#like i passed out threw up passed out blurred vision chest pain stomach pain ears ringing ect

[little-diable]

The Ghost of Christmas Past – Tommy Shelby

Part 1 of my Christmas Carol series. A big thank you to @notyour-valentine for writing this with me, this was such a grand joy! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tommy keeps on pushing the reader away, only turning towards her when his nights get lonely, but maybe the visit of somebody from his past will finally manage to rip Tommy out of his state.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, some angst

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (4.6k words)

headerby @deathofpeaceofmind

Series Masterlist

The scent of smoke filled her small bedroom like a poisonous fog, a fog shielding the two lovers from a life that had been anything but kind to them, robbing them of loved ones, robbing them of their sanity, robbing them of their ability to express their emotions without holding back. A downward spiral Tommy and (y/n) had been stuck in for years, finding comfort in her bed whenever the world began to close in on them, forcing them away from the passing by days and weeks they’d go without seeing one another.

She couldn’t remember the moment she had realised that she was in love with Tommy Shelby, well at least not if you’d ask her. But deep down she knew it all too well, the day where she had run into him, soaked through clothes and cold hands, the teenage boy had wordlessly pulled her along, leading her into his home without asking any questions. He had been so gentle with her, a certain kind of gentleness Tommy was now a stranger to. 

“When will you come by on Friday?” Her soft words rang in his ears, a sound that almost reminded him of the sound of shots fired in the distance, a sound so distinct he’d never be able to forget it. Tommy had his chest bare, his eyes focused stoically ahead as he smoked his cigarette. He didn’t meet her eyes, kept ignoring the loving glances she threw his way, half laying on him with her naked body hidden beneath the warm blanket.

“Friday? Why should I come by on Friday?” Tommy felt her freeze, breaths growing shallow, fingertips no longer tracing his stomach. It took (y/n) a few seconds to regain her composure, clearing her throat before she slowly let go, sitting up with the blanket pressed to her chest.

“I mean it’s Christmas day, I just thought we’d maybe spend it together.”  He stubbed out his cigarette, rose to his feet and began to dress himself, almost like he hadn’t picked up on the words (y/n) had just spoken. Her eyes followed his every move, trying to blink away the tears that began to blur her vision, like the rain which had poured down on the day the two had crossed paths for the first time. “Tommy?”

“Why should we spend Christmas together, (y/n)? I will spend it with my family, as I do every year. You know that.” Tommy’s voice had an awfully chilling undertone to it, making goosebumps rise on her skin. Not once had she feared the man with piercing eyes and pale lips, not once had he raised his voice when she was around, but it seemed like today was the day the cards had changed their fate, the die was cast. 

“But–” by now he was fully dressed, back turned to her as their eyes met through the mirror hung on the wall Tommy was turned to. He watched her wipe her tears, unable to stop them from rolling down her cheeks, a sight that left his jaw muscles ticking, biting down the need to soothe the pain he had shot through her system. “You know what, you’re right. How foolish of me.”

No further word was spoken, slowly he turned towards her, nodding at (y/n) before he leaned down to press a kiss to her warm forehead, and without speaking another word, Tommy left the house she was living in behind. The second the sound of her front door falling shut rang in her ears, (y/n) let go of the sob she had tried to keep bottled in.

……

The silence filling his home had an awfully eerie touch to it, a silence Tommy had tried to flee from for the past years, no longer able to be on his own for too long. The nightmares would always catch up with him, robbing him of precious hours of sleep the man desperately needed. He nursed a glass of whisky, eyes closed, fingers holding onto yet another cigarette. (Y/n)’s pained expression filled his mind whenever he closed his eyes, wondering why he had pushed her away once again.

Tommy wasn’t oblivious, he was all too aware of the feelings she fostered deep inside, feelings that left him trembling in fear. Nothing good would happen to those that try to love him, they all ended up six feet under, a risk he wasn’t willing to take with (y/n) – not with her. 

A deep exhale left him as he sunk further into his chair, wondering if yet another sleepless night was awaiting him. He’d never admit it, and yet Tommy felt awfully lonely, without her near, without (y/n)’s voice filling the silence he was trapped in. Whenever he found himself hiding away in his office, his thoughts would catch up with him, forcing him down memory lane without a way out.

He could have sworn that shots were fired nearby, his body trembling in fear, about to disappear beneath earth’s surface, one with the soil he was forced to crawl through. Back then he had been filled with fright, though not the kind he found himself tormented by nowadays. No, back then he had other priorities, other people to care for, not understanding how much (y/n) truly meant to him.

But now he kept digging another tunnel, deeper than those he had crawled through, darker than those he’d see whenever his eyes fell shut. Fuck, she had been his anchor, the antidote to his nightmares, but yet the fear of letting her even closer still managed to push her away, preferring to stay away from her rather than being plagued by worries about her. Whatever grasp she had on his heart, he needed to get away from it, needed to leave her behind  – otherwise he’d go insane, otherwise he’d lose his last drop of sanity.

With one last yawn leaving him, Tommy felt his grasp on reality slip, lured into darkness by the tiredness clinging to his bones. 

……

The first thing Tommy felt was the cold. It crept in through the thickest curtains, the warmest socks and the most sturdy of walls. No blanket, no stone or wood, not even the most expensive of coats, could keep the cold away for long. Perhaps because it never left. Sometimes Tommy thought, it lingered in them, like mist over a lake, only sometimes retreating from burning coals or candles, but never quite leaving. Always waiting for a chance to strike again. By now he was almost sure the cold had found its way inside him too, curling inside him like it curled inside the walls of any place he had ever known. It had lingered in the plain wooden walls of the boat he had been born in, and the painted ones of the wagon that had been passed down generation from generation to find its current resting place in Charlie’s yard. It had always been in the gray walls of Watery Lane. The smoke and steam of the factories could chase away the snow and ice, but never the cold. He even found it in the walls of Arrow House. Or maybe he had brought it here, carrying it with him like all the other trinkets he had collected over his life, the first coin he had ever earned, the first bullet that had ever been dug out of him, a piece of mane from the first horse he had ever called his own. 

Now the cold had stretched out its pale fingers into his joints, making his knees ache as much as his fingers did. The fire must’ve gone out in the night. 

A curse slipped from his lips as he sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands for some warmth. They were stiff and strained as if he had been riding in the snow for hours. 

If only his dreams were that gentle to him. 

“Did I wake you?” He heard a woman say. 

His head snapped up immediately, searching for the sight of her dark hair, and her even darker eyes. He found her soon, sitting at the edge of the table, a cutting board in front of her. Busy, always busy. That was a good sign. The restlessness was innate to them, Polly said, once their hands stilled, that was when trouble came. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” she said, offering him a half smile as she brushed her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “Do you like the sound of that? A Christmas surprise to make it extra special?”

His mouth went dry as he looked at her. He knew her. He knew the shade of her apron and could place each spot where it had been darned with greater certainty than he could place English cities on a map. He knew the curl of the shorter strands of her hair whenever she was out in the rain, or cooking with steam, the ones that framed her face. He knew that her fingernails, even if he could not see them now, would be bitten down all the way. 

Yes, Christmas was always special. It had to be special. 

Travellers didn’t like registries. Most didn’t know the dates of their birth, some not even the month. But Christmas was the same day every year. Christmas was the day when they could be sure to celebrate on the right one. And they did. In the good years, at least. 

“Look, Tom,” she said, putting the knife down, a strange look in her eyes. “I know you’re disappointed I didn’t take you with me on the road this summer, but now we’ll have a nice Christmas, you and me and the rest. And then, when the snow melts on the hills, we can try to go on the road together. You can ride your pony all on your own.”

She had tried, hadn’t she? She had stayed longer than she ever had before, almost until easter. Until the snow in the mountains was almost gone. They had even set the date, and he had packed and repacked his bags every night to be ready come morning, so that he would not miss it. 

Then there had been the fight. He remembered the shouting from below, his father’s booming voice, the shattering of glass and then the silence. Come morning, she had been gone, and she had even taken the pony too, so he had no chance of rushing after her. 

“If you want to, you can help me with the chestnuts,” she said, gesturing with her knife. 

He could see them now, laying in front of her. It was the biggest pile of chestnuts he had ever seen. Stolen, he thought now, just like the three oranges, and the chocolate. 

It had gotten old and brittle, tasting nothing like the silky smooth ones he had tried in Paris, the ones that melted on the tongue. While it wouldn’t even come close to the best chocolate Tommy had ever tasted, it had been the one he enjoyed the most. 

He found himself reaching for it, his fingers just an inch short of reaching it, when she slapped his hand away. 

“Wait for your siblings,” she said, a scowl on her face. “It’s for us all to share.”

He held his breath, waiting for her to say what she had said all those years ago, with that mischievous smile of hers that he had seen more times in John than he had ever gotten to see it in her. 

“Although…they won’t know one’s missing, will they?” She asked, piercing one with the knife and holding it up between them. 

“What do you say, Tom? It’ll be our little secret.” With that she drove the knife down on the board, splitting the small piece of chocolate in two. 

“Christmas is supposed to be special, isn’t it?”

~~~~~~

The last time it had been the cold that woke him, and its ruthlessness that had kept him awake. Now it was the noise, the grating, neverending screams, the wails echoing not just within their rooms but passing through the walls that separated their house from the next. 

And just like back then, it jolted him, made his stomach twist and his chest clench. 

Even now, despite everything, he had never been good with screaming. Although back then he had thought it was the worst sound of all. That was before he had heard men die. 

That was before he had been forced to hear horses die. 

Still, a screaming child was a sound that would never be easy on his ears, nor one he could ignore, pass on or drown out like other men. Or maybe they couldn’t either. 

Perhaps the same thing that made them flee to the pub or reach for the bottle was born from the same desperation that made his throat close all those years better. He had wanted to flee, but he had nowhere to flee to. Besides, if he fled, no one would be left. 

The memory returned the agonising feeling in his chest as if the construct of time had crumbled, between the boy he saw then and the man he was now. Because he was a boy. His hair was long, his eyes sunken, and his cheeks pale, even for winter. 

He looked like he hadn’t slept, and Tommy knew he hadn’t. How could he?

Perhaps it had been a saving grace, that the baby kept him up, or Ada having nightmares, or John crawling into their mother’s bed, finding it colder than it had been even when their parents still shared it. If it hadn’t been them it would have been Polly waking screaming from her night terrors, fighting nothing but her ghosts and regrets, or Arthur stumbling home drunk. 

With sleep, came nightmares. Though back then, the boy thought he was living in the worst one. That was before he knew what nightmares were, and looking at him now, Tommy wouldn’t blame him. 

“What’s wrong with him?” John asked, glaring at his two brothers, the older and the younger, with nothing but plain disgust on his face. 

The boy only inhaled sharply. not having an answer to share. Back then he had thought sometimes babies screamed just for the hell of it, or perhaps he was letting out his rage against the world, against his mother for leaving, against his father for fleeing, against his eldest brother for fleeing and his aunt for being a drunk, against his second brother for being too stupid to figure out if it was hunger, exhaustion, cold or pain that made him wail. 

With a scowl, John ran off, a face like sour lemon, leaving the boy to return to the kitchen. 

The air was thick with steam and smoke, and even thicker with tension. 

Ada’s face was flushed with rage. 

“No!” She insisted, her voice cracking like a whip. “I don’t! I don’t want it with cream, You ruined it!”

“Ada, it’s not ruined-,” Polly tried, her hands shaking too much to light the match for her cigarette. 

“Yes it is!” She snapped. “It’s never with cream. Mum always did it without cream because it’s supposed to be without cream!”

She screamed the last two words, tears shining in her dark eyes. 

She was wrong of course. Their mother didn’t always do it without cream, although there were little things she always did. Always would imply routine, certainty even, reliability. That wasn’t possible with their mother, not even in her death could they count on her absence. She’d come to haunt them in dreams. 

But Ada didn’t know that. She was younger than Tommy, and remembered less. And for all her faults, their mother had tried to make them a nice Christmas. When Polly didn’t respond in the way Ada wished, or in any way, she continued her tirade.

“It’s properly ruined! You ruined the cake and you ruined Christmas!”

“It’s the way I do it,” Polly said, her finger slipping again. She was too drunk to hold the match to catch the spark. 

“It’s wrong!” Ada snapped, trying to force back her sobs. 

“Ada, it’s a bloody cake!” The boy insisted, rocking the baby with his arm in a futile attempt to get him to stop screaming. 

“Well I don’t want it!” She snapped. “I don’t want the cream, I don’t want the cake and I don’t want Christmas!”

She didn’t have to say what she wanted. Tommy knew, then as he did now. She wanted the man back who’d lift her up to sit on his shoulders when he was sober and in a good mood. She wanted the woman back who’d sing to her and braid her hair. She wanted the family back that wasn’t wholly and utterly broken. 

The boy couldn’t give it to her, and the man knew that little girl would have to lose her family once more. 

“Where’s Arthur?” Polly asked the boy as she, having discarded the cigarette, reached for the bottle of gin. 

“Getting drunk.” The boy replied, and Tommy still remembered what he had thought. 

Like I want to. Like I should. But he couldn’t. 

That would leave them here alone, in the first Christmas without. They ought to fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. A mother without children. Children without a mother. 

But it had felt so wrong. 

Now Tommy wondered when it had begun to feel right, not then of course, not in the year after that. He didn’t know when, only that it had. The knocking on the door startled the baby to cry again, making him curse the interrupter before he had even put the baby down and walked towards it. 

Arthur didn’t knock and he wouldn’t be drunk enough yet to return. A gust of cold wind came as soon as he opened the door just a bit, the winter air being whipped through the narrow streets of Small Heath. 

“Happy Christmas, Tom,” she said, her voice muffled by the scarf she had wrapped around her head almost completely. 

The boy tensed. Tommy could see it in his shoulders. He had been upset by her use of the word “Happy” and by the sheer audacity of her to say something like that to him, to them, now. 

“I, ah, look!” She said, handing him a basket. Tommy didn’t have to see to know. Five gingerbread men. 

“These were left over from the bakery when we closed earlier. Mr Higgins gave us some to take home. Thought you’d like some.”

Five gingerbread men in a basket, wrapped in a white cloth. Tommy remembered the look of them, and the taste of them too, though he only had little. Both Ada and John had liked them enough to get distracted by them for a bit, first playing with them like they were dolls, and finally hacking off legs and arms and heads to eat them. 

He could see the look in her eyes, the expectation. 

“If you want, I can set them up in the kitchen,” she said. 

“They’re just gingerbread men,” the boy said. “Nothing to set up.”

She shifted, glancing downward. “Just offerin’.”

Tommy knew now what the boy didn’t, what she was actually asking. What she was actually offering. The boy was too caught up in his own misery to see the outstretched hand, and so instead quickly said that the house was getting cold and that he had to shut the door. 

“Oh alright. I better go then.”

Once more she had that expectation in her eyes, the spark that just waited for the right breath of air to ignite a warm, comforting fire. But it never came. 

The door was shut and locked, the basket taken into the kitchen, and Tommy was left alone in the corridor, as alone as the girl out there in the wind, making her way home. 

“Gingerbread. Ada’s favourite. And yours.”

His head snapped up, seeing the figure sitting on the stairs. Her hair was open for the occasion, with a wreath of holly that she wore like a crown. 

Seeing her here, in this house, on that day made his eyes burn. He almost wanted to lunge at her. 

But perhaps this was her hell, her purgatory, seeing the consequences of her absence, witnessing all their pain and desperation she had left in her wake. But he didn’t want her to suffer. He wanted her to be there. She smiled as she glanced at the kitchen door. 

“You know she lied, don’t you, Tom?” She asked, when from the kitchen the boy called his younger siblings. 

“Course,” he said. 

Mr Higgins was a man as greedy as he was mean. He didn’t give away anything for free. Once Tommy had heard her say that he’d eat himself to death before sharing a crumb. 

Either she’d have stolen them, which meant getting the price deducted from all the girl’s pay, or it would have come out of her salary, little as it was. 

John came rushing first, passing by the woman sitting on the steps, not knowing she was even there. Ada came more reluctantly, even if she ended up enjoying them more and buying them each year. Little did that girl know that the woman she would grow to be would hire one of London’s most famous, and expensive cake makers to create Gingerbread villages, and castles and boats to celebrate, a new motive each year. That year, a man had to do. 

“Happy Christmas, Tom,” his mother said, her eyes piercing through him. 

~~~

He woke with a gasp, hands shooting out to grasp onto the chair he had been sleeping in. An unfamiliar, rather uncomfortable feeling stuck to Tommy, forcing his eyes to blink a few times to adjust to the darkness he was engulfed by. With his eyes finding his clock he let go of a groan, it was already Christmas morning. 

“Tom.” The voice rang in his ears, making his head whip towards the door, only to find his room still empty. His heart was pounding, trying to shake his mother’s voice, hoping that the rather strange dream he had been plagued by would finally let him rest. But the voice called out to him once again, even as he cupped his face in his cold hands, desperately chasing the silence that had been ripped from him.

“It’s Christmas, Tom. You need her.” Her? Tommy caught the question before it could leave him, not wanting to speak out, scared that he was now going insane. He tried to shake his head, tried to rise with trembling limbs, though something clung to him, something his eyes couldn’t see. “Christmas is supposed to be celebrated with your loved ones, isn’t it?” 

He heavily swallowed, reaching for a cigarette in hopes of being able to let the memory of his mother finally rest. The blue smoke left his nostrils like a wave clashing through the streets he had once roamed as a young boy, with his siblings in tow. 

“Find her, Tommy, it’s never too late.” 

……

“Tommy? What are you doing here?” She was wearing her thin dressing gown, wrapping it tightly around herself as her wide eyes kept staring at him. Tommy cleared his throat, hands fumbling with his cap. For a few moments he struggled to meet her eyes, stepping on the cigarette he had finished smoking. 

“We’re supposed to spend Christmas with the people we love, aren’t we?” It was just a whisper, and yet the words were all too clear to (y/n) like bullets piercing her trembling body. The cold nibbled on her skin as she kept holding onto the door, watching snow settle on Tommy’s frame. 

All she could do was nod her head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His words still rang in her ears, reminding her that “I will spend it with my family, as I do every year”. 

“I guess sometimes I’m not the smartest man, even though it pains me to say so.” Both chuckled in unison, Tommy took a slow step towards (y/n), and yet he still kept some distance between them. “I love you, (y/n), and I’d like it if you’d spend the next few days with me and my family.” She reached for his coat, pulling Tommy in for a searing kiss, drowning the gasp rumbling through the surprised man. 

Slowly Tommy guided her back inside, door falling shut with a thud as he shuffled out of his coat, falling to the ground with his cap following. They didn’t break the kiss, not as he picked her up, not as he carried her towards her bedroom. Only as Tommy carefully placed her down on the mattress did they part, allowing (y/n) to watch him undo his vest, taking his time as he undressed one by one. 

“You’re a strong headed idiot, Tommy Shelby, you’re painfully oblivious sometimes. And yet I can’t help but love you.” His fingers froze, eyes burning into hers. It took Tommy longer than he’d like to admit to snap out of his trance, lips finding hers again with a soft “I love you too, so very much” rumbling through him. 

Within moments both found themselves pressed together, naked bodies falling back into their all too familiar rhythm. They were a mess of tangled limbs, of racing hearts, and swollen lips, a mixture so loving, Tommy couldn’t help but wonder if he was still stuck in a dream. An almost melancholic feeling flushed through Tommy, momentarily taking him back to his rather confusing dreams. 

(Y/n) whispered his name as if it was a prayer one would only speak on Christmas, needing to keep one another close, wanting to fully pull him into her trap. He interlaced his fingers with hers as he slowly pushed into her, watching her eyes flutter close with a gasp leaving her. She was even more beautiful at that very moment, so beautiful Tommy wished he could freeze the moment to paint her.

His thrusts weren’t rushed, they were almost too slow for (y/n), though the way he looked at her, with so much love swimming in his pupils, seemed to be just enough to satisfy the moaning woman. She clung to him, fingernails scratching at his shoulders, scared that he’d let go of her all too abruptly, not giving her a chance to fully love him.

“Never let me go again, Tommy, promise me.” Her moans rolled off her tongue as he began to meet the one spot that left her gasping, seeing the brightest stars. He dipped his head down, kissing her throat as he spoke his sweet promise, words so loving, (y/n) feared her heart would rot from the love it felt. 

“May I die by my promise. I won’t ever let go again.” Their hearts were pounding in sync, roaring in their chests, louder and louder with every passing moment. Both kept holding eye contact, not wanting to miss their loving, lust-filled expressions. They were addicted, made for one another like Paris and Helen, like Orpheus and Euridice. Ancient lovers reborn at this very moment.

She came with a gasp, back arched off the mattress, pressed against his front. Tommy once again pressed kisses against her throat as he kept snapping his hips, needy for his own high. He didn’t let go of (y/n) as he followed her down the edge, imprinting himself on her walls, groaning her name with a smirk tugging on his lips. 

“Merry Christmas, love.”

[krispiecake]

i cannot believe this

[ray-ray-writings]

Family Fatality-Awesamdude

Gn!reader x Sam x Son!Tommyinnit …. It be angsty and sad with a happy ending. Also, does not follow what actually happened in the lore!

Small note: I think this is the last fic I’m going to write in first person. I think a lot of people enjoy the use of second person more and it’s also a bit easier for me to write in second person. The only reason that this fic is written in first is because it’s a part two and I want to keep it consistent. If you have thoughts about this, feel free to message me!!

Part One: Family Matters.

Check out my masterlist here

Y/N believed it was a bad idea from the beginning. Call it parental instincts. But unfortunately no one believed them… until it was too late. 

Y/N’s POV

I knew it was a bad idea. 

I should have listened to my gut. 

Tommy should have listened.

Sam should have listened. 

We should have known better. 

When Tommy told Sam and me that he wanted to visit Dream in prison, I instantly said no. That boy had been through so much trauma and manipulation because of that green wearing bastard, I didn’t want Dream to ever be able to see Tommy again. 

Sam was more into it. It was less of wanting Tommy to be able to see Dream and more he wanted an opportunity to show Tommy the prison. But he was for it. Sure he knew what Dream did to Tommy and hated the blond for it, but he also understood Tommy’s desire to see him. 

We told Tommy we would talk it over and let him know our decision.

I really didn’t want him to go. 

Sam talked me into it. 

That night after we put Tommy and Stella to sleep and crawled into our own bed, Sam began to explain his side further. He told me about how it might be nice for Tommy to get some closure. To be able to see Dream completely trapped in prison with no way out. It may help stop the nightmares.

That’s what convinced me in the end. 

As much as Tommy would try to tell us he was fine, his dreams told us otherwise. More often than not, we’d wake in the morning to find Tommy had crawled in bed between us or that he would be sitting in the rocking chair in Stella’s room. He never told us exactly what would happen, but we could tell. 

I just wanted them to stop. I wanted my boy to be able to feel safe in this house. And if that was the only way to have it happen… I had to let it happen. 

Tommy was thrilled with our verdict. Threw his arms around us in a huge hug and kissed our cheeks. I did my best to put on a happy front, but it was difficult. Sam could tell. Tommy could tell. Heck, I’m sure that even baby Stella could tell. 

I was wrapped in another hug by Tommy and was pulled close to his chest while he buried his face in my hair. 

“I’ll be alright baba… I promise.” 

Liar. 

My stomach was in knots the day he went to the prison. I woke up with enough time to see them off. I gave both of them extremely tight hugs, forcing them to promise me they would be safe before sending them off, telling them to be back in time for dinner. 

I watched the two walk toward the horizon and stood there watching long after they disappeared from view. The thing that snapped me from my swell of anxiety and nerves was the sound of Stella crying. 

I immediately jumped into action, closing the door and rushing toward her room. I carefully got her out of her crib and began our usual morning routine. “They’re going to be fine baby,” I cooed as I changed her, “They’re going to be just fine.” 

I knew she couldn’t understand me. I knew I was saying that more to try and convince myself of that. Thinking if I said it out loud it would make it true… it wasn’t true. 

The whole day I could help but worry. I tried to focus on Stella, on taking care of her, playing with her, making sure she was okay, but I found my thoughts drifting back to Tommy and Sam and the visit. I couldn’t help but wonder how it was going, if the two were safe. 

The pit in my stomach deepened when our usual dinner time rolled around and there was no sign of the boys. I tried to contact one of them via communicator, but no response. I wasn’t surprised. The prison was so heavy laced with obsidian it was nearly impossible to get a signal in there. I watched with a heavy heart and a knotted stomach as the sun sunk lower and lower into the sky and still, no boys. Stella’s bedtime came and I was forced to put her down alone, Sam and Tommy still nowhere to be found. 

I tried to remain calm. I sat on the couch and stared at the TV as a movie played. After a while, I realized my knee was bouncing like crazy and that I was halfway through the film but I had no idea what the hell was happening. I reached over and quickly shut off the TV. The black screen reflected the scene behind me, letting me see what was behind me.

I immediately jumped at the sight of my husband standing in the doorway behind me. My hand flew to my chest as my head whipped around to look at him. “Sam!” I exclaimed a bit breathless, using my free hand to push myself up from the couch to completely turn to him. “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in!” 

Sam didn’t say anything. He only stared at me. That confused me. He usually rushes right for me, shouting hello, and wraps me in a hug and kisses me sweetly… Why is he just staring at me blankly? “Sam?” I questioned, taking a few steps forward toward him. He still didn’t move. Sam just stared. As I grew closer, I could see that his eyes were rimmed red and the usual light that filled his eyes was completely gone. It was really freaking me out. “What’s wrong?”

It was then I noticed that he had entered alone. Tommy hadn’t come in with him. That sent a fury of butterflies to stir in my stomach. “Sam? Where’s Tommy?” 

That was the question that broke the dam. 

I watched as Sam’s bottom lip began to quiver and a hushed sobbed echoed throughout the room. “I’m sorry,” Sam whimpered out, another sob escaping him. “I’m so sorry.” 

Sam’s legs seemed to give out from under him, causing me to rush forward as my husband fell to his knees. I sunk down to my knees and quickly cupped his face, gently tilting his head to look at me. 

Sobs were still falling from his lips as his eyes met mine. I rose my eyebrows at him, not wanting to rush him but still wanting to know what the hell was going on. I didn’t have to wait long for his gut wrenching words. 

“You were right.” 

It instantly clicked. I was right. That’s why Tommy wasn’t here. I was right. I was right to not want him to go. To not want him to see Dream. Something happened. Something bad happened. I was right. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop him. I was too far. I failed him. I failed to protect him. I failed our son. He’s dead and it’s all my fault.” 

Time seemed to stop at Sam’s words. Sam kept babbling words out through his sobs, but I became unable to hear him any longer. A loud ringing filled my ears and I watched as my own vision blurred. 

He’s….

He’s dead….

Tommy…

Tommy is dead. 

Dream… Dream killed him. 

A gut wrenching sob ripped itself from your throat as you fully registered what your husband was telling you. Sam’s arms instantly reach out and wrap around you tightly, bringing you into his chest. Your hands fall from his cheeks onto his chest as you clutch his shirt, burying your face in him as you sob. 

You’re not sure how long you’re there, kneeling on the floor sobbing. Slowly, and I mean slowly, but surely, your sobs die down until the only noise filling the room are soft sniffles. 

“I was right,” you manage to croak out, pulling yourself away from your creeper hybrid husband to look up at him. 

“You were right,” Sam echos, moving one of his hands to cup your cheek and tilting his head down to rest his forehead on yours. 

You let out a watery laugh as you close your eyes tightly and relish in the gentle contact. 

“God. I have never wanted to be wrong more in my entire life… I wish I wasn’t right.” 

The next few days passed slowly. The sky seemed to be constantly dark and everything seemed gloomy. Even Stella was more somber, as if she could tell something was wrong. And she probably could. She had gone from spending almost every second with her older brother to not seeing him for days on end in the blink of an eye. 

Sam still had to work. He had to force himself to go back to that damned prison with that bastard and listen to his taunting laughter through the cameras as he mocks the Warden’s pain. It takes everything in Sam to hold back and not barge into the cell and kill Dream himself. He knew that wouldn’t bring back Tommy and wouldn’t make him feel better, but even still. 

The house seemed so quiet. Even with Stella babbling and cooing, the rooms had never felt more quiet and empty. I found myself searching for Tommy’s voice, his laughter, his whole presence everyday only to be disappointed when my search came up empty. I tried to play some of his favorite music discs, but tears would fill my eyes as I realized I would never hear him sing along to them and the silence that would have usually been filled by him babbling about the disc was too deafening for me to want to listen to them again. 

The worst part, I found, was when Sam would get home. I was always happy to have my husband back. Always more than willing to hug and kiss him in a greeting. A welcome home. But everyday, I’d try to turn to greet Tommy two. I would be waiting for two blonds to appear in my home, even though I knew only one would be home. My heart would break over and over as I searched for the boy that I knew wouldn’t be there. 

I let out a sigh as I finished up the last dish I had prepared for dinner. Sam should be home from work any minute now. I set the table, thr-- two places and the food in the middle, Stella in her high chair. Now all there was to do was wait for Sam. 

As I finished up, I heard the front door open. “Honey! I’m home!” Sam’s voice called out. A soft smile placed itself on my lips as I turned around and made my way to the front door. 

“Hey honey welcome--” The sentence died on my lips as my eyes met what was at my front door. My husband had not come home alone. Instead of the one blond that I had seen come home day after day, had been joined by another blond. 

A familiar blond. 

The blond I had spent the last several days missing and mourning. 

Tommy. 

“Tommy?” My voice croaked as my eyes met his icy blue ones. 

Tears formed in the corner of his eyes as he gave me a soft smile, “Hi baba.” 

A sob let my lips as I raced forward and wrapped my arms around the middle of the boy I call my son. His arms immediately wrapped around me as he pulled me tightly to him. His face turned down and buried in my hair as I nuzzled into his chest. My fingers clutched at his shirt that rested on his back, trying to prove to myself that he was here. That Tommy was back and actually here. Here in the flesh. 

“How--How did you? Why are you? What the?” I babbled out, tilting my head up to try and look at him. 

“We can talk about it later… For now I’d just like my parents to hold me.” 

Another sob escaped my lips as I moved my head back to its original position. Sam’s strong arms wrapped around the two of us, pulling us close to him. Our little family was back together again. How? I don’t know. But I didn’t care. Tommy was back. 

The sound of Tommy’s stomach rumbling broke up from the sweet moment. I let out a small laugh as I carefully pulled away from the hug. I let my hand come up and cup the boy’s cheek. “How about you go sit at the table? I’ll get another plate.” 

He gave me a quick nod, leaning down and kissing my cheek before making his way to the table.

 “STELLA!! I MISSED YOU!”

I laughed again and turned to my husband, giving him a smile. “He’s back?” I whispered the question, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“He’s back.” Sam confirmed, placing his hands on my hips, pulling me close to him. He then leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips, one I instantly returned. The kiss said it all. Tommy was back. Our family was back. We were whole once again. And I’m going to make sure that it stays that way. 

That sucked. I’m sorry. But if you did enjoy, be sure to leave a like and maybe a reblog and comment telling me what you liked about it. Until next time!

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter thirteen rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

You woke up when bright lights began to penetrate your eyelids. You raised a hand to shield your eyes from the light and slowly opened them. You saw nothing but pure white walls that seemed to go on forever. You were slowly regaining feeling in your body as your eyes adjusted to the lights.

“My leg!” You gasped and looked down at your previously broken leg. It was fully healed, as were the rest of your injuries. You didn’t feel any pain anymore.

“Where are we?” You asked out loud. For the first time in a year, you got no response.

“Venom?” You asked again. She always answered. You were beginning to worry.

“Venom whats going on?” You asked. Still no answer. You tried to turn into Venom but nothing happened. You felt white hot fear shoot through your body.

“Oh my God. I died?” You whispered. “I died when I gave Venom to Peter.”

You suddenly felt yourself being pulled forward, as if attached to a string, before stopping abruptly. You found yourself in front of a door that was painted white. You pushed it open and walked into your old apartment, the one you shared with Andy. Speak of the devil…

“Hi babe.” Andy chirped. He kissed your lips as he passed you. You immediately touched your fingertips to your lips. You hadn’t kissed him like that in so long. He was once your boyfriend but now he felt more like a stranger.

“Hi.” You said wearily, coming out as more of a question.

“You ready?” He asked as he tossed you your shirt. You caught it clumsily and looked at it. It was a button down that you wore for important events.

“Ready for what?” You wondered as you rubbed your thumbs over the material.

“Don’t you have that interview with that guy today?” He tilted his head. “I thought you were gonna write a puff piece about his rocket.”

“My interview?” You were still very confused as you looked around your old apartment.

“Yep. So are you gonna do it?” Andy took a seat and looked at you expectantly.

“Do what?” You asked.

“Choose me.” He said simply.

“Choose you? Choose you for what? You know what, it doesn’t matter. I would never choose you.” You shook your head. “What’s going on?”

Andy’s face fell and a wall dropped down in front of you, between you and him. You slammed your hands on the wall in frustration and another door appeared. You opened the door and walked into your childhood home. You saw followed the sound of humming into your old bedroom, where you found your mother in a rocking chair.

“There you are.” She smiled sweetly as she rubbed her pregnant belly. “Could you hand me the lotion?”

You looked at her in bewilderment as you handed her a bottle of lotion. You were in a nursery, fit for a baby that hadn’t arrived yet.

“Thank you.” She accepted the bottle. “My little Y/n is almost here.”

“I’m here, mom.” You knelt down beside her with tears in your eyes. “I’m right here.”

“But are you staying?” She asked as she rubbed the lotion into her stomach.

“What?” You whispered in confusion. She finally looked at you. It was the first time you had ever looked in your mothers eyes.

“Are you choosing me, Y/n?” She asked, face void of emotion.

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “I can’t.”

“Oh.” She said disappointedly. She stood up suddenly and walked out the bedroom door. You ran after her but when you went through the door, you found yourself in Peters bedroom. He came in and closed the door behind him.

“Hey beautiful.” He smiled. “Have you seen my-“

“Yes.” You blurted and Peter looked at you quizzically.

“Sorry what?” He asked.

“Wasn’t that your question? If I’m choosing you?”

“It was.” Peter nodded as he suddenly thought of something. “You gave Venom to me. Why?”

“Because you were dying.” You said as if it were obvious.

“So were you.” Peter bargained.

“Your life matters more.” You stated, surprising yourself on how quickly you answered.

“Avengers don’t trade lives.” Peter said firmly.

“I’m no Avenger. What good have I done in the world? I saved San Francisco from one guy with a rocket and I think of myself as some kind of hero? You said it yourself Peter.” You shrugged sadly. “I will never be the hero. I will always be the monster. And the monster always has to die at the end of the story.”

“Who’s writing this story?” Peter asked you.

“Me. I write the stories.” You were definitely annoyed now. “Why is everyone asking me these questions? Where am I?”

“So why did you give Venom to me? Why not write a happier ending?” Peter questioned.

“Because.” You said dumbly. You didn’t even know the answer.

“Because?” He repeated.

“Because! Because I was dying! Venom couldn’t heal me and we both knew it. She’d die if I died. So I gave her to you.” You yelled. “If you were her host then she could heal you and survive at the same time. I took myself out of the equation. I made the decision. That’s how I chose to end my story. Are you happy now?”

You never wanted to raise your voice at Peter but you didn’t like everyone poking around in your head. Something weird was going on and you weren’t even sure if he was real.

“So you chose to die?” Peter raised a judgmental eyebrow. All his questions came out in a way that sounded like he damn well knew the answer.

“I chose save you and Venom.” You answered for what felt like the millionth time.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” You grumbled.

“Yes you do. Why?” He said again.

“I said I don’t know.” You yelled.

“Bullshit!” He yelled. Peter never raised his voice at you either. This definitely wasn’t your Peter.

“Because I’d rather die than lose you! Either of you.” You shouted before lowering your voice. “You and Venom mean more to me than anything else ever has. Nothing compares to you. So I gave myself up so in order for you two to live. That’s why.”

He looked satisfied with your answer, finally.

“I know.” Peter nodded simply.

“You know? Then why did you ask?” You were beyond frustrated at that point.

“Because you didn’t know. You think you chose me.” Peter laughed.

“I did chose you.” You argued.

“No. You didn’t.” Peter stated.

“Then who did I chose?” You said angrily. You knew you chose Peter. You just wanted this trip to be over. Your head was splitting.

“Us.” Venoms voice came into your head. You turned to the mirror and saw Venom looking back at you. The background melted away to a black room with just a mirror.

“You chose us. You sacrificed yourself to save someone else. Do you know what that makes you?” Venom asked you.

“Stupid?” You said sarcastically.

“A hero.” Venom replied. You rolled your eyes.

“I will never be the hero.” You hissed.” Peter nearly died because of me. And he would’ve died if it weren’t for you. I’m the one who put him in danger. Me. I’m a monster.”

“Just because you’re a monster doesn’t mean you have to do monstrous things.” Venom reminded you.

“How am I seeing all of this?” You wondered. “How are you here? Aren’t I dead?”

“No. You’re just in such bad pain that you’re hallucinating. None of this actually happened.”

“What?” You gasped. How could it all be fake? It felt so real.

“I’m kidding.” Venom chuckled. “You’re just unconscious. It’s time to wake up.”

“Wake up?” Your vision began to blur again and the room faded back to black.

“I’ll be watching over you.” Your mother’s voice said was the last thing you heard before you fell back to sleep.

You woke up with a jolt. You were still on the pavement outside of the Oscorp building. You heard the faint sounds of a commotion on the roof. Lots a roars. A few cackles here and there. You let out a huff of breath.

“I’m not gonna die.” You grunted. “Not like this.”

With great agony, you picked yourself up. Your hand was still broken but Venom had healed your leg. You doubled tapped your chest and your suit formed around your body once again. You shot a web at the building and swung on it until you reached the front. The doors were locked being as it was nighttime and no one was around. You looked at your reflection in the window and sighed.

“No fear.” You shouted as you head butted the window. It didn’t break but it did give you a throbbing headache. You groaned and shot a web at a dumpster and threw it through the window. The glass shattered all around you.

“That’ll work too.” You shrugged before climbing through the broken glass and limping over to the elevator. Every step you took brought on more pain but you were high on adrenaline. You got in the elevator and pressed the button for the roof. Cheesy elevator music filled your ears as you rode.

Meanwhile on the roof, Peter was putting up a second fight with Carnage. Venoms powers mixed with his Spider-Man powers gave him an advantage. He was stronger, bigger, and faster than ever before. Carnage was beginning to weaken.

“Y/n has been down there an awfully long time. I wonder what’s become of her.” Carnage tried to distract Peter. Peter panicked instantly. He didn’t know how he bonded with Venom. All he knew is he was barely conscious on the sidewalk one minute and climbing the building as Venom the next. In the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten all about you.

“Where is she?” Peter demanded.

“I threw her off a while ago. Haven’t seen her since. Didn’t you tell me she and Venom would die if they were separated? I don’t know though. Venom seems fine to me.” Carnage taunted the boy.

“Venom, what happened? Where’s Y/n?” Peter asked the Symbiote desperately.

“You can’t stop fighting now. I’ll tell you about to later.” Venom answered, knowing Peter would drop everything and rush to your side if he knew the truth.

“I thought you only said “we”.” Peter wondered out loud.

“”We” is for me and Y/n only.” Venom said firmly. She missed you dearly. All she could do was hope you were still alive.

“Fair enough.” Peter answered.

He had been so caught up in his conversation with Venom that he didn’t notice Carnage charging at him. Carnage pulled at Venoms skin and successfully yanked her off of Peter. He threw Venom off into the distance and grabbed Peter by the neck.

“Don’t waste your time with the bitch. Who cares about Y/n? Girls are nothing but trouble. You’re better off if she’s dead. Women are good for absolutely nothing. All they do is bite your head off.” Carnage growled at Peter. Peter was wining and he was getting desperate.

Peter was about to jump to your defense and annihilate Carnage with an essays worth of reasons why women were amazing when he heard someone behind him clear their throat.

“He’s right, Peter. Absolutely right.” You said suavely. You strutted over to Carnage and Peter, checking your nails as you walked. Peter looked at you with pride and then at Carnage with a look that said “you’re finished.”

“And well,” you shrugged with open arms, “Ain’t I a woman?”

Before Carnge could speak, Peter kicked him in the groin for the second time that evening. You took no time in grabbing Carnage and pulling him off Cletus. You shoved Cletus towards Peter and held Carnage up. He was defenseless in his goo state. You smiled wickedly as you transformed back into Venom. Then, you did just as you promised.

You bit his head off.

You chewed Carnage and swallowed him before tossing the rest of him in the fire. He burned up and dissolved into the fire with a shrill hiss. You smiled proudly at your work but your smile quickly fell when you looked up and saw Cletus with a knife to Peters throat.

“Wait! Kill me too or I’ll slice his throat. Please! I can’t go back to prison.” Cletus begged.

“No, Cletus. I’m not going to kill you. I would never hurt you.” You said cautiously as you slowly approached Cletus.

“We’re saving your life, idiot.” Peter sassed. Cletus tightened his grip and Peter yelped.

“Don’t! Life in prison isn’t living.” Cletus cried.

“Killing people isn’t living either. You have to stop this Cletus. We want to help you.” Peter interjected.

“Why? I don’t deserve your help. Did you ever see what Shelly looked like? If you weren’t my friend, you would’ve been my target.” Cletus shouted at you.

“You would never hurt me. I believe that. But you can’t hurt Peter either. Peter didn’t do anything to you. He didn’t laugh at you or reject you, right?” You tried to reason with Cletus and talk him down.

“You think you would’ve been spared? You wouldn’t. I’m a cold blooded killer baby. I’ll kill your boyfriend right now to prove it. You’d kill me if I did that, wouldn’t you?” His crazy eyes were wide with excitement. “You’d eat me on the spot. I know you, Y/n. I know how you work. Carnage told me that Symbiotes mate for life. Well how about I kill your mate as you watch? Would you still try to save me? Huh, girl? Would you?”

“I couldn’t have pulled Carnage off of you as easily as I did if you didn’t try to let him go.” You pointed out. “You wanted to be free from him. It’s okay, Cletus. You’re free now. Peter and I freed you. So don’t do anything stupid okay? Put the knife down. The police are on their way.”

“They are? Why?” Peter asked. Of course he was opening dialogue while being threatened with a knife.

“Someone threw a dumpster through the window.” You answered him.

“Oh my God really? Who would do that?” Peter wondered.

“I have no idea.” You deadpanned.

“Please just kill me. I deserve it.” Cletus brought the attention back to himself.

“No one deserves it.” You shouted. Before Cletus could protest, something red and crispy jumped of the fire and latched onto Peters leg. You knew you hadn’t succeeded in killing Carnage, but it was too late. Peter was yanked towards the roaring fire and you weren’t fast enough to get to him. Everything began to move in slow motion. Peters body flew through the air like a rag doll. You began to run to him but you knew you’d never make it it time. Then, out of nowhere, Cletus jumped towards Peter and grabbed Carnage. They both tumbled into the fire. You heard the screams from Cletus and Carnage as they burned to ashes together. You ran to Peter and helped him up, both of your eyes trained on the fire.

“Is he-“ you began.

“He saved me.” Peter gasped.

“Are they dead?” You wondered out loud.

“Karen, extinguisher.” Peter called.

The spider on Peters chest came off and hovered over the fire. A white substance shot out of it and put out the fire. There was nothing but a burnt mark on the ground when it was done. Both Cletus and Carnage were gone.

“Did-did we just win?” You asked.

“I think we did.” Peter said in disbelief.

You ran towards each other and embraced. He picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his torso. He held you tightly as you heard police sirens approaching the building.

“I thought I was gonna lose you.” You mumbled in his ear.

“I thought I already lost you. How did you find Venom?” Peter asked as he scanned your body for injuries.

“Right as I walked off the elevator, something hit me in the face that felt like a wet cat. Sure enough, it was Venom.” You laughed. Peter sighed in relief.

“That was lucky.” Peter commented.

“Not really. We always find each other.” You smiled fondly at Venom and she smiled back at you.

“How did I get Venom?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” You lied.

”You’re lying. Your heart rate went up. How did I get Venom?” Peter asked again, with more force this time.

“I…transferred her to you.” You admitted.

“What?” His eyes widened. “Why? I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“We can when we have to. I felt we had to.” You told him.

“Why?”

“You were hurt.” You said simply.

“What about you?” Peter asked, always concerned for your safety.

“What about me?” You laughed. “You and I were both hurt and Venom could only heal one of us. She would’ve died if she stayed with me.”

“Why wouldn’t you let her heal me and then take her back?” Peter asked.

“Because I just wanted to keep you safe.” You yelled from an anger you didn’t know was building. Peter’s eyes softened and he no longer looked confused. “All I was thinking in that moment is that you were hurt and I could help you. I wasn’t thinking about me or Carnage or anything else. Just you and your safety.”

“Woah.” Peter stumbled back. “I think I just realized why Mr. Stark treats me like a kid.”

“Love makes you do crazy things.” You shrugged. “He’s strict with you because he wants to protect you, not because he doesn’t believe in you.”

“I shouldn’t listened the first 15 times he told me that.” Peter laughed but his face suddenly fell flat. “Y/n, I have to tell you something.”

“What is it, Pete?” You put a hand on his cheek.

“Almost dying made me realize that I want to be with someone else.” Peter said apologetically.

“What? Who?” You were crushed, withdrawing your hand immediately. Peter smiled proudly at himself when he saw your reaction.

“Your mom.” He delivered in true Gen Z fashion.

“My mom is dead, dickhead.” You said bluntly.

“Oh my God.” Peter stuttered. “I totally forgot I am so sorry please-“

You cut him off by rushing into his arms and pressing your lips to his.

“I’m only teasing. I always appreciate a good “your mom” joke.” You assured him. “Plus, I saw her like five minutes ago.”

“Wait, what?” Peter jutted his head back in surprise.

“Don’t worry about it.” You waved your hand in dismissal. “I think we’ve had enough crazy for one night. Can we just go inside and-“

“Watch The Princess Bride and cuddle?” Peter asked hopefully.

“I was gonna say have sex and make brownies, but your thing works too.” You smiled innocently as you pulled him towards the stairs to get off the roof.

“Yeah.” Peter gulped, realizing he jumped the gun. “Or your thing.”

“Nah.” You teased him. “I haven’t seen The Princess Bride in forever.”

“Me either.” He nodded. “Or we could do your thing.”

“Do you want to go to my place or yours?” You still ignored his pleas.

“Doesn’t matter to me.” He shrugged. “You should pick since you make such good suggestions. Speaking of suggestions, we should do your thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you left the building, carefully stepping over the glass from the window you smashed.

“You know what, Peter?” You said as you looked at him with a smile. “If I have to be people eating alien, I’m glad I can do it with you by my side.”

“Thanks, Y/n.” He laughed a little. “That means a lot.”

You stopped him and put your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you.

“I mean it.” You said softly. “I’m glad to have you as my partner in crime.”

“I’m glad I have you too.” He smiled shyly before leaning in to kiss you.

“Come on.” You took his hand and pulled him in the direction of your apartment. “Let’s go do my thing.”

[ethanharli]

Resentment: Jujutsu Kaisen x Male Reader

[Ch.1|Episode One]

___________

“Ngh” A small groan slipped past my parted lips as I rubbed the scar on my neck, feeling it itch and burn as I tried not to scratch at it. “Does it still hurt?” My gaze flicked down towards Itadori, his sudden presence not much of a shock to me since him popping up out of no where is a regular occurrence to me. Yet the slight worry in his eyes caused a small smirk to tug at my lips as he rested his hand on my shoulder, “Jus’ itches, nothin’ more than that.” My voice came out low and gruff, with a bit of strain, something I still haven't gotten used to after I had damaged my vocal cords years ago. However Itadori just smiled and patted my shoulder, “Don’t forget to take care of it okay? I don’t wanna keep slapping your hands if you try to scratch at it” I couldn’t help but laugh along with him at the memories.

“Ah- Yuji I forgot to mention that I wont be able to come with you to visit your grandpa, I promised I’d stay with Sasaki and Iguchi after school today” I couldn’t help but frown at the slight waver in his smile, and the hint of disappointment in his eyes. I’d always go with him to see his grandpa, as emotional support and for the fact that his grandpa and I always had a father-son like relationship, but I couldn’t tell my classmates no when they looked at me with such excitement about the surprise they had for me. “It’s alright, I’ll tell him you said Hi!” His smile seemed a bit fake at this point, and in hopes to make him feel a bit better I rested my hand on his head, ruffling up his hair like I used to do when we were younger. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, but you really should go, it looks like coach is waiting for you?” I spoke awkwardly, finally noticing the coaches piercing gaze behind us.

“Oh yeah! I’ll see you later then!” Itadori turned to leave, but before he could I gently took ahold of his wrist, catching his attention with slightly widened eyes. “Remember, I’m always a call away if you need me” I smiled softly, finally letting go of his wrist as he stared at me for a moment, before breaking into a wide grin with a happier aura now surrounding him. “I know, but be careful okay? I’ll see you tomorrow!” I merely nodded and waved as he ran off alongside the coach, knowing exactly how that was going to end. Yet, before I could take another step a familiar disgusting stench made its way to my nose, along with some unsettling memories that I quickly pushed back down.

“What the hell was that..?” I couldn’t help but mumble it out, my hand instinctively moving toward the scar on my neck, the raised flesh once again started to itch and burn, irritating me to no end. Taking a deep breath I stuffed my hands in my pockets and headed towards the occult clubroom, deciding I’ll just wait out in there until Sasaki and Iguchi got back.

--------

An hour or two passed since I got to the clubroom, and since I already cleaned the room when I first arrived I decided to lean back in one of the chairs and read the books we have in here, actually finding most of them quiet interesting. However I nearly doubled over at the familiar scent that I had smelled earlier as a prickly feeling danced over my skin, sending an unpleasant shiver up my spine. My ears immediately perking up at the sound of footsteps approaching the clubroom. Something felt off, and as it got closer I couldn’t help the small growl that reverberated throughout my chest, the sudden alarm of my flight or fight responses kicking in as the door slid open, revealing Sasaki and Iguchi. The familiar faces not doing anything to help calm my nerves as I glared at the object in Sasaki’s hand.

“What’s that?” I didn’t hesitate to voice my thoughts, my tone now surprisingly harsh as I continued to glare at the medium sized object. My fellow second years looked at me in shock before a wide grin spread across Sasaki’s face, “Itadori grabbed it for us! it’s supposed to contain an evil spirit” Even though she spoke with a carefree tone I couldn’t help but tense up when she held it up to me, the alarms in my head continuing to rattle my core as I got a better view of it.

That’s.. a special grade object.

“I don’t think that's a good idea, what if something goes wrong and someone gets hurt?” I tried to be a voice of reason, hopping she’d put the damn thing away, or at least hand it over so I can get rid of it. It didn’t help that my hands were practically trembling under the desk as I glared at the object with unease as she pulled up a chair and sat in front of me. “Simple! Nothing will happen, and if something does happen then we got you here Mr. Underground boxer” Her teasing smirk caused my unease to settle for a moment, and the mention of my old hobby causing a blush to spread across my cheeks. However she’s as stubborn as a mule, so if I can’t convince her not to open it then I’ll at least be here when it happens, “Fine, lets get to it before I change my mind.”

So for the next ten minutes we moved the desks around and turned off the lights as I took a seat besides Sasaki, watching carefully as she slowly unwrapped the talisman, keeping my guard up until finally the talisman came off, “A finger?” I mumbled softly, looking closely at the decayed limb. Until finally it clicked, “Move!” My nose twitched at the new scent approaching and reaching behind me I grabbed my chair and threw it up at the curse above us, grabbing both Sasaki’s and Iguchi’s wrists to force them out the room. ”Run!” I growled out, a small hiss slipping past my lips as I slammed the sliding door shut, feeling the hands of the curse crash into it behind me. ”And I thought I was finally done with this shit-” Taking a deep breath I pushed against the door and sprinted down the hallway, searching for my classmates.

I have to find Sasaki and get that finger from her, at least that way I know she won’t be the main target. With that in mind I tried tapping back into my own curse as I ran down the halls, but every time was a failed attempt. I stopped when I heard a high-pitched scream, I wasted no time bolting towards the sound, Sasaki and Iguchi both coming into view, however my blood nearly ran cold at the sight of the curse on their trail, it’s hands reaching out towards them, successfully grabbing Iguchi, “Fuck!” In an desperate act I ran towards Sasaki, a light green glow surrounding my body as I managed to make it to her in time, pushing her out the way as the hand that tried to grab her got to me instead, slamming my body into the wall besides me. The air got knocked out of my lungs from the impact, black spots slowly clouding my vision as my teeth gritted in pain.

“Run..” I managed to mumble out, the curse dragging me back into its body as fatigue slowly weighed me down. In the blur of my vision I caught a glimpse of someone new standing before the curse, a sigh slipped past my lips as I used the last bit of my energy to reach for Iguchi, the faint green glow returning to my body as I grabbed Iguchi’s arm, the flow of my cursed energy managed to make the curse shy away from my body a bit as I yanked Iguchi out of its body and threw him onto the titled floor. The shattering of glass and a familiar blur of pink hair being the last thing I saw before it all went black.

--------

The cool air nipped at my skin as I shifted a bit, a groggy groan slipping past my lips as my eyes fluttered open, being met with a familiar plain, cream colored ceiling. “Y’know it was a surprise to see you there,” Almost instantly I bolted up, the familiar voice causing my eyes to narrow as I glared at the masked male, a smirk playing at his lips as he leaned back in the hospital hair. “It’s good to see you again, wild child” The old name caused my nose to twitch in irritation, a few strands of my [H/c] hair falling in front of my eyes, as a dull ache started to appear in my lower back, “Wish I could say the same.. Satoru.” His presence unsettled me for the simple fact that I knew my finally normal life would go back downhill once again, yet I can’t deny that seeing him again made me a little bit happy.

Like hell I’d tell him that though, his ego’s already to big.

“Wait, what happened after I passed out?” I asked, remembering all the events until after that moment, however I didn’t like the amusement in his smile as he leaned forward, slowly beginning to explain the situation to me. The image of Itadori eating Sukuna’s finger made me wince in disgust, but it felt like my whole world came to a stop at the mention of his future execution. Anger slowly bubbled up within my chest but I made sure to bite it back down as I glared at my fists, “The higher ups are nothing more than pathetic little insects.. I hate them, all of them.” I couldn’t help but grit my teeth, my fists slowly beginning to tremble as a low growl slipped past my lips. “Then come back to Jujutsu tech, you’ve been gone for about six years now, if they hear about your return it’ll cause an uproar.”

Before I could answer him the door opened, revealing Itadori, and I couldn’t help but jump out of the bed and make my way towards him, startling him slightly, “[Y/n]! You’re Okay-!” He tensed in my arms as I engulfed him in a hug, my fingers desperately gripping onto the back of his shirt as I hid my face in the crook of his neck. Not caring that Gojo was watching in amusement behind me, or the fact my body still felt so heavy after what happened. The felling of his arms finally wrapping around my waist catching me off guard, but I didn’t make any act to move as everything I learned slowly came to mind. A small sigh slipped past my lips as I pulled away, looking at Itadori’s face for a moment, noticing the new marking under his eyes, that must’ve appeared after eating Sukuna’s finger.

“I’m glad you’re okay” It was all I could mumble out in the moment, the pit in my stomach growing at the thought of the higher ups executing him someday. “I should be the one saying that, you’re the one in the hospital” He laughed and I couldn’t help but laugh along with him, “Touché.”

Taking a step back I turned towards Gojo, my eyes narrowing in determination, “I’ll go back.”

And I’ll protect him too.

[galaxytastes]

Jumin’s Birthday

Hi! This is my first post and, rightfully so, it will be a “little” 10 page long “drabble”. It’s pretty self indulgent and non-romantic. I’m a sucker for angst and platonic affection, so buckle up, simps. Thank you so much for reading!

Words: 3033

TW: Alcohol, mention of death. 

CW: Spoilers for the secret endings/Saeyoung’s after end 

Jumin Han has always been a curious person when it came to commoner practices. Whether it be family traditions, silly superstitions, or childlike games; all of it intrigues the man like nothing else. Even as a child, despite his privileged and sheltered upbringing, Jumin still felt the temptation to explore the world of the common folk. And who better to experience the unknown than with his best friend? The two would often find themselves lost in their own world. A world without responsibility. A world without heirs, businessmen or conglomerates. A world where two boys could be just that; boys. 

But, life is not so simple. Summers and winters pass. With time came more responsibilities and adulthood pressures. Long felt the days of childhood; that which there was not much to begin with. Despite the challenges and tribulations life threw at the pair, one tradition remains unshaken by time. Birthdays.

Slender fingers wrap impatiently around his Rolex as Jumin checks the clock. He sighs in annoyance, noticing how quickly the day flew by. On most work days, the director can barely wait to get out the door. While he certainly didn’t dislike his office, he much preferred most anywhere else once the clock ticked past 6 pm. But today was different. Today was October 5th. 

The dark haired man pinches the skin between his eyes and only looks up from his desk upon hearing the familiar clicking of heels up his office hallway. Jaehee knocks gently at the door and peers in from around the corner. The woman has a concerned look in her warm eyes, but Jumin can’t begin to worry about what was the matter. 

“Yes, Assistant Kang. Have you come to bother me more about Saeyoung’s complaints over my lack of celebrations this evening?” Jumin speaks to his assistant, his voice icey cold. “I understand, Mr. Han. I… did come in here to talk about that, but not because of Saeyoung. It’s just… it’s 7 pm and you’re still here. It’s your birthday, and you say you have plans. I was wondering w-” “I’m well aware of what today is.” The director hisses as his hands clench together on the wood desk. He sucks in a quick breath and immediately backpedals, offering Jaehee an apologetic look. “Forgive me. I’ve been getting bothered about this day for… weeks now.” The director sighs and stands from the desk, making no move to hurry himself on gathering his things. 

“No need for apologies, sir. I completely understand. I’m sure you’ve heard enough pushing from the others.” Jaehee dismisses his coldness and grabs his jacket from the stand near the door. She meets him halfway across the room and gives his arm a comforting squeeze as she hands him the coat. 

“I think everyone just wants to share today with you since we truly care. So, if you change your mind, do let us know, please?” The brunette woman smiles sadly at her boss, earning her a weak smile from him in return. His heart warms a bit at her genuine words and he almost wishes to take her up on her offer. But, he made a promise to a friend for this evening. As always, Jumin Han is a man of his word. 

“I will. Thank you, Assistant Kang.”

The ride to the venue is quiet, and most of the time Jumin prefers it this way. His days are loud and chaotic, full of phone calls and stuffy conversations. His backseat oasis behind his trusty Driver Kim is normally a breath of fresh air. But, tonight, it feels suffocating. Both hands rake through his thick hair and he quietly wades in the painful silence. As if on cue, a voice perks up from the driver’s seat. “Mr. Han. I’ve prepared the supplies for your evening. I assume it will be to your liking?” Driver Kim meets Jumin’s unusually scrambled gaze, and the tightness in the director’s chest loosens just enough to allow him another deep breath. 

“I appreciate you, Driver Kim. I’m sure it looks beautiful.” Jumin nods gratefully to the older man. “Did you happen to retrieve the bottle I’d set aside for this evening?” 

“Of course. It’s wrapped in the basket along with some other things I thought would pair well with the wine. You have exquisite taste as always, Mr. Han.” The man’s eyes crinkle behind his glasses as he clicks his turn signal to pull to a stop. 

“Thank you again… Ah. We’re here already?” Jumin looks out the window, admiring the landscape lit beautifully by the setting sun. “Right on schedule. The sun will set the mood for a lovely birthday evening.” Driver Kim hums as he fishes something from his coat pocket. He turns in his chair and reaches to the backseat, holding a small box with a ribbon atop of it. “This one isn’t for you, young director. So, don’t go peeking until he gets to see it first.” Jumin chuckles and nods, gently taking the small box from the other man. The driver moves to let out his employer, but Jumin waves him dismissively. “We will not be too long. I’m not one to fuss over birthday celebrations.” The director smooths out his suit jacket and pant legs before opening up the car door. “I know, Mr. Han. Take all the time you need. Tell him I say hello, and happy belated birthday.” Driver Kim keeps his gaze on the horizon ahead of him, wetness stinging the old man’s eyes. Jumin actively ignores the sudden show of emotion and uses his free hand to shut the door. 

Tiny lights sparkle along the trail up through the finely landscaped hill, leading Jumin directly to his destination. Clammy hands hold onto the tiny gift tightly as he continues along the rocky trail. Once he reaches the top, he strays from the path to greet his friend. His chest storms with emotion and dark eyes widen as he counts each step. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. His breath sounds too loud in his ears, and he’s sure his heart is beating much too fast. Suddenly, he wishes to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but anywhere. But, Jumin Han is a man of his word. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Oxfords continue to pad across the grass and eventually come to a slow stop. “Ten.” Jumin breathes aloud. “Hello, old friend.”

Jumin’s mouth remains open as he goes to continue greeting the other before he takes a moment to take in his surroundings. A checkered blanket, red and white, is delicately laid out in the plush, green grass. A picnic basket brimming with all sorts of delicacies is centered on the blanket, along with another smaller basket, cushioning two crystal glasses. Candles flicker over petals of flowers, casting a glow to compete with the setting sun. “It’s like something from a film. This is…” Jumin lets out a breathless laugh as he eases himself onto the blanket. “This is beautiful.”

Jumin wastes no time in exploring the basket prepared for the two. The smile never leaves his lips as he pushes past fine cheeses, chocolates and a beautifully decorated cake. He lets out a little “ah-ha” upon finding the thing both men would enjoy more than anything. “Now, this is more like it, hm?” Jumin wriggles out the vintage bottle, holding it up for the both of them to admire. “Henschke, Hill of Grace, Shiraz. 1994, if I recall correctly? Australians know their reds.” With a skillful hand, Jumin uncorks the bottle and pours the red liquid into the fine crystal glasses. The aroma of the wine fills the evening air between them, and for a moment, Jumin feels lighter. The weight of the day melts away in the twilight’s embrace. Perhaps birthdays can just be birthdays. Jumin muses to himself as he wraps his fingers around the stem of the glass. He scoots slowly across the blanket to hand the drink to the other man. Perhaps it is alright for him to enjoy himself this way. The crystal is set down with great care onto the stone and Jumin uses the wrist of his jacket to smudge away any thumb prints he may have left. His vision blurs as he clinks the glasses together. The sound is familiar, but in a very different way now. Lonely.

The other glass is still. No hand reaches to join him in the toast. No voice returns his greeting. No smile returns his grin. Jumin’s black eyes blink and he swallows back the pain that threatens to lurch from his stomach. He raises his drink between himself and the headstone and tosses back the entire glassful. The wine burns his throat and he is grateful for the pain. 

“Happy belated birthday, V. And, as you would surely remind me. ‘Oh, it’s your birthday. Quit pretending it's not, Jumin.’” The man’s voice cracks a bit and he clears his throat. Please, keep it together. He wills himself to hold on as he continues. “I don’t care much for my birthday. But, I promised you I would make time for my birthday if it meant I could celebrate yours.” 

For the next few minutes, Jumin forces small talk with the stone. He talks of work. He talks of Elizabeth. He reaches desperately into the backs of his mind to talk about every nonsensical thing he could imagine, avoiding the things he wishes to scream out. 

“Ah. I should update you on how the RFA is doing.” Jumin leans back on his elbows, horizontal with his friend’s grave. He looks up at the stars, allowing himself to instead imagine V there next to him; laying on his side as he listens to Jumin in attentive silence. The thought warms his cheeks and his heart. “Assistant Kang has been especially… gentle since the incident. Even Zen has begun showing me a side to him I never expected. He’s… kind. Yoosung, on the other hand… He has matured in a way I was not expecting. He misses you…” Jumin clears his throat once more before he continues. “Saeyoung and Saeran are doing very well. Both of them speak of you often. The twins and MC live together, all under one roof, as you always wished for. You’d be so proud, V.” Jumin shakily inhales as his lips tremble around his fourth glass. The tears that well in his eyes finally spill over onto his pale cheeks as he finishes off another drink.

So many things are left unsaid. So many angry, sad and desperate questions of why and how. Jumin sets the glass down and sits up, pushing his hand against his mouth to muffle the sob that escapes him. He should be here, pulling the glass from me, telling me I’ve had enough. He should be here to slug my arm around his shoulder. He should be here. No one but him should be here. Why, V? Why did you leave? The silence is louder than ever as Jumin attempts to calm himself down with a deep breath, using the back of his sleeve to wipe his cheeks. While the pain still clings to every inch of the man’s body like a bed of nails, Jumin swallows it back to properly finish his evening. “I almost forgot. Driver Kim wishes for me to give you this belated birthday gift. On my birthday, of all days.” Jumin sniffles with a smile as he fishes out the small box to set down on the memorial stone. He carefully unwraps the brightly colored ribbon and wriggles open the box. “Here, I will open it for you. Driver Kim has excellent taste in gifts. Perhaps it is a matching cufflink to my own. They’re designer, you know. And-” Jumin’s voice catches in his throat as the top of the box pops open. Cushioned inside a bed of white tissue paper is a small photo frame; no bigger than the palm of his hand. In the frame stares back two boys wearing birthday hats in front of a cake. Happy birthday, J & J is written across the cake in cursive writing. Jumin bites the inside of his cheek as a final tear escapes from him. The boys look like complete strangers. Both so innocent; so unaware of what the future will hold for them. Young Jihyun’s eyes are crinkled in a smile and his toothy grin takes up nearly half his face. Young Jumin smiles just as wide, but his eyes are wide open and looking directly at his friend. Cheeks flushed red, black and teal hair a complete tangled mess. They were happy. “We’ve changed, but not much. I loved you then, and I love you now.” Jumin whispers to V as he carefully sets down the frame along with all the other flowers and trinkets left scattered around the grave. His hand traces across the name etched into the stone slab and he uses the other hand to finish the wine directly from the bottle. “‘Happy birthday, Jumin.’” The director whispers into the lips of the bottle as he drains the last drops. 

The car ride home is quiet. Driver Kim helps a drunken Jumin into the car, taking no time at all to clean up the picnic and wine glasses. The shared silence between the two men is comfortable and calm. No words are shared with the driver and the director. Driver Kim simply hands the man a handkerchief and drives him back to his penthouse. 

Jumin’s eyes sting from the tears and his legs stumble as he steps from the car. He quietly thanks his driver who helps him up to the penthouse and fumbles with the keypad to unlock the door. Jumin exhales into the quiet room, letting the darkness consume him. His hand comes to rest on the center of his chest, and he takes a moment to appreciate the lighter feeling in his torso. The pain is less like broken glass now, more like the remnants of a broken mirror. The sharp and painful pieces have been removed, leaving the frame of what once was. It’s obvious something shattered the mirror, and a few bits of glass are left behind. But, the danger of the pain has been cleared away. 

“Shhh. Don’t yell, you’ll scare him. He looks sleepy.” A voice whispers from the kitchen. “How about you shut up and say surprise like we practiced? We’ve been here for an hour now, my legs hurt from squatting.” Another deeper voice grumbles in reply. 

“Hm?” Jumin drunkenly stumbles further into his seemingly empty penthouse as his tired eyes scan the dark room. 

“Can everyone at least attempt to remain quiet?” Another softer voice sighs.

“Saeyoung, this was a stupid idea. Put his cat down.” A voice exclaims, accompanied by a smack and a familiar yelp. 

“Hey! That’s my job!” A woman giggles and another smack echoes through the penthouse.

“Well, now I feel left out.” A man’s voice speaks, adding on another, more intense smack sound. “GAH! Okay, okay. Princess, we’ll catch up later. Go see your daddy. He needs a birthday hug.” This voice, he recognizes immediately, and his eyes fly wide open as he reaches for the light switch. “Saeyoung?! What?!” Jumin shouts as he squints into the bright light. 

“Wah! SURPRISE!” “Hehe! Surprise, Jumin!” Saeyoung and MC screech, dressed to impress, both sporting white cat ears and paws. “Surprise, Jumin!!  Woo-hoo!” Yoosung pops up from behind the counter, tossing an armful of balloons into the air. 

“Jesus. Well, surprise, trust-fund-kid.” Zen leans from around the sofa, smiling sheepishly at the other man. “Sorry about all this.” The albino laughs and rubs the back of his neck. 

“I was dragged here without my consent. Do not blame me for the home invasion.” Vanderwood growls from next to MC, winning another giggle from the girl and her fiancé.

“Surprise, Jumin Han. I apologize for my brother breaking into your home.” Saeran smiles, shoving his twin away from the white cat as she scuttles to her owner’s side. “Though, I may have helped a little.” Jumin leans down to wrap Elizabeth in his arms as his mouth hangs open in shock. Each face looks back, expectantly and worried. 

“Is he okay?” Yoosung whines, slowly inching closer to Jumin as his eyes dart from person to person. “Is he having a heart attack?!” “Yes.” Saeyoung says confidently, his cat paws resting on his hips. MC nods with him, looking to Yoosung with mock concern. 

“No.” Saeran, Vanderwood and Jaehee reply in a harmony, sharing looks of annoyance. “I know you wanted to be alone after your evening with him but…” Jaehee stood from behind a chair, offering an apologetic smile. “No.” Jumin interrupts her, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Each member of the RFA continues to stare at the man as he wobbles and before anyone can say a word, the director sets his princess down and lurches forward.

With arms wide open, he embraces his friends. With no reservations, no walls of emotions, no tightly wound strings. He holds his friends and finally inhales a full breath of air as each friend wraps their arms back around him. 

Sure, he’s drunk. Very drunk. Sure, he will regret and deny everything tomorrow morning. But tonight, Jumin will laugh with his friends. He will laugh till he cries, indulge in birthday cake, glare as the redheaded twins crown him with matching cat ears. He will open silly and thoughtful gifts and read cheesy and stupid birthday cards. He will refuse to sing karaoke, but instead watch and clap along as Zen and Saeran have a battle of the bands moment. Jumin smiles and laughs to himself, feeling an unseen hand wrap around his shoulders. He closes his eyes and pictures V there, smiling along with him. “Thank you for allowing yourself to enjoy today,” he would probably whisper to his friend. “You deserve this.” Jumin allows himself to believe his friend’s memory. This is what he would have wanted. “Happy birthday, Jumin!!” The RFA cheers together as the song comes to an end, the room lit by smiles and camera flashes. 

And a happy birthday it was, indeed. 

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Threats And First Meetings PT. 3

Brynjolf x F!Dragonborn

Word Count: 2,260 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Blood and Wounds

Author’s Note: Holy shit it’s been like...I don’t even know how long since I updated this *insert shrugging emoji* Enjoy! -Thorne

Brynjolf felt like he should’ve known that Gulum-Ei was the one brokering the deals that were tearing the Guild to pieces. The damned argonian couldn’t resist a payout, even if it was the Guild he was backstabbing—it said a lot about honor amongst thieves, and while Brynjolf couldn’t claim to be the most honorable, at least he had some. All things considered, he couldn’t fault Gulum-Ei for doing it, whoever it was that wanted the Guild taken out was no doubt dishing out some serious coin to make it happen.

           That being said, their newest member was again tasked with the mission. Brynjolf wasn’t going to voice his opinion out loud, but he knew that she was running herself into the ground. He was sure that she’d not taken a moment of reprieve to simply breathe before throwing herself back into the thick of things. Quite the opposite, she’d taken a couple more jobs from both Vex and Delvin—though Brynjolf was sure she’d only taken them because the two thieves had essentially guilt tripped her. He watched her as Mercer walked off, leaving her to rub at her temples, a heavy sigh falling from her lips.

           “Wondering if you’re in over your head, lass?” he inquired, leaning back against the desk as he crossed his arms over his chest.

           She snorted and rolled her shoulders. “Only every moment of every day, Brynjolf.” Catching his eyes, she quipped, “Why is it that I’m the one who’s being given the major missions and not the other members of the Guild?”

           He mocked a look of deep thought then offered, “You’re not a senior member so you do what we tell you? Her eyes briefly widened before she burst into laughter, the sound making Brynjolf’s stomach flip.

           “Oh ho? It’s seniority then?” she leaned close, mirth in her eyes as she questioned, “So when does the newbie get to claim seniority?”

           Brynjolf grinned at her. “I’d say a couple years.”

           “What!”

           “Maybe a few if I’m being completely honest.”

           A groan passed her lips. “By that time, you lot will actually be seniors—well, not that you’re young now.”

           He almost recoiled at that. Almost. “Did yo—did you just call me old?”

           She placed a hand on his bicep, sympathetically replying, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not exactly a stripling anymore, Brynjolf.”

           Blinking, he deadpanned, “I don’t think I’ve ever been called old by a woman before.”

           Grinning, she asked, “Tell me, do all the young women you take to bed call you sprightly?” He nodded and she giggled. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Brynjolf.”

           She leaned close until her lips brushed his ear, whispering, “When we call you older men sprightly, it’s only so you don’t feel bad about your age.”

           Brynjolf turned slightly, catching her gaze, and murmured, “That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day, lass.”

           Her eyes narrowed as she mused, “So far it’s gotten me out of trouble.” She pulled away and tugged the shawl over her bare shoulders, turning to make her way back to the Flagon.

           She stopped a few feet though and glanced over her shoulder. “But if it means I’d be in trouble with you, Brynjolf, I don’t think I’d mind it.” Winking, she left him to flounder with the suggestion of her words.

***

           Her side ached with a fury, and the continual prodding of the linen against the wound didn’t help. With each brush against the open wound, it sent a bolt of fire through her nerves, as if she were being stuck with a hot poker. Still though, she focused on returning to the city, knowing that if she could just get home, she’d be able to clean and stitch it up.

           Softly moaning, she slipped inside the gate, turning down the narrow alley that led into Honeyside’s garden. Briefly, she brought her free hand up and felt along the wall to lead her. As she neared the garden, movement flashed in her vision and she stopped in her tracks, squinting in the darkness to discern what it was. Someone was bent over one of the barrels in the corner and she growled.

           “This is private property. Piss off.”

           They stood upright, turning round to face her and when the moonlight illuminated their features beneath the hood, she muttered, “Brynjolf?”

           He raised a hand, pushing the hood up slightly, stepping towards her. “Lass? What are you doing here? I thought you were heading to Solitude?”

           She shook her head, then winced when a flash of nausea came over her. “No, had to do something’s around here before I did.” A sudden flash of pain simmered in her side and a groan passed her lips, the throbbing threatening to send her to her knees.

           “Lass?” he questioned, voice twinged with worry. “Are you alright?” Waving him off, she pulled from the wall, trying to get to the door of Honeyside.

           “‘m fine,” she grunted, though her vision began to blur with darkness. “Just gotta…get some rest.”

           She’d barely made it two feet when her knees finally gave out, sending her towards the dirt. Just before she hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her from kissing the floor, pulling her up.

           “Lass!” he yelled, then he cursed, concerned that the guards would come running. “What happened?” he demanded, curling an arm under her legs to pick her up. The jostling made her groan, and she fought the urge to recoil from him when the buckle of his chest armor nudged her side.

           “Ngh—steam centurion in Avanchnzel.” She hissed when he started walking, switching her grip to curl her arm around his shoulders, hoping it would steady her. “Caught the backside of the battle—ngh—axe when I was dodging it.”

           Brynjolf turned and nudged the door to Honeyside open, bringing her inside.

           “When I’m not dying, I’m going to kick your ass for break—sonovabitch!” she gasped when he dropped her on the bed, hurrying towards the kitchen to gather supplies.

           He returned and started pulling the laces of her tavern corset undone. Despite the pain, she giggled, “Most men buy me dinner first.” A grin set on his lips as he pulled the last string loose, yanking the cedar-colored corset from around her.

           “I’ll treat you to dessert after,” he mused, then looked up at her. “Skirt or straps?”

           Her brows furrowed. “Beg pardon?”

           “Either I’m lifting your skirt up or I’m pulling your straps down. Make up your mind which decency you’d like to keep,” he countered, and she huffed, reaching up to slip the ringed straps from her shoulders.

           “Should’ve known a scoundrel like you was a skirt lifter. Despicable.”

           Brynjolf barked a laugh, helping her to roll the gold fabric down. “Please, I haven’t lifted skirts since I was a boy.”

           “Mhm.”

           “Honest, lass. I’ve grown out of immature acts like that,”’ he explained as the poorly wrapped wound came into sight. It’d soaked crimson in the time she’d travelled back, and he frowned as he untied the knot, gently peeling it back. She started to let out a whimper but grit her teeth and inhaled sharply.

           “Sorry lass,” Brynjolf murmured, wiping at the blood. He glanced up, watching as she propped herself up on her elbows, hands clenching into fists.

           “Just hurry up and seal it,” she griped, and he passed her a strip of leather. Seeming to understand, she brought it up to her mouth and bit into it, then met his eyes and nodded.

           Sighing heavily, he rose from the side of the bed and returned with the hot knife that had been sitting right next to the fire—she could feel the heat when he brought it close to her, kneeling back on the bed.

           He met her eyes and she inhaled deeply, giving him a nod of her head. Brynjolf rested his other hand on the side of her ribs a few inches above the wound, effectively bracing himself as well as keeping her still.

           Lowering the metal to her, he said, “Try and stay still. I don’t wanna burn you where you’re not wounded.” She barely made a noise of confirmation when the burning metal came into contact with her skin.

           Her eyes went wide, and she immediately threw her head back into the bed as a muffled scream escaped her, hands white knuckling the covers of her blanket. A deep pit fell in his stomach at the tears that began to run down her cheeks, but he kept the knife to her for another couple seconds before pulling it back, watching as her chest heaved with each breath. Glancing back at the wound, he knew she needed another go, probably two if he was honest.

           “I need to do it again,” Brynjolf murmured and she groaned like a dying animal. “I know lass, but you’re still bleeding.” She sucked in a quick breath through her nose and grunted, muscles tensing underneath his grip as she readied herself once more.

           He flipped the knife in his grip and placed it to her side again, and the screech that left her this time, made him wince, but he held it there. After a couple seconds, he pulled the knife away and examined the wound, and when he saw that it wasn’t bleeding anymore, he tossed the knife aside, letting it clatter to the floor.

           “Lass? You alright?” his eyes scanned her for any problems, and she turned her head to the side, spitting out the leather strip. Letting out a huff, she brought up a hand, intent to prod the wound, but he caught it. “Don’t touch it yet.” He met her eyes. “Do you have any distilled alcohol?”

           Groaning heavily, she nodded. “Downstairs in my…alchemy room.” She swallowed thickly. “There’s a few…health and disease potions too.” Meeting his eyes, she added, “Bring one of each…please.”

           Brynjolf nodded and headed down the stairs, coming up a few moments later with two tiny red vials and one large clear bottle. He set them on her nightstand before gently curling his arms underneath her back to shift her over slightly. When there was enough space, he sat beside her and grabbed the glass bottle, uncorked it, and poured some on a spare linen cloth. Brynjolf dabbed the wound, quietly apologizing when she hissed in pain.

           When he was finished, he took the fresh wrap and helped her sit up so he could wrap it around her waist. Tying it with a knot, he handed her the two vials, gazing as she downed them both before looking at him with an expression of relief. Suddenly feeling weak, she leaned forward, careful to avoid her wound, and pressed her forehead into Brynjolf’s shoulder. He brought up a hand, softly caressing the bare expanse of her back.

           “Thank you, Brynjolf,” she whispered, shivers running up her spin at his touch. “I would’ve been in a perilous state if you hadn’t been around.”

           Chuckling, he replied, “I would say anytime, but I don’t wanna have to do this again for a long time, so try to stay safe.”

           A snort escaped her, and she turned her head up, resting her cheek on his shoulder, gazing into his eyes. “Why try when this is the treatment?”

           His green eyes narrowed as he retorted, “While I’m flattered that you want me as a bedside-nurse, I really don’t wanna do this again.” He brough his other hand up, gently touching her cheek. “I already worry about you. No need to up it.”

           “You worry? Does that make me special?” she cooed tiredly, pulling away from him to lay back on the bed.

           Brynjolf huffed a laugh and stood, opening the closet beside her bed. “You enjoy teasing me, lass.”

           “Is it working?” she asked, watching as he pulled out a simple blue tunic. Shuffling around on the bed, she managed to wiggle the tavern skirt to her calves and when he spun around, Brynjolf’s eyes swept over her body.

           “Shame on you for ogling an indecent woman, Brynjolf. What would Lady Mara think?” she tutted, and he grinned at her.

           “I’m not sure about Lady Mara, but I certainly know what Lady Dibella would do,” he countered, and she giggled.

           “Now who’s teasing?” He handed her the tunic, and she shrugged it on, pulling it down her chest and over her thighs. Brynjolf helped her under the covers, watching as her eyelids began to slip shut. Just to be sure, at least that’s what he told himself, he laid his palm over her forehead, checking for warmth.

           Her eyes opened slightly, and he said, “Make sure you change the wrap when you wake up in the morning. Don’t wanna get an infection on the way to Solitude.”

           She nodded, letting out a yawn and sunk into her pillow. “Yeah, yeah, I will.”

           “Lass,” he warned, and she huffed, a smile spreading on her lips.

           “I will, promise.”

           Brynjolf gave her a look and pulled his hand away. “I’ll take my leave of you.” As he neared the doors to her patio, she called for him.

           “Brynjolf?” he paused and glanced over his shoulder, heart fluttering in his chest as she whispered, “Thank you…for saving me like this.”

           He gave her a smile. “Of course, lass. I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.” He pulled the door open, smile growing larger when he heard her sleepily murmur,

           “Hope it stays that way.”

[reneejuliet]

Only Human

Author: reneejuliet

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Rating: T (cursing, mention/description of blood, kissing without consent, a slap to the face)

Word Count: 1,188

Genre: Angst, Idol AU (I seem incapable of writing anything else, I know)

Author’s Note: Another drabble! This one is angsty, sorry in advance. I can’t help but love to make people hurt. And as much as I love Yoongi (which is a LOT), it was just too easy with this. Anyway! I hope you like it, and as always, please let me know what you think!

You grunted under his weight, heaved haphazardly onto your shoulder as you dragged him through the halls toward the dorm. It wasn't that he was heavy - on the contrary, he weighed less than you did, for goodness' sake. It was that he was wasted, completely beyond offering any sort of aid in getting his own damn body through his own damn front door. And despite how many times you have had to do this, it never gets any easier. Especially when arms keep throwing themselves around various parts of your body like a drunken squid.

"Damn it, Yoongi, enough," you hissed through your teeth as you finally managed to free a hand long enough to twist open the doorknob, allowing your foot to kick the door open. It ricocheted loudly against the wall before swinging back to collide with your shoulder, but you didn't care. If anything, maybe it would wake up one of his six roommates and they could drag their hyung's inebriated ass to his bed. Though, given his current level of cooperation, you doubted anyone would get him further than the couch.

His response was slurred as you heaved your body forward, dragging him with you. He rolled from where he had been propped on your shoulder, and if it weren't for your quick reflexes, he would have crashed onto the ground. Luckily for him, this was not your first go at this, and you were well-versed in all the warning signs. You felt him slipping, his weight shifting away from you, and you dove. Your hands scooped up under his arms, hooking around his shoulders, and you threw your body weight behind you to counteract his momentum. The result - Yoongi did not crash onto the floor. He did, however, suddenly shoot forward, crashing the back of his head straight into your jaw.

"OW - Yoongi, what the actual fuck!"

You immediately dropped any grip you had left on him, crouching down between your knees as your hands flew up to your mouth. The hot taste of iron swirled on your tongue from where your teeth had smashed into your lip, flooding your mouth. You ran for the kitchen sink, throwing your face down into the sterling silver and pulling your lips up over your teeth to let the blood fall free from your tongue. The smell surrounded you, and you fought back a gag as you spit out crimson.

"Fuck," Yoongi's voice sounded behind you, tinny from where your ears were framed by metal. He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly very awake, and watched as you curled into their sink. The muscles of your back tensed each time you gagged, spitting out more blood, and he found himself reaching out without thinking.

His fingers brushed over the lines of your back, tracing your shape as he stepped closer, trying to soothe you as you coughed. For a moment, you let it be. His touch was hesitant, tender, and you could almost pretend it was under a different context. That he knew what he was doing, that his intentions were purposeful. That he hadn't just drunkenly smashed his head into your face, leaving you the bloody mess you were now.

It wasn't until his palm pressed flat against your back that you snapped, turning and shoving hard against his chest. No, you scolded yourself. This isn't real. It never will be.

Yoongi stumbled back into the island counter, eyes wide in surprise at the sudden burst of violence from you. You didn't spare him a glance before turning back to the sink, turning the water on and rinsing out your mouth. He could hear you hissing in pain with each mouthful of water you took in, and guilt pooled in his stomach.

"Shit, Y/N, I - I didn't mean -"

"Doesn't matter what you meant," you muttered, words thick through your swollen lip. Each time your tongue pressed into it, your face twisted in pain. But at least the blood had finally stopped.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, voice low and raspy. You gripped the counter against the unwitting shiver it sent down your spine. Once it passed, you flung open a cupboard and pulled out a glass, filling it with water before shutting the tap off. Thrusting it out, you turned, free hand covering your mouth as your eyes finally met his.

His stomach only flooded worse with guilt at your offering. Despite your injury, you were still taking care of him. He wrapped his fingers around the glass, gently grazing your own while doing so, and raised it to his lips with a slight bow in your direction. His vision swam as his head tilted back, cold water sliding down his hot, parched throat. It took a second for everything to straighten back out once the glass was empty, and he squinted hard to be sure that when he set it down, it was actually on the counter. Then he looked back at you, eyes drawn to where your hand still covered your mouth.

"Couch, now," you ordered, raising a finger to point into the living room behind him. Thankfully, those two words didn't require the use of your bottom lip, so they weren't as disfigured when they came out. Gulping, Yoongi obliged, turning slowly and walking for the couch. You followed him, albeit at a safe distance, to make sure he made it there alright. He only bumped into the table once before his legs hit the cushions and he dropped.

His body automatically laid out across the couch cushions, knees curling up into his chest and hands tucking between his legs. The room blurred again at the change of altitude, and he was vaguely aware of you throwing a blanket over him. You walked away, your form dark in the swimming lights of his vision as he tried to watch you. When you came back, you set another glass of water on the table before him along with two pills.

"For tomorrow morning, when you wake up," you instructed, your words soft as you favored your injured lip.

You were walking away again when Yoongi called out. "Do you think this is why she left?"

Your heart stopped just a second before your feet, trapping you between rooms as his words echoed brokenly in the quiet. This wasn't supposed to happen, you reminded yourself. Of all the trainees and idols you had helped through the years, all the drunken confessions you had heard out of sheer compulsion from the nature of your job - none were like this. Like him. Min Yoongi.

"Yoongi -"

"I know it's my fault," he babbled, vision no longer obscured only by a drunken haze. He blinked, and the hot tears cut down his pale face. "I wasn't home enough -"

"You were working, Yoongi," You offered, careful to make your words come out clear. The pull on your lip was painful, but it felt important he hear you.

"Not always," he exhaled, eyes fluttering against the exhaustion setting in now. "Sometimes, I... I just couldn't, go home... to her..."

Gooseflesh rose all along your skin, and you nearly bit your lip before remembering the pain, sucking in the side of your cheek instead. Just walk away, you urged yourself. He won't notice, he's too far gone now. Besides, you really did not want to hear more about his failed relationship, or how heartbroken he was over it. It had been hard enough to see him happy with her - seeing him broken over her was so, so much worse.

When he didn't speak again for a few breaths, you believed you were in the clear. Your feet carried you two more steps to the door, heart pounding hard in your chest. You'd just reached for the key you would have to deposit back in its emergency spot as you left when his voice stopped you again - because it was right behind you.

"Do you know why, Y/N? Why I couldn't bring myself to go home to her some nights?"

Your breath hitched in your throat, cold and cutting against your lip. He wasn't touching you, but you could feel his body heat, and that meant he was too close, he was much too close, but you couldn't move. Your body was pulled taut in that moment, and you feared that if you made any move, you would snap.

His fingers brushed over the curve of your neck, where it met your collar, and you inhaled sharply. Your eyes fluttered closed under his touch for a moment, your nerves buzzing heavily where his fingers trailed. Then his breath was on your nape, stirring your hair, and your throat was dry.

"Because she wasn't you."

Your eyes shot open in surprise just as he tugged you around, crashing his lips to yours. You inhaled sharply again, pain searing through your mouth where he pressed against your wound, but he didn't hear. Or he didn't care. It was hard to tell, with the way his hands snaked around your waist and up under your shirt. His lips were soft but firm as he pressed into you, kissing you with a heavy desperation that left you gasping.

Maybe it was the pain in your lip, or maybe it was the taste of alcohol on his tongue. Maybe it was the way your body seized up to prevent yourself from making the biggest fool of yourself. Whatever it was, it was enough to spur you into action. Your hands came up to center on his chest, and as his tongue ran along your lower lip, sending a violent shiver through your entire body, you shoved. Hard. He stumbled away from you, gasping as your warmth was torn from him, his hands grasping at air. His eyes flashed in surprise, and you reeled back to slap him.

"How dare you," you seethed, on the verge of a sob. "How fucking dare you-"

"Y/N-"

"No, you... you are an asshole, Min Yoongi!" Despite the anger on your face, the hurt was clear in your voice. The tears bright in your eyes. "You don't get to, to just - kiss me like that! After all these years!"

Whatever drunken stupor had still been clinging to him sobered up in that instant. His heart leapt into his throat and he choked on the words he wanted to say, his tongue too thick in his mouth. All these years...? You... you couldn't mean...

He opened his mouth around the shape of your name and you moved away, toward the door. "No, no. I'm not - I am not doing this. Not now, not with you. Fuck you, Yoongi -"

His fingers wrapped around your slender wrist, stopping you for just a moment more. The sheer pain on your face at the contact paused him, and you yanked yourself free the very next moment. "No," you whispered, voice full of tears. "I don't love you, I don't."

You slipped out of the dorms just as the first light flickered on in the hallway, sleepy footsteps stumbling their way toward him. And your words echoed in his head, hollowing everything else out until he was left with just one realization, one truth.

You very much did love him. And he was so screwed.

©reneejuliet 2021. No part of this material may be copied, photocopied, reproduced, reposted, or translated without consent.

[sweet-by-and-by]

The Hanging Tree

gif credit

summary: When he stumbles across a tree littered with bottles in the hills of The Heartlands, Arthur knows just what to do on this weighted anniversary. Hanging a bottle for Eliza and Isaac on the Whiskey Tree

warnings: angst angst angst!!, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, mention of canonical character death

characters: Arthur Morgan, Eliza, Isaac Morgan

a/n: I have no idea if this is the purpose of the whiskey tree, but iT IS TODAY! The first official part of a new series of writing warm ups (creatively titled as such lol). They sit in my docs and collect dust anyways, so they might as well do so on the rest of the internet! They are lightly edited but certainly not my best works, so tread lightly 😬

AO3

The sound of the wind was steady and soothing.

Closing his eyes, he tried to ground himself in it. To tie himself to the universal sound of breath. Even the earth breathed with the wind, fresh and calming as it swept across the prairies. Tall grass rustled behind him, swaying to and fro in waves of green.

His quickening heart rate slowed with his breath, the tight feeling in his chest ebbing away slightly. He rounded his shoulders to stiffen his resolve, forcing his body to fake confidence so the rest of him would follow.

The clink of glass bottles bumping against each other rang in his ears like wind chimes. He opened his eyes and watched the whiskey bottles sway. The rhythmic dance as the wind guided them in circles made the whole place feel serene. He welcomed serenity, figuring the feeling was better than the grief that twisted his stomach into knots.

He had found this place by mistake; the same way as most things in his life. After a slew of poor hands at the poker table in Flatneck Station, he had mounted up his horse and slumped away to drown his sorrows.

The harsh burn of whiskey running down his throat helped numb his embarrassment, so he took a few swigs and watched the sun as he followed the road. He took his time, not wanting to rush his return to camp. Too many questions, too many problems, too many favours waiting for him to get back. He would die for his family, but god damn it if one more person asked him to fetch them some trinket or herbs.

He knew he couldn’t blame them for his sour mood. His morning had started out the same way as always: a cup of Susan’s strong coffee, an apple from the chuckwagon as a treat for his horse, pleasant wishes of ‘good morning’ from everyone he passed. He had even been looking forward to the day, the shining sun a welcome warmth after their time in the snow.

Then he had passed by Hosea’s newspaper, the date printed boldly and tauntingly at the top of the page.

The cold, devastating realization that shot ice through his veins. Made his stride falter and his face fall.

He always hated anniversaries.

He had all but bolted out of camp, heading straight for his horse to spend his now miserable day on the trail. Riding around aimlessly, his mind full of ghosts as he wandered through the countryside.

His wandering had led him back to the train station, to the men who had swindled the Reverend of every nickel and dime he owned. He pushed aside his grudges, hoping some winnings would help improve his mood.

But of course, Lady Luck had it out for him today. So he lost his pennies, mounted back up, and took off Eastward.

The tree loomed atop of a hill, the limbs jutting out against the twilight sky. As he drew nearer, he noticed the bottles tied up with rope hanging off of the limbs. Some hung empty, their presence an unanswered question. Others held wishes or memories, or who knows what else scribbled on little pieces of paper.

He couldn’t explain how, but immediately Arthur knew what he needed to do. Stepping down from the saddle to dig through his satchel, he pulled out his leather-bound journal. After another long swig from the bottle, he flipped to a blank page.

He scribbled two names, fighting back tears as his face twisted into a scowl. The tightness in his chest returned with a vengeance, grief and loss surfacing painfully.

Eliza & Issac

Drew a cross next to each of their names. Two crosses on a hillside far away.

He chugged back the last of the whiskey, taking every last drop as his vision blurred. Tears fell on the ink as he tore the paper, rolling up the small piece before dropping it into the bottle. Grabbing his lasso off of his saddle, he cut a length of rope and walked towards the tree. Heavy footsteps slowed his stride, trudging through years of loss and grief as he chose a tree limb to toss the rope over.

For a second, he played with the idea of tying a noose.

Instead, he tied the rope around the neck of the bottle, securing it to the tree. The dark silhouette of spindly tree branches against the colourful sunset made it all the more sombre. More tears cascaded down his cheeks, falling in spite of his best efforts.

The sound of the wind was no longer soothing, the haunting breeze sounding more like the howls of ghosts than the breath of the earth.

He stayed there until dark, drinking through his stash of gin, moonshine, and anything he could find in his saddle bags. Empty bottles piled around him, adding to the already copious supply. In his drunkenness, he let himself cry for the first time in years. Sobs wracked his body, forcing him to his knees. His hands shook, emotions running wild as he finally let go. Everything felt numb; his pain, the feeling of the dirt seeping through his jeans, the hollow cry of spirits in the wind.

He cried until he was cold and weary, the setting sun long since faded into a myriad of stars. With nothing left to give, he rose to his feet and staggered to his loyally-remaining horse. Threw himself over the saddle and forced himself to mount. He rode away, broken like the glass that littered tree roots to sneak back into camp before dawn could break.

He always hated anniversaries.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Grow Old With You - Reykha’s Birth

IF YOU ONCE READ THIS FIC AND WANT SOME CLOSURE HERE IS A LINK FOR YOU/OR IF YOU’RE WONDERING WHERE THE HECK THE REST OF THIS FIC IS IT IS EXPLAINED HERE

Summary: lol this is the last thing I wrote for Grow Old With You/Build a Home With You. I felt y’all deserved to read it cause I do really like how it turned out. Also Ara and Din are space MILF and DILF that deserve the world. 

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x OFC (Ara Obagh) 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: fairly graphic depictions of birth and labor, major fluff, a lot of feels, Ara’s glorious return 

With one hand, Ara gripped a rung of the ladder while the other tried to soothe the underside of her belly as another spasm ripped across her abdomen. It was the worst pain she had ever felt. She had been stabbed, shot, and tortured. But nothing compared to this. Her lower back now throbbed. The weight, and pressure of the baby against her pelvis nearly made her knees buckle. Her mouth opened in a silent groan as the pain peaked, her belly stiffening in her hand, and then it slowly began to fade. 

For a moment, she believed it was over. The doctor had warned against false pains that could be mistaken for real labor. Something similar happened at the beach just a few days earlier. She hoped that was what it was. Ara wanted to have the baby back home on Naboo. In the solace of her own bed. Not on the Razor Crest, a cold ship that left much to be desired when it came to comfort. 

But then she felt a soft pop between her legs. Like a balloon filled with too much air. Then a sudden gush of liquid between her legs. Did I just wet myself? Ara thought. That would be an embarrassing thing to have to explain to Din and Cara when they got back. But when she looked down at the floor to the small puddle she now stood in, her eyes widened at the sight. There was a tiny amount of blood mixed in with the clear fluid. 

“Oh no,” Ara whispered. 

Her water just broke. On the Razor Crest. On Denon of all places. 

The next contraction hit about thirty minutes later. She hadn’t moved from her spot in front of the ladder, afraid that would make the now constant ache even worse. Pain, like an iron belt wrapped around her middle, coursed through her stomach and into her spine. Ara whimpered as she swayed back and forth, her free hand rubbing soothing circles into her abdomen. Hot tears, which she felt betrayed by, built up in the corners of her eyes and threatened to fall. She had felt pain before. She had been through worse. But Maker this kriffing hurt and she had no idea when Din was going to be back. And the more she thought about that, the more her tears blurred her vision and her lip began to quiver. She didn’t want to go through this alone. What if something went wrong? What if the baby was breach or something worse? Ara rested her forehead against the cool metal of the ladder as her tears finally fell. 

“Just a little bit longer, fierce girl,” she whispered, voice trembling, “Please.” 

Ten minutes. Another contraction. They were getting closer together and the pain was getting worse. Both hands on the ladder, Ara breathed through it as Vaisha had told her to do. But she couldn’t stop the choked sob that broke past her lips. Din should be there. Breathing with her and massaging her back to help relieve the pain. He should be whispering encouragements in her ear. But he wasn’t. She prayed that he would be back soon, even as she gathered all her courage and moved her hand between her legs. 

She was about halfway dilated. It was almost time. 

_______________________________________________________________________

“I get that you wanna go in there blaster first — but we need a plan,” Cara argued as they walked back to where the Crest had been parked. 

“Fine,” Din relented, feeling agitated, “Make a plan. Attack his safehouse first thing in the morning.” 

Cara agreed with a slight nod of her head as they approached the Crest. Din pulled the comlink from his belt and held it up to his helmet. “Ara, we’re back. Release the ground security protocols.” 

Nothing. Complete and deafening silence. 

Din felt panic, like a sudden harpoon through his chest. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Maybe she was asleep. Or perhaps the comlink ran out of batteries. He could always just pound on the ramp if all else failed. She was fine. Perfectly fine. 

He repeated, quieter, his voice strained, “Ara?” 

The Crest hissed to life as the ramp popped open and then slowly lowered. Din heaved a sigh of relief as Cara slapped him on the back. She knew everything was fine. Ara was way too capable, even when she was about to have a baby, to let something happen to her. But then they both got a good look at Ara standing at the top of the ramp. She was soaked in sweat. Her cheeks red. She stood hunched over, her knees buckled, one hand against the wall and the other clutching her stomach. Tears had stained her cheeks. Her entire form flinched as her face crumpled in pain. The concave of her back bending even further. 

Then she looked up at them, desperate and in agony before whimpering, “Din…” 

Cara had seen the Mandalorian move quickly. It always impressed her how hard he could haul ass with all that armor on. But in this instance, he truly surprised her with how swiftly he moved. He was up the ramp and inside the Crest within seconds. One arm supporting Ara’s back while the other wrapped around her middle to keep her upright. Cara stared for only a moment longer than either of the Mandalorians liked. 

“Dune!” he shouted, “Get in here!” 

She quickly did as she was told. Scrambling up the ramp and it was immediately closed behind her. 

“What’s happening?” Cara asked, voice edging on panicked. A new emotion for her. Stars, is she dying? 

“Baby…” Ara struggled to answer, grunting in pain and clutching at her stomach, “The baby…” 

Oh shit, Cara thought, eyes gone wide. 

Ara panted, tears of sweet relief now flowing down her face, as Din lowered her slowly to the floor. Back leaned against the now-closed ramp and her knees bent. The pain was nearing on constant now. She felt like she was going to vomit or pass out because of it. Din quickly whipped his cape off his shoulders and threw it down on the floor. Followed by his gloves. Then he started working on getting his vambraces off, and it was only then that he noticed Cara still standing there. Staring at Ara like she was about to explode. 

“Can I…Help?” the ex-shock trooper asked unsurely, eyes still trained on Ara who threw her head back against the wall and groaned loudly in pain. 

“No.” Din grunted as he finally pulled one vambrace away from his arm. His fingers fumbled and shook as he began working on the other one. “Get into the cockpit and set course for Naboo.” 

“Mando, you can’t be serious — ?” 

“Just do it!” he shouted roughly, shocking even Cara with his harsh and frantic tone, “And stay up there till I say.” 

As soon as he heard the hatch up into the cockpit slide shut behind Cara, Din ripped his helmet from his head and took in a massive lungful of air. His entire body seemed to shake as an autumn leaf in the breeze, ready to break free from its father branch and fall to the ground in silence. Did this have to happen now? Right now? When he was so close to getting Gideon and ridding them of their fears for good? Maker, he wasn’t ready. He thought he would have more time to prepare for this. To prepare for helping Ara, for helping the baby, for being the firm foundation that both of them needed right now. He worked, hands trembling, on getting at least the top half of his armor removed. The first time he held his Creed-born child, he would not be covered in the armor he showed the world. He would be just himself. What if he did something wrong? He had gone over the procedure a million times with the doctor and had bothered Vaisha with far too many questions. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to be there for Ara. He wanted her to be comfortable. And Maker he really wished they were not on the Razor Crest, on some foreign planet where a man who wanted them dead was located. This was not like anything he had pictured.  

Fear, as worm in his brain, wiggled and took hold of him. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t do this. He needed more time. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Ara panted from behind him, “But I — mmm — I knew this would happen.” 

The next contraction crescendoed and Ara’s steadily increasing pants for breath turned into a scream. Throat exposed and a vein popping out on her forehead as her sweaty palms scrambled for purchase. Din turned immediately and knelt down before her on his knees, taking her hands in his and letting her squeeze till his own mouth dropped open in pain. Her screams reduced to panted groans and her grip on him relented as the contraction subsided. But the pain never fully went away, only became less intense. 

He looked deep into her face. That beautiful face that still threw him into a state of shock and awe. Covered in a layer of sweat, red-cheeked, pinched in agony, and she still looked like the sun-rise. Constant and devastating in its beauty. It didn’t matter that Din wasn’t ready. It didn’t matter that Ara wasn’t ready. This baby was coming. The circumstances were not going to change. Ara needed him. The baby needed him. And he was always going to be there for them. No matter what. 

 It was on this ship that they were delivered from a burning Mandalore. And it seemed that on that same ship the next generation of a planet burned would be born.

“How far apart are they?” he asked as he let go of her hands and flexed his fingers. 

“Three minutes — I-I think — Maker, I don’t know,” she whimpered. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Din reassured, reaching up and unwinding her scarf from her head. Her hair was drenched in sweat. But she needed to be fully uncovered when the baby was born. “Just take deep breaths. Just like that. You’re doing great.” 

“Did you — Did you find Gideon?” 

Of course, she would still be thinking about that at a time like this. 

He debated, for an instant, if he should lie and tell her that Cara’s information had been wrong. But he always had been a terrible liar. Or Ara had always had a way of seeing right through him to the truth.  

He sighed, his chin dropped to his chest before mumbling, “Yeah.” 

He lifted his head just in time to see guilt take over her face and a fresh wave of tears build up in her eyes. They wouldn’t be able to attack his safe house now. Din wouldn’t stand being parted from her or the baby once she was born. And Cara couldn’t take down that squadron by herself. They could wait a few weeks and come back, but by then Gideon might move to a different safe house. Who knew what kind of rotations he and the other wanted Imperial warlords had going on. And as each of them felt the familiar pull of takeoff, they knew Gideon was slipping through their fingers once more. 

Ara’s lip had begun to bleed with the abuse her teeth had been putting it through. She tasted copper in her mouth as she let go and whispered, “M’sorry.” 

With a shake of his head, Din reached out and pressed his thumb flat into her chin. Nothing to apologize for. 

He then pulled down her underwear and checked how far along into labor she was. “You’re almost completely dilated. I’ll go get the supplies.” 

Ara didn’t want him to leave her. She whimpered slightly as he got up from the floor and made his way into the refresher. He got a few towels and a bowl of hot water. In this moment alone, he paused. Turned to the west on instinct, he began to pray. Ara always had been better at it than he was. But right now, she needed his prayers more than ever. So he tried to remember the words.

Protect my child whose name I’ve yet to know as mine, but so desperately want to. If I must die in order for that to happen, let it be. Protect Ara, who is one with me when together or parted. By the Star, you created all, and by it, you shall destroy. And by the Star, you will give us the strength to deliver this child into the world. Please…Keep them safe. I can’t lose them. 

A peace that he would never be able to bring himself washed over him as he opened his eyes. Another scream echoed through the Razor Crest. And Din, with this newfound peace and confidence, stepped out of the refresher with the needed supplies. A bowl of warm water. A few towels. The sheers from the medpack. 

He quickly kneeled back down between Ara’s bent legs. 

The legends say that when a warrior died honorably in battle, paint across his helmet and blood upon his chest plate, it was the closest anyone could get to holding the Maker’s star in their hands. To holding the greatest power, the greatest glory, and the greatest light in their mortal grasp. But when that baby slipped from Ara and into Din’s steady, awaiting hands — screaming and squirming and covered in fluids — the legends were proven wrong. 

All of time seemed to stop. The entire universe tilting it’s chin to get a better look at the life that had just been born. To hear the joyous, in-awe laugh that bubbled from Din’s throat. 

“Ara,” he whispered, cradling the tiny body in his much larger hands, “It’s a girl.” 

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the babe in his hands. In those sinner’s hands that had caused so much destruction. And yet he had made this most precious thing, with Ara, with the breath of his life. This perfect, fragile thing that all at once told him that life was so fleeting and that life was so very beautiful. He didn’t need the warrior. He didn’t need battle paint on his helmet. He didn’t need honorable death to hold a piece of the heavens in his grasp. She was right there. Wiggling and screaming at him for being born. 

Tears, testaments to his absolute joy and rapture, spilled from his eyes without his permission. But he wasn’t going to berate them or curse them. As he had his entire life. He welcomed them with open arms. 

Ara finally broke him from his revere with her panted reply, “A girl?” 

Din looked up into his wife’s face and laughed again. A quiet, breathless thing as he pushed himself up and placed the wailing baby in her arms. She looked exhausted, pale, but happy. Tears fell from her eyes as well. Ara cradled the baby in her arms and laughed softly. She was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

A tuft of dark hair on her head. A small, squished face that was angry red. But her screams turned slowly to whimpers, and then faded out completely in her mother’s arms. Ara reached up a weary finger and brushed a knuckle over her soft cheek. 

The air had suddenly become thick as the baby slowly opened her eyes for the first time. Ara’s ragged breaths seemed far too loud in her uncovered ears. But the air became caught in her throat when the baby looked into her eyes for the first time. Dark and endless, just like her parents. 

So this was what it was like to be seen. To be really seen by someone else. 

“Hello, my fierce girl,” Ara whispered, voice horse even at such a volume, “I know your name as my child — Reykha.” 

Din made quick work of snipping the umbilical cord and cleaning the baby off with the warm water. 

“Mm — Din,” Ara grunted while he cleaned the fussy baby. 

He looked over his shoulder to see her face pinched in pain. Legs tucked back up against her chest with her hands. 

“Afterbirth?” he questioned, laying Reykha down on a towel and drying her off. 

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed back. 

The pain wasn’t as intense, but it still kriffing hurt. And she was tired. So very tired. 

“Shit — okay.” 

Din couldn’t find the blanket they had packed. He could have sworn he had grabbed it from the baby’s room before they left. And he could have sworn he had dropped it down to the floor along with the rest of the birthing supplies. But the blanket Yasima had gifted to Ara, with their signet stitched into the soft fabric, was nowhere in sight. Din cursed under his breath as he looked back over at his wife. Her face pinched in pain and resisting the urge to push again. He really did not want to clean her placenta up off the floor. But Reykha needed to be wrapped up in something to keep her warm. But what? He forgot the damn blanket and Ara was never going to let him hear the end of it — 

There. His cape balled up in the corner. That would do for now. He quickly snatched it from the floor and swaddled the baby up in it. Then, cradling the baby in one arm, he pushed the empty bowl he had grabbed between Ara’s legs just in time. 

“You forgot the blanket didn’t you?” she panted as she let her legs fall back down to the floor. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled lightly, taking the bowl in his free hand and sliding it across the floor towards the refresher. 

Then she got a look at them. Unannounced tears pricked at her eyes. Little Reykha, bundled in her father’s cape and tucked into the crook of his elbow. Safe, fast asleep, not even five minutes old. Din, half of his armor tossed carelessly onto the floor, hair disheveled, and sweat sheening on his brow. Safe, tired, a smile quirking his lips and creating a singular dimple in his cheek. Good Maker, he’s beautiful. Ara’s mind had gone blank of anything else in the universe. Her heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to go at lightspeed or stop altogether. She couldn’t help but take in the little scar across the bridge of his nose, the one on his top lip. Evidence of years of fighting, of resentment, of a life that felt like a deep and distant dream. 

After all this time. After all the waiting. After the heartache of losing Mandalore, the rage of being with Ran and his crew, the monotony and restlessness of their years with the Guild, the fear and running from the remains of the Empire. All of it was leading up to this. Kha’s last command, last request on a dying Mandalore — You must carry us with you always — and you must keep Mandalore alive through the warriors you will raise — she waited thirty years for them to fulfill their vow. And now she could march beside her fellow warriors in peace. And Ara could feel it, feel that eternal peace wash over her as Din sat down beside her and placed Reykha into her arms. 

“I wish the kid was here,” Ara commented as she leaned into Din’s shoulder. 

“Me too,” he whispered back, unable to look away from the little pink face poking out of his cape, “But we’ll be home in a few hours.” 

“Maker, I hope he likes her.” 

“He will. We’ve been talking about it.” 

Ara looked over at him with an incredulous smile. “You have?” 

“Mm,” Din grunted, reaching out and tracing his fingers over Reykha’s hairline, “How he’ll be a big brother. The responsibility — the care. How she’ll need a lot of your attention.” 

Ara stared at him a moment. At the way his kind, warm, brown eyes were transfixed by the babe in her arms. At the soft smile adorning his hard features. At the crook of his nose. At the soft tumble of his hair. At the love and peace and warmth that seemed to radiate off of him. 

In Mando’a there are two words for breath. One of them is kar’am. This word translates into Basic as the literal air inside a being’s lungs. The breath of life. The thing that can get knocked out of someone during a fight or stolen from them in a moment of emotion. The other word for breath is haal. This word has no direct translation. A rough sort of definition is that haal is the thing that gives you a reason to breathe. The thing, beyond air, beyond oxygen, that gives one meaning and gives one a reason to keep going. The life-force, the light, the purpose for drawing air into your lungs. Even to say the word, haal, it sounds like an exhale. A declaration that what one is calling their breath owns it. 

“Kiss me,” Ara whispered softly, too softly, “Ner haal.” 

Din looked up at her with raised brows and wide eyes. But then his every feature softened. He was her reason to keep going. The man who had given her everything she had ever desired. Who had painted the picture of their lives with her at the center of it. Who worked to the point of breaking his back nearly every single day. A man who lost everything and now had all that he had ever desired. The love of his life at his side. A Foundling and a Creed-born child of his own. A house with transparisteel hanging above the door and his armor stowed away in a shed. He was the very breath inside her lungs. Her very reason for living. 

With a tender hand, Din reached out and cupped her cheek in his calloused hand. He marveled in the way she leaned into his touch. Then he kissed her. Slanting his lips against her own and molding his mouth into her own softly, reverently, slowly. He pulled away just enough to whisper back to her, ner haal, letting his breath mingle with her own. Tying them together like the breeze through forest branches. 

A breath of life shared between them.

[fungifaggot]

First Time

“Virgin!Ryo Asuka x Male reader 

Request: I was wondering if you would consider doing another but about when he looses his virginity to top male reader? ;)

Warning: Soft smut 

Word Count: 1392 

A/n: Thanks for the request b, sorry it took fucking forever.

+ like, comment, reblog, or request (Please).

Or don’t.

————

“I’m ready” Ryo panted out making your eyes widen.

“Are you sure baby, there’s seriously no ru-”

“I’m ready.” He responded sternly, pulling you back in for a kiss.

You smiled against his lips and grabbed his waist, kissing him deeper.

You knew how big of a deal this was to him considering how difficult he could be when it came to intimacy.

Ryo was already quite vulnerable around you, but it took a great deal of time for him to get to that point. And you were willing to continue to be patient.

You were going to take it slow, making sure he felt all of it. You wanted his first time to be memorable, you wanted his first time to be good.

You guided his hips against yours in a grinding motion, feeling his cock twitch and start to harden against yours. Making you eager to continue. You took a firm grip of his ass and moved him onto his back. Taking a moment to catch your breath as you moved your hands up from his waist and let them drift under his shirt, lifting it up further the more you explored.

You pulled it off of him and took the opportunity to attack his neck. Kissing right below his ear then down his neck, forming goosebumps up his torso. You nipped at his skin and started to suck making Ryo gasp. His chest rising and falling quickly beneath your finger tips as they ghosted over his nipples.

You marked his neck until it was a dark purple, then proceeded to his collarbones, then down to his chest. Giving his nipples a slight pinch before taking them into your mouth.

He arched his back and let out a raspy groan as you continued to make your way towards his v-line. Once you were met face to face with his waistband you looked up at him, waiting until he gave you a shy nod.

You gently ran your finger over his clothed cock making it twitch before you took it into your hands and palmed him through his boxers. Enjoying the way his eyebrows furrowed while he struggled to control his breathing.

You pulled off his boxers and gently rubbed your thumb against his slit before placing a soft kiss to the tip, making his hips jolt forward eagerly. You pushed him back against the mattress, holding him in place as you went back down on him.

You lightly sucked on the tip and took a hold of his length, stroking him achingly slow.

You started to sink down on his cock. Taking in more each time you bobbed your head, until you eventually reached the base. You sucked him off slowly, taking his entire length in and out, while also reaching back to unzip your pants. You licked up the underside of his shaft dragging your tongue along his tip. Sinking it into his slit while you started stroking him faster.

After taking a long inhale, you easily sunk back down on his cock. Deep throating him at an increasing pace until he came hard and fast. His hand tangled in your hair trying to pull you off, but you refused to move, letting him fill your mouth with cum.

You took a hold of his thighs, and pushed them up so that his feet were near his head. Staring directly into his lust filled eyes you stuck out your tongue, letting every drop of his semen fall from your mouth and onto his virgin hole.

Ryo’s cock began to harden again just from the sight. 

Taking your index and middle finger, you began to spread his seed around. Adding more pressure the longer you continued. Eventually adding in one finger, pulling it in and out giving it a few curls, looking for any sign of discomfort before adding a second, and repeating the process. His face had scrunched up, but fell neutral and you finger fucked away his resistance.

You added a third finger after you felt he was ready and stroked his cock slowly til’ he was fully hard again.

With a whine from Ryo, you removed your fingers to pull out your cock. Watching as it bounced out and smacked against your stomach once you ‘released’ it from your boxers. You grabbed a lubricated condom from the bedside table and rolled it on in one swift motion.

Once you were done you looked back up, only to be met with Ryo’s angry eyes. Who was now sitting up with his arms crossed, pouting like a young child.

“Why haven't you taken off any of your clothes.” He asked with a huff.

Causing you to roll your eyes and peel off your shirt when you realized that he was right.

You could feel his gaze on you as you proceeded to take off your pants and boxers.

“Anything else I can do for you princess?” you asked with a smirk, now standing naked. Batting your eyes at him, laughing when he scoffed and narrowed his.

You wrapped your arms around his legs and ungracefully pulled him off the back board and back into his previous “deep stick” position, making him yelp and scowl at you.

That is until he felt you line up with him, teasing him with the tip of your cock, before pushing past his entrance. 

He immediately hissed, making you pause and place gentle kisses on his skin as you cooed out calming words. You played with his cock and rubbed his sides, attempting to distract him while you pushed in the rest of your length.

Once you bottomed out you haulted, giving Ryo a moment to adjust to your size before he eventually gave you confirmation to continue.

Using every ounce of self control you continued to fuck him at a very slow and steady pace. Thrusting until you could feel his resistance begin to fade.

“Go faster.” he finally said.

Without responding, you fully pulled out and rammed back into him.

“Nngh...” He cried out as he reached around and gripped onto your back like his life depended on it.

You continued to thrust into him, steadily increasing the pace. Trying desperately to repress your desire to split him in two.

At this point Ryo was a wreck. His nails dug deeply into your back, peircing your skin as he cried out in pleasure.

Your moans, the bed creaking, and the sound of skin slapping skin filled the air. Only for it to get louder and louder as you started to thrust even faster.

Precum began to dot his tip, only encouraging you to angle your thrusts in search of his prostate.

Knowing you succeeded instantly when he threw his head back and let out a raspy moan.

“Oh god. T-that felt good.”

His hands pulled you closer, as he dragged them down, causing a delicious burning sensation to spread across your entire back.

Ryos mouth hung open as it released silent moans. Drool dribbling from the side and down cheeks as you pounded him into the mattress.

You felt his legs stiffen and start to shake, his grunts grew louder and more frequent as he arched his back and clawed at your back.

He was close

You started to thrust faster, fucking him relentlessly making him to damn near scream as you abused his hole.

“Ah~ ah~ ah~ AHHKK” he moaned out as he came hard with the help from a few strokes to his shaft. 

His arms fell from your back and his legs went limp as he finished riding out his orgasm.

You pulled out and stroked yourself until you came all over his chest. Leaning down to kiss him once the blurred vision and waves of pleasure faded away. That is until you realized that he had already passed out.

You smiled at his peaceful resting face, before getting up and hobbling over to the bathroom to find a towel.

You came back with a towel along with some pain killers and a glass of water and set them down on the nightstand.

You wiped all of the cum off of him and planted a gentle kiss to his sweaty forehead before you proceeded to lay down next to him.

He immediately rolled over and cuddled into your chest making you sigh contently.

“I love you” Ryo murmured out in his sleepy state of mind and burrowed himself deeper.

“I love you too” you whispered back. Closing your eyes and pushing your nose into his hair as you happily fell asleep with him in your arms.

____

Tags: @katsukispicycaramel @baldsaitama @ablake-x082 @eliotsbambimargo @jerod-writes @malereader-inserts @malereaderinsert @dis-boi-be-a-gay-peter @fatbottombarnes @malereaderimagines

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 5 - 15

Honor Bound 5 - 15 (Public Execution/Torture) - @badthingshappenbingo​​

Requested by anon

~

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Content warning: forced nudity (shirtless only), death threats, intentional mis-naming, caning, blood, suicidal thoughts (to escape torture), dehumanization (of someone not present), sex mention

~

“N-no,” Gavin rasped as the guards dragged him to his feet. “No, no, no no no…” He yanked against their hands, nearly out of his mind with panic as they dragged him to one of the cells. They threw him to his knees in front of it and forced his arms out in front of him. Tears blurred his vision and he thrashed against them.

His heart pounded in his chest as he remembered the agony of the cane – the fiery sting of the blows, the dull, crushing ache of his bruised ribs for weeks after. Sweat prickled on his skin as he strained against the guards, whimpering as they held his wrists against the icy bars and securely zip tied them there.

“N-no,” he sobbed, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. “Schiester, no, sh-shit, if you’re g-going to kill me please just kill me, please…”

“There is no if, Gavin Stormbeck,” Schiester said evenly. “Your death in not in question. As I’ve told you, you have already been sentenced. Your remaining time on this earth serves as penance for your crimes, since I cannot kill you twenty— Well. How many playthings have you killed?” He wrenched Gavin’s hand back with a vicious grip on his hair.

Gavin whimpered wordlessly through his teeth as Schiester craned his neck back. The plastic zip tie cut into his wrists. The three guards stood back, behind Schiester, watching impassively.

Schiester jerked Gavin’s head back further and Gavin cried out. “How many?” Schiester growled.

“Please, please, twenty-three!” Gavin sobbed. “I’ve, I’ve k-killed twenty-three playthings, please…” He felt every single one of those deaths, like knives in his heart.

Schiester released his head and stepped back. Gavin sobbed against the bars. “I’m assuming that means you’ve killed more than just playthings, Gavin Stormbeck,” Schiester spat. “God knows how many—”

“My name is GAVIN URIAH!” Gavin roared. The basement echoed with his broken voice until it faded away to stunned silence. Gavin could barely breathe as he quivered on his knees, waiting for the pain. Waiting for a bullet in his head.

Gavin shivered as he felt, more than heard, Schiester take a step closer. He flinched as Schiester placed his hand gently on the back of his neck. Gavin swallowed nervously as Schiester slid his hand across his throat and tilted his head back, pressing his thumb and forefinger in on each side of his windpipe – a warning, and a threat.

Schiester clicked his tongue and leaned over Gavin. “No, it’s not,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk and deadly quiet at Gavin’s ear. “Your name is Gavin Stormbeck. You were born a Stormbeck. You killed people as a Stormbeck.” Gavin’s stomach lurched with terror as Schiester’s hand closed, just slightly, around his throat. “And you’re going to die a Stormbeck. Right over there, on my gallows.”

“P-please,” Gavin whimpered. Tears ran the corners of his eyes and back into his hair. He shuddered at the cold on his bare skin.

In one smooth movement, Schiester released Gavin’s throat and stepped away. “What was it I called this back in January? Meager justice?” He laughed once, a cold, cruel sound. “I should have dragged you from that fucking family kicking and screaming and put you to death that day in the sight of the entire north. People should know how Gavin Stormbeck meets his end. Still. This is the cost of my work. It goes unnoticed, unthanked, and uncelebrated.”

Gavin glanced back behind him and sobbed desperately as he watched Schiester strip off his coat and hand it to one of the guards. Another guard passed a long rattan cane into Schiester’s hands. Schiester took his stance behind Gavin, adjusting his grip on the cane.

Gavin ground his forehead against the bars in front of him. His breaths were coming so fast his fingers were starting to go numb. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, please, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Ah,” Schiester scoffed. “There it is. The Stormbeck son is sorry.” He wound his arm back and brought it down on Gavin’s bare back with a snap.

Gavin screamed. Fire shot across his back, piercing down into his very lungs. He slumped against the bars, gasping for breath, his head spinning with the pain. Before he could draw in a full inhale, the cane struck him again.

Gavin wailed against his arm and yanked against the zip ties on his wrists. He sobbed and clenched his hands into fists as he strained, desperate to break free. He rocked forward with the next blow. His scream rent the air of the basement.

Another strike. There was nothing to hold on to. At least if he could clutch at the bars he could hang on until it was over, but he couldn’t twist his hands enough to reach them. His hands remained clenched, and empty. Sam wasn’t there to take his hand and guide him through the pain, like before.

Another blow. Gavin scrambled against the floor, frantically trying to push away the pain. He froze with a scream when Schiester struck him again.

Schiester hits harder than Isaac and Gray did.

Of course, he would. Even through the agony of the lashes in January, Gavin had known Isaac was pulling his punches. Gray struck harder than Isaac, determined, perhaps, to spare Gavin further punishment. Or maybe Gray really did hate him, then.

The thought shattered under another lash. Then another, and another, and another.

Gavin panted, and his throat burned with thirst, a weak pain compared to the fire on his back. “H-how…” he croaked. His voice twisted in a scream as Schiester struck him again.

How many is that? Gavin’s mind was a cacophony of pain. His entire body went rigid as the cane came down on him again. Sweat poured down his back, dripping down his temples, stinging in his eyes. His mouth gaped open as he gasped for breath. He saw a flash of white as the cane came down again.

“Sch-Schiester, please, I— ahh!” he cried with the next blow.

How many? His head spun.

Brilliant pain split his mind with the next blow. He shivered as his sweat and blood dripped down his back, wetting the waistband of his pants. His stomach churned with the sickly metallic smell of it.

He sobbed with abandon with the next lash. His voice was a twisted, broken thing to his own ears. It echoed off the walls and pierced into his brain. He screamed himself hoarse with the next.

Through the roaring in his ears, he could hear Schiester breathing hard behind him. Schiester grunted as he swung the cane again. Gavin felt his flesh split under the blow.

“Isaac, please,” Gavin breathed. His throat was too tight to make a sound. “Isaac, please, please, Isaac, please…”

For a moment, the blows stopped. Gavin sobbed with relief. It couldn’t be over, surely it wasn’t over? He thought that was maybe twenty. Maybe. He turned his head to look behind him, shaking like a leaf.

Schiester stood with the cane at his side, staring at Gavin with bemusement. There was an ugly flush on his cheeks, and his eyes shone in the cold, sickly light overhead.

“What are you saying?” Schiester said as he arched an eyebrow.

Why couldn’t Isaac have just killed me after we escaped? Gavin thought with despair. I begged Vera to kill me. I begged her.

Gavin wet his lips and heaved a sob. “N-nothing,” he croaked. His throat felt scraped raw with his screams. He could distantly hear his blood dripping on the floor. The smell was thick in his nose, chasing away the very memory of Isaac’s smell.

Schiester wound up and struck Gavin again. Gavin screamed against the bars of the cage.

“What are you saying?” Schiester ground out, punctuating the words with blows. Gavin gasped and sobbed against the pain.

“I w-was…” Gavin’s lips trembled, and he sagged against the bars, dizzy. “I… please, I was—”

The cane struck him with a crack that reverberated around the room and was swallowed by Gavin’s scream. “N-no, no, please, I-I—” He threw his head back and screamed with the next blow.

“These all count, by the way,” Schiester said softly. “I’m not an unfair man. Now. What were you saying?”

Gavin’s skin was slick with sweat. “I… w-was begging… Isaac.” He whined and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to conjure up Isaac’s face. The pain shoved all other thoughts away.

Schiester barked out a cruel-sounding laugh. “Begging his plaything,” he muttered. “Unbelievable.”

“H-he’s not my plaything,” Gavin whispered. He braced for another crash of pain. It didn’t come. He heaved a sob.

“In my experience, playthings that are released never return to the world fully human,” Schiester sighed. “But take comfort however you like. You can pretend the man who fucks you loves you of his own accord.”

Shame flooded through Gavin. He loves me, he thought. Or… he did. He doesn’t love me anymore. I’ve broken that. I’ve ruined it. A tear streaked down his face and he whimpered weakly.

I love you, but you can’t keep anyone safe.

Sorry things had to go this way, but I got what I wanted.

That would break Isaac. Right now, a hundred and thirty miles away, Isaac was awake, burning with hate for Gavin. He knew it.

Gavin’s shame blasted apart with the agony of the next strike. His torn and broken skin seared with pain as Schiester brought the cane down hard again. Then again, harder. Harder.

Gavin writhed and twisted against his restraints. “Please!” he shrieked. Blood smeared on his wrists, looking almost black in the cold yellowish light. Again, Schiester struck him, and again, and again.

Gavin’s chest heaved as he sobbed. “P-please, please, no, please…”

A guard cleared his throat. Gavin had forgotten anyone else was here. “Sir, should I gag him, or—”

“No, let him beg,” Schiester replied. “We always let them beg, Ziegler.”

Another blow. Gavin’s head spun dizzily. His hands were numb. He wasn’t sure which way was up.

Another blow. Gavin slumped against the bars, his head lolling. His wrists strained against the zip ties. Gavin gasped and screamed and blinked sweat out of his eyes. His back was on fire. Every breath was agony. The world was ripped apart by another blow.

His body shuddered with the next strike. He flinched, blind with pain, his blood roaring in his ears. Schiester lashed him again, and his throat made a broken, animal whine. He couldn’t feel his lips. The room seemed to tilt around him.

He wondered, faintly, if they would keep beating him if he lost consciousness. If they would break his body with the cane, even if he wasn’t awake to feel it. Somehow, he doubted he could escape that way. His eyes rolled back and he prayed for oblivion.

He jerked with another strike. He shivered, hot, cold, shattered. His muscles quivered with strain as he struggled against the restraints. Sweat stung the broken skin of his back.

“Pl— Ahh, pl-please…” he mumbled through numb lips.

“We’re almost finished, Gavin Stormbeck,” Schiester said gently. “Card, please fetch his other restraints.”

“You mean… Yes, sir.”

Boots clicked on the cement floor. Gavin couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. His voice broke his scream with the next strike.

Gavin’s stomach heaved at the next spike of pain, and he gagged. The smell of his blood clouded his mind. He tasted bile.

As Schiester struck him again, a black spot appeared in the center of Gavin’s vision. He blinked, his eyes wide and unfocused, swimming with tears. His blood felt like fire in his veins. His heart hammered wildly in his chest.

“Fainting again are we, Stormbeck?” Schiester mocked. The sound seemed to reach Gavin from far away. “Ah, well. I’m not surprised to discover you cannot withstand what you dish out.”

I don’t hurt people anymore, Gavin thought dizzily. His shoulders ached as they twisted. He hung to the side, the zip ties cutting into his wrists. His sweat-soaked hair stuck to his temples. His vision was blurred with tears, growing darker with every passing moment.

A slap rocked his head to the side, and he cried out weakly. He saw stars when he closed his eyes.

“That didn’t wake him up at—”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m almost finished. I said fifty lashes. I didn’t require him to be awake.” Schiester seemed to be breathing hard. Gavin felt a flash of pain, heard a scream. Tears streamed down his face.

His throat felt torn, with his next broken scream. The lights above him were fading. Is someone diming them on purpose? He jerked as the cane came down on him again. He couldn’t breathe through the pain.

At the edges of his consciousness, he felt an encroaching blackness. He’d felt it before, when Isaac beat him in the square all those months before. He clawed away from the pain, writhed when Schiester struck him again. He choked on a scream as fire flashed across his back, but fading, fading. As if he was sinking under the surface of a lake. His head spun, his mouth gaped open as he desperately gasped in another breath.

A red slash of pain cut across his vision again. Then Gavin’s eyes rolled back, and he felt nothing.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts​, @womping-grounds​, @free-2bmee​, @quirkykayleetam​, @walkingchemicalfire​, @inpainandsuffering​, @redwingedwhump​, @burtlederp​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​, @whatwhumpcomments​, @cursedscribbles​, @whumpywhumper​, @stxck-fxck​, @omega-em-z-02​, @whumps-the-word​, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood​, @justplainwhump​, @moose-teeth​, @whumpywhumper​, @finder-of-rings​, @inky-whump​, @thatsthewhump​, @orchidscript​, @insanitywishes​, @this-mightaswell-happen​, @newandfiguringitout​, @whumpkitty​, @pretty-face-breaker​, @cinnamonflavoredhugs​, @pebbledriscoll​​, @im-just-here-for-the-whump​​, @endless-whump​​, @grizzlie70​​, @oops-its-whump​​

[scarofthewind]

Love Letters || V x Reader

A/N: I love this movie with all my being and decided to write for V from ‘V for Vendetta’. Hope you all enjoy.

Warnings: Hurt-comfort, mentions of abuse, foul language

word count: 1.6k Tip Jar (every bit helps)

The sound of your bare feet hitting the ground echoed through the dark street. It was far too late for anyone to be out, but here you were, running from yet another abusive lover who had taken a bad day out on you. For years you’d been receiving strange letters from a man you had no recollection of. He called himself, ‘V’, which he signed so neatly at the bottom of every letter. Sometimes he wrote to you multiple times a week, other times it was only a few in a month. In either cases, you always looked forward to that small envelope with a dried wax seal on the back. You always wrote back and watched as the mailman came to pick up the letter with no destination; yet V always managed to receive them. 

It’s like I’ve known you my whole life, V. Even though I don’t know what you look like or who you are, I know you. I wish there was a way I could be with you, but I’m afraid of what he’d do if he found out how I feel for you. He destroyed the wonderful roses you gave me, burnt them all but I managed to save some of the petals....

I hope to see you one day, maybe that day you can take me away from here to that beautiful place you were talking about the last time you wrote me....what I would give to simply hear your voice call out to me....

With all my heart, (Y/N)

The letters were always full of wonderful stories that made even your worst days, better; they were all locked in a wooden box you kept hidden until your newest lover found them and destroyed them all. You cried and tried your hardest to fight for even one, but that only ended with you getting stuck across the face and the urge to run coursing through your veins. Your heart ached for the desire to be held by the one man you knew would never lay a finger on you in such a way. There were many nights when you would lie in bed and dream about V, seeking comfort in the man you didn’t know.

My dear, I apologize for not writing to you sooner, my days grow crazier by the second but rest assured, when I think of you, everything is clear. 

I hate how much you get hurt by these men and I promise you, one day I’ll save you from their vile hands. I promise to only ever give you love and the passion you have never known. That day will be soon and I swear to you, (Y/N), I will take care of you.

V

 “Come back!” You heard your lover yell and you ducked into an alleyway, your heart hammering in your chest. You cupped your throbbing cheek, knowing very well it was wet with blood from the rings on his finger catching the skin there. You shivered from the cold night air and saw your breath in smoke around you when you exhaled, pressing against a wall and hoping he’d pass. “You can’t hide from me, I’ll find you sooner or later.” He growled, kicking a trash can and sending it flying around the corner opposite of you. You held your breath, hoping he would go away soon and wishing that you life had been better. 

Your eyes stayed trained on the night sky, wondering if V was looking at the same moon you were and feeling your heart break at a horrible thought. There would be no more letters, no more sweet words from the only man who’d ever said them to you; no more flowers, no more nights when you felt a little less lonely. Tears flooded down your face as you realized this was it; the sound of a gun cocking coming from your lover who was nothing but a monster. He would kill you and V would never know that the light of his life had been ripped from him. 

You ran down the end of the alley, turning another corner and sliding down the wall in submission. You couldn’t get out; there wasn’t an out for people like you. This was all you’ve ever known so of course just as you thought it would get better, everything goes to waste. “I’m so sorry, V.” You whispered, hearing him near you and feeling the barrel of the gun press against your head. 

“Fucking whore, I should’ve killed you when I had the chance,” He growled, kicking you to the side and enjoying the cries you gave. “That guy who wrote you those letters, you think he’d want someone like you?” You tried to block his foot as it came into contact with your stomach but you weren’t as strong as him. Your pleas did nothing but make him laugh as he kicked you again and again until you started coughing blood onto the stoned pavement. 

You gasped for air as the metallic taste filled your mouth, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision as you looked up at the man. “He loves me,” You sobbed and watched as he knelt before you, feigning pity. 

“I think I can speak for him and say that he most certainly doesn’t. I loved you, but you ruined everything.” He scoffed and pressed the gun against your head. 

“I speak for myself,” Another voice echoed in the alley and your head snapped up, eyes straining to see the figure who was standing a few feet away. Your lover stood up and faced him, keeping the gun pointed at you. “And you most certainly did not love her. You abused her to the point where she fell in love with another.” Coming into the light, you let out a gasp seeing the masked male; he titled his head to look down at you and tipped his hat. 

“Hello, my love, pardon me for my interruption but I do believe it’s time we go.” He said calmly, clicking his tongue in annoyance when your lover shoved the gun to your head. 

“V,” You let out a breathy sound of panic, locking eyes with the masked man and watching him pull out a knife. 

“To the right, please.” He said to you and you sent him a questioning look but understood when he threw the knife at your lover. You rolled to the side just in time as the bullet flew off the ground where you just had been, the sound deafening you. Pressing your hands against your ears, you cried out from the painful ringing in them, the pain in your body from being kicked ran through you like liquid fire, burning every part of your muscles alive. 

And then, as if everything became clear, a pair of gloved hands cupped your face, making you open your eyes. “I should’ve never let it amount to this, I hope you can forgive me-”

V had no time to respond before you tackled him in a tight hug, knocking his hat off and causing him to sit instead of kneel. He wasted no time in hugging you back, feeling your body tremble and shake in his grasp. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you know that, right?” He said to you gently and you cried harder, nodding your head in response. V could feel the movement against his shoulder and hummed, “I’m here now, my love, I’m sorry I took so long.”

Pulling back, he cupped your face again, wiping the tears away. “You saved me.” You sniffled, touching the mask gently. “You did what you said you’d do so there’s no need for you to apologize.” V stared at you deeply and you felt him start to get up, offering you a hand to which you grabbed. 

“I’m going to take you away from here, you will never know pain like this ever again, and I will make sure I spend every waking breath filling your life with all that you deserve.” He spoke to you as you stood, grimacing at the pain in your abdomen. “I’m taking you home, to the place you should’ve been all along.”

“As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we go.” You shivered against the cold air, letting V drape his coat over your shoulders. As you both started to walk, stepping over your ex-lover’s body, you stared at the masked man in wonder and need. It wasn’t until you made it out of the alleyways and into the moonlit street, that you paused. 

“V?” Your voice wavered a bit as your nerves grew and the man stopped, turning towards you in concern. 

“We must keep moving-”

“Kiss me.” Your breath sent a cloud up with how cold it was and V touched your cheek gently. “I’ve longed for you all these years,” You said, tracing the features on the mask and feeling his hand circle around your wrist. “Please.” Your eyes flickered to his and you could see the strain he was trying to put on himself slowly breaking off. 

And then it happened. He didn’t take the mask off fully, but he lifted it enough to press his warm lips against your cold ones and that was enough. He kept his lips against yours for a moment before pulling back and moving the mask back, grabbing your hand and placing it on his arm. “That should keep you satisfied until we reach home.” You blushed at his words but held onto his arm, your heart content with finally being with the man you loved. 

There would never be another letter, but there wasn’t a need for one; he was with you now and there was nothing in the world that could tear you away from him. 

[amintyworld]

We Lost - Sorrowful Song AU

A/N: Hey guys, I back with a few prologues/intro chapters to some of @dreamsmp-au-ideas’s AUs. This one is the one I never thought I’d have time to write, but here we are - the Sorrowful Song AU. The premise is simple: What if during the Final Disc Confrontation, no one came to help Tubbo and Tommy? The answer: The fluffiest fluff, and the angstiest angst. Please check it out on their blog! I hope you guys enjoy! - Minty

TW: Major Character Death(s?), Blood/gore, afterlife, suicidal thoughts, memory loss, arguing, cursing, drug/alcohol mention, smoking. (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

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

As Tubbo and Tommy embraced in the cold air of Dream’s lair, Tommy squeezed Tubbo tightly, as if that could keep him here, alive, for just a little bit longer. That he would have his best friend for just a little bit longer. “So, are you… are you accepting this?” His eyes pricked with tears. “Are you o-?” His hands lingered near Tubbo’s arms as they pulled away, not knowing what to do or what to even say. Tubbo’s face filled with gentle warmth as he looked up to his best friend and mustered a smile,

“Hey, it’s okay.” He slowly reached to take Tommy’s hand in his and give it a comforting squeeze. “We had fun, it’s okay. We said our goodbyes at the start.”

“But we… we are optimistic you know we were optimistic-” Tommy’s body shook slightly, backing up a bit, as his eyes wet with tears. “The whole way here- my mic broke and we were… we were optimistic-!”

Tubbo crossed his arms around himself, almost like a hug. His eyes never left the floor. “Yeah, I know, but you get backed into a corner, like how he describes me as a pawn?” He looked up to meet Tommy’s gaze, his own eyes glistening with tears. “This is checkmate. This is it. This is the end.” Tubbo’s shoulders sagged. “I suggest you resign.”

A knot formed itself in Tommy’s throat at his friend’s words, and he thickly swallowed. “Tubbo… even though for this entire server I regarded you as my sidekick, and the character and all- But really Tubbo, I was your sidekick.” A moment of shock passed Tubbo’s face as he slowly began to shake his head.

“No..” A sad smile traced Tubbo’s lips. 

A tear rolled down Tommy’s cheek. “Please don’t go.” Tubbo slowly began to move toward Dream once again. “Please don’t go…”

“No, no it’s fine.” Tubbo gathered up his courage as he closed his eyes in front of Dream, who held his ax at the ready. “It’s about time anyway, it’s about time.”

“Say your goodbyes.” Dream’s voice echoed through the empty lair.

“Goodbye, Tommy.”

Tommy’s vision blurred with tears as Tubbo’s body fell to the floor, crimson blood staining his chest. Tommy called out his name, running toward him trying to help him, hold him, anything- But, within seconds, his body disintegrated into nothingness, the only sign of his existence being a puddle of blood on the door and a pile of items. The teenager’s body shook with sobs as he fell to the floor, his heart aching as his mind scrambled with the simple fact that Tubbo was dead. 

Tubbo was dead, and he wasn’t coming back. 

“Hm…” Dream hummed to himself as he went through the pile of things apathetically. Curiosity piqued his interest as he pulled out a compass with the tag ‘Your Tommy’, looking it over to see if he should add it to his collection. “Interesting.”

“Don’t you fucking dare you bitch!” Tommy angrily shouted through tears as he rushed over, punching Dream in the face, er… mask. It cracked and a small bit of the signature painted eyes fell to the ground with a shatter as a single green eye stared down at him. Tommy’s heart dropped in his chest at how dull it looked. He remembered how dull his own eyes used to look, in exile.

Quickly, Dream kicked Tommy square in the chest and sent him flying as he landed on his back, practically all the air was knocked out of his lungs. As he sputtered for breath, Dream walked up to him, pointing his sword at Tommy’s chest. “Come on, Tommy. Let’s go.”

“Fuck you.”

The sound of glass breaking filled his ears as all the energy was quickly sapped out of Tommy’s body as he struggled to move, paralyzed, and he looked up at Dream in confused shock. “Do you really think you have a choice?”

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

“Fucking great, another one!”

“Shut up, Schlatt.”

“This is my void too, you know!”

Tubbo’s entire body ached as his dead felt dizzy. His mind struggled to remember what had happened. Why was it so fuzzy? He slowly opened his eyes to find… Wilbur? Wilbur gave him a smirk.

“You know when I felt like space was opening up the last person I expected here was you.”

Tubbo sat up, the shift in his position made his head throb in pain as he let out a groan. “Where… where is here, exactly?”

Though Wilbur looked just as he did when he was alive, except for a hole through his chest, of course, he was gentle and looked to Tubbo with a warmth that Tubbo honestly missed seeing. His hand found Tubbo’s as he helped him stand up. “Careful, I know it’s a bit jarring at first.” All around the two were nothing but darkness. They were floating in a sea of nothingness. Tubbo looked at his hands and noticed how translucent they were. Was he…? He was a ghost? Wilbur gestured around them. “Welcome to the Void!”

“Void…?”

“I mean, it’s under the world, at least we think… so… yeah. Welcome to the afterlife.” Wilbur shrugged as his face quickly lit up in excitement. “Oh, let me show you around!” Wilbur smiled as he dragged Tubbo, who looked down to notice he was floating, toward more ghostly figures coming into view. There were cows, pigs, flowers, trees, even translucent endermen. “Anything that ever was alive and died is down here, including all those pets- Fungi and Friend should be around here somewhere… oh, over there’s Schlatt’s little corner…”

“Wait, Schlatt…?” Tubbo asked, turning around to see the former President of L’manburg’s small hut, across from him a tent and in the middle a campfire.

“Yeah, still the same old Schlatt - you have no idea how pissed he was when he figured out there’s no drugs or booze down here.” Wilbur sighed with a chuckle. He looked over to notice a certain blue sheep sniffing around Wilbur’s pockets. Wilbur smiled as he leaned down to pet the small creature. “Hey there Friend. You want some grass, don’t cha?”

As he fed the sheep, Tubbo’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why do you need to eat when you’re dead?”

“It’s not so much that we have to, it’s more like we choose to. Friend enjoys his grass, yeah?” Wilbur shrugged. Wilbur led Tubbo under a tree as the two sat on the dead grass and flowers. “I was wondering… where’s Tommy? I would’ve thought you two would come down as a package deal.”

“I… Dream cornered us…” Flashes of memories began to play in Tubbo’s mind. “He threatened me, he made Tommy give up everything. He has everything that everyone’s attached to - their pets, their stuff… he said that Tommy brought attachment to the server, so he needed him alive. He was going to put him in this inescapable prison, and… and he killed me.”

Wilbur’s bright attitude fell. “Oh.”

“It was time anyway,” Tubbo brushed off, forcing a smile. “My time to go, I guess.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed. “Was it?” Tubbo sighed, laying back on the grass as he stared up at the darkness around them. Tubbo’s hands played with the glowing and slightly translucent grass as he stared at the ground lost in thought, trying to wrap his head around it all and not finding any words. “Hey, hey - it’s all good, sorry I didn’t mean to just-” Wilbur sighed, moving to stand and holding out his hand for Tubbo to take. “Hey, uh, you… you like Uno?”

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

Tommy hadn’t said a word through the entire trip, though it’s not exactly like he could if he wanted to - Dream didn’t care for his protests or his few pathetic attempts to escape. He pushed away from the tears in his eyes as his heart hardened once more, feeling oddly heavy, weirdly… empty. He kept his head down, his arms tied up in front of him as he marched toward Pandora’s Vault. Every step he took he felt like he was walking toward his own demise.

Memories flashed through Tommy’s mind of how he slowly walked towards the edge of the bridge, staring down at the lava, his head full of nothing but thoughts. What had Dream said again? “It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy.”

It really never was his time to die. 

Always pulled and pushed along by people or things, fighting wars and facing down all the odds, prepared for the inevitable, welcoming and facing it head-on, only to wake up the next day and forced to move onto the next thing. Tommy used to feel happy and light, drifting wherever the wind would take him. Now, he felt like he dragged the world with him, with every move he made - it was so heavy, it hurt so much that the teenager almost felt as if at any moment he’d shatter.

But he hadn’t. And Dream wanted to know how much more he could take.

“Ah, Punz. Just the person I wanted to see.” Dream grinned as he slightly shoved Tommy forward. “The prisoner is here.”

Punz thickly swallowed in hesitation as he looked over toward the teen, who looked up at him, expressionless in a way that seemed so incredibly odd for Tommy that Punz stepped backward slightly in shock. “I… uh… I wasn’t aware that… that you’d be here this early.”

“I do pride myself on efficiency when it comes to these types of things.” Dream’s smiley mask bore into Punz, before turning towards Tommy with a cheerful smile. “Let’s get you settled in then, huh?”

As Tommy threw all his items into the chest, with no protest, he was turned as Punz checked his pockets for any lingering tools before handing him a tacky orange shirt and pair of pants to change into. Throughout it all, Punz tried to remind himself that he was doing the right thing, he was keeping his promise to Dream, he trusted him with his loyalty after all. Still, pangs of guilt rang through his stomach, tying it in knots at how utterly and completely broken the teenager looked. His eyes looked so dull he looked like an obedient zombie. He didn’t fight. He didn’t try to get away. Why wasn’t he trying to run?!

As they waited for the bridge to appear while the lava drained, Dream tightly kept the boy’s hands behind his back. Tommy’s voice was small and broken, almost pleading. “You’ll visit me in prison, won’t you Dream?”

“I’m afraid you won’t be getting visitors for a while, Tommy.” Dream pushed his hair back, almost… fondly? “I need to learn to trust you again, remember? I need to be able to trust you won’t try to run away.” As Tommy stepped onto the bridge with Dream behind him, only one thing he knew was for absolute certain - He wouldn’t run away.

He had nowhere else to go. He had no one to run to. He had nothing - L’manburg was gone, Wilbur was dead, Tubbo was dead.

Dream won.

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

Tubbo couldn’t help but smirk as he slammed down a plus-four on the pile, much to the ram’s dismay as the table erupted with shouts and hollers at the play. It had been awhile - Tubbo knew they lost count somewhere along the line, the last day was… the 20th day? Yeah, there had been at the very least twenty days since he landed down in the Void. he hung around with Wilbur for the majority of it, and though it was pretty clear he’d changed since pushing that button so long ago, there was definitely a side to him Tubbo remembered well, that he hadn’t realized how much he missed. 

Schlatt was… well, he was Schlatt. The ram hybrid barely left his own little corner where he napped, and when he did he was usually poking around for his next cigarette from the small stash he and Wilbur shared, or the few times they needed a player three. “You cheater!” Schlatt exclaimed, throwing his cards down on the table in anger, making Tubbo giggle and Wilbur laugh.

“I think it’s safe to call it, yeah?” Wilbur smiled, getting up to grab the score paper and pen.

“No, it’s not over yet!” Schlatt said, searching through his pile for anything useful.

“Schlatt, you have over half the deck in your hand.”

“How did you get so many plus fours?!”

Wilbur sat back down with the paper, smiling. “So, that completes game four hundred and thirteen - so far, Tubbo and I are tied for a hundred and seventy-five wins, with sixty wins for Schlatt, and three for Mexican Dream.”

“Remind me again why I keep playing with you two?” Schlatt groaned, and Tubbo patted his back sympathetically.

“Well, Wil and I always need a third, and Mexican Dream is… well you know how he is.” Tubbo laughed. “You’re a very good competitor.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Uh, guys?” Wilbur looked own at his hands for a moment, calling the other’s attention as slowly, his hands began to fade away from view. “Guys…?”

“What… what’s going on- Schlatt?” Tubbo looked over to Schlatt nervously as the ghost looked around in a panic.

“I… I dunno what’s happening, this hasn’t happened before-!” As Wilbur’s ghost form began to fade more and more, gods it felt absolutely painful - that shredded feeling of being disassembled, only this time he had no idea where he was going. A sense of fear struck him as he tried to keep his voice even, trying to forcibly ground himself here, let him stay here, please-! Wilbur slowly crumbled into the dark ground in pain, and as Schlatt rushed over to help him, he heard Tubbo and look over to see him in the same condition. “Fuck, fuck fuck what do I do?!”

Tubbo tried to gather his strength to stand when that same headache pain from when he arrived exploded in his head once more. He looked over toward Wilbur and crawled over to him. “Wilbur, what’s happening?”

Wilbur tried his best to appear calmer than he felt. He hissed and winced at the pluses of pain throughout his body. “I… I don’t know, but it’ll be okay, alright? It’ll be okay.” Tubbo hugged Wilbur tightly as Wilbur ran his hand up and down his back to soothe him.

“It hurts, Wilbur.”

“I know. But we’ve been through worse, right?” Wilbur tried to reassure him. “We’ll get through it, we always do.” One moment, Tubbo felt arms around him, trying to comfort him through pain, and then… they were gone. His voice began to fade. “It’ll be okay…”

Then… silence.

Tubbo felt his heart being ripped open of losing Wilbur again. Tubbo looked up at Schlatt, who pulled him into a hug as Tubbo began to sob - in pure pain. “I know kid. I know.” Schlatt whispered comfortingly.

“Schlatt, I’m scared.”

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

Cold.

Cold, and wet. 

A voice. He remembered a voice, calling out for him. It… it was Tommy. 

Where was Tommy?

A numbing feeling took over Tubbo’s body and suddenly he shot up, on top of a snow-covered mountain. It took a minute for him to calm his breathing, as he looked around at his surroundings, memories flooding back into his head - a battle. They were fighting Dream… the discs…They won - they must’ve. Tommy wouldn’t have left him here, right? As he moved to stand, he noticed how he began to float a foot or so off the ground, not now noticing his greyed-out skin. He felt weird… sluggish. He didn’t feel like… himself.

What happened?

Pinching himself, he quickly realized he can’t feel pain. Piling the evidence in his head as he stumbled down the mountain, he tripped, falling forward and bracing for impact, and-! He fell, but again, no pain. The only constant being the growing emptiness he felt at the edges of his being. 

Was he…? Surely not.

Looking down he noticed a large slash across his chest. Curious, he reached over to touch it, finally finding nerve endings as memories flashback and pain coursed through his body. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes, as he slowly walked over toward a small pool of water, getting on his knees and peering over.

Surely not.

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

Tommy sat on the edge of his bed in the cell, shaking as he felt like crying, but realizing he had no tears left and feeling extremely thirsty. His eyes were red and puffy as he pulled his knees up toward his chest for the slightest bit of comfort. Usually, he’d feel stupid looking like this, but at this point, he didn’t care. In the five hours he’s been locked in the cell, Tommy figured out he didn’t care about a lot of things. Whether he ate, whether he got out of this hell hole somehow… whether or not he lived to ever see the sun again.

He didn’t have a choice anyway, no one had a choice, so what did it matter?

Within five hours, he screamed, cursed profanities as loud as he possibly could, and even tried throwing himself against the wall of the obsidian. It did nothing at all but made him tired, and left a very large bruise against his right shoulder. Part of him commended Dream on his plan. It was a brilliant one, that was for sure. This whole prison was a testement to how much he really knew him, how long he’d been planning this - because if it weren't for those iron blocks, Tommy would have thrown himself into the lava an hour ago.

He was about to turn and try to see if he could sleep forever, when a loud splash erupted his thoughts. “Fuck, why is there water here?!” He mumbled, pulling himself up against the wall.

Tommy’s eyes widened, his voice rubbed raw from the day’s events. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur, startled, nearly fell back into the small pool of water at the end of his cell again, clinging to the wall, dizzy from being manifested back into the world again. “Tommy…?”

“You’re… you’re here… you’re… whatthefuck-?!”

As Wilbur slowly got his bearings, he looked over toward Tommy warmly, smiling. “Hey, Tommy.”

Tommy couldn’t help but smile back seeing his old friend. “Hey, Wil.”

“I heard you and Tubbo went up against Dream, yeah?” Wilbur looked around the cell. “What’re you doing in here?”

“Dream… he, uh, he said I brought attachment to the server, and since I’m too important to kill, he put me in here.” Tommy said, gesturing around him.

“Yeah? Huh. So get out of here, then.”

“Wilbur-” Tommy sighed. “I can’t, there is literally nothing I can do to escape. I can’t break through the walls, there’s mining fatigue. I can’t pearl out, they took all of my stuff. What would even be the point, anyway?”

Wilbur leaned against the wall, arms crossed and looking over at him thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound like the Tommy I know.”

“Yeah, well, things changed. People changed, places changed. Everything changed after you left. And… and I have enough self-respect to know when I’ve been beaten.”

“So you’re really going to just… give up now?” Wilbur asked. 

“There’s nothing left to do but give up, Wilbur. Dream won.”

“How do you expect to get out of here if you’ve given up before you even begin?”

“Wilbur, there’s obsidian, mining fatigue, lava-”

“So you’re just letting him win?”

“Dream blew up L’manburg, Wilbur.” Tommy could see Wilbur tense out of the corner of his eye. “Dream turned everyone against me during exile by framing me for the Community House, Dream murdered Tubbo.” Tommy’s fists tightened. “Tell me, what else do I have to lose Wilbur? What’s the point of me nearly dying trying to escape with Dream tracking me night and day, what do I have to fight for, anymore?!”

Wilbur’s gaze turned soft as his hand reached out toward Tommy’s. “Tommy, I-”

“We LOST, Wilbur.” Tommy snapped. “Dream won, and we… we lost.” Wilbur was silent as he looked toward Tommy with an expression the teen couldn’t recongnize. Pity? “We lost.” Tommy managed before his body shook again, closing his eyes and letting a few new tears slip. “Look, Will, I-”

And, when he opened his eyes, Wilbur was gone.

[wreckofawriter]

Colorful Fish

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: a bit angst, deals with religious trauma and abortions

A/n: Ok so I strated this a while ago when @coffee--writes gave me a song to write a fic about, the song hinted at helping a girl who had very religious parents andgot pregnant so here is this fic.

Important notice: This deals with religious trauma and some hard-core Catholic beliefs, if that makes you uncomfortable don't read it. Also if you are anti-choice first get tf off my blog, second this deals with abortion it will probably make you uncomfy

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Pain was something everyone lived with. It was scrapes on your knees and cuts in your fingers. It was priced for ears and breakups. Pain kept us alive, it kept us breathing. It told us to eat, to not touch this, or be careful around that. 

That's why the numbness was so terrifying.

You wanted to cry but the just tears wouldn't come so your eyes were dry, lids heavy. You didn't feel the ache in your back from the position you had pulled yourself into, the hard tile of the bathroom wall going unnoticed.

You felt like you had been thrust into some sort of thick fog. Your movements were slow and heavy, the rising and falling of your chest happening in half speed.

Your fingers shook as you fumbled with your phone, you typed in your password twice, both times your phone vibrated telling you to try again. You dropped it to the floor where it landed too loudly. 

Suddenly you felt sick again, your stomach churning, throwing a fit as you pushed yourself forward, one hand gathering your hair to keep it from your face as the other clutched the cool porcine of the toilet. 

You vomited twice, heaving for breaths before letting your head fall back to the wall again. 

You stretched to reach the handle flushing the tainted water. You tried your phone again finally opening it on the fourth try and found the desired contact at the top of your recents. You pressed call holding the device to your ear. 

A gravelly voice picked up on the third ring. 

"Princess do you have any idea what time it is?" Sirius asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his spare hand. 

You tried to speak your head feeling far away. 

Sirius paused another moment, "Baby are you okay?" 

"I'm pregnant." your voice was hollow.

The line dropped, nothing but silence responding. 

Sirius felt his heart fall into his stomach "I'm sorry, what?" 

You sighed, your mouth still thick with bile, "I'm pregnant." you repeated. 

It was quiet for a while, the small sounds of Sirius's breaths the only thing telling you he hadn't hung up.

"Well what do you want to do?" he finally asked, bewilderment stinging his tone. 

You paused squeezing your eyes shut, teeth gritted, "I don't fucking know." you finally responded, "I just threw up like four times and I'm exhausted. All I want to do right now is sleep." 

"Then do that." Sirius replied, "Do you want me to come over?" 

You shook your head, "No, my mom already hates you enough she would throw a fit if she found you in my bed." 

Sirius licked his lips hand running through his hair "Okay, I'll talk to you in a few hours. Sleep well." 

"Bye Siri," you mumbled.

"I love you princess." 

"Love you too." 

He was gone with a click.

You pulled yourself to your feet by the edge of your sink, pushed open the door slowly, and padded to your bedroom. You fell asleep only minutes after your head hit the pillow. 

You had never had too much of a problem growing up Catholic. The sure church was boring and prayers could be a pain but it hadn't had that much of an effect on your life until you grew older. 

Your first boyfriend had shown you the ugly colors your mother painted your religion with.

At fifteen you were sat down and told you would be going to hell if you did anything more than kiss the young boy you were with. 

At sixteen you were told not to be friends with that girl because she was a queer and not that boy because he never went to church. 

By seventeen you lived in fear of your mother and her God. Your respect for both deteriorating as you realized that God wasn’t nearly as kind as everyone else seemed to believe he was. Crosses started to look like knives as you struggled to figure out what the hell you were supposed to be.

When you met Sirius- a long-haired pagan with a pentagram tattooed on his ankle everything changed. He made things easy, he told you to believe what you wanted to, not what you were told. So you did. 

But that didn’t change the whispers of your neighbors and the hatred in your mother’s eyes when Sirius picked you up. 

Your mother had begged you to break things off with Sirius more times than you could count on one hand. It was one of the few things you didn’t let her convince you to do. Her words were sweet but the aftertaste was always bitter. 

So instead she ignored his existence, pretending you were single as she shoved your neighbor’s son's down your throat. You learned to live with it just as she learned to turn a blind eye to the roar of your boyfriend’s motorcycle. 

Out of all the ways you expected to wake a shrill scream was not one. Your heart launched and you popped upwards just as your mother slammed your door open. Its knob hit your wall so hard she would find chipped paint behind it later that night. 

“Mom, what’s wrong?” You asked in a mild panic half expecting Micheal Myers to come crashing in after her. 

But no one followed and instead, she stared at you in a way you had never seen before, her eyes narrowed her mouth in a tight scowl that reminded you of cracked leather, “You little slut.” she hissed.

Your eyes widened, “Mom?” 

“You whore!” She shrieked and you flinched, knees coming to your chest, “I always knew you would embarrass our family like this.”

    Your vision blurred, “What are you talking about?”

The pregnancy test hit you in the cheek hard enough to sting and your stomach churned.

“Get out.” your mother snarled. 

“Mom, I swear I never meant for you to find out.” You whimpered.

She stiffened, “So you were just gonna kill the baby then?” 

You weren’t sure how to respond.

“I will not have any sluts in my house let alone murders.” She heaved, “Call your satanist boyfriend and get out of my house.” With that, she turned on her heels and slammed your door shut behind her. 

    Sirius woke to the sound of his phone ringing again, he groaned, his eyes opening slowly as he tried to process the bright world around him. His phone was on its last ring when he finally picked up. 

    “Hey y/n/n what's-” He stopped as a broken sob met him.

    You spoke no actual words, only nonsense cut by sniffles and whimpers.

    Sirius was shocked awake already out of bed, phone pressed to his ear by his shoulder. “Baby, I need you to calm down.” He spoke slowly, “What’s going on, where are you?”

    “I-I,” another sob, “She kicked me out Siri.” you cried. 

    “What? Who? Your mom?” He asked, trying to wrap his mind around what was going on. 

    You nodded only realizing he couldn’t hear you a couple of seconds after, “Yeah, She-” You hiccuped, “She found the pregnancy test a-and,” You broke into sobs again. 

    Sirius stopped in his tracks. Right. You’re pregnant, “I'll be there in ten minutes okay?” 

    You nodded again, “Okay.” 

    “Do you want me to stay on the line?” Sirius asked as he attempted to put jeans on with one hand. 

    “No, it's not safe to dive on the phone.” You croaked, “I gotta pack anyway.” 

    “Okay, I love you y/n.” 

    “Love you too.” 

    The line clicked and Sirius swore throwing his phone onto his unmade bed just go pick it up again and call Remus. 

    His friend picked up after two rings, “Jeez Sirius did someone die? You’re never up this early.”

    Sirius wished he found that funny, “Y/n’s pregnant.” 

    Silence greeted him back, “You’re kidding.” 

    “I really wish I was,” He sighed, “Her bitch mother found out and kicked her out too.”

    A pause, “Oh shit.”

    “Yeah. Look I’ve gotta go pick her up but I’m gonna call you back later okay?” 

    ”Got it.”

    When the tears finally died the numbness came back like the effects of some sort of drug. You packed in silence shoving everything you could fit into a backpack you had from a trip you took in the 10th grade and a duffle bag, which still smelled like your field hockey socks. 

    The doorbell didn’t even ring, instead, you heard a shriek followed by heavy footsteps. Sirius entered your room and slammed your door on your mother who was chasing him down the hall. 

    Neither of you spoke as he drew you into a hug, your chin on his shoulder watching the door which never opened. 

    “You packed?” He asked and you nodded gesturing at the bags on your bed. 

    As you exited your room your mother just glared at you. You hung your head, tears landing on your sneakers. 

    Sirius felt his anger grow hot, it was never easy to tame and it roared loud in his ears. He stopped just inside the house watching as you descend the porch before turning to your mother who stared at him from the living room. 

    He scowled at her sneer, “Go fuck yourself, you bitch.” he spat, middle finger in the air. 

    You pretend nothing happened as you climbed onto his motorcycle tightening your backpack straps and whipping your tears. 

   

    You found yourself over Sirius’s toilet vomiting as you sobbed. He could do nothing but hold your hair away from your face and rub circles on your back, his own vision clouded by tears. You passed out not but twenty minutes later, crying yourself to sleep on his chest. After about an hour of watching you sleep, Sirius heard a knock on the door. He got up carefully, you didn’t even stir. 

    He opened the door to see Remus, his hands shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket. Sirius welcomed him in and he sat at the coffee table as Sirius got them each a beer. 

    “Is y/n here?” Remus asked.

    “Yeah, she’s sleeping,” Sirius responded. 

    Remus nodded, taking note of the red tinge around his friend’s eyes, “Do you guys have any idea what you’re going to do?” 

    Sirius shook his head, “We haven’t even talked about it yet, when she got here she started throwing up and then passed out.” 

    Remus waited a moment, “Do you want to keep it?” 

    Sirius wasn’t surprised by the question, he had been asking himself the same for hours now, “I don’t fucking know, I mean, we’re nineteen, we haven’t even talked about marriage yet, let alone kids.” His thoughts swirled, “And I haven’t even spoken to my parents since I was sixteen and now her mom practically disowned her I mean,” He sighed, “I just don’t know.”

    “Whatever you guys decide you know James, Lily, and I will be here for you,” Remus said patting Sirius on the shoulder. 

    He nodded, “I just can’t believe her mother kicked her out. I mean she’s her only daughter ya know and I just- I knew they hated me but I never thought she would do this to her.” 

    “Parents do terrible things Pads, you should know that.” Remus sighed.

    “Yeah, but you should have seen the way her mother looked at her. It was like she had committed some unforgivable crime or something, it was like she actually hated her.” 

    “It’s cuz she does.” You murmured dully from the hallway. 

    Sirius froze and Remus shifted uncomfortably. 

    You gave them both a battered smile, “It’s fine, it’s not like I don’t know.” 

    “Y/n I-,”

    “Really, it’s fine Sirius.” You said taking a seat beside him, “I’m over it.” That was a blatant lie. 

The three of you talked about meaningless things for a while, the distraction feeling like a breath of fresh air amongst the garbage you had been shoved into. You ordered Chinese takeout offering for Remus to stay for dinner but he explained he had classes in the morning and should probably be studying. 

    The easy atmosphere only lasted for a bit after he left and by the time dinner had arrived you felt like crying again. 

    Finally, Sirius brought it up, “So what do you want to do?” he spoke solemnly.

    You paused a shuddering sigh leaving your lips, “We can’t have a kid Sirius.” 

    “If you wanted to we could make it work.” Sirius countered.

    “We can’t have one Siri.” You repeated.

    “Listen y/n I could make it work, I would propose and-” 

    You scoffed.

    Sirius furrowed his brows, “What?”

    “Nothing.” 

    Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t slept even 5 hours the night before or maybe it was because he was stressed but for some reason that hurt, his thoughts spiraling, “You wouldn’t marry me?” 

    You looked confused, “What? I never said that.” 

    “You don’t have to.” He glared at you.

    “What are you talking about Sirius?” You asked.

    “I’m talking about the idea of me proposing to you being so laughable.” He snapped.

    Your face contorted in anger, “First of all I didn’t laugh at you, second it’s ridiculous because we are NINETEEN!” 

    More hurt, his thoughts went darker, “So you are admitting you wouldn’t marry me?” 

    “Right now I wouldn’t.” you respond. 

    Your words stung, “Why not?”

    “I just told you!” You yelled, “We’re too young!” 

    Sirius paused, you were right, you were too young, “You’re right I’m sorry.” he sighed, “I’m just kind of tired right now.” 

    “I know Siri,” You mumbled, “I am too.” 

    Silence fell as you both found yourself trying to pull together a piece of your sanity. The clock ticked and the wind shuddered the windows in their frames. 

    “I don’t want a kid Sirius.” You sighed, “I know you don’t either.” 

    He didn’t protest, you were right yet again.

    “I’m going to go to the clinic tomorrow.” You spoke, “It’s definitely the best option.”

    “What about your mom.” Sirius asked, “You know she would never forgive you.” 

    There was another moment of quiet, “I think I’m okay with that.”  you spoke and you were telling the truth. 

    A strange sense of relief filled you as you sat in the clinic's parking lot, you were finally putting this behind you, your life could go somewhat back to normal. Except for the fact that you were going back to your house in two days when you knew your mom was gone to clean out your room of course. It felt good to be out of that house, the eggshells you were so used to walking on being replaced by Sirius hardwood floors and patterned rugs. Something about all of this felt right, like you had taken that leap and instead of hitting the harsh rock you expected, you hit warm water filled with colorful fish. 

   

    Your mother didn’t try to contact you for years, sometimes you forget she even existed. You kept yourself busy, finally deciding on a major for college and helping Lily and James with a wedding and then a child. 

    Living with Sirius was like a dream, sometimes when you got up early you would just watch him sleep, his hair always hanging in front of his eyes as he took slowed, heavy breaths. You taught him how to properly cook food, something he had been incapable of doing for far too long. You were truly happy for the first time in a while. 

    When you were twenty-two Sirius got on one knee and you could not have said yes faster. You were ready then. 

Three weeks before the wedding you got a call from your mother. You damn near dropped the phone when you heard her voice. Part of you expected an apology the other part knew she was far too stubborn. And she was, you didn’t even listen to her lecture on how you were marrying a nobody, instead, you hung up and blocked the number. 

    You had the wedding in late spring, just before the flowers began to wilt and turn to leaves, Remus got himself ordained and you sealed it all with a kiss under a cherry tree. You and Sirius were okay with having no relatives at your wedding because while no blood of yours was in the audience your true family was and that was all that mattered. 

Taglist:

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[super-secret-sick-fics]

hii you said that requests were open so i was wondering if you’d want to write an iwaoi sick fic? like it’s a middle of a practice match agaisnt some school and oikawa feels sick but doesn’t tell anyone beforehand?

Hello and thank you for the request!! I hope this is kinda what you wanted. I tried :) sorry it took me a minute!

An Off Day: an IwaOi Sick fic

Pairing: Sick Oikawa, Caretaker Iwaizumi

Words: ? (I didn’t get a count sorry—longer though)

Warnings: fever, passing out, cursing

————————

It was a dull day.

Oikawa sat in class, his head resting on his palm, and everything just felt faded. Existing as a human today seemed like entirely too much work.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but his entire day, his surroundings, his overall demeanor�� none of them were as vivid and bright as usual. Things were just...off.

He felt off.

A lethargic and overall blah feeling clung to him like a thick winter coat, making him feel like he couldn’t breathe and leaving his head muddled. He didn’t know what was going on with his body and it was incredibly frustrating.

Oikawa scoffed to himself, ignoring the curious side eye from the girl next to him, and resolutely decided to ignore the dull, blah feeling. Surely if he willed himself to feel less blah, then that would put the pep back in his step. Besides, this was his last class of the day and then it was time for practice.

They were playing some no-name, no-skill team in what Oikawa deemed a “charity” practice match. For the other team, it would be a learning experience. For Seijoh, it would be another victory to add to their running total.

Class finally ended and he stood up to head to the club room. Immediately, his knees buckled and black spots danced in his vision. A small hand grasped his upper arm and held him steady. Once the spots cleared, he saw the small girl who sits next to him looking up at him, concern etched into her face.

“Oikawa-san? You look pale. You should go home and rest. I’m sure they’ll be okay without you at practice today.” He shook his head.

“I just got up too fast. Thank you for helping me out,” he smiled and she hesitantly let his arm go. She nodded, grabbed her bag, and left the classroom.

Oikawa, much to his dismay, was still dizzy though. He placed his hands on his desk and ducked his head, squeezing his eyes shut while he waited for it to pass.

In the club room, he met up with Iwaizumi and chatted with his other teammates here and there, resolutely ignoring the fatigue thay plagued him.

Warm-ups came and went and their coach went over the rotation for the practice match. All the while, the lethargy he felt never went away like he thought it would. In fact, it seemed to be increasing and there was now a dull, consistent thudding in his head. Maybe it was more than just an off day? Maybe something was wrong?

He didn’t get much time to explore the new thoughts, because the other team arrived and their practice match began. Oikawa was right; the other team wasn’t a challenge in the slightest. The fact that it was any easy game didn’t make him feel any better about his complete lack of game.

Nearly every single one of his sets was wrong. Too high or too low. Too far left or right. The ball wasn’t settling in his fingers the way he needed it too and it all irritated him to no end.

He couldn’t concentrate. Every now and then, the court tilted dangerously sideways and he had to consciously ground his feet to bring it back to equilibrium. He was starting to feel weak. His limbs weighed about 1,000 lbs, making every lift of his arms to set the ball or movement of his legs to cross the court a Herculean effort. All he wanted was to curl up on the ground and take a nap.

“Hey, you okay?” Matsu walked up to him during a break between serves and put a hand on his shoulder. He was frowning. Oikawa glowered at him.

Was he okay? No. Of course not. He was 98% sure that he had a fever. Would that stop him from playing? No. Of course not. This was an easy team to beat. If he couldn’t push through this, then he wasn’t worth anything to his team.

“Yeah. Fine.” He snapped. Matsuhana put his hands up and backed away. Play resumed.

It was just a cold. He could shake this feeling if he just pushed through it hard enough. If Oikawa was confident of anything, it was his ability to ignore negative feelings and punch through bad moods.

That confidence slowly drained out of Oikawa along with any energy and focus he may have had the longer the game continued.

The two teams switched sides of the court and Iwaizumi appeared at his side.

“Hey, what’s the deal? You okay? We should have taken this set a long time ago,” he grumbled, his usual grumpy tone setting all of Oikawa’s already frazzled nerves even more on edge. His lip curled as he glanced over at his best friend.

“Thanks, Iwa-chan, I didn’t realize,” he sneered. Iwa’s eyes widened and he blinked comically. Oikawa would have made a joke if he wasn’t feeling so shitty.

“Don’t take it out on me, Trashykawa,” Iwa’s eyes narrowed, “your sets have been off all match.”

Oikawa felt like he was slapped in the face because he knew that. Of course he was more than aware that not a single one of his sets hit their mark yet. It was eating away at him and it made his stomach churn. He could do this though. He would not let his team down.

“I know,” he muttered. Iwa’s face changed again, but Oikawa’s vision blurred and he couldn’t make out what expression the ace had. He walked away.

“Oi, come back here a seco—“ Iwa started but was cut off by their coach.

“Iwaizumi! You gonna stand around and talk all day or are you gonna let us resume the match?”

He glanced one more time at Oikawa before getting into position. Oikawa thought maybe he looked concerned or upset or something, but he honestly didn’t have the energy to figure it out. It was all he could do to stand up right.

The set continued and each passing second was an eternity to Oikawa. Black spots popped up more frequently and he had to squeeze his eyes shut quickly and exhale to keep himself from passing out. It was a losing battle.

The dull thud in his head grew into a steady pounding that took up residence behind his eyes, leaving him vaguely nauseated. It was getting harder to breathe, even though he wasn’t running around like he normally would be. The gym swirled and he blinked several times, but it wasn’t going back to normal. The sounds of shouting and squeaking shoes faded away, replaced by a strange roaring sound.

Oikawa realized very quickly that he was in serious trouble.

“Oikawa!” Wataru’s shout cut through the roaring and sent a sharp pain through his head. As quickly as it left, the roaring in his ears returned and with it, his vision completely blacked out. It took all his effort to call out for help.

“Iwa-cha—“ the sound got caught in his throat and his body crumpled to the floor.

The next thing he knew, Oikawa was staring at the ceiling. He blinked a few times and groaned. The lights beaming down on him reminded him of the migraine he definitely had and he shivered. Why was he on the ground?

“Tooru? Oh thank god,” Iwa’s face entered his field of vision (and blocked the light, thankfully). His voice was shaking and desperate, adding to Oikawa’s confusion.

“Iwa-chan?” He said feebly.

“Are you okay? What hurts? Fuck, Tooru. You scared the shit out of me,” Iwaizumi was frantic, his hands cupping Oikawa’s face, making the sick boy cringe. Touching was no good. He didn’t want that right now.

The corners of Iwaizumi’s mouth pulled down and his eyebrows scrunched. He moved one of his hand’s to Oikawa’s forehead and the other to his own. His eyes blew wide.

“Holy shit, Tooru! Why didn’t you tell anyone you were sick, dumbass?”

Oh. He’d been caught.

“Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t know?” He smiled weakly up at his best friend, who scoffed in return.

“Idiot,” he mumbled before turning his head towards somewhere above Oikawa. The lights pierced Oikawa’s vision and he moaned when his head pulsated. He tried to curl up, but Iwaizumi was already trying to get him standing.

“Coach, he’s got a fever,” Iwaizumi shouted across the gym and Oikawa’s knees buckled. Luckily, Iwa’s arms were securely around his waist.

“I’m gonna take him to the club room and call one of our moms to come pick us up. Do you need me here?”

“No, go take care of our idiot captain,” their coach responded, his arms crossed over his chest. Normally, Oikawa would’ve squaked at the insult, but it was taking all of his attention to stay awake.

“We got this man. Go handle the child,” Makki snickered.

“Mean, Makki,” Oikawa managed to whine as he and Iwa stumbled out of the gym.

By the time they got back to the club room, Oikawa was sweating profusely, panting, and leaning almost all of his weight on Iwaizumi.

Iwa led them to the back of the clubroom and guided them down to sit against the wall. Oikawa shivered and immediately curled into Iwa’s side.

“How the hell did you let it get so bad, Shittykawa,” Iwa questioned. His tone held more concern than malice and it settled Oikawa’s nerves ever so slightly.

“Mmm, so warm Iwa-chan,” was all Oikawa could respond with. Iwaizumi scoffed, but threw an arm around Oikawa’s shoulder and pulled him closer anyway. The setter smiled.

“Yo, who should I call?” Iwaizumi asked, his tone still lacking its normal gruffness.

“Everyone in my family is working right now, Iwa-chan. No one is going to pick up,” Oikawa said. His throat was getting sore now. That means he’s sick sick. He frowned. Another shiver shot up his spine.

Iwa sighed, “okay. I’ll call my mom. She won’t be able to get here for at least half an hour though. Will you be okay until then? We can take the bus if you want.”

Oikawa nuzzled into Iwa’s shoulder. The smallest hints of his cologne were still present, despite getting sweaty from practice.

“No. No bus. We’ll want for Auntie, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll call her.”

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa yawned. His eyes started drifting closed. Man, did a nap sound perfect right now.

“Don’t apologize, Tooru. Just scared me,” Iwa muttered and Oikawa felt the ace’s nose nuzzle into the top of his head. He relaxed further, in spite of the chills running through his body.

“Get some rest. I’ll wake you when my mom gets here,” Iwa whispered and Oikawa couldn’t remember the last time he sounded so soft. At least towards him anyway. Iwaizumi pulled Oikawa down gently so the setter’s head was pillowed on his lap.

Oikawa fell asleep to Iwaizumi’s gentle hands carding through his hair.