#only 2 and a half years left from this nightmare

[artemiss-moonchild]

.

[rainbadinosaur]

We are NOT doing well tonight fam 💃🏼 Crying in the club? Nah, we got a fucking monsoon up in this bitch

Reasons in tags, but it's long so buckle up chucklefucks 😎

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

DP x DC AU

Danny's gonna adopt all the Halfas in Gotham whether he wants to or not, and it's gonna start with the little dead girl he found after crawling out of that portal in the league base.

Pt 2 here. My Au Art

...........................

There's a dead little girl sitting on the rug in front of Danny's coffee table curiously eating Cheetos.

Well, she's not all the way dead, only half, could even be a little less then that, Danny would know he's sort of the leading expert on being half dead.

Her skins blue, like comic book mystique blue, vibrant and impossible to miss. Shes got these big black eyes and a nasty split going straight through her upper lip to just under her right eye.

She's also missing her nose, it's just gone, no cartilage left over just the gaping nasal cavity like skulls have.

The little girl looks dead, she is dead, or she's at least as dead as Danny is which is almost exclusively in name only.

Her name is Curaré, Danny only knows it because it's been branded into the skin of the little girls neck, just under the curve of her bald skull.

Curaré is terribly thin, the little toddler sized T-shirt she has on hangs loose around her torso where baby fat should fill it out.

She's horrible to look at, a tiny nightmare, her corpse like coloring doing nothing to mitigate the appearance.

Curaré was neither a healthy nor normal little girl, there was no way Danny could have left that league facility without her.

Oh and she almost exclusively spoke in Spanish which made finding her dinner hard.

Not that Cheetos are really dinner, little kids need to eat more then that Danny was pretty sure, like 89% sure. Although they did have a lot of calories...

Danny tilts his head absently as he looks at her, the little demon being illuminated red and green by the glow of the TV. She's enraptured by the Scooby doo rerun Gotham's only spanish language channel is playing tonight.

As if she can feel his eyes she turns to him and tilts her head the same way.

Danny blinks at her, Curaré blinks back.

" Uh- " Danny starts, trying to remember anything from his Spanish elective from sophomore year. God, his teacher had been right he had needed to study more. " The Cheetos, you like them? They're uh...bueno? Oh! Son Buenos?"

He points his finger down at the snack sized bag in her grasp, her fingers are tiny , they must be so fragile, looking at the desperate grasp they have on the bag makes Danny's chest hurt. How could anyone be so small? Had Danny ever been that small?

Curaré blinks again, long and slow, processing Danny's words. She looks down at her Cheetos and back up at Danny then she carefully holds the bag out to him.

" Oh no that's ok they're for you kiddo" Danny insists.

Curaré shakes the bag at him, like enticing a stray cat with treats but he only shakes his head again.

She gives up after that, shrugging and turning back to her cartoons.

Inside her chest Danny can feel her ghost core vibrate placidly as Scooby and Shaggy run across the TV in a panic.

Danny's own core can't help but try to match it's frequency, a low contented humming echoes between them, safe it seems to say.

Curaré can't be older then 4, which means she was resurrected young and that she died even younger. Danny doesn't know how any of it happened, halfas aren't created easily, the amount of energy needed...

She's so small.

He hopes it was fast, whatever it was that did this to her, made her like him.

Danny also hopes that her injuries aren't permanent. Some ghosts keep the carnage of their corpses well into the after life but as a Halfa Curaré should heal, even if she got those injuries during her ressurction. For her sake it'll be much easier to find some sense of normalcy if she isn't always actively bleeding, even if the blood itself is just an ecto-echo of real blood.

Danny curls his knees up to his chest and hides his face for a moment just trying to breathe. He's too young to be taking care of a toddler, he's still six months away from turning 18 and hes got school on Monday. His eyes burn and his throat constricts as he tries to swallow.

No one else but Danny would know how to take care of Curaré, and she's got no family to try and stumble their way through it. Danny can't take her back to the league and he sure as hell isn't going to search for whoever put that brand on her neck.

Even if he dropped her off at the fire station Gotham only has one Meta focused orphanage, it's state run and all the kids in it have to wear little prison style jump suits. And the food sucks, Danny can personally vouch for that.

She doesn't have a home, she's just as out of place here in Gotham as Danny is. Danny really wishes, not for the first time, that he had an adult here. Like Jazz or hell even Mr. Fuckin Lancer.

Just anyone. Anyone who could tell Danny what to do about this. Who could help him out with the child he's suddenly acquired.

He wishes anyone else was here so it wouldn't just be him and Curaré. Two dead kids sitting on the floor of a studio apartment in the Bowery watching cartoons.

What a pair the two of them will make, oh God. Danny laughs as a few tears stain his jeans.

Curaré makes a curious little noise that has Danny forcing his head up. She's reached the inevitable end of her snack sized bag and she looks absolutely devastated. She turns to look at him, tilting the empty bag towards him as if to say ' can you believe this shit!'

Danny can't help but give her a watery smile, no more crying Fenton, and wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

" Okay, one thing at a time." Danny tells himself. " You finished your Cheetos and now it's time for dinner, right? Stop me if I'm wrong."

Curaré just looks at him.

Danny's not worried, they're gonna have all the time in the world to teach her to appreciate humour and also English.

" I'm going to take that as a yes. " Danny hops up off the floor and goes to find his phone, nobody does dinner like the local Batburger.

Little foot steps follow him into the hallway, he'll have to get used to that sound he's going to be hearing it a lot.

Food first, everything would be better after they ate.

...............

For BG I imagine he's been living in Gotham for a few months and found Curaré while popping in and out of different portals in Gotham. (Who woulda guessed that some portal in Gotham leads right to the lazarus pit)

Note: if u wanna see cool art for this AU it's all in the Danny and the little dead girl au tag on my pg!

[mcdynamite]

Eddie always tries to be as quiet as he can when he gets home from late shifts at the bar – holding his keys tightly so they don’t jangle too much and avoiding turning on lights if he can help it. Steve is usually asleep by the time he makes it home smelling of greasy bar food and whatever beer blew its keg that evening all over his uniform tee, and Eddie hates waking him. His boyfriend doesn’t get much sleep as it is. The last thing he needs is for Eddie to come tumbling through the door and interrupting the precious few hours he gets every night.

So every time Eddie gets home from work in the earliest hours of the new day, he tries to be as quiet as possible.

And every time, Steve wakes up anyways.

Contrary to what most people might assume, it’s actually not Eddie’s fault that Steve can never sleep through his homecomings. (Years of living in a thin-walled trailer with a man who worked nights and slept during the days made him a master of moving stealthily through his home, after all.) It’s just that Steve Harrington is the lightest sleeper who’s ever lived.

According to Steve, he wasn’t always this way – he used to sleep through alarm clocks and his mother banging on his bedroom door to get him up for school, when he was younger. No, the light sleeper thing didn’t start until after Steve learned that monsters were real, and it only got worse after Upside Down Part 2: Electric Boogaloo, when suddenly he had a whole troupe of children to worry about all night. Every little creak of the floorboards could be a demogorgon, or a preteen in need of help fighting off a pack of demodogs. Faint police sirens in the distance could be headed to Steve’s house, where some uniformed cop would come knock on the door and tell him that something had happened to one of the kids.

It sounds like a nightmare, in Eddie’s opinion – not being able to sleep more than a handful of hours a night – but Steve always shrugs it off, like he’s already gotten so used to it that he hardly notices it anymore, and Eddie thinks that might be the case. It makes him feel horribly guilty (and maybe a little sad) whenever Eddie is the cause of Steve’s late-night wakefulness, but despite his desire for his boyfriend to get the sleep he needs, Eddie can never quite force himself to be too upset whenever Steve stirs as Eddie tiptoes into their shared bedroom.

Because sleepy Steve Harrington is, frankly, infuriatingly adorable, and tonight is no exception.

He hears, rather than sees, Steve wake up in the darkness of their room. It starts with a little snuffle, then a rustling of bedsheets, and finally – like always – a gravelly, endearingly hopeful, “Eds?”

Eddie’s heart warms in his chest, melting away the ice left there by a long shift dealing with drunk idiots and coworkers who would rather bitch about their jobs than actually do them. His job is exhausting at the best of times, and downright soul-sucking at the worst, but it’s okay, because at least at the end of the day, he gets to come home to this.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he sighs tiredly, ignoring the part of him that balks at being foiled again in his quest to let Steve get some sleep. Carefully, he toes off his shoes and makes his way to the edge of the bed so he can brush a few messy strands of hair from Steve’s forehead.

Steve instantly tilts his head to press into the touch, and Eddie can’t help but smile. “Wha’time s’it?” Steve slurs.

Eddie glances at the clock on their bedside table and nearly winces when he sees just how late it is. “Almost two,” he murmurs guiltily. He can see Steve’s mouth turn down into a frown now that his eyes have adjusted to the lack of light.

“S’late,” Steve mumbles. He rolls onto his side and reaches blindly for Eddie, hand eventually wrapping around Eddie’s bony wrist and squeezing gently in a mostly subconscious show of sympathy. His eyes blink open – bleary and unfocused – and scan over Eddie’s face. “Everything ‘kay?” Even half-asleep, he’s a worrier. Eddie finds it both endearing and a little heartbreaking.

He smiles, despite himself, and begins to card his fingers through Steve’s sleep-mussed hair, an unbearably fond feeling settling in his belly when Steve lets his eyes flutter shut again. “Yeah, sweetheart, everything’s fine,” he assures his tired boyfriend. “Just a long night. Pacers game a few blocks down, y’know? Spent a whole extra hour after close catching up on bar dishes.”

Steve furrows his brow and makes a discontented noise. “Gross,” he mutters, and Eddie huffs out a laugh. God, he is so stupidly in love with this beautiful, bitchy man.

“Very,” he hums in agreement.

“Y’should come to bed,” Steve says, and his voice is almost whiny, just like it always is when he tries to coax Eddie into their bed without a proper shower. He does it almost every night, and it almost never works. It’s certainly not going to work tonight, with Eddie smelling of shitty beer and grease.

“In a bit,” Eddie sighs, bending to press a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Gotta shower first.”

Steve properly whines at that, petulantly mumbling something incoherent.

“Baby, I’m covered in Miller and fryer grease. Do you really want me getting that shit all over our pillowcases?” Eddie says fondly.

“I want you to come cuddle with me,” Steve grumbles.

It takes more effort than is probably reasonable for Eddie to stifle the cackle threatening to burst from his chest. “In a few minutes, ‘kay? Just gonna go wash off real quick, and then I’ll come cuddle, you needy little bastard.”

“You’d better,” Steve says not at all threateningly. Eddie just laughs and kisses his forehead again before dragging himself away and into their little apartment bathroom for a quick shower. There’s a ninety percent chance Steve will be asleep again by the time Eddie makes it into bed, in ten minutes, so he can’t really bring himself to feel too guilty.

Still, true to his word, he showers quickly – rinsing all of the greasy smell out of his hair and scrubbing the spilled beer from his skin. He uses the bergamot soap Steve got him for Christmas, because he knows Steve likes it, and Eddie likes when Steve likes things. (And he’ll never admit this, but he doesn’t hate the smell of bergamot, either.)

When he’s finished, he quickly towels himself off and slips on the pair of plaid boxers Steve left out on the bathroom counter for him earlier (just one of those little, caring things that Steve does every day that make Eddie love him all the more). He plaits his wet curls so he doesn’t wake up with hair worse than Doc from Back to the Future, then he finally, finally, makes his way to bed.

Steve’s breathing is a slow, steady rhythm, but the way he instantly shifts closer to Eddie the moment he climbs into bed is a clear indicator that he hasn’t quite managed to fall back to sleep yet. Eddie has hardly had a chance to pull the covers up before Steve is pushing back into him, silently demanding the safety of his arms.

Eddie is all too happy to oblige.

It’s automatic and achingly familiar when Eddie rolls onto his side and wraps his arms around Steve, pulling his boyfriend close so Steve’s back is pressed to his front. Even then, it doesn’t seem to be close enough for Steve, who wiggles back even further until it nearly becomes impossible to tell where he ends and Eddie begins. It’s so disgustingly sweet that Eddie sort of wants to cry. Instead, he buries his nose in the crook of Steve’s neck and leaves a soft kiss just behind his ear.

“Hi, baby,” Eddie breathes as Steve rests one of his hands atop the one Eddie has tucked under his side and laces their fingers together. He leans forward slightly to kiss Steve’s cheek, just because he can, and before he can pull away to settle against the pillow, Steve turns his head to capture Eddie’s lips in a soft, barely-there kiss. The kind of kiss that instantly settles even the most frantic parts of Eddie’s soul.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, lips still brushing together, and Eddie can both hear and feel the way his mouth has curved upwards into a smile. Eddie gives him one more peck on the lips before they both fall into their pillows again. “Missed you,” Steve whispers. It makes Eddie smile and shake his head with tired amusement.

“Missed you, too,” he whispers, even though it’s only been ten or so hours since they last saw each other. Christ, when did he become such a goddamn sap?

(He knows the answer to that question, obviously. Eddie “The Freak” became Eddie “The Sap” the first time Steve Harrington looked at him with that secret little smile on his face – the one he reserves for Eddie and Eddie alone, these days. The one that silently says, I love you.)

Steve hums contentedly and snuggles deeper into Eddie. God, he’s so fucking sweet like this. Eddie loves him so fucking much.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, moving his free hand to run his fingers through Steve’s hair, because he knows it helps his baby sleep.

Steve’s voice is already sleepy again when he murmurs, “’kay,” and then, even softer: “Love you.”

Eddie smiles. Holds Steve just a little bit tighter. Gives Steve’s hand an extra little squeeze and marvels at the fact that after everything – after murder accusations and monsters and government payouts and three fucking years as a senior at Hawkins High – he gets to have this. And sure, maybe he’s feeling a little extra sappy because of the simple ring he’s got buried in his guitar case – the one Robin helped him pick out just a few days ago, even though they can’t technically get married in the state of Indiana. Maybe that’s why he smiles a bit wider tonight with Steve in his arms…why his heart thumps a bit harder at every sleepy snuffle his boyfriend makes…

But the sappiness stopped bothering him a long time ago, when his sharpest edges were sanded out by the presence of the little family he found in the aftermath of the Upside Down, so Eddie doesn’t mind. Soon, he’ll be able to fall asleep next to his fiancé, instead of his boyfriend. They’ll get to call all of their adoptive rugrats and tell them the news, and Steve will be beaming so brightly it might just blind him. And it’ll be perfect.

For now, Eddie just lets himself sink into the warmth of having Steve Harrington in his arms.

And he sleeps.

This is for @steddie-week Day 5: Established Relationship. Just a little ficlet that popped into my head at literally 2 in the morning. I hope y'all enjoy!

[wongyuuu]

[2:08] glimpse of us

Seungcheol runs up the stairs, out of breath. There’s no military or gym training in the world that can prepare someone to run up 8 flights of stairs and he shouldn’t have done it to begin with. There were elevators but neither was there when he entered the building so he had the bright of just taking the stairs. 

The truth was, he was nervous. So incredibly so that staying in place waiting for the elevator to come back seemed too much, it was physically impossible for him just to stay put. The car ride had been a nightmare, his leg jumping up and down to the point his manager had to tell him to stop because “you’re shaking the entire car”.

He thought about his decision a lot, for months that was all he did. Thinking and taking no action at all. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he just couldn’t. 

Breaking up with you had been one of the hardest things he had ever done and what made it worse was the fact that you understood what he said. You understood why he was breaking up with you. Seungcheol would have rather you just screamed at him, hit him, lash out at him, or anything to show anger. He had promised you the world, everything he could, everything he had, and yet there he was taking it all back. 

He had watched, in complete despair, as tears ran down your face, your eyes seeming lost, focused on the window behind him, as you took in everything he had said. When Seungcheol was done talking you finally looked back at him. Your eyes glistened with tears, your cheeks stained with them. You blinked at him a few times as if trying to get something back in place, to get your thoughts in order. Collect them, somehow.

“I understand, Seventeen always comes first”

It was something he said many times. That was his job, to protect his members at all costs. Even at the expense of himself and his life. 

That was the last thing you said directly at him. And you managed to avoid him so well. In events both of you had to attend, he only saw glimpses of you. If there was a camera to his face, or yours, he couldn’t just look at you like he wanted, when you were performing all he could do was nod once or twice. If you happened to pass by him or his members, all you’d do was say a polite “hello” and bow your head. 

His heart broke every single time and he knew yours wasn’t doing much better either. Seungcheol knew you, he knew your tells, even as you did your best to control all of your emotions. 

That happened two and a half years before. Seungcheol had gone on tour and then enlisted, as planned. And every single day his heart had longed only for you. 

Maybe he was reading too much into it, maybe he was just projecting his own feelings in the thing he saw — or thought that he saw—, but Seungcheol was sure that you still felt the same way about him. If not the same then something still very similar. He knew it from the lyrics you wrote, and the things you said in interviews. 

“The color red hunts me, I think” you said once, laughing. 

Maybe he was projecting, yes, but there was also a chance that he may be right. And that was a chance he was willing to take, even if it turned sour the second he knocked on your door.

He did his best to pull the air back into his lungs in five seconds before finally knocking on the door. Seungcheol wasn’t even sure you were home, he just went there in hopes of finding you. 

It took you almost an entire minute to get to the door. Seungcheol didn’t want to get his hopes up, logically he knew that two and half years is a very long time and you could have been with someone else, or could just not want anything to do with him. But seeing you in a shirt he had left behind ignited a new spark of confidence in him.

“What are you doing here?” you said. 

It was hard to believe that he was actually there, truly in front of you, still in his uniform. You had seen on the news that he was bound to be discharged any day now but the precise one was kept a secret from the fans and thus everyone else. 

The last thing you expected was to see him on your door, in the same uniform every had gone crazy over. He looked taller, somehow, his shoulders wider than they used to be. It was something you knew was bound to happen to see it, in front of your very eyes was on your bucket list after the breakup.

“I need to ask you two questions,” he said.

You crossed your arms over your chest when you realized he had been looking at your shirt. His shirt, actually. You had managed to get rid of many of his things that had been left behind, that shirt wasn’t one of them. At first, it was because it smelled like him, it was a source of comfort when your heart was breaking time and time again. His perfume had disappeared a long time ago but still, there was no way to get rid of it. 

“Are you dating someone right now?”

Seungcheol opened and closed his fists, waiting for your answer. He didn’t know, had no idea, that he would get that nervous around you again. It was like when he first asked you out but so much worse because now he was trying to make amends. 

“That’s hardly any of your business,” you said, voice tired “but no, I’m not”

You sighed and ran a hand over your face. 

“Do you still love me?” his tone was almost desperate.

He knew that whichever your answer was, it would change his entire life. He would either be over the moon or your words would seal the nails on the coffin. 

“Seungcheol, why are you doing this?” your voice was barely a whisper. 

The last thing he wanted was to see you cry because of him, again. It was like that day, in his apartment all those years before, crushing his heart once more.  Instead of waiting for your answer, Seungcheol took the two steps separating you. He held your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours once again, to make sure that he wasn’t crossing any lines, that you too wanted that.

You sighed into him the moment his lips pressed over yours, your arms going around his waist, pulling him closer to you. Two and half years and nothing had changed.

“I do, I still do”

taglist: @wonwooz1, @ryuwonieebae, @sobun1est, @mirtaspace, @feat-sun, @belladaises, mhlsymlysn, @swinterr, @immabecreepin, @uniq-tastic, @miriamxsworld, @aaniag, @byunparklimchoi, @k-drama-adict, @maiamorrrrrrrrrrrr, @ignoretheskies, @roguesthetic, @sofix-hc7, @scarlet789, @moonlightgrleric, @r6njunlv, @mixling-blog, @cinnamongirl127, @haowonbins, @valgracia, @slut4donghyuck, @manutuankim, @shuabby1994, @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan, @sukiscones, @plumings, @shuasdrafts, @aaasia111111, @bouclesdefeu, @dreamsbloomout

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[wineauntie]

IT ISN’T THE END OF THE WORLD— q.hughes x hughes sister!reader

summary: three times that Quinn comforted you and one of the times you returned the favour.

notes: big brother Quinn is my Roman Empire, I can’t lie! You are five years younger than Quinn.

warnings: literally the fluffiest of fluffs, use of y/n and y/n/n, fem!reader.

word count: 3.5k+

1. being left out – aged six and eleven

You sat on the grass outside of your home, your knees tucked into your chest as tears dripped down your face. Ahead of you, Jack and Luke were skating around in rollerblades with a singular net set up on the tarmac as they played a game of hockey. You'd tried to join them, even going as far as strapping up your purple rollerskates but when you'd asked your two older brothers to join them, they'd outright told you that you weren't allowed.

"Y/n/n, this is boys only game," Jack had explained, half lifting you towards the grass and away from the road. "You can't play!"

"Yeah, you can't play," Luke piped up, fidgeting with his stick, his curls peeking out from beneath his helmet.

"But-" You'd tried to wiggle out of Jack's grasp as you reached the grass.

"Stay on the grass," Jack had urged, patting your head before he skated back towards Luke.

Your bottom lip trembled as you collapsed onto the grass beneath you, being forced to watch rather than partake. You couldn't understand why you couldn't just play with them. And as you cried, neither of the two boys noticed your tears or your splotchy face.

"Mom said dinner will be ready in an hour!"

Quinn's voice called out from the front door, in shock, you turned just in time for him to glance towards you. His face fell at the sight of your miserable eyes and he quickly shut the front door before making his way towards you.

"What's wrong?" His worried voice caused your lower lip to tremble once more. Even at eleven years old, Quinn was your protector. He was the one you ran to with every small problem, the one who'd sit you down and explain things and the one who you secretly favoured the most.

You cast a look over to Luke and Jack who continued their game, before you dropped your head between your knees. Quinn sighed and carefully sat beside you, his legs stretching out far beyond your own.

"What's wrong, y/n/n?"

That was what made you burst into tears again. A very startled Quinn rapidly put his arm around you, hugging you into his side. Your tears began to stain his shirt as he awkwardly patted your head.

"Jack and Luke won't let me play!" You wailed, as a small scowl crossed Quinn's face. "They said I have to stay here...I hate here!"

"C'mon now," Quinn tried to calm you. "We don't need to play with those two stupids." You let out a sniffly laugh as you rested against his shoulder.

"Mom said you can't call them stupid anymore," you croaked out, and now it was Quinn's turn to laugh.

"I know but I'll tell you a secret–they are!"

You smiled and looked towards your two brothers who were now fighting, pushing one another back and forth.

"How about you and me go in and have a tea party?" He suggested, scrunching his nose up as he watched Jack and Luke battle it out. "We can even dress up?" You jumped to your feet excitedly, dragging Quinn up with you.

"Please!" You giggled, pulling Quinn towards the house, your tears long forgotten. "I have a tiara for you!" Quinn painted an excited expression across his face, but very real happiness spread through his body at the sight of your joy.

2. the nightmares – aged eight and thirteen

You shot awake with a startled gasp, your small hands clutching your childhood teddy. You'd been getting nightmares for weeks yet you couldn't pinpoint where they'd begun— in reality, Jack had told you countless ghost stories about a small evil ghost lurking in your room, and you seemed to have taken that story to heart.

Tears welled in your eyes as you glanced around your room in terror, the light of a pink wall flower illuminated the majority of the room...yet the shadows that lingered left your body shaking. The horrors from your nightmares, which couldn't be remembered, haunted you and the thought of going back to sleep was virtually impossible.

Your bottom lip trembled as you clutched your teddy to your chest, and jumped out of the bed towards the hallway, not daring to look behind you. The light from the bathroom down the hall illuminated the darkness, as you stood dead centre with your head tilted slightly.

You didn't know where to go.

You'd already run to your mom and dad multiple times during the night and your little self felt rather guilty. You knew they needed their sleep– everyone did.

You stifled a whimper, your tears dripping down your face as you glanced down the hall, noticing a door slightly open. Without another thought, you rushed down the hall, your bare feet slapping against the wooden flooring as you entered the open door.

You slipped into the dark room, your teddy close to your chest as you approached the lump beneath the covers on the bed by the window. Soft snores echoed through the room as you crept towards the bed as quietly as possible. Your tears were still falling, as you sniffled and carefully tapped the lump's shoulder.

You watched as he stirred, and then a familiar voice broke through the darkness, "What time is it?" The voice was groggy with sleep, but the concern was evident.

"I had a nightmare again, Q," you whispered with bleary eyes, your voice trembling with pure fear and exhaustion. "I can't sleep. I'm sorry..."

Quinn sat up, rubbing his eyes before reaching out to pull you into a comforting embrace. "Shh, it's okay. C'mere," he yawned while reassuring you, his arms enveloping you in warmth and security. He lifted you onto the bed, his half-lidded eyes glancing towards his digital clock that blinked the time 3:45 am.

You buried your face into his chest, clinging to him as if he were your lifeline. His steady heartbeat beneath your ear offered a soothing rhythm, calming your racing thoughts.

"Want me to go tell Mom?" He asked, earning him a rapid shake of the head from you.

"Okay...do you want to stay here?" Quinn hesitantly offered with as soft of a voice as he could muster so early in the morning. He pulled you away from his ever so slightly so that he could look down at you. With a half-nod, you cuddled closer to him, letting him drape half of his blanket over your body.

"Just don't hog the covers," he grumbled, lying back down on the bed, his head burying itself in his pillow. "And don't wake up early."

You smiled and melted into the comfort of Quinn's bed, your head on the edge of the pillow you were being forced to share. The feeling of the weight of exhaustion finally pulled you under and as you drifted off to sleep, the nightmares seemed to fade away, replaced by the comforting presence of your older brother by your side.

The next morning, your mom had woken up, ready to bring you to practice, only to find your bed empty. A flare of panic shot through her body, all those horror stories of child abduction running through her mind as she exited the room with pursed lips.

Ellen peered into Luke's room first, her head sticking around the wooden frame. For a mere second, she allowed herself to stifle a smile at the sight of Luke sprawled across the bed like a starfish, his covers abandoned on the floor as soft breath escaped his mouth. She nodded slowly and closed the door before checking the room beside his.

Jack's room was messy. That was the first thing she noticed. Clothes were strewn across any furniture left in sight, with muddy shoes thrown into the corner. Ellen covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing at the sight of Jack sleeping. Jack, like Luke, was sprawled across his bed, only instead of actually being on the bed– Jack was hanging half off of it. His head was almost touching the rug on his floor — his toes the same. His head was thrown back with snores periodically escaping his mouth.

She shook her head lightly before closing the door quietly and moving towards the last bedroom in the hall. Quinn's door was ajar, allowing Ellen to silently slip in. She paused in her steps at the sight ahead of her. You curled up around Quinn, your teddy snug between you two, as his arm wrapped around your head protectively. The two of you were fast asleep, oblivious to the utter relief Ellen was feeling.

She watched the two of you for a few seconds before taking a quick picture and sending it to Jim with a soft smile. Ellen looked down at you two once more and fixed the cover over the both of you. She backed away slowly and slipped out of the room leaving the two of you to sleep in for the day.

3. sickness – aged 10 and fifteen

"Are you sure you'll be okay looking after her?"

Ellen grabbed a bag from the floor beside the couch Quinn sat on, a bowl of cereal in his hands as he watched a game. You had fallen sick two days prior due to the flu and were currently bed-bound. Your dad was out of state, and your mom had to take Luke and Jack to a hockey match in the next town over.

"Yeah, Mom, don't worry," Quinn answered through muffled words as he swallowed a spoonful of food. "I can take care of her for a few hours, it'll be fine."

Ellen bit her lip in worry glancing towards the stairs before ruffling Quinn's hair. "Don't start a fire or kill either yourself or y/n," she instructed, "she might wake up soon and might want food, only give her toast and water or she'll throw it all up."

"Mom, I got it," Quinn reassured her, standing up and gathering Luke's hockey bag in his arms. "I'll help you bring these out."

Your mom had left ten minutes after with Jack and Luke, leaving Quinn in charge of the house. You had woken up to the sound of Luke yelling and the door slamming behind him. Your throat felt raw from the amount of coughing you were doing combined with the fact you could only breathe from your mouth as your nose was blocked up.

You groaned into your pillow, your clammy hands clutching your uneasy stomach as you buried yourself beneath your covers. Quinn cautiously peeked into your room at the noise of you moving around, his eyes wide and careful as they landed on your paled face and shaking body.

Quinn hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. He had never been in charge of taking care of you while you were sick before. But seeing you there, looking so vulnerable and unwell, he knew he had to step up.

Taking a deep breath, Quinn quietly approached your bed, trying not to startle you. "Hey, it's just me," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "How are you feeling?"

You managed to croak out a weak response, your voice barely audible. Quinn frowned and his eyebrows furrowed upon seeing how much you were struggling. Without another word, he hurried downstairs to grab a glass of water and a slice of bread for toast, just as your mom had instructed.

Returning to your room, Quinn carefully placed the items on your bedside table, as he helped you sit up, propping pillows behind your back for support. You moaned in discontent at the feeling of sickness that continued to roll through your body as he handed you the glass of water and a piece of toast.

"Drink slowly," he spoke carefully, watching anxiously as you took small sips and nibbled on the food. "You don't feel like getting sick, do you?!"

You shook your head weakly, placing the leftover crusts on your plate. You felt a tickle grow in your throat as another cough wracked through your body. Quinn jumped into action, running your back as he'd seen Mom do countlessly over the past two days. His warm hand lent you comfort as your body contorted.

Once the coughing subsided, you leaned back against the pillows, feeling exhausted but a little better with Quinn by your side. He stayed with you, chatting softly and making sure you were comfortable until you drifted off to sleep again, knowing that you were in good hands.

As you rested, Quinn kept a watchful eye on you, ready to spring into action at any sign of distress. Halfway through your unrestful nap, your body shook violently, yet your forehead was beaded with sweat. Quinn gulped in worry as he covered you with a blanket and wiped your forehead with a cool cloth.

He hated seeing you like this, it made him want to kick whoever had passed the sickness onto you.

Throughout the day, Quinn checked in on you regularly, making sure you were comfortable and had everything you needed. He even brought up some of your favourite books and movies to help pass the time when you woke, staying by your side until you drifted off to sleep again.

When your mom finally returned home with Jack and Luke– both elated from their win, she was relieved to find you resting peacefully, thanks to Quinn's attentive care.

"You did well, Quinn," Your mom smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he scrunched up his nose. "Thank you."

Quinn simply shrugged it off as he looked towards your sleeping figure. Despite his nonchalant expression, deep down, he felt a sense of pride erupt inside of him knowing that he had been there for you when you needed him most.

"Let's hope you don't get sick now," Ellen hummed, brushing a hand through his hair. Quinn pushed a smile onto his face, getting sick would be worth it as long as you were better.

4. moving away – aged 16 and 20

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow into Quinn's room, illuminating the chaos of packing strewn across the floor. Hockey jerseys, equipment, and mementoes from his years of playing for the local team adorned his walls, each item holding memories of victories, defeats, and the camaraderie of teammates. But today, there was a sense of bittersweetness in the air, a mixture of excitement and sadness, as Quinn prepared to completely leave Michigan behind and embark on a new chapter of his life in Vancouver. He had been offered the opportunity to play for the Vancouver Canucks, a dream come true for any aspiring hockey player. But with it came the prospect of leaving behind everything he had ever known – our family, our home, our tight-knit community.

You sat on the edge of his bed, watching him carefully fold his clothes, a furrow of worry etched on his brow. "Are you okay, Quinn?" you asked softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He sighed, setting down the hoodie he was folding and meeting your gaze with a mix of apprehension and sadness in his eyes. "I don't know," he eventually admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He ran a hand through his tousled hair. "I mean, Vancouver is such an incredible opportunity, but... I'm going to miss everyone and don't you dare tell that to the idiots out back."

You let a small smile grace your face at the thought of Jack and Luke catching wind of Quinn's unease. You found yourself nodding understandingly, feeling a pang of sadness yourself at the thought of Quinn leaving. He was not only your older brother but also one of your best friends, someone you had always looked up to and relied on for guidance and support. The idea of him being thousands of miles away was daunting, to say the least.

Even when he was in college he was only one measly phone call away and then another forty-minute drive. He was never thousands of miles away in a different country.

You nodded sympathetically, understanding the weight of his dilemma. Quinn had always been fiercely devoted to our family and friends, and the thought of leaving them behind was undoubtedly terrifying. But deep down, You knew he couldn't let this opportunity slip away – not when it was his chance to shine on the ice and pursue his passion for hockey at the highest level.

"Quinn, listen to me," I said, stepping closer to him and placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "I know it's scary to leave, but this is your dream we're talking about. You've worked so hard for this moment, and you can't let fear hold you back."

"You'll do great, Quinn," you continued to reassure him, with a cracked smile. "And we'll still be here for you, no matter how far away you are. Plus, Vancouver should be nice, and I've only been there twice, maybe I can visit with Mom and Dad?"

Quinn managed a small smile at your words, though you could tell the worry still lingered in his eyes. "I know," he said softly. "But it won't be the same without having you all there with me." He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "I don't want to leave you all behind."

I smiled softly, feeling a swell of pride for my big brother. "We'll be okay, Quinn. Mom and Dad are proud of you, and so are Luke, Jack, and I. Hell, before you know it, Jack might be up there playing with you, who knows!"

A sense of calm washed over Quinn as your words sank in, his tense shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He knew that no matter where his hockey career took him, your family would always be his anchor, his support system through thick and thin. You scooted closer to him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

"We'll always be here for you, Quinn," you whispered, feeling the weight of the impending separation settling over you both. "And we'll be cheering you no matter where you are, no matter what happens, every step of the way."

You sat there in silence for a moment, clinging to each other as if afraid to let go. But eventually, Quinn pulled away, a determined look in his eyes as he resumed packing his belongings.

"You're right," he sighed, his voice steady with newfound resolve.

"As always," you beamed with a laugh, as Quinn elbowed you playfully. You bowed your head glancing at Quinn briefly. "I'm gonna miss you, y'know?"

"I know," he hummed, "but like you said, you can come visit whenever you want and you can call or text me whenever you need to." You nodded silently, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You smiled, feeling a surge of pride welling up inside you. Your brother may be leaving Michigan behind, but you knew that he was destined for great things in Vancouver. And no matter where life took you, you would always be there for each other, bound by the unbreakable bond of family.

[comfortscripts]

Santa's Statistics Helper ¬ Michael Gavey

Plot - In the midst of the worst Christmas of your life, you meet an arrogant genius who takes pity on your inability to do statistics. Pairing - Michael Gavey x PsychologyStudent!Reader Notes/Warnings - As a psychology student who hates statistics, this was just based off how my boyfriend explains it to me. Michael is a bit of a sweetheart in this with streaks of arrogance. Not proofread so I apologise in advance if it is terrible Word Count - 1,943

Sunday the 10th of December

“As it helps identify the patterns, the correlation matrix is useful in psychological testing, economics, risk management, and statistics. Calculated as (x(i)-mean(x))*(y(i)-mean(y)) / ((x(i)-mean(x))2 * (y(i)-mean(y))2. This mode- Oh for fuck’s sakes!”

Slamming the monotone textbook of your nightmares closed and shoving it to the opposite side of the oaken table, you breathe a sigh of frustration. Four hours you’ve been trying, 240 minutes of your life spent in a lonely library struggling to grasp the difference between a correlation matrix and covariance matrix. If someone told you when you picked psychology that you’d be sacrificing your Christmas to study for some pathetic quantitative methodologies’ module, you would have switched your career pathway to dogwalker.

Unfortunately, you aren’t a bloody psychic so here you sit with red rimmed eyes, frizzing hair from repeatedly tugging at it, and longing for being home watching The Polar Express. A string of swears partnered with the shuffling of papers acted as your soundtrack for the next few minutes as you attempted to build back up your confidence.

“You made it this far; you can do this! Once this module is done, you can get a pint and burn your calculator.”

Just as you leant to grab the textbook, a voice broke through your bubble of academic frustration.

“Don’t think you’d get very far burning a calculator after a few pints, I’ve seen how you handle your alcohol.”

Jumping backwards in your chair, eyes frantically assessing the source of the teasing words. There he stood, Michael Gavey. You had only met him in once during Freshers, but after minimal contact with him, you understood that he looked down on your choice of degree. Mutterings of how it is a pointless degree for vapid girls who would become housewives or receptionists within years of graduation. Mousy hair that had no clear style, smudged glasses, and an oversized maroon jumper that made him appear wider than usual.

Perhaps it was your lack of sleep, but Michael Gavey seemed to be far better looking than before.

“What the fuck Gavey?! Could have given me a heart attack, and I know you are smart but you aren’t a bloody doctor.” Clutching your chest to emphasise the theatrics of your startled self, a small huff left your person with the final word.

With a soft chuckle, the lanky boy slid into the chair opposite before resting his judgmental eyes on your figure. Assessing your appearance as if you were one of his equations. Those denim blues flickering between you and the scattered papers filled with incorrect or half-complete statistical equations.

Moments passed in silence, and with each second you grew more agitated with the piercing gaze from the bespectacled boy. “What are you even doing here Gavey? Is Christmas too simple and mainstream for you to celebrate?”

“I would ask you the same question, but from what I recall you seem to embrace the simple. Or does that only apply to your choice in degree?”

That fleeting thought of attraction was zapped from the air as his words bit at your confidence. Usually, a quick-witted response would fall from your lips, but after days of struggling, it was difficult to view yourself as anything but a student heading towards failure.

It was clear to tell the atmosphere had shifted, a tense weight fell between the pair of you. Watching as his calculated smirk fell, understanding that perhaps his words might not have been appreciated in this moment.

“What do you want Michael? I’m too busy to be belittled today.”

“Well, I was planning on asking you to be quiet. I’ve had to listen to your ridiculous murmurings for the past 2 hours. Not to mention the constant echoing of you abusing those poor books.” Straightening himself in the padded wooden seat, attempting to appear unphased by how defeated your voice sounded.

Even though Michael would never admit to it, he always harboured a modest crush on you. He remembers the way you walked around the different Fresher events with such confidence, despite not knowing anyone prior to starting University. Eyes following your figure as you made the rounds before making your way to his table of one. That was when he messed up. Something about your presence made any semblance of a filter disappear, and the insults flew from his lips before he could bite the words down. All he could do was stare as that kind spark in your eyes faltered and you muttered a discouraged goodbye before walking away from his lonely table.

Since that day, he kept an eye out for you. Never once daring to speak again, but always glancing at your corner table during dinnertime just to catch a glimpse of that jubilant smile. Yes, he thought any subject outside of mathematics-based degrees were pointless to society. Although for some reason, he never wanted you to feel anything less for your choice of pathway. Everyone else on your course might be a half-wit, but not you. Never you.

Suddenly feeling sheepish, you make a move to pack away. “Oh, I apologise. Truthfully, I thought I was the only one who stayed back for Christmas break.”

Hand reaching across to grab the textbook currently resting before the boy, you were met halfway by a larger colder hand. “Don’t leave on my account, especially before I can explain to you the different applications of correlation matrixes.”

Rearranging the position of his chair to minimise the space between the both of you, as he fumbled through your plethora of mock questions and attempted answers. All whilst your mouth parted with puzzlement, leaving you to watch his movement with questioning eyes.

“Why in the world would you help me?”

“Figures it could balance out my karma for slagging your subject. Plus, I can’t sit here knowing you are desecrating maths and not intervene.”

And with the rippling sounds of the pages followed by the subtle knock of the textbook cover, the pair of you began an unlikely partnership.

Monday the 18th of December

The next seven days were spent in that secluded corner of the century-old building with Michael explaining statistical concepts in his velvety tones. At the start, he found it difficult to not mark his superiority or mock your questions that seemed elementary to him. Eventually, he grew to understand that you really did care about understanding the methods entirely, and that your questions spawned from craving knowledge rather than sheer stupidity. Awkward explanations turned into two-way conversations during study breaks, and silly jokes. If anyone were to enter the library, they would hear the duo of laughs ricochet off the walls of books. Perhaps they would think that two friends were sharing inside jokes, but if anyone saw the pair of you, they would see two fools infatuated with one another.

It was true, within the past week Michael’s crush only grew and you started to realise that Michael might be the unexpected highlight of university. Since Freshers, you felt drawn to him, and maybe at the start it was purely a physical attraction that was shut down by his mean-spirited comments. But this version of Michael, where he feels comfortable and lets down his arrogant guard, this is the boy that you wish you’d known from the beginning. Heart fluttering when he praises you, chest aching from giggles at his nerdy jokes, and fingertips lingering slightly too long on his veiny hand.

As the snow falls outside, the pair of you sat with only the sound of your nervous drumming and the scratch of Michael’s pen across your mock examination. Studying his side profile, getting lost in the way his lips purse with satisfaction when he ticks off a correct answer, if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was proud of you. Several moments trickled by in silence, waiting in anticipation to see whether the hours spent together had actually taught you anything. There was the unspoken discomfort of what happens next. If you had passed with flying colours, does that mean you and him go back to strangers? Could you pretend to be less than friends again with all these newfound feelings? Truthfully, part of you wished you failed so he would have to keep tutoring you.

“And you did it. Congratulations, you have officially conquered statistics.” Sliding across the paper marked 86% with a little smile into your expectant hands. Those stormy blues meeting yours to watch the excitement unfold.

“I did it? Oh my god, I did it!”

Waving the paper in the air before bringing it to your chest, eyes sparkling with happiness as the weight of failure floats off your shoulders. Michael could only match your exuberant smile, leaning his chiselled chin on the palm of his hand to watch the subject of his dreams glitter in front of him. He knew the doubts that clouded your judgement were bullshit. In his eyes you were almost as smart as him, only in a different way. Watching your seated celebrations as he commits the image to memory, with fear of today being the last day of closeness between you two. Michael half expected you to drop him after realising you understood the concepts. That you would finally recognise you are worth more than someone like him. Someone of a higher class, someone more muscular, someone who isn’t a social pariah.

Those thoughts were halted by the feel of your jumper-clad arms being thrown around his neck, drawing him close. Snapping out of his daydream just as you bridged the gap between your lush lips and his own. Michael felt you melt into him, arms softening in their hold but your lips still continuing the connection with passion. This kiss was all consuming, built up with each second of vulnerability shown throughout the moments together. He noted that you tasted like spearmint gum, and it perfectly complimented the constant chocolate that lurked on his tastebuds.

Somehow it felt like the pair of you were joined for eternity, feeling as if the cool of his lens would be ingrained on your skin. Reluctantly the two young students separated, faces flushed and chests heaving in a desperate attempt to fill your lungs. The realisation of your bold move flashed in your brain, panic arising in your stomach at all the possible scenarios that could happen next, but those fears settled as you saw the soft look hidden behind those glasses.

“Thank you, Michael. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“Well, it does help that I’m a mathematical genius. But truthfully, I’ve enjoyed teaching you and would happily continue our study sessions.” Despite his clear words, Michael was still recovering from the shockwaves in his body from the taste of you on his lips. Mentally he was cringing at his entirely unromantic words, but all you did was smile.

“As much as I would like that, I’d prefer if our relationship went beyond studying? Perhaps we could go for a celebratory pint or get dinner together.” Awkwardly twiddling the hem of his sweater between your fingertips as you avoided his eyeline. “You know, like a date? Only if you would be happy with that, of course.”

“I’ve come to realise that if I was a correlation matrix, and you’d be the variable that’s highly correlated with my happiness. So yes, I’d love to take YOU on a date”

Laughter erupted in your belly at his cheesy line, and he fought the urge to pull in for another kiss. Instead, he chose to intertwine your warm hands with his. “A genius, a gentleman, a teacher, and now a comedian? You, Michael Gavey, are an adventure I can’t wait to explore.”

[daisynik7]

Fortunate

cw: ~900 words, established relationship, fluff, happy ending, some angst, implied Season 2/Shibuya arc spoilers, smut (but very brief) - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Author’s Note: This is for @honeybleed's 90s r&b collab, congrats again on the amazing milestone! This is inspired by the song Fortunate by Maxwell. Thanks for reading! Divider by @/cafekitsune.

Nanami wakes up in the cold sweat, gasping for breath to fill his lungs, as if he’s been drowning in his sleep. His heart races, pounding so hard against his chest that he’s sure it’s about to burst out of his ribcage. The entire left side of his body tingles, the remnants of a traumatic injury from almost a year ago. 

It takes him a few seconds to realize that you’re holding him, clinging to his right side, staring at him with concern in your face. “Bad dream?” you ask, eyes wet with tears you try to blink away. Your voice trembles, attempting to hide it, though Nanami can still tell.

He recalls the moment from right before he woke up. He was engulfed by fire, every inch of his skin scorching from the flames, gradually burning him away. Flashes of memories and familiar faces played out like a montage in a movie. Gojo’s cocky smirk, Yuji’s eager expression, Haibara’s bright smile. What you wore on your first date, how soft your hand felt in his the first time he held you, the song the two of you danced to the first time he said, “I love you.” Breakfast every morning at the dining table, mid-afternoon naps on the couch, making love until the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms.  

No matter how many times he relives it in his sleep or how vividly he remembers the pain from that night in Shibuya, nothing will ever hurt worse than that split second into the afterlife, when he was sure he’d never see you again. How lucky he is to be able to say that never came true. 

He walked through fire, fought through hell, dug out of his own grave, all that to return to you. And he’d do it again and again and again. How fortunate he is that he doesn’t have to anymore. It’s one of the biggest perks of being a retired Jujutsu Sorcerer.

He shifts in the bed to face you, breathing steady now. “Absolute nightmare,” he says, giving you a half smile. 

You swallow hard, brushing away strands of blonde hair to wipe off the perspiration beading on his forehead. “Well, you’re awake now.”

His smile grows into a full one as he scoots closer, nuzzling his nose to yours. “Thank god for that.”

You wrap your arms around him, squeezing him tight. “You’re still shaking. Pretty bad, huh?”

He closes his eyes, cherishing this feeling of being surrounded in your warmth. “Yeah.”

“The same?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, not elaborating. You already know what he dreams about. The nights you stayed up with him as he twisted himself into the blankets, tossing and turning from the fight that still weighs heavily on his mind. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you weren’t there beside him, to comfort and console him back to sleep. He wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you. 

You take his face into your hands, cupping his cheeks tenderly. The skin on his left side is taut from his injuries, which have healed nicely since that incident. You trace his scars, marveling at how beautiful he is. Evidence that he’s alive. What’s more beautiful than that? Closing the gap, you kiss him softly on the lips. His hands slide around your back, pulling you in deeper. 

Sometimes, words aren’t enough to put each other back to sleep. On a night like this, with only the glow of the full moon barely peeking through the shutters and the even rhythm of your heartbeats filling the quiet space between you, it’s only right to melt into one another. 

His thumbs hook to the waistband of your pajamas, pulling them past your bottom, now exposed for him. He squeezes your flesh in his firm grip, using little strength to roll you on top of him. He loves it like this. Something about having your body on top of his makes him feel safe. Secure. You trail along his neck, kissing his scars, whispering, “I love you,” into his skin. He relaxes into the pillows, letting you worship his tattered body, the same way you would as before. You never treated him like a broken man after the horrors of Shibuya. Instead, you’re a constant reminder that’s he’s in one piece. 

Slowly, with no rush to fall back asleep, you undress each other. He twitches slightly as you palm his erection, craving more than your fist. You don’t make him wait long, reaching for the nightstand to retrieve the bottle lube to properly coat him. Straddling his lap, you guide him inside you until you are stretched perfectly around his cock. You stay still for a moment, relishing the sensation of being completely full of him. “I love you,” he says, cradling you as you begin to rock back and forth. You kiss lazily, taking the time to savor each other. 

After you’re finished and cleaned up, you’re both back on the verge of sleep. You nestle into his broad chest, listening to his heartbeat to ease you into a peaceful slumber. Before you’re gone, you whisper, “We’re so lucky, aren’t we, Kento?”

He smiles, placing a delicate kiss to your forehead, snuggling you tighter. “You have no idea.” 

[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 2

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: I was kinda putting off writing this chapter because I was forced to write a scene I don't like to relive lol. But anyway, it's here, and I hope you like it. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 1 here

When you lost Loki, you didn't have time to grieve. The whole universe was being threatened, there was no time for tears.

It all had happened so fast. One minute Loki stood between you and Thanos, his hand holding yours and keeping you away from harm; and the next, Thor was dragging you away from the body of the person you loved the most, while you screamed until your throat burned.

And then you lost, again; half of the universe turned to dust. It was only one year later that a strange man