, as if blood was not flowing from the elbow down. 'Get it over with,' Ginny pleaded, feeling the pain again now that the adrenaline had gone, sitting on the bed and turning her face to the window.

'This is going to hurt,' Henry predicted, after silencing the room and taking her hand gently, stretching her arm and causing Ginny an absurd pain, which felt as if the bones wanted to rip her skin.

‘Ah!’ She screamed, biting her lip hard as soon as Henry tied something separating the injured part from the other.

'I need to ensure that the poison does not rise further,' he explained.

'Just get it over with.'

'Miss, I'm going to need you to stay here...' Ginny went to the desk, stretching her arm over the wood, thinking how she hadn't wanted Henry to touch her for the first time under those circumstances. She wanted him to take her hand, to caress her skin, but not when her arm looked like it would explode in pus. 'I'll start.'

'OK. I trust you.' Ginny took a deep breath.

'Thank you, Miss.' Henry said, before finally touching his wand on her arm and murmuring words that Ginny didn't understand, not when the pain left her deaf and blind, making her stomp like a madwoman, struggling when the heat took part of her right arm, going up her shoulders, throat, and making her look like she was going to explode in seconds.

It burned like pure fire, and she made the mistake of looking at the outstretched arm and seeing the open skin and spilling yellowish green goo mixed with blood, Henry squeezed her flesh as if it were nothing, and Ginny thought she would die because of a damn mermaid.

The scream burned her throat and echoed throughout the room, she hoped Henry had protected them well, because she could have woken up the entire mansion now. The taste of blood and iron filled her mouth, probably her lip had hurt when she clenched her teeth to stop the scream, but it was impossible, it hurt like it never hurt, it was almost torture.

Fingers on her right hand didn't move, or if they did, Ginny couldn't feel it. This time she didn't look at Henry when he swore, touching his wand again to her feverish skin and saying more charms, also seeming to mumble an apology.

Ginny continued to scream and struggle for what seemed like eternity, until everything went cloudy and she heard Henry say it was over, casting healing spells that stopped the heat from rising in her arm, just as the pain subsided, but Ginny still felt she was shaking and would probably fall if she tried to get up or move her arm now. Henry untied the tape and placed his hands on her skin as if to calm whatever was going on there, she was unable to observe.

'It's over, it's over,' he murmured, conjuring ice and placing it under her skin. 'There was more poison than I imagined, but I promise that there is nothing more, I took everything away... Tomorrow you will be better again, I promise.'

'Thank you, Henry,' Ginny said weakly, not even feeling the tears that were streaming down her face, the sobs being the only thing she heard now.

She looked at the arm again, this time closed, returning to the original color, a little less swollen, and with only small reddish parts, where she believed Henry had made the cut. Henry continued to run the ice over her injured skin, his other hand holding hers as if he said he was there, and everything was fine.

'I'm going to need help getting to bed.' She had also been thinking about one day having his help to go to bed - and it wasn't for sleeping - but today she really needed help, and Ginny doubted that a house elf would help her more than Henry was doing. ‘Sorry about that, but I don’t think I can take my dress off by myself.’

| H. F |

Henry gasped.

It seemed more frightening to have to help Ginny get into her pajamas, than to tear off what looked like a kilo of Mermaid venom, watching her skin open spewing goo, blood, and listening to her scream.

He almost fell off his chair when she asked him to.

But he was her security guard, the guy who should cherish her life, and Ginny had already suffered too much in one night, he wouldn’t make her sleep in those tight clothes just because he felt he could get hard just by looking at her back.

'Of course, Miss.' Henry stood up. He had already washed many aurors, people would be shocked at how weepy men are when they get hurt, and how they beg for help when they see their own blood dripping on the floor, even if it is for a small injury.

Joe once nearly passed out when he realized that his shoulder was dislocated and his arm looked almost like gelatin. Henry had to help him shower that night.

But Joe and everyone else were guys that Henry wasn't attracted to, they stank of blood, sweat and dirt, Ginny didn't. The woman's arm had almost been eaten alive by the mermaid's poison, and she still smelled of flowers and looked like the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It would never be the same.

Henry went to the wooden barrel that was in the corner of the room, separated by a wooden divider, taking the towel placed there and stretching the rug in front so that Ginny would step on when he left - he didn't want to think too much at that moment - and moved the wand to fill the barrel with hot water. He spilled some salts and soap, before making sure it was warm and good for her to get in. Henry didn't know if she would prefer to use the stairs or not, but he left it there anyway. If she wanted, just push it with her foot and use it.

'You don't have to look that worried,' Ginny said, looking even weaker, but at least she wasn't crying anymore. 'I already said, nobody cares about my honor, besides, nobody will ever know.' She shrugged. ‘It’s not like it means anything, you’re just helping me.’

His chest hurt a little, the idea of ​​another man helping her into the bath - but with ulterior motives - making him a little more discouraged. Just as he had been since they arrived, failing to forget that she was likely to return to her house, married.

Yes, it meant nothing. For her. Henry was just a personal security guard, not a man she would like to show off in the bath.

The wet skin, red from the heat, the foam hitting the breasts...Henry denied, trying to clear his mind of those thoughts.

'Sure, Miss.' Was all he said, walking over to her and helping her to her feet, holding her for a few more seconds with the excuse that she looked like she might fall at any moment.

The two went as far as the bath awaited her, Henry remained behind her when Ginny stopped in front of the barrel, hands shaking like a teenager when he undid the first button on her dress. Her skin was much more fragrant there, and it looked much softer and paler, he could even see some freckles disappearing under the back of her neck. Henry salivated with the urge to kiss that part.

He undid another button. Two are gone, only ten more to go, he thought.

Ginny said nothing, a firm hand on the wooden partition, waiting patiently as Henry discovered how much more beautiful she was under the dress. There were other clothes underneath, of course, but Henry could feel the warmth of Ginny's skin much more eagerly now.

When the top of the dress fell to her waist, arms free from the sleeves, Henry found himself with the job of untying the corset. The piece made Ginny look so delicate and fragile that he thought she could break it when he undid a knot and loosened the piece. He had never taken off any woman's corset. In fact, he had never taken off any woman's clothes, and it seemed such an intimate moment that he thought sex was too overrated compared to undoing every button, tie and knot that women used.

As soon as the corset fell, Ginny seemed to be taking a deep breath, and Henry almost laughed softly at what seemed to be the best time of her day. And then, all he needed was the chemise so that he could see the top of her naked.

But Henry thought it would be more polite to wait, so he began to undo the lace on the dress, and loosen the fabric so that it fell completely to the floor, and again, he heard Ginny sigh for what seemed like relief.

Henry looked at her delicate calves, and found himself a fool for wanting to run his hands and mouth over that region, slowly climbing up every little part of her beautiful legs. Of course, he had never seen her legs, only when she wore pants to fly, but Henry liked to imagine that they were as beautiful as everything else.

'Excuse me, Miss.' He asked, politely before pulling the white petticoat down, his chest swelling and throbbing madly as he watched the fabric tease the floor and was aware of how long her legs were even though she was short , and how beautiful her ass was. Henry felt his own cheeks warm, noting the few freckles lost on the back of her thighs, and a few on her ass.

The monster roared in Henry's chest at the thought of another man having knowledge of these freckles. It seemed so intimate now that he saw her that way, and Henry thanked him for never giving in when co-workers asked him to go to Fantasy House, where he would probably see various types of naked bodies. He liked to be surprised at how soft a woman's skin - Ginny’s - looked beneath all those layers, and how much more beautiful it was than his colleagues' descriptions.

He never had much time to court anyone, and even when he did, there weren't many women who wanted him. They generally preferred the richest, tallest, and strongest, or those who at least knew how to speak to them without stuttering, Henry thought. He didn't expect the special woman either, he just always seemed very… empty. None drew him enough attention that he wanted to see her naked, of course some were beautiful and made him feel hot, but they almost never wanted to chat with him, so there was no opportunity either.

'Excuse me,' Henry asked again, now reaching for the hem of the thin white chemise that Ginny wore, hoping she would nod so he could properly see her naked, or at least, her back.

'Okay.' Ginny nodded, her voice a little hoarse, raising her arms up - the right not so much, and he believed it was still hurting.

Henry almost ran out of breath and fell back when the fabric went up and showed him the wealth of freckles on her back, her pale, delicate skin looked even softer than her legs, her shoulders smeared with a little sun, and shoulder blades filled with freckles of all sizes and shades. Henry noticed that there were orange, others more brown, some a little reddish and few that were almost black. He wanted so much to run his hand over her skin.

Her scent invaded Henry's mind in a way that he thought would go crazy, and he probably would, never being able to see another naked woman and not compare her to Ginny and her perfection.

Again he wondered why she had never been asked to marry. He almost fell to his knees right there.

'So, Miss.' He managed to say, his voice hoarse than usual. 'Do you want help getting into the bath?'

'I can do it, Henry, thank you very much.' Ginny didn't turn to see him, and Henry thought it would be better, maybe if he saw a tiny part of her breast, he would be cursed for the rest of his life for not being able to touch her.

'I'll be waiting for you, there's a towel over there, and if the water is not as you like, you can call me.' Henry turned on his back, thinking that seeing her walking naked was also not the best way to try to survive the burning desire in the chest.

But listening seemed even worse, because his imagination didn't stop, the noise of the water and her moan of satisfaction made him have to thank the witch fashion and the fact that his robes protected him from being discovered.

The next few minutes would be slow and painful torture, he knew it, smelling the sweet soap, listening to the water fall to the floor whenever Ginny moved in the bathtub, her little murmurs of satisfaction, filling Henry's imagination with the most perverted images.

He felt ashamed to think that this woman would subject herself to things as dirty as the ones he was thinking about in his fantasies.

'I'm done.' Ginny woke him up from what appeared to be the fifth fantasy that Henry created in his mind. The water fell again, and worse than before, now he imagined her body smooth and warm, reddish and sensitive, smelling like the fragrance that would lead him to death.

Henry waited for her to call on him to help her go to the dresser where all her clothes were, not wanting to pay much attention to the strands of hair that stuck to the back of her neck.

'The bath really helped me,' Ginny said, walking back into the partition. 'I can manage to put on my pajamas, it's button-down, I won't have to make so much effort.' She smiled at him, flushed like a pepper, disappearing behind the wood and making him wait again. 'Do you really think that whoever it was was after me?' She asked, still dressing.

'I think.' Henry was blunt. 'But I did not understand why the other person, who clearly saw where we entered, said nothing. We don’t hear footsteps, which means he was there.’

'Should we tell someone?' Ginny appeared, wearing a light pink nightdress with dark pink buttons, delicate flowers embroidered on the hem. She accepted Henry's help to walk to the bed, she was not so pale anymore, and her arm looked much better, but he still realized that she was holding firmly on the furniture to stand.

'Let me take care of that, Miss, it's my job,' Henry said, covering her up as if Ginny were a helpless child who needed help. He sat next to her on the bed, enjoying that moment that would probably be unique, forgetting that she had been tagged with a boy who was probably dead, or if not, very far from her, and that Arthur had already found a replacement for the position of husband.

And it wasn't Henry.

He sighed, feeling strangely at peace when she shook his hand. 'Thank you for taking care of me.'

'I would never do the opposite.' He smiled, unable to take his eyes off her. 'How's the arm?'

'Sore, but I can feel my hand again.' To prove it, Ginny wiggled her fingers for him to see, laughing softly at that.

'Tomorrow will be better, I put good healing charms on you. It won't even be scarred.' He knew that women could care about that, he even cared about the one he carried on his forehead, always keeping it hidden behind his hair.

Ginny didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at him, luscious brown eyes that reminded Henry of a home feeling, flushed cheeks from hot water or a combination of that and the sun, and adorable freckles that he would like to spend hours counting each one, foolishly trying to memorize them for when he was forced to leave, not wanting, and not thinking he would be able, to ever forget her.

Henry thought how much easier life would be if he could just woo Ginny the right way, that seeing her naked would mean much more than just a helping hand, and that he probably wouldn't see just her back.

He thought about the life he would have had if he had been lucky enough to be born in a mansion like that. Not that he didn't love her mother, far from it, he was very grateful for everything she did. But things could be simpler if he were the son of the Duke and Duchess and had the opportunity to marry Ginny.

But life was not that easy. And, not for the first time, Henry cursed Harry Potter for disappearing and putting him in such a difficult position, of having Ginny so close and yet so far.

'Good night, Miss,' Henry murmured, and just because he felt brave, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. 'Sleep well.'

[slightlymore]

Pride | Part 4

Pairing: CollegeStudent!Doyoung, Y/N, CollegeStudent!Johnny Genre: Series | Smut | Angst | Crack | Fluff Warnings: Discussion around death, loss, mental illness | Hospitals Words: 4.4K

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 |  Part 8 THE END

“They’re not picking up,” said the first man. 

“Try with the second number then,” said another one. 

It was a stuffy surrounding. It was humid, hard to breathe, his nostrils full with metal, he had to gasp. Doyoung hoped to see something less normal after dying. Maybe clouds. Or those type of paradises that looked like fairytale jungles. Definitely not two men with masks hovering over him and some other ones with guns that were using his phone. One was receiving calls from devices on their shoulder. The air was coloured with blue and red lights, making those people’s faces weirdly spectral. 

He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell that guy to stop using his stuff. 

"Don’t move okay? And don’t try to speak" one of the masked men said. Doyoung took a few seconds to understand he was talking to him. He couldn't even hum. He couldn't even move his body. He wanted to look around but they kept him down. They were tying him up. Another one got close to him with something very similar to a collar. Before he could panic though he felt like falling into a deep sleep. He just wanted to go.  "There are no other numbers on his recent calls list. We'll contact his family when-" he managed to hear before passing out yet again. 

----

You've never lost someone to death before. It was something that happened to other people. You knew it was real but it didn't feel real at the same time. You wondered what it might feel like. Sometimes, when you let your mind drift to obscure places late at night, you imagined how your life would be without certain people - those you took for granted. Then your mind imagined, for a split second, their absence, and shaking in your bed you forced those intrusive thoughts away. It was terrifying. You never thought you would have to experience something similar in real life. 

It was a gloomy day. Objectively. In your eyes, waking up in Johnny’s arms made it like the sunniest day you’ve ever seen. You made breakfast and Johnny made coffee. You kissed every second and your face was almost hurting from smiling so much. Walking around campus you saw people chatting animatedly. 

"There's weird energy going on, don't you think?" you asked Johnny. He was looking around as well. You were walking to class, holding hands, kind of excited for people to see. You imagined people joking at you or smiling. Maybe asking questions. But no one seemed to notice. 

"Hey" Johnny stopped one of his basketball mates. He was pale and looked as if hasn't been sleeping well. 

"What's going on?" Johnny asked while looking around as to explain what he was referring to. Was there a notice you both didn’t know about? A party? Some important person coming to your university for a seminar?

The guy looked at him as if he grew another head. You furrowed your eyebrows sensing something coming. 

"You haven't heard?" he said with the littlest voice. "Doyoung-” he started and you felt as when your blood sugar levels got low all of a sudden. You were afraid of what he might say afterwards. A part of you wanted to stop him, no, don’t talk, don’t tell me, please. But the guy talked. “-got hit by a car last night" he explained. 

You gasped loudly and covered your mouth. You’ve never felt your knees get so weak so fast before. If it wasn’t for Johnny holding you, you’ve might have let yourself fell on the ground. Johnny blinked a few times as if not understanding. The guy looked at you first then at Johnny. 

"I thought you were his friends," he said after a moment. Then he eyed your hands. "He even had a crush on you," he said to you. He wasn't accusing you of anything, at least not consciously, but you felt as if he stepped on your heart. You let Johnny's hand go. 

You wanted to ask. You had to. You needed to know. 

"Is he dead?" asked Johnny in your place with a monotone voice. 

The guy sighed. "No, thank God" he replied. You wanted to sigh as well but you weren't able to feel anything. 

God, oh God, oh my God. 

"But he's in the trauma ward. No one really knows what condition he's in" he added. Johnny nodded mechanically. "Now, if you excuse me" the guy whispered and just walked away. 

You didn’t talk. No, you didn’t even think. You walked to class in utmost silence. Or so you realized since you found yourself at the end of the day walking home already. You must have been to class, right? You didn't remember what happened the last few hours and you were afraid to ask, afraid that Johnny would consider you crazy. 

"Y/N," he said at a certain point. You looked at him as if seeing him for the first time in months. He was looking back at you, one hand on the wheel, the other one was holding yours. Your eyes went down and looked at your intertwined fingers as if they weren't part of your body. 

"He's not dead" Johnny added. 

You looked at the road going by quickly underneath the wheels. It had to be said. You wanted to say it. 

"He called me," you said with the littlest voice. 

Johnny shook his head. "The police called you because you were the last number on the list" he commented. 

You shook your head as well. "Yes. Because he called me before that" you explained. Your voice came out as a whine. Johnny touched your face with his palm and rubbed his thumb on your cheek. You were surprised to realize that it was wet with tears. 

"It's not your fault, Y/N" Johnny spoke again. 

You cried in silence for a while. You couldn't bear to hold Johnny's hand. God, you were having sex while Doyoung was probably agonizing on the ground. The nothingness of the shock started to wear off and all your mind could form were intrusive thoughts of Doyoung. You pressed your fingers on your eyes. 

"Do you want to go and see him?" Johnny asked after a while. 

"No" you managed to reply. "I just want to go home," you said. 

----

The sidewalk was slippery as you quickly made your way to the hospital. The sun was almost all gone leaving behind wet and cold darkness. You didn't want to go there with Johnny. The words of Doyoung's friend haunted you all day. He had a crush on you. He had a crush on you and had to assist at your breaking downs over another man, cheering you up and always being by your side. And now he could have died. He was coming to you. To make sure you were okay. He texted you and he called and you just ignored him and now there you were. Feeling like tearing your heart out of your chest because of guilt. What if he couldn't wake up? What if he couldn't walk? What if he couldn't recognize you or anybody else? 

When you got to the acceptance, the lady thought you were sick. 

"No, I'm here to see Doyoung," you said. 

"His last name?" she asked, kindly. You started to tremble. You didn't even know his last name. 

The lady smiled as if being sorry. She was about to send you away. 

"He has arrived yesterday. He got hit by a car" you explained. "He's my friend. Please" you added hurriedly before she could indicate you the door. 

The lady sighed and looked down. "Kim Dongyoung?" she asked. "I'm sorry, but no one can see him right now," she said as if talking to a child. 

"What?" you asked desperately. "Why?" you asked again. 

She shook her head. "I can't reveal personal information, I'm sorry, dear" she replied and looked at you as if kindly sending you away. 

You lingered there for a few moments, tapping your fingers on the counter, revealing your thin nerves. You were about to cry. You were about to cry in a hospital in front of a stranger. The lady's eyes pitied you. 

"I can add you on a list. We'll ask his family if you can see your boyfriend" she said with a low voice as if sharing a secret. Your first instinct was to explain that he wasn't your boyfriend but then you stopped yourself. 

"Thank you" you replied, breathless. "Thank you so much" you added. 

----

Doyoung didn't fear death. 

It was something inevitable and when you can't change something then it didn't help to dwell on it too much. It could either bring another life, an existence after this one, or nothing. It was a win-win situation. You'd have something more or nothing at all. Doyoung didn't fear the nothingness because he wouldn't exist to think about it anyways. On the contrary, it would mean no more pain, no more struggling, no desire and no longing. 

Did he want to die? No. Did he fear dying? Also no. It was whatever. He did what he had to do until it was over. 

So he didn't feel his mind shaking as he looked up at the ceiling and thought to himself: I could have died. 

Well, I think I won't be able to take my exam, he thought to himself first. Then, who is watering my plants now? 

"Hi, can you hear me?" he heard a soft voice speaking to him at his left. 

He hummed after looking at who talked. The movement of his eyes made them watery. The lady checked on him while mumbling some stuff about his condition then called another lady - a doctor. This one checked on him as well and told him he got in a car accident two days ago and that they had to put him in a clinical coma because of surgery. Yes, he could remember his name, it was Doyoung, yes, he knew he was hit by a car, no, he’s not shocked.

Doyoung was disappointed to not remember anything about those coma days but he didn’t say that. 

When they finally took his breathing thing away he felt pain for the first time. 

"God, it was terrible. Wouldn't recommend" he commented with the roughest voice ever. The ladies smiled and told him they were glad he was feeling well enough to joke around about his situation. 

"Why? Am I in a terrible situation?" he asked, aware of sounding kinda out of place, but he legit couldn’t care less. 

The doctor lady shook her head. "I was about to tell you all about your condition and what procedures we did," she said and then proceeded with her monologue. 

It wasn't bad. Doyoung was glad because even if he didn’t fear death, he still didn’t like pain and having to struggle with that stuff. Broken wrist because he fell on it, fractured leg since that’s where he got hit but nothing serious, they did surgery on that, a hell lot of bruises and cuts. "The car was going fast but managed to slow down enough to hit you around your thigh and stop as you fell instead of going over you and fracture something worse with the wheels" she explained. Doyoung nodded. She smiled. Then she talked about other stuff that went over his head such as the medication he was on, the fact that he had to wear a catheter for a while or the fact that he has to eat liquids for a little as his body recovered from the induced coma. 

"We contacted your family. The paperwork is fine. Unfortunately, they couldn't make it to visit you" she concluded with a dry smile as if being sorry to deliver that piece of new. 

"Hm," he said. Strangely, he wanted to just go back to sleep. 

"We predict you'll get discharged in two weeks. Seeing how well you feel, maybe even earlier" she ended her monologue and smiling again she left. 

Doyoung slept a lot that day, or so he felt like. When he wasn't sleeping someone came to feed him or to make him move his limbs for an hour. Little by little, he started to feel pain and the assistant told him they were reducing his painkillers. A little later two cops came to ask him questions and to inform him that the guy running him over was probably going to end up in jail or about to pay a salty fine. Some sweet money was on Doyoung’s way thanks to the great lawyer his parents hired. Doyoung sighed and thanked them. He just wanted to sleep. But then he handed him his belongings. His eyes got wide as he took the phone. 

It would be a lie to say he didn’t think about you at all. But he wanted to hide those thoughts in the same place he was hiding those regarding the trauma he just lived through. Somewhere they couldn’t touch his heart. There were a lot of texts. He ignored most of them and got to the important ones. He would have wanted to roll over in a ball and read them until his eyes got sore. 

----

When you got the text it was late at night. You waited so long that when you finally saw your screen lighten up you didn’t feel anything for a moment. I woke up today, I am fine. You sat down and you felt your shoulders shake. Your fingers held hard onto the phone, your brain telling them to reply, but your eyes were too blurry to see something. He was fine. He was fine and he texted you. I’m coming to see you tomorrow, you sent. If he had a heart rate machine attached to him, the nurses would have run to his room by now, Doyoung thought as he read your reply. 

You fought with Johnny multiple times after Doyoung’s incident. 

“I understand you’re shocked about it, Y/N” he would say. “But this is too much. You’re barely friends” he insisted. You stopped talking to him and distanced yourself now that you’ve finally got the chance to have Johnny around you every second. He had the best intentions, he would hug you, hold your hands, cook for you, kiss your forehead, cuddle. But you refused. You just wanted him to go away. You wanted to be alone. It was weird, you acknowledged it. It shouldn’t have hit you so hard. “You can be worried about him and still want my affection” Johnny once said with a low and defeated voice, and you knew that you were hurting him a lot. “It’s just-” you tried to explain, “-it feels weird now, Johnny” you finished, unsure. “This guilt,” he said through his teeth as if angry. “You didn’t hit him with the car, Y/N. And the fact that we were together when it happened doesn’t mean that it was the cause of it all” he tried to convince you. Very unsuccessfully. “I just need some time” you would reply with a tiny voice, sitting down on the couch and bringing your knees to your chest. Johnny would leave trying hard to not slam the front door. 

You were walking the white corridors the nurse was taking you through. Your feet were softly pressing on the tiles but to your ears, it sounded as loud bangs. Or maybe it was your heart beating fast inside your skull, you weren’t sure. You gulped and closed your eyes for a moment when the nurse stopped and looked over at you in front of a door. He was in a private suite and although you didn’t have energy to put into other thoughts besides Doyoung, a small part of or your brain acknowledged it and you were relieved for being able to be alone with him. You didn’t know the way you would react to seeing him. The nurse opened the door and invited you in by extending her arm a little. You looked at her, afraid to look inside the room first. “Thank you,” you said and looked at her back as she left you alone. “Are you afraid of blood or something?” you heard his voice accompanied by an airy chuckle. You finally looked into his direction and you let our the air from your lungs. He was propped up on a few pillows, his left hand bandaged, his right leg up. On his forehead, right above the eyebrow, you could see stitches. His lower lip was busted.  Doyoung smiled even more and looked at you with his head tilted to the side, like a little bird. “Come,” he said. His soft command made your legs move. You didn’t know what expression you had on or what it was saying to him. You sat down near his bed and placed your hands on your knees. You realized you hadn’t said anything yet. “Hello-” you tried to talk. Your voice came out soft and rough. You cleared your voice and tried again. “Hello” you repeated. Doyoung’s face brightened up in a laugh. You looked at the way his eyes closed, his unbandaged fingers getting up to cover his mouth and you found yourself smiling as well. “Well, that was very awkward,” he said after he finished grinning. You looked at his face for a few moments then down at his neck and chest, eyeing his broken hand then you looked at his injured leg.   “You look as if someone beat you up” you commented. “It sounds way cooler than being hit by a car for sure” he observed.  “You have to see what’s under this gown” he joked, alluding to further bruises. But you felt the corners of your lips get down. He noticed that and sighed as if almost knowing what you were about to say. Doyoung was always one step ahead of you. “Don’t say it” he looked at you. You gulped. “But I am sorry, Doyoung” you said. “It’s my fault. I should have replied to your texts or call or just-” you started but got interrupted by a sting. Doyoung flicked your forehead. You put your hands on your head with a little ouch. “Why did you do that?” you asked surprised.  “Stop” he replied. His voice was low and soft and you couldn’t talk anymore. You closed your mouth. His eyes were half-closed and although he looked tired and sleepy they were bright and awake, staring into yours. He let his head fall down a little on the pillows and grabbed a corner of your sleeve. “Tell me a story” he talked again after a little while. Your fingers brushed against his knuckles. “What story?” you asked. You were almost whispering. His face was illuminated by the last rays of the sun making him look peaceful and cosy. “Something fun,” he said. You thought about it for a second. Your hand found it’s way around Doyoung’s one. His skin was warm and soft. His long fingers tightened around yours as well, slowly. “Did I ever tell you how my brother and I got locked inside an Ikea once?” you asked smiling as Doyoung was already chuckling. His thumb kept caressing yours the whole time. 

----

“Are you sure you don’t want to go and see Doyoung?” Johnny asked you during lunch. You raised your gaze and looked at him. Then you swallowed before talking. “I went yesterday” you decided to be honest. Johnny’s fork stopped in mid-air. You sighed and prepared yourself for the fight. He put down his fork and rested his back on the chair. He didn’t talk and neither did you. His gaze was trying to burn you down though so you didn’t look back. “Do you love him?” Johnny asked suddenly.  You furrowed your eyebrows as if he insulted you. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “Do you love me, then?” he asked again. You breathed in and out and pressed your fingers on your temples.  “Y/N” he sounded almost desperate. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Your mind is full of him day and night, you don’t talk to me, you don’t want to see me, you go and see him without telling me anything about it. How should I behave? Tell me” he said. “Just tell me, what would you do in my place?” he asked. You knew he was right. You knew it was unfair. But you had no excuse. You didn’t know how to comment on that. Seeing his face just made you unreasonable sad and angry at the same time. You hated it and you knew that Johnny had no fault, but you couldn’t help yourself. “Johnny, I don’t know what’s going on either,” you said in the end before getting up and walking away. 

----- Doyoung slept well for the first time since being in the hospital that night after you left. He tried hard to concentrate on what you were saying but his mind kept drifting away because of the way you looked at him, your smile, the shine in your eyes before a funny part, your fingers playing with his. When the nurse came to tell you that the visit time was over Doyoung held your hand harder as if not wanting to let go. You looked at him with such sweetness that he felt like bursting into tears. 

“I’ll come tomorrow as well” you promised and then you did something he wouldn’t have imagined even in his most racy dreams. You kissed his knuckles. It was a short little touch. Like a mother putting his child to sleep. Your lips brushed against his hand and he swore his heart stopped for a long second. He suddenly felt so powerless in all of his limbs that he let your fingers go as you got up, even if he wanted to hold onto them for longer. He didn’t think he would sleep well after that. He couldn’t sleep the whole night after you pushed yourself onto his body and hungrily kissed his lips just a while ago, but this time it was different. It was so different that he felt sick. Maybe he had an infection. Maybe he was coming down with a fever. Maybe he should tell the nurse about it. But then he realized what was happening and he had to hide his face with his palm in embarrassment. God, he was so in love with you. 

He fell asleep soon after as if being finally home, with his lips lingering on his knuckles. 

----

You didn’t go to class that day, trying to avoid Johnny as much as possible. You didn’t know what was happening with you both and you knew you were treating him badly for no reason. Strangely though, instead of feeling guilty, you felt at ease after a long period of time. As if starving for a long time and finally having a meal. As if sleep-deprived and finally being able to sleep. As if being at war and now finally going home in peace. You felt quiet inside. You felt so quiet as never before and Johnny troubled that still pond that was your heart with his little rocks. When you stepped into the room, Doyoung was looking out the window so you stared at the back of his head for a little before clearing your throat. He turned his head into your direction and his bright smile felt like drinking in a litre of fresh air. He has been smiling more in the two days of being in the hospital than in the whole time you’ve known him. “You’re in a very good mood” you commented walking over him and sitting down. “Because you’re here,” he said. It didn’t mean much but his eyes accompanied that with so much meaning that your heart started to beat very fast all of a sudden. This is the time when people in movies kiss, you thought. Doyoung’s lips curved up again and you were afraid he understood what you were thinking. “How’s Johnny?” he asked, instead of grabbing your arm and getting you close. Of course. Johnny still lingered between you. Doyoung still thought you were in love with him. “He’s fine” you replied, uninterested. Doyoung raised his eyebrow a little. “Did you guys talk?” he went on. You crossed your arms on your chest as if wanting to hug yourself. You didn’t want to talk about him. Or think about him. Not in general and definitely not with Doyoung. He was the reason Doyoung was in the hospital in the first place. You knew it was unfair to blame him, but if it wasn’t for him Doyoung wouldn't have been worried about you and he wouldn’t have come outside that night. Because of him and because of you. You didn’t want him to know what happened between you and Johnny. God, you could see the way Doyoung looked at you. He would kiss you. He would actually grab you and kiss you, and worship you, and love you as no one did before. You knew it. You’ve known it all along. When he took care of you and when you tried to use him to your own advantage. If he wouldn’t have stopped you first, you would have stopped yourself, seeing his eyes, as if wanting to drink you all up. He didn’t have to know. You didn’t want to lie but you couldn’t just tell him that you and Johnny slept together and considered yourself a couple. Maybe for Johnny you still were, but at that moment, standing in front of Doyoung, you understood that it wasn’t the case for you anymore. “We talked” you answered. He looked at you again, not understanding. You wanted to let him think that Johnny confirmed that he didn’t have any feelings for you and to just drop the conversation. “So? What’s the outcome?” he asked, again. You opened your mouth as to talk but you got interrupted by someone. Doyoung’s eyes darted to the door a second before Johnny could talk. “We’re dating now,” he said. “She’s my girlfriend”. Doyoung looked back at you. 

His eyes looked like a glassy night sky shattered to pieces. 

[metawish]

Family x Hunter: My mini analysis about family relationships in HxH

I am a HUGE sucker for found family troupes and family-oriented stories. There just aren't enough stories to explore the nature of those relationships and how influencial they can be to our development as people. For those of us who's primary relationships are our families, we're left out of the dialouge.

So imagine my surprise when Hunter x Hunter ended up being the anime I can't stop thinking about precisely because of the MULTIPLE family relationships and psudorelationships that happen throughout the plot. Imagine my double surprise when it turns out those family relationships are prioritized and emphasized in the anime over others like the all too popular friendship.

Written for the Carnival of Aro’s Jan 2021 Theme: Stories

Take the premise as a starting point. Gon decides to become a hunter, not because it's cool or because he wants to find some rare cool thing he's never seen before. No, instead, he wants to become a hunter to get closer to his absent father. The ENTIRE show only happens because Gon is driven by a desire to connect with and forge a relationship with his father. I think I can safely say that the family aspect of Hunter x Hunter is embeded into it's core.

Then take a look at the reasons the other main four choose to become hunters. Kurapika is hoping to avenge the massacur of his family clan, a clan that does not interact with the outside world. His entire character arc and development is based on this goal of seeking revenge.

Killua is at the Hunter exam because he heard it was easy. But then we learn, he left home because he wants to REJECT his family obligation to take up the family business.

"Okay, fair," I hear you all say, "but what about Leorio? He just wants money."

Let me help you connect the dots here. First, he claims he wants to become a hunter because of the money. Then we learn he wants to use that money to become a doctor and then provide free medical treatment for those who cannot afford it. THEN we learn that this motivation STEMS from a childhood incident where a best friend of his ended up dying from a treatable illness because he couldn't afford the medical treatment neccessary. Leorio decided then that he did not want anyone else to experience that, tried to go at it the normal way, and realized that it would be nearly impossible for him to afford it. Any average person might end up giving up on this dream, but Leorio was so dedicated to his goal that he ended up training to become a hunter, a physically and mentally strenuous task. JUST so he can get access to more money.

If anything, Leorio's the one who's most motivated by platonic relationships! While Kurapika,Gon, and Killua's motivations are based on obligations to family, Leorio's motivation is only suggested. It isn't like this friend is still alive and Leorio is obligated to save him. No one but Leorio is beholden to the completion of his mission. The strength in that bond has to be strong for him to go to the lengths he did.

AND THIS IS ONLY THE VERY BEGINNING!

Gon's arc goes from becoming a hunter to finding his dad. Kurapika disappears from the story precisely because he is off getting revenge. Killua's development as a character entirely rests in the way he navigates between his family, with entire plots surrounding the Zoldyks. Leorio reenters the narrative JUST to show how deeply he cares for Gon and Killua, and serves as a nice foil to Ging, Gon's father.

I physically cried during Killua's final arc, when he apologized to his youngest sister, asking for her forgiveness after being a "bad big brother." Killua went from essentially running away from home rejecting his family, to asking for forgiveness from a cherished family member. And the nuance inbetween! Freeing himself from his oldest brother's mind control. Finding common ground with his father that, at least in the anime, never gets used against him. Rejecting the family business without rejecting the family. While it still feels incomplete, the joy at seeing him reconnect with a family member and promise to always be together forever made the little shrivelled starved heart of mine swell satisfied.

Killua is a perfect example of the story focusing on his family relationships over his friendships, or at the very least, implying that those family relationships are more important than those with his friend. Does Killua leverage the fact that he made a pact with his dad to never abandon a friend? Yeah. But the fact is that he still went to his family for help.

In the last episode, he tells Gon, his first and only friend, that they have to part ways since he has to protect his little sister. He even says that she comes first before Gon. After struggling to understand if Gon is as committed to him as Killua was to him, he finds closure in his little sister's dedication and wholesome affection. (When he asks Alluka if he was the only one in the whole world that loved her, would that be enough, her response was that she couldn't stop smiling. Because the answer was yes. And perhaps, it was also a question for Killua. Is Alluka's love for him enough?)

And Leorio. LEORIO. As I said, he disappears from the narrative, largely because his mission and Gon's are not the same. But when Gon is out of commission, Leorio comes back into play. The PLOT is affected by this decision and MOVES because if this. Leorio was simply trying to find a way to help his friend, and decides to publically ask his father where he is during such a critical time. Leorio's emotions at Ging's lack thereof ends up putting him in the spotlight, a spotlight he uses every time to seek answers for Gon and to reaffirm his commitment to saving Gon. As much as I HATED the slowmotion, the reunion between Leorio and Gon after Gon's been healed was felt deep in my SOUL. Contrast that QUITE LITERALLY with Ging's reaction and we have the potential for some major character development and storytelling about what a family relationship really is about.

Do we have to earn those familiar relationships? Are we expected to commit to people who are not committed to us simply because they are blood? Can we reject them? Is Killua's reject of his oldest brother over their younger sister a conflict that cannot be solved? Can we form them with strangers? Who is more of a stranger to Gon; his absent dad or the guy he met on a ship headed to an exam? Are we obligated to our family duties like Killua and the family business or Kurapika and his life destroying hunt to avenge his dead family?

Kurapika's story felt a little flat, which is a shame because there is so much potential to explore! The struggle to avenge his clan stems not from his clan, but from his own trauma and pain. His family was ripped right under him, leaving him no one to rely on. Instead of form new relationships, he rots along with his family. In a sense, his disappearance from the narrative represents his character regression, fading from existance like his family.

From a family taken away, to a father who was never there in the first place. Gon's story feels incomplete. Feels a bit like Gon's growth as a character is secondary to the advancement of the plot. Feels like sweeping major issues under the metaphorical rug and calling it a fun show. This man never once visited his son. When leaving a recording for his son, he flat out told Gon he did not want to see him at all. During his time in the hospital, never once did he visit. Sure, we see him remain confident that Gon is alright, but is this confidence misplaced? Is this even true confidence in a person he's never met before? I feel like I am missing a giant piece of the puzzle explaining why Gon, a 12 year old boy who had no male figure in his life, easily accepts Ging.

Let's not forget how Gon didn't even WANT to learn more about his birth mother, a mystery that we will never solve. Just another example of trying to answer what family means. Mito is an aunt, but to Gon, Mito is his mother. (Yet Ging can still be his father? Why not Leorio? A far more deserving man of any affection whatsoever.)

How the story should go. After meeting up with Ging, he continues to go on an adventure with him. As they travel through the far more dangerous continent, Gon faces death multiple times. All this while Ging continues without regard for his safety. Gon reflects, thinking back to his friend Killua, who would attack Gon if it was to protect him. Who called him the sun. Back to Leorio, who hugged Gon like he mattered. Who said he was sorry for not being there for him. As they continue on, he reflects on who really matters. A call for help from his friends. Does he answer the call or remain by his father's side?

What makes a familiar relationship? Blood? Obligation? Depth of affection? Trust? Who makes or breaks those ties? How much do we grow from those relationships?

Hunter x Hunter exceeds my expectations, but also fails to live up to the story it sets itself up to be. I never thought I'd see such an incredible character development that centers on family. I hoped for something on the Ging & Gon front, perhaps as a means of exploring my own thoughts on the matter. Sorely disappointed. I think about this anime often because there is still much left to the imagination. A story unfinished. Perhaps that's what makes it a good story; especially one that decides to kick the standard and focus on a relationship that all of us have dealt with, but many of us overlook.

Is this show good? Debatable. What isn't debatable is how important family is to the plot and character development of the show. Maybe, in an alternative world somewhere, there is a satisfying ending where Gon acknowledges his own family trauma. He realizes how important his friends are, maybe seeing them more as his own family. Kurapika's revenge slowly fizzles out, instead replaced by the need to protect what's still alive. Killua resolves his family issues while remaining true to himself and Leorio adopts Gon.

Maybe the real family is the one we make along the way.

[thenextchapter22]

To Be Loved by Lucifer

Description: Mika is upset to find out she has gained weight yet again and cannot fit into her clothes. She tries to lose weight by starving herself among other things and Lucifer is not pleased.

Warnings: NSFW, Eating Disorders, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Panic Attacks, Corporal Punishment, Insecurity, Plus Sized OFC

Pairing(s): Lucifer/OFC

Word Count: 7,499

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Author’s Notes: Despite the tags, there is some fluff involved as well! And if you ever feel like you aren’t good enough or the right size, just remember you are loved and please please do not copy anything in this fic because, it is just that - fictional.

_+_

“No!” Mika cried out. “No way!”

She pulled and yanked but it did not move. It was stuck. No force in the Celestial Realm or Devildom could help her now.

This could not be happening to her. She was just having a bad dream. Mika would wake up and it would be fine.

But alas, it was no dream. She was really in her bedroom in Devildom, getting ready for Monday morning classes. Just a regular morning like the others… or it was supposed to be.

Her uniform skirt was not buttoning up. She had gotten fat enough to not fit. The reasoning was all the midnight snacks with Beel no doubt, and that was 100 percent her own fault. She should have paid more attention to her own body.

She tried one more time, grunting as she tugged with all her might, she could handle sitting too straight and sucking in her gut for a few days until she lost the weight again. But then the button actually popped off. Shot across the room, hit the wall, and fell to the floor. Mika stared at it like the button had committed murder. And she stared some more, until her eyes burned with incoming tears. She felt frustration boil in her belly, then immediate anger at herself.

Yes, she was a bit bigger than the average woman, a “plus size” to be exact. When Mika first came to the Devildom, surrounded by seven sexy demons who she immediately wanted to fuck but did not have the confidence to say anything, she was insecure in her size. But over the months here with them all, they had gotten to know her and made her feel good inside and out with kind words and gentle touches that eventually turned into more with most of the brothers. She realized she was more than her weight. She was comfortable in her skin for the first time in her life, and it was demons of hell that made her feel good ironically.

So this, this sudden weight gain, it broke her emotionally. It was like she was starting over and all the work she had put into herself was gone in a snap. Every kind word the demon brothers had said to her when she down about her appearance vanished into pure hatred for how disgusting she was once more.

How much weight was it? She couldn’t tell just squeezing her belly between her fingers. It was only her belly, too, because her boobs still fit into her bras, and her shirts fit fine, too, but they were looser around her belly anyways. Maybe 10 pounds or so? Mika wished there was a scale so she would know exactly.

Mika groaned, wiping her wet eyes and scrubbing her cheeks roughly. This was terrible. She would not be going to RAD today, and probably not tomorrow either. She couldn’t let anyone see her so fat. Plus, she would have to go in something other than the uniforms she owned and that would probably get her sent home and Lucifer would reprimand her.

No, she was not going. She was going to starve herself for a couple days and feign illness. She would need to lose this weight fast, so not eating for a few days sounded like a good plan.

Oh fuck. She’d have to lie to Lucifer.

“I hate myself.”

She plopped back onto her bed, her DDD above her face. She sighed heavily and opened the chat with Lucifer.

Hey, I’m not feeling too well this morning, gonna skip classes today. Sorry. I’ll make up for any lost work I promise.

She felt like she was texting her boss, not her... lover. Ugh, she was so nervous he would totally be able to tell she was lying. And usually she was a good liar, but to Lucifer, she just was bad at it. Well, Mika couldn’t take it back now.

The DDD beeped. Lucifer replied. She bit her lip, dreading what he would say.

I’m on my way to your room

“Fuck!”

She threw her phone down and groaned again. This was awful. Not only did she look terrible from crying, she was huge now. Mika did not want the eldest to see her this way.

Plus, Lucifer was probably going to punish her. And not in the sexy way. But in the painful way where she wouldn’t be able to sit for days without squirming and getting looks from the other demons in the house and school.

There was a knock on her door. “Mika, may I come in?”

“Um… just a second,” she called out.

Frantic, Mika grabbed a pair of pants from the floor and threw them on. She would just have to fake it and hope.

Lucifer eyed her as soon as she opened her door. He did not look impressed, arms crossed in his RAD uniform. “You don’t look ill. What’s wrong?”

Shit. “I…”

“Yes?” he raised his brows, his lips pursing just so. Her mouth opened and nothing came out. He sighed. “Don’t waste my time. I have piles of paperwork to sign off on today.”

And that, right there, was all it took. She could not do it. She would not lie to him. She had done so once, with Belphie, and it turned out to be the worst choice she had ever made and it nearly ended up with her dead.

She sighed. “I can’t lie to you.”

He uncrossed his arms, and titled his head down at her. “Well, it seems you already did.”

She winced. “I know.” She invited him inside to talk, an inevitable really if she had thought more into it and just not sent the stupid text, and he sat on her bed. Mika sat beside him, silent for a few seconds. Hands in her lap, barely thinking of anything, simply gathering courage to speak her mind.

Before she could speak, Lucifer cupped her cheek, turning her head just so, and wiped his gloved thumb under her eye gently. The tense atmosphere he gave off was gone and in replace of that was concern, especially in his eyes which were almost always telling to her what he was feeling. “You were crying recently. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She sniffled. His hand was warm, and comforting. “It’s hard to say…”

He frowned. “Please understand that I will always be here for you, Mika. Whatever you need me to be for you I can, whether that’s a lover, or just somebody to talk with. You must know that. So tell me. Why can you not come to classes today? The sick excuse is something Mammon even rarely uses any longer.”

She just spit it out. “I’m…disgusting.”

“Mika!” He held her face tighter, and stared into her eyes with great intensity. It was like she could feel his eyes burning into her own, an invisible beam cutting into her deepest insecurity. Lucifer looked at her like she disappointed him and it ached.

“Do not ever speak of yourself that way again. I won’t tolerate lies.”

Mika’s emotions were going haywire. She was angry at him, angry at herself. “It’s not a lie, Lucifer.” She stood up, practically wrenching her face from his grip, and stormed over to her closet. She grabbed a RAD skirt and threw it onto the floor, and did it with several others, making a pile of discarded clothes as she ranted. “I’m fat as fuck right now! I can’t fit into any of my skirts for school and a button literally popped off of it. You know how long it took me to even cope with this overweight body I have?! Honestly I really don’t think I ever did! I’ve always been ugly. And I always will be ugly!”

He was at her side in seconds, holding her close, hushing her, pressing her face into his chest with his large hand. She sobbed into his arms, clutching the back of his jacket, albeit rubbing her wet snotty face into his nice uniform.

“My love, you are so, so beautiful. Your soul shines brighter than any other I have met. There is nothing I would not do to protect you from harm, even from your own foolish words.” She gasped as he said this, but he went on. “I don’t know what else I could say to make you love yourself like I do.” His fingers found her chin from where it was buried in his shirt, and he pulled her face to look up at him. There was something akin to pity, she assumed, lingering there in his expression. “You know I can and should punish you for this, correct? I have said many times I will not allow lies in this house.”

Her throat was tight, she could barely swallow. She nodded as best she could in her position. “Yes,” she murmured. It was what she dreaded. He did always comfort her, made her feel treasured, but in the moment she would feel ultimately continuously guilty for whatever she had done to deserve the reprimand.

“Good, as you well should. But,” he continued, “I believe you have punished yourself enough. I think I should show you just how much you mean to me instead. Show you just how absolutely stunning I think you are.” He went from punisher, to seducer in an instant.

“Wha—Lucifer!” She gasped as she was grabbed around her waist and tossed onto her bed, bouncing on the mattress. “What are you…”

He looked determined, and a bit mischievous which was one of her favorite Lucifer’s (up there with domineering). Those subtle shifts in his lips, and his brows, it took her some time to figure out just what each expression meant. “I adore you, Mika. Let me show you.”

She gulped, and nodded slowly. “Okay, show me.” She spoke quietly. If he wanted to touch her, let him. Maybe it would help her. She wouldn’t know until he tried.

Lucifer got to work on removing her clothing. First her shirt, which he gently unbuttoned and pulled over her head. She shook out the frizz that came with that and he smiled at her.

This moment felt so intimate, more than any of the last few times they had sex. The last time it was in celebration of an exam she got a near perfect score on and he praised her over and over again.

No, this moment felt almost virginal. She was in a bad place, and vulnerable to every word he would say. She realized this was almost like their first time, when he was gentle and slow with her despite her saying she had been with men before. But he didn’t care, because demons were not the same as human men.

She had been very shy then, but still a spitfire when told off. It was how she had always been. She was introverted at times, afraid to speak her mind in fear of rejection or failure, but then she was also adamant and spoke louder than any other on certain days and for certain things.

And with him, she could be innocent. She could be fierce. She could be anything she desired to be. He let her take control and let her be controlled whenever she wanted. Because she was a human and he was a demon; it was why he gave her a pact with him. To show ‘ultimate love’, Asmo once said to her. A pact from a demon was a bond not unlike love. It was, in fact, the greatest way to show it.

“Darling, pay attention now.”

Lucifer’s teasing voice had Mika startled, coming back from her thoughts. “Y-yes. Sorry.” She blushed.

He chuckled. “It’s quite all right, it’s positively endearing when your eyes glaze over as you think.”

His adept hands found her bra, hands stroking over her back and causing goosebumps before un-clasping, letting it fall and tossing it away. Her room wasn’t cold, Devildom never was really, but she felt her nipples harden instantly.

He stared at her for a moment, admiring the beauty of her pale voluptuous body, before he pushed her back onto the bed.

She went easily. Head cushioned by her pillows, she watched him lick his lips. His presence was calming, but had her nerves prickling in wonder at what he was going to do next. His uniform brushed against her nude upper half as he lowered his body over hers to kiss her mouth. The taste of him always made her feel lightheaded.

Her hands itched to touch him, but she kept them at her side, obedient. He always would tell her when she could touch, he had drilled that into her from day one, and she realized he probably wasn’t going to allow it today because he wanted to show her how much he “adored” her. She really knew him too well but that wasn’t something she would say aloud to him.

Lucifer was an amazing kisser, so much so that her thoughts were nonexistent as he licked against her lips before delving into her mouth. She focused on his vibrating hums tickling her lips, and listened to their soft moans melding together. He wasn’t overly gentle, but she had to press up against his mouth to feel a bit more of him, smell and taste him.

His hands found her breasts while he expertly used his tongue to brush against her own. He pinched her nipples, tugging the pert buds while cupping her tits with his bare hands—and when did that happen, fuck skin to skin contact was the best— causing her to exhale harshly into his own mouth as he bounced them a bit.

He leaned away for a second to say, “Ah, so soft in my hands.”

She squirmed. She was softer, and that meant fatter. “I know…” she said sorrowfully.

He pinched her nipple harshly then in reprimand, and she groaned, pushing her chest upward into the pressure. “No, darling. No.” He growled. “I love your body. Every single inch. And I meant I love how smooth your skin feels against my own.”

The hot mouth traveled down her neck, suckling more as it went, not enough to leave marks but enough to leave her breathless. He licked a line down from her neck which she happily bared for him. One hand left her breast to stroke over her waist, and in place of pinching fingers was his tongue and teeth. Tugging with fervor, suckling and getting her wet with his mouth. He blew against it, and she sucked in air, desperate sounding moans escaping her throat.

He moaned over her breast, his other hand squeezing her and flicking his thumb over her nipple repetitively. She felt it down to her toes and in her core, the tightness in her muscles from the attention. “This body is incredible, and mine to play with. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Mika whispered, head tossed back. “It’s yours.”

“And I do not lie, Mika. Correct?”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed.

“Then listen to me. You are beautiful. You are sexy. I want you to know that you deserve to feel loved, by me, and by your own self.” She cried as he abruptly went to her neck to bite nearly enough to make her bleed.

Sliding down her body from her breasts, he kissed and bit softly at her flesh, tugging here and there with his blunt teeth. Above her belly button he suckled a bit, and then slipped down more. His elegant fingers found her pants zipper to pull it down, and then he was having her lift her lower half to slip her pants off until she was only wearing her underwear, which were boxer style to help suck in her stomach. The band rested just above her belly button.

When he moved to pull down her underwear, Mika reached a hand down to stop him instantly. “Please… I…” She bit her lip, unsure. She felt amazing, truly he was making her feel so good, but this was… this was hard to do.

His eyes shone with nothing but kindness, and he spoke with a tender tone. “My love, I want to worship this body. Let me?” He kissed above her waistband, lips hovering and breathe hot against her skin. The sensation had her eyes fluttering.

It wasn’t like she didn’t want it. Because who would turn down Lucifer Morningstar? No one with at least one brain cell. Having his hands and mouth and tongue and dick anywhere on or in her was nothing short of a miracle, and that was where the problem lay. Her insecurities took hold of her tight, and started to push away any of the desire she felt like burning hot coals inside.

His dark red irises gazed up at her as he spoke, “I want to devour you.”

She shivered and moaned. He was so sexy. Her core was leaking with each second he kept position over her lower half, and he could no doubt smell its wetness. But would he find her gross to look at? She wasn’t as pretty anymore with her pudge and fat belly.

He stayed where he was, fingers lightly scratching over her body, up and down on her thick thighs. She had no problem with big thighs, the more to pull others in close when fucking she thought. But bellies shouldn’t be so pudgy, and hips shouldn’t be so squishy. Especially when you were already a bigger sized human.

“Mika. I’ll ask again.” He spoke in a husky tone, and his tongue dipped against her for a quick second like a cat lapping up a droplet of milk. He grinned devilishly. “Can I eat your pussy?” he asked, and pressed his palm right against her core, rubbing it up and down over her underwear.

“L-lucifer!” she cried out. Fuck this, she couldn’t deny anymore her neediness. Her wants for him. Her insecurities would have to wait a fucking minute for her to have a great orgasm from the Prideful Avatar’s mouth. “Yes!”

“Hm, good girl, that’s what I like to hear.”

Her underwear was tore into bits in milliseconds, Lucifer’s demon claws being used of course. She had no time to react, as his mouth was on her and he was eating her like she was his last meal.

“Lu-lucifer, yes, so—Fuck!”

He lapped at her folds, and made lewd noises as he did so. He kept her open with one hand on her upper thigh, but realized soon that he did not need to and that hand went to play with her clit, index finger rubbing in circles, pressing down against it hard. Her legs had never spread so wide before as Mika gave him full access to all of her private area.

Mika’s hips buckled upwards, head rushing and static ringing sounds in her ears. The kisses to her mouth were nothing like what he was doing to her lower body. He licked over her in an oval pattern, tongue flat and then sharp and flickering like a snake. It danced over her clit for a moment and Mika bit her lip, but he soon focused on her entrance. He pursed his lips over it, humming and dipping the tip of his tongue into her just enough to open her up and make her gush into his awaiting mouth.

Lucifer’s mouth left you, and he suddenly pressed his fingers into her, Mika’s eyes watered and she cried out from the shocking pressure that was totally filing and fantastic. She clenched around him as he worked his two fingers in and out of her for a few quick bursts, then his tongue was pushing between the digits to open her more. His fingers and tongue worked together to get her ultimately wet and open, and he hummed some more, the vibrations of his sounds causing body spasms. The single finger on her clitoris rubbed back and forth demonically fast. She was stretched open so far.

“Ah! ‘S good!” She sobbed, limbs twitching, core tightening. She would come soon, but she held off, waiting. She was obedient for him, only for him. Permission was needed. She was in a totally different headspace, one she saved for these moments alone.

The finger on her clit turned into a thumb and forefinger pinching and rubbing together. His hand fondled one of her boobs, and she could smell herself from how close it was to her face. The musk made her wetter, if even possible. His tongue left her pussy and he licked over her labia while he squeezed her sticky tit, wet from her own fluids. She glanced down at him while she could, and saw his glimmering eyes and perfect mouth against her. His teeth found her clit then, and he licked and nibbled it, never picking just one sensation. She opened her mouth and let out soft puffs of air and shook her head back and forth from overstimulation.

She needed release. She wanted it so badly.

As if he read her mind, or maybe her body, he raised his head to say in a deep dark tone, “Mika, you may come,” before biting her clit and sucking wetly with fervor as fingers pumped in and out of her.

She convulsed on his mouth, legs pushed together enough to press him into her further. She moaned loudly as her orgasm spread over her entire body, sending shockwaves of pleasure.

Once she came down from the high, Lucifer moved away from her leaking pussy. He sat back on his knees between her spread legs, uniform looking perfect still. He licked his lips and smirked wickedly, fingers dancing over his plump mouth to suckle them. “My sweet tastes so sweet.”

She groaned. “Please no.” She threw her arm over her eyes. But admittedly, that was a hot image she would forever remember.

He laughed. “I apologize.” He lay next to her, tugging her head to his collarbone. He brushed his fingers through her hair, sighing. “I hope you know now what you mean to me. And how much I dread hearing you speak lowly of yourself.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I’ll try to be better.”

And she would try. Mika was feeling better. She still hated her weight gain, but Lucifer didn’t mind it, so she could mind it a little less. It bothered her but seeing how Lucifer had basically just worshiped her to show her what she meant to him, she could just as easily do this in return.

Anyone with eyes could see that Lucifer loved her in some way. But if they saw him now, not “Council Member Lucifer”, they would truly see just how much. Because that Lucifer hid himself from others, emotions were hard to show on that Lucifer, the one with a public image to maintain, the public image of Pride and being loyal to Diavolo always. Outside of this room they could kiss, hold hands, and speak caring words, but once in the presence of others, he closed off his face. He was protective, still, and caring, but it was a different type of protection and care. It was almost possessive, while in private it was gentler. His eyes were softened more.

And Mika was fine with that, she was totally fine with all sides of him. She understood. She went through tough times herself where she had to be brave or whatever else.

So she never took for granted these moments.

“Come to me when you feel this way again.”

“Okay.” She paused. “Do I have to go to RAD?” she asked, and pouted at him.

He sighed. “No, you do not have to if that is what you wish. But, if you don’t want to go to class today you must stay with me so I can keep an eye on you.”

She licked her lips. “Please, I would like that a lot.”

He kissed her cheek, then lips, and she giggled. He smiled at her blushing face. “Then it settled. Let’s clean you up and get you changed into something comfortable. Then you will gather your school work so you have something to study. I will watch over you, but I won’t have time to pay much attention to you.”

She smirked at him. “Well, I think my attention was satisfied enough for now.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad to see you feeling better, dear one. Let’s go.”

_+_

Lucifer’s study always smelt like leather and smoke, in a soft way, nothing to intense. The air was warm and soothing. Mika used to be terrified when she came in here, sometimes still was, but now she just felt tension she didn’t even know was holding her down melt away in the air.

“You may sit on the couch if you wish. If you need help, please let me know.” He sat in his large swivel chair and picked up his pen and got to work on the huge stacks that layered his desk.

She shrugged. Taking a seat in the center of the sofa, she pulled out her Demonic History and got to work. What felt like hours but was actually just one, she signed and cracked her neck from her slouched position. She glanced up and saw that Lucifer was in the same spot he had been, swishing his wrist over documents in elegant flourish. He was totally focused. Mika was not.

She felt her eyes burning from looking at the notes and work books and tiny texts that filled each page so she looked around for a moment, and fidgeted a bit with her phone, twirling it around.

“Mika, take a break. Go get some lunch.”

“But I’m not—” She looked at him, and he was not happy. His red eyes glowering, pen paused on the document before him. She swallowed, heart pounding. “I could eat. Thanks.” She stood, dropping her stuff on the sofa and table, and went to the kitchens, leaving Lucifer to do what he did best: approve and sign paperwork.

Food did not sound appealing. She knew she promised to do better, but Mika could not take how she looked, or felt. It was an awful feeling she wanted to go away. It would not be easy to hide eating less but she could do it with a big effort.

Once she reached the kitchen she got out a glass and filled it with some berry juice. She wasn’t sure what berry that was used, it was dark red and smelled acidic and had an aroma not unlike oranges which was odd as it wasn’t, you know, orange. But it didn’t poison her so she drank some.

She pulled up Devilgram and scrolled, liking some of Asmo’s posts of new outfits that looked like they were made for Billionaires in the human world, and Mammon’s picture of his face between two magazines with himself on each front cover from his modeling gigs. They looked amazing, and she never stopped being awed at how good he was at modeling. She laughed at the picture Satan posted of Belphie napping upside down on the stairs with his pillow on the bottom step and his legs straight up. He didn’t look comfortable but you couldn’t get the title of ‘Avatar of Sloth’ from nothing.

She poked at her stomach when it growled at her. “Shut. Up. No food. Only juice.” She said to it, poking the fat at her gut. It argued back and she sighed.

Lucifer would probably notice if she didn’t eat. Demon’s had great senses of smell. Also, if he asked, and she said yes but it was a lie, she would probably be punished for real this time.

Wait, she could do what her friends used to do when they wanted to fit into a dress for events and stuff. Puke it up! There was nothing else to do really, because she would not actually eat. But Mika told herself, she had to really do it. If she ate and wasn’t able to, it would be the exact opposite of what she wanted.

So she pulled out some leftovers and took a few bites. She let it settle a bit, messing on her phone, feeling fuller and grosser. Then, she went to the nearest bathroom and, after making sure no one was around, she closed the door and knelt over the toilet. She stuck her finger in her throat and gathered all her inner strength to be smaller and pressed and spewed the food out. It burned, but the feeling was gone soon enough. Mika was proud of herself. The feeling reminded her of when she was 21 and drunk, feeling done for the night at 1am, and then she vomited and was ready for 2 more hours of fun.

Her DDD said it had been over 40 minutes so that seemed enough time for a break. She went back to Lucifer’s room and knocked to be polite, he announced she could enter again.

“Did you enjoy your lunch?” he asked, still scribbling, head down.

“Yeah, had some leftovers.” She sat down and opened her text book.

“Hm. Lucky Beel didn’t eat them all last night.”

Mika laughed at that. “Yup, but the fridge was pretty bare otherwise.”

He sighed, but she saw a smile peeking out at the corner of his lips. “I’ve already got a re-stock before he comes back from RAD.”

She nodded a few times, feeling happy he didn’t realize what she had done. Guilt was building again, but she pushed it down and focused on her studies.

She did a few more sheets of work that needed to be done, and highlighted some other stuff she wanted to ask Satan about for the Potions and Spells class. Her thoughts kept wandering to what she had done, and she wanted to know more. Her phone was calling to her, so she picked it up and started searching. Key words like ‘getting thinner quick’ and ‘vomiting food’ came on her search. It was called purging, and being bulimic. Interesting, she thought, and seemed easy enough. She could do this each night after dinner! What a great idea!

“Now, Mika, this is not studying, is it?”

She gasped as her phone was taken away from her hands, Lucifer standing in front of her. He tutted, the DDD she had been tapping away on gripped loosely in his forefinger and thumb.

“I-I…” she stuttered.

He raised a brow at her, then sighed. “Oh dear. I’ll be keeping this for a while. I’ll be done shortly and I can help you if you’d like?”

She smiled. “Sure, that’d be nice. I’ll always be in need of help… especially with Demonic History.”

He chuckled. “Considering there have been many millennium of History, I would think so.” He knelt down and kissed her sweetly. “Study hard now.” He whispered, velvet lips pressed against her own.

Mika nodded as he walked away, a light tinge of pink on her face. “I promise,” she murmured.

She cracked down then on her studies once more. So much so that what felt like moments later, but was actually 10 minutes, her phone dinged with an alert and she heard nothing, focused on reading some lines in a very old book yet again.

“MIKA!”

She jumped at the fury she heard from Lucifer, it was a tone he all too often took with Mammon, but not ever her. Not like that.

He was instantly before her, a flash of Infernal magic so bright it stunned her eyes as she stared up at him, nervous and frightened at why he was so pissed off.

“What. Is. THIS.”

And he showed her the screen of the phone he confiscated away, open on an article showing vomiting and the art of being skinny by purging. Her nerves tingled, icy cold in fear, and her body shook in small tremors.

He was not supposed to know. Especially not like this.

“I-I-I d-don’t—”

The phone was gone, where Mika was not sure, and in replace of it was his face as he crouched down to her level, lines of fury prominent on his brow. His eyes dark ruby red and almost black. She could feel magic rippling around him, and saw his demonic form flashing in and out. “NO. You do NOT lie to me again, little girl.”

She gasped. His demon form was out, horns and wings and pure rage came with it. The wings at his back wide and terrifyingly black, overtaking the room. She sunk further into the couch trying to be smaller as instinct took over her like an animal in the wild. This fear was too similar, too alike to ‘that time’ and she despised it so damn much. “P-p-please, I’m sorry… don’t hurt m-me…”

She felt herself slipping into blackness. Was he killing her, was she letting him? She didn’t feel anything around her throat, or on her body anywhere at all, just the brush of the couch that felt like it was moving, back and forth, rocking. Or was that her?

And the air was gone like a snap of fingers. She was in a dark place with no fucking air. It was too hot to breathe. Nonexistent oxygen. Suffocation. Darkness. Heat. Shouldn’t darkness be cold?

“Mika. Mika.”

Lucifer called to her from a tunnel. Her eyes would not open, but he was there. She knew he was right there, but he sounded farther than before. The rage was gone, in place was a voice soft and far away like a dream.

Lucifer would always protect her, even from his own pride and anger (Satan was just the same, worried of his Wrath that never actually hurt her). She wanted him closer, even knowing he yelled at her before about her phone. That was how much she needed him. She over looked his wrong for what she needed, and she wasn’t sure what that need could have been just yet. Maybe a kiss? Or to be able to actually see him?

“Please, darling, I am so very sorry to have frightened you.”

A touch, then, gentle on her arm. Stroking up and down, tickling with the lightness of the touch. “Open your eyes. Breathe with me, that’s my good girl.” As if he grounded her with his commanding voice, air came easy then. Oxygen came in violent bursts of stinging in her lungs that faded after a few times of exhaling and inhaling until it was something normal again.

When she next became aware fully, Lucifer was surrounding her, wings and all. He was warm, she thought, like a heated blanket on a cool winter day, and his feathered wings radiated heat like his body did as it was pressed to her. Lucifer’s big hands cradled her gently. One at the base of her neck with his thumb lightly rubbing, the other at the back of her head stroking her hair soothingly. They were still on the couch she noticed.

His chin touched her forehead as he spoke to her, slowly and softly, “You are precious to me. I can’t help but become angry when I see you harming yourself yet again… this time in a different manner. I’m sorry, my love, for all I have done wrong to you.”

Tears stung her eyes at the sweet words. “’s okay, Lucifer. Really.”

“It’s not. But you’re the kindest creature to forgive a cruel one such as myself. It will not happen again, I promise you.”

She shook her head against him, fabric rustling. Her fingers clutched into his shirt, and she pressed her nose into the spot between, nuzzling absentmindedly. He smelled of smoke from a campfire and the ocean breeze. She didn’t have to worry. Lucifer was her protector her, and he only cared for her. She understood why he did what he did.

Mika spoke then. “I’m okay now. Don’t worry.”

“I will worry as I like.” He paused, his long fingers scratching over the back of her neck. “Did you do what your phone said, this ‘purging’?”

“Yes…”

He sighed. “We’ll speak more in a moment, after you have some water.”

He attempted to stand, but Mika gripped his shirt in her fingers. “No. Stay with me, please.”

Lucifer pet her head a few times, and she felt like a cat in the best way possible. She kept her gaze down, embarrassed. “I’m not leaving you. Count to three and I will return, can you do this for me?”

Easy enough to do. “Yes,” she mumbled. She closed her eyes, let go of him, and counted. Before she got to 3, he was back, and she grabbed him tight. He was no longer in his demon form so she held him around his waist, very nearly suffocating in his scent.

“Darling, here,” he said, turning her head sideways. He pressed a glass to her lips and she sipped it. The cool water was nice and seemed to wake her from her dazed state a little.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat there for a moment. The crackling of the room’s hearth was the only sound, and she focused on it, slowing her racing heartbeat. Lucifer kept his hands moving on her body, circular motions on her lower back, and his other playing with her hair. Never straying from her, never stopping comforting her with his loving hands. He allowed her this moment of peace for a few minutes, and she was grateful for it.

Until, “Mika, my dear, we must speak of this now.”

She knew it was coming, but did not want it to come so soon. “…okay…”

She could practically feel the way he settled his body, preparing for a speech. He was good at those. Lucifer spoke sternly, petting her locks as he did. “This absolutely cannot and will not happen again. If you eat, you will keep the food inside your body. I know you’re upset and unhappy about your weight gain, my dear, but I’ve said before that your health matters to me. And this, what you have done, it’s incredibly unhealthy.”

She winced. “I know. It’s… I can’t stop my thoughts, they just happen and I…” she trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

He hummed at her. “And when they do come, these terrible thoughts, you will come to me, or someone else in this house. I’ll help you however I can. You have to know my brothers will, too. We all care very deeply for you, Mika.”

She opened her mouth to protest. “But—”

“I promise.”

She sighed. “All right. I will…”

“You will what?”

“I’ll come to you if I have any bad thoughts.”

“Good, I’m glad.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, are you ready for your punishment?”

She bit her lip. She really was not.

He frowned, and caressed at her hair softly. “Mika. We can wait until you are not in such a state.”

“I’m fine.” He narrowed his eyes a tad. She took a breath, and nodded. Now or never, or rather later. She hated putting things off to the last minute. “Okay. Yes. I’m ready.”

He assessed her once, up and down, into her eyes then, searching. She did not move a muscle or avert her eyes from his. “Very well. This way.” He led her to his desk, where he moved some papers aside and turned over some other private ones. “Hands here and here.” He pointed, and she placed them. “Spread your legs, and dip your back.” She blushed as she did this, head down and hair in her face. It was obviously going to be a spanking, and she hated this position for those.

He stood next to her, his aura changing with what was to come. She was more in tune with the types of energy demons gave off now after learning from Solmon, and from her pacts, and his was very stern and unmoving. “10 hits to your bottom. You do not have to speak, just stay still and take this punishment. The color system is in place. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lucifer.”

“Very good.”

She heard the click of his heels as he stepped behind her. His hand grabbed her hip, the touch making her jump, his fingers gently holding her still. He made a soft noise as if to assure her she was fine. Then his other hand rubbed over her ass, almost warming it up for the pain to be given. Briefly she thought if she was wearing her RAD skirt he would be able to see her panties from her positioning.

She tensed in anticipation as he just kept rubbing her butt. It was the second worst part of being spanked, waiting for it to start, while the first was obviously being spanked. This was what Lucifer did best, though, make her wait; it was part of the punishment.

The swat was sudden and really hard. She grunted, the discomfort flaring up. She vaguely heard the swooshing of… what was that? A paddle? No, it was too small. She widened her eyes in recognition. Oh fuck, it was a ruler, wasn’t it? She turned to look, but then his stern voice halted her.

“Keep facing forward.”

So she did, and two more hits came in hard succession. They stung like hell, the contact worse than a paddle because it was so thin and the force of the ruler seemed to be more intense. Her nails ground on the desk a bit. It got her entire ass, not just one cheek, and he hit it at a different angle.

Mika’s eyes watered up, and after the next hit, harder than the first ones, she grit her teeth and felt her throat get hot. She lost focus when his hand rubbed over the spot he hit then on her left butt cheek, and he rubbed really hard, too, so hard she could feel the indents the ruler made from the edges. She only kept her position because he held her hip so tightly.

He went hard on the rest, fast and efficient. So efficient Mika barely held her legs up. Her ass was burning and stinging and her stomach was clenched tight. Her arms shook holding her upper body against the desk. Was it over? She had no idea.

“You did so well.”

She collapsed forward onto her forearms, eyes watering up. A few tears fell onto the desk. “I’m sorry, for everything.”

“I know, love, it’s all forgiven. Come, let’s rest on the sofa.” He took her around her waist, leading her while she wiped her face. He sat down first, pulling her across his lap sideways so her legs rested long on the furniture. Then he chuckled as she sat on his lap and cried out from the sting.

She smacked his chest lightly, pouting. “Jerk. It hurts.”

He rubber her inner thigh, cooing almost sympathetically and sarcastically at the same time. “That’s how punishments work, Mika.”

She said nothing, grumbling about asshole demons. He just laughed some more, but it helped her mood settle a bit. The spanking wasn’t that bad, honestly it could have been worse. And she knew that had he not frightened her so much before she probably would have received 10 more hits to her ass than she did. She was almost glad he freaked out on her, her ass was certainly thankful.

“Hm. I hope you know I will be informing the others of what happened.” Her eyes widened. “Not of your spanking, although I’m sure if any had been near they would no doubt have heard it. No, I’m speaking of what we’ll call your… unhealthy dieting… to put it in a kind way.”

“Please no, don’t tell them Lucifer! I promise I’ll do better,” she begged.

But she was no Asmo and she could not charm any demon. He tutted at her, tipping her chin up to gaze at her with his beautiful red eyes. “It must be done to keep you safe. They’ll look after you when I cannot. Do you understand why I’m doing this?”

She sighed. “Yes… I just don’t like it.”

“Again, my darling, punishment.” His eyes twinkled.

She growled, and he laughed, kissing her lips sweetly, killing her hate with his wonderful talented mouth. “My adorable little Mika.”

She blushed. “Luci…”

He pulled her close. “I love you.”

She leaned into his embrace. “I love you too.”

They sat there, close and warm, Mika’s butt tingling occasionally. But she focused on Lucifer’s arms around her, and his lips tickling her hair as he breathed. She would never get over how he made her feel so many amazing things. Or just how much he treated her like family even though she was human. Being loved by Lucifer was such an unimaginable thing, and yet here he was, loving her with all his being.

[green-and-grey-kenaz]

Solace in Plato

Language: English

Characters: Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Chiron

Summary: With the now rather alarming prospect of actually reaching adulthood being a reality, Nico has agreed to tutoring under Chiron's guidance. When Plato is suggested as something to study, Nico is not impressed and avoids it. A few weeks later and Will Solace asks him whether he's actually read Plato or just an abridged version.

Just a little fic exploring their relationship and Nico's internalised issues with being gay.

Word Count: c. 2 500

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32634607

“I hate Plato.” Nico muttered, staring at the book placed in front of him as he sat in the library of the Big House. Having not had any formal education since the ‘30s, Chiron had taken it upon himself to help educate Nico should he wish to get exam results - which would be useful for getting a job or Athena believe it, going to University. Neither was a prospect that he had ever really considered possibilities but the alternative was staying here and helping out with the new recruits while Will went to University in a few years time or doing the same thing but in New Rome.

Because Will insisted that he wanted to help the world, not just demigods. Nico didn’t deserve him.

So he’d agreed to go along with this and when Chiron had asked him if there was any subjects he thought he might take at University (and after Nico had suggested undertaker, mortician or detective based on a TV show Will had told him about, don't ask) he had begrudgingly admitted that he had more than a passing interest in Classics. Try as he might, his childish obsession with mythomagic had left him with more than a passing knowledge of Classical characters and he got a strange, warm feeling in his chest when he knew the answer to ‘how do we kill this obscure monster’ and no one else did.

Based on these answers, he had a somewhat tailored learning with Classics in both Italian, English and the Original Ancient Greek (his Greek was amazing for his age - a by-product of being a half-blood - but apparently his English reading skills were that of a kid and his Italian not much better, Hades knew why) and more than his fair share of biology and chemistry. Will had been only too delighted to help him with the sciences, although was suspiciously absent when it came to physics and math, but that was OK, really, and he probably wouldn’t make a good mortician anyway because he shouldn’t pick careers based on how many spirits he could raise, tempting as it was. The rest of his schooling thought? That fell to Chiron.

And today? Well, apparently they had progressed onto Philosophy and a man who's work made Nico's stomach plummet. Plato.

“Why is that?” Chiron asked, a patient expression on his face. Nico just glowered at him but like Will, he seemed impervious to it. It was irritating when people did not cower and cave in to his glares. He was used to inspiring fear in others.

“Do I need a reason?” Nico his arms, leaning back on the chair, returning a dark gaze to the book as if he could cause it to wither and crumble under his gaze. If he could do it to food, why not books? Plato sat cheerfully happy there without so much as a speck of mold coming to grace it.

“When discussing philosophy, it can be rather helpful.”

“Well I just don’t like him. Pick some other philosopher.”

Chiron had stared at him for a good few seconds before relenting, choosing some other book and asking no further questions about it. Nico hated that he could feel just how his heart rate had picked up, thundering in his chest as if it would crack open his rib cage. He knew people suspected… that the people he tolerated as friends already knew and accepted him for his inclinations… for what he was… but he wasn’t ready to confront the proof that he was different. Wrong, a voice always threatened to whisper in his ear. An abomination. A freak of nature. Nico knew that he couldn't read Plato, not with Chiron standing there and dissecting the merits of this particular work. It was never easy to look in the mirror and see just how messed up you were.

Despite the time it took for his heart to return back to normal, he did manage the text they’d chosen and perhaps sensing his unease, Chiron had used it as a chance to work on his reading more than the philosophy. He even finished the lesson with a kind smile and was informed that his modern language skills had far approached where they should be for someone his age. This followed with a suggestion that he could go into translation work. It was tempting, he would be better able to hide away in a darkened room as a translator than becoming an academic (sadly, these days academics had more obligations to teach), so Nico nodded and promised to think on it.

Two weeks later found Nico sitting in the shadows of the forest while Will quizzed him on anatomy which counted as studying for both of them. Annoyingly Will was refusing to sit anywhere other than the sunlight and so had coerced Nico into what they had settled on as being called ‘a potential threat to his aesthetic’, or in other words, dappled shade. It had promised to be a rather lovely day until a topic best avoided reared its head.

“Why do you hate Plato?” Will asked suddenly, looking up at him with those bright eyes and that warm smile that made something in his stomach twitch and his throat clench. Nico knew he shouldn’t feel so ill at ease with these feelings. They hadn’t put a word on it but it was a thing that they were doing. Having feelings together, exchanged smiles and moments of laughter when he thought no one was watching. Once, Will had even placed his hand down a mere inch from Nico’s and he had let his little finger flicker to just once lightly tap against Will’s in thanks for the silent support. He’d felt sick with guilt afterwards, but what was new? The little moments of happiness more than made up for it.

“I just do. And Chiron shouldn’t have told you that.” He muttered, shifting to move back under the full shade of a tree, pulling his legs in to his chest as Will closed the book. Right, study was over. Nico wrapped his arms around his legs, finger shifting the skull ring as he felt the pressing anxiety to run and escape the potential fallout. How many people knew? No doubt his unnaturalness was being spoken of throughout camp as he sat here. They would prove Jason wrong that times had changed. Their eyes would follow him, judging and radiating hate for someone who was so different. He’d have to leave and go back on the run, abandoning all he had built here. Nico closed his eyes as the feelings became overwhelming and claustrophobic, grass yellowing beneath his feet.

“He was concerned.” Will said softly, shifting over to sit next to Nico and breaking his silent panic.

“I’m not talking about it.”

“Is it Plato’s Sympo-?”

“No.”

“Hm. That’s what Chiron thought as well.” Nico could hear amusement in Will’s voice and concern. He dropped his hands from twisting the ring, suddenly subconscious of his tell and instead twined blades of dead grass between his fingers and yanked. His hand opened to let the picked grass tumble back to the earth.

“Did you read the original or just hear an abbreviated version?” Will pressed.

“Have you read it?” Nico challenged, ripping up more grass.

“Not until last week. Chiron sat me down with it and we discussed it.”

“Then you know why I can’t stand Plato.”

“Abbreviated version, huh?”

Nico looked over to Will who did not look disgusted, upset or any of the other myriad of emotions that he would have expected. Did he not read the whole mankind were once male and female, now split and eternally trying to recombine with their other half? Which left them and whatever they had rather in the dirt. Because if there was one thing that was worse than knowing he wasn’t right, that there had been some huge mistake with his creation, it was knowing that someone as good as Will Solace had the same affliction. Sure, he could be annoying but Will deserved more than that. He shouldn’t be a broken half. If anyone deserve to be able to become whole once more, it was Will. Will, who was staring at him like he expected some answer and Nico shrugged, yanking more grass.

“So what? I was like eleven. Not exactly likely to go and read the actual version. I deserve credit for even doing that much.” He couldn't actually remember how he'd heard it. He had found out that it was from Plato's Symposium after he knew the story, that much he knew. He assumed either he had read it very young or perhaps some ghost had told him. Most of his pre-Camp Half Blood lessons had come from ghosts in one form or another.

“Perhaps you should. I rather liked the bit about the straights all being nymphomaniacs and adulters.” Will smirked.

Nico frowned, his body freezing as he blinked very slowly trying to make what Will had said align with what he knew. A frown tugged at his brow.

“What… do you mean…?”

“Well, the whole bit about there being people made of two parts, either two men, two women, or a man and a woman, always trying to get back together. And the same sex ones generally being the better lot. Well, more the two men combos because they weren’t necessarily the most progressive in Ancient Greece. But in the end, that’s just a story that Plato had Aristophanes, who was a comedic playwright, tell. It’s not really anything to be taken too seriously.”

How had no one told him that? A dark anger settled into the pit of Nico's stomach and he found himself wanting to track down whichever spirit had lied to him and- Will continued speaking, his voice too light for Nico to continue his thoughts and the seething hatred dissipated.

“Honestly, read it if you don’t believe me. Chiron sat me down and took me through the whole story, every boring line after every boring line. I’m not supposed to tell you this because he’d rather you told him when you’re ready but he kind of clocked that you and I-” Nico shot Will a death glare and Will held up his hands.

“I was going to say get on well! And yeah, considering your aversion to Plato, he thought it might be you heard a misrepresented version of that story. We both know about festering wounds so agreed you should learn the truth of the matter. Preferably not by forced study so I kind of had to get an impromptu philosophy lesson. I think Chiron intended me to be rather more subtle about his involvement but my assessment is that it is better to know that you’re not alone and that it’s OK.”

Nico did not want to stare at Will. He did not want to look shocked nor rattled. He focused on plucking more grass and trying not to feel pleased that Will could sit in silence, knowing he needed time to speak and for it not to feel awkward.

“I just.” Nico frowned. The story had not exactly haunted him but it had lodged itself into his chest as further proof of all he had been raised to understand. It felt like a screw had been loosened somewhere deep within. “It isn’t saying that… well…?”

“No,” Will smiled. “And, I mean, the best thing about it is Plato actually wasn't arguing for the gays or the straights. There’s just like this collection of discussion by some old dudes on the meaning of love and then Socrates comes in boom at the end and we get Platonic love , or the basics of it. Big advocation for love being about the search for the meeting of minds rather than physical stuff, which I think is a rather good way to look at it. It goes on to being about then true love is a love of knowledge. That’s what the whole thing is kind of about. I think. Most of it went over my head.”

“That… doesn’t sound so bad.” Nico admitted, his hands winding around some grass but not yet pulling. He focused on the texture of it in his palm and it ground him.

“Besides, it’s not like it’s the be all and end all.” Will continued. “It’s just some guy arguing about love two thousand years ago and what do they know?”

Nico hummed, chin resting on his knees as he stared out at the camp below them. Will moved to sit closer, mirroring his position merely a foot away. If either of them leaned just a bit, their head might rest on the other one’s shoulder and Nico did not shift away.

“I just… As long as I can remember I’ve always been told that love is between a man and a woman. I just seemed inescapable. It didn’t matter who was teaching…” It wasn’t easy and words caught in his throat.

“Look, I know it’s complicated and none of this is going to be easy but I just want you to know that if you need to talk about something, you have me. And if you don’t want to talk to me about it, then Chrion is there too-”

“No.” Nico said hastily, blinking in surprise at that. “That is… I’d rather talk to you than Chiron. About things.” He noticed that at some point, Will had placed a hand, palm upwards between them. Hesitantly, Nico slipped his hand down, ghosting his fingers over Will’s. He did not move or even look at him and somehow feeling safer in that knowledge Nico let his fingers intertwine.

It was better than the grass.

“But when I’m ready. There’s… I’ve got a lot to figure out about all this but I know whatever I think, I enjoy what we have and I don’t want to not feel this.” He twisted their hands so Will’s was on top now and his fingers brushed against Will’s knuckles and down the proximal phalange before circling the knuckles again. Will’s thumb brushed against his and Nico felt his body begin to tense against the warmth and sparks of feelings. In moments like this, it was hard to believe that what they had was wrong.

“I don’t want to not feel like this either.” Will smiled and the distance between them seemed less, although Nico could not say how the gap had closed.

If they really were two halves of a whole, Will had to be his better half, Nico reflected as he felt his head drawn to rest feather light on his… on Will’s shoulder. Yes, it felt like this might be completion or at the very least something that Nico had not felt for an even longer period: contentment.

[hey-hamlet]

Prompt: Yes, that is a cat, I think. No, you probably shouldn’t touch it.

Thank you for giving me an excuse to write for the spirit sight AU! I don’t think I have before. Yes, Izuku becomes ride or die friends with Shinsou on his second day of school.

To say Izuku was afraid of his homeroom teacher wasn’t an understatement. In fact, calling the bone-deep, prickling distrust coupled with pure anxiety every time he saw him fear might have been a little too mild. His teacher wasn’t fully human. Or really at all human.

The ability to see yokai as a quirk was useful. Very useful. The problem was no one believed him. Normally he could just get around that by either dealing with the problem himself or finding another reason that street with the Nuribotoke that staggered down it at 5:47pm every night wasn’t safe. Not all yokai were bad anyway – most just kept to themselves if no one bothered them. Some types of yokai, however, were dangerous. Like the nekomatta.

Like his teacher.

Nekomatta killed people, ate them even – desecrating their corpses all the while, and they had one for a teacher? Izuku was gripped by the horrible thought that perhaps becoming a pro hero was the best option for something like that: you’d always be around the dead and those no one would miss.

Izuku pushed that to the back of his mind.

His current problem was two-fold. A boy he’d only seen in passing was petting what probably looked to him like a large black cat. It wasn’t. Its teeth were golden and needle-sharp, its fur matted and thick, two tails wrapped tightly together, flicking in pleasure as the student scratched behind his ears. Izuku felt faintly ill. The blood-red claws of his teacher – of the monster – worked at the ground, giving Izuku a horrifying look at just how long and sharp they were.

“Hey!”

The boy turned to look at him, placid surprise with an edge of distrust. Izuku took stock. The boy was likely a first-year, maybe hero course or gen ed. He obviously liked cats and didn’t seem like he’d take kindly to Izuku barging in on his cat petting time a solid half hour before school was set to start. It didn’t matter. He kept people who didn’t like him safe before so he’d do it again. He’d had practise after all.

“Yes?” The boy drawled, looking at him with a glint of suspicion. Izuku already felt a little better; now Aizawa knew there was someone else here he’d be much less likely to hurt him, especially considering Izuku was in his homeroom class.

“Sorry, but do I recognise you from the entrance exam?” He bullshitted. “I’m Midoriya! Midoriya Izuku!” The other boy straightened, no longer petting the ‘cat’. Izuku breathed a quiet sigh of relief; it didn’t matter if the other boy beat him up like his old classmates, he was at least safe now. 

“I did take the exam, yes.” The other boy sounded – he sounded bitter.

“Are you in 1B? My teacher didn’t let us go to the entrance ceremony yesterday.”

The other boy laughed, low and harsh. “1A then. Well, sorry Mr Hero course student, but I didn’t make the cut. I’m in 1C – general education.” Izuku winced. He kind of wanted the other boy to beat him up now, he wouldn’t feel so bad about it. “What did you say?” Ah.

He’d said that out loud.

“Sorry, sorry!” He stuttered, taking a few uneasy steps back. The monster had made itself scarce already so Izuku wasn’t worried. “I just – I didn’t – “ It was the other boy’s turn to wince in sympathy.

“I’m not going to hurt you – I’m not a villain.” He spat the last word like it was something he’d been called often.

“No, I didn’t think you were – I just – “

“What’s Mr. 1A got to be scared of? Little old me?”

“I didn’t mean –“ His mind disconnected. It felt like his head had been plunged underwater, all of his other senses muffled and slow. He couldn’t move, couldn’t twitch, but he wasn’t scared somehow. Distantly he realised this must have been the other boy’s quirk.

“Go on, tell me – has word gotten around that quickly? Are you and your little hero friends going to kick the shit out of me behind the school or something?”

“I don’t understand.” The words slipped from his mouth. The boy’s eye’s widened, but he still looked angry.

“Oh yeah? Why did you think I was going to beat you up, then, if I’m not a villain.”

“That’s what everyone else does.” He couldn’t stop the words, nor could he stop the tears slipping silently down his face. The boy recollided dropping his control with a bitten-off curse. Izuku staggered back a few steps, the other boy hovering nervously.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t – I thought you’d – “

Izuku hiccupped a laugh through his tears. “It’s ok, I understand. No hard feelings?” The boy blinked.

“What?”

“It’s ok, I don’t blame you – it must have looked weird to you, me coming up like that.” He couldn’t stop the tears but it wasn’t anything new. He always cried. “I would have been nervous too.” He scrubbed his eyes roughly. “Your quirk is super cool though; does it just compel people to speak or can you make them act too?”

“Shinsou.”

Izuku was so confused he stopped crying. “Huh?”

“My name is Shinsou.” He looked embarrassed, concerned and guilty all in one.

“Shinsou,” Izuku said, trying out the name in his mouth. “Could you tell me more about your quirk? It sounds amazing for hero work, what are the limits, what breaks your hold – “

Shinsou laughed. It was a shy thing but it was genuine. “Really? You forgive me just like that? Even though I mind controlled you?”

Izuku gasped. “Oh, so it’s full mind control? That’s amazing! What’s the mechanism, is it a vocal response or just at will – that’s so powerful!” Izuku frowned to himself. “You couldn’t make it in because of the robots. Could you?” Shinsou nodded, looking a little bitter. “That’s – that’s bullshit! I knew the exam was biased to physical quirks but that’s ridiculous! Our homeroom teacher couldn’t have even passed.” Izuku scowled. “That not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Shinsou muttered bitterly. Izuku empathised. An idea struck him.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t make it fair.” He pulled out his phone, opening the contacts and offering it to the other boy. “I’ll teach you everything we learn in heroics. There must be a secondary way of getting into the heroics course.” Shinsou took the phone, dumbfounded.

“What – what do you get out of this?”

“You don’t deserve to be cut out because of your quirk. No one does.” He smiled sheepishly. “Plus, you might actually answer some of my questions about your quirk.” Shinsou laughed. It wasn’t as bitter as before, something almost like tears in the corner of his eyes.

“You’re a weirdo, Midoriya.” He said, handing the phone back. Izuku just grinned. “Cool, but weird.”

  From the branches of a nearby tree, Shouta watched the two students talk, tail twitching in interest. He would never admit to being proud of Midoriya for helping even the slate for a lost gen ed student. He’d been in the same place himself and the leg up from Hizashi had done wonders. Still; it didn’t explain the flash of real fear in his eyes when he first saw Shouta, nor the fact he’d come up to a complete stranger unprompted. Midoriya was skittish and nervy around even people who’d shown him nothing but kindness, let alone a prickly stranger. He should have looked like a normal cat.

Could Midoriya see him?

Shouta shook his head as if to banish the thought. He’d never heard of a human that could see his kind, not unless they will it. He was only 32 – practically a baby by spirit standards – but still. He’d have heard some something like that by now.

Right?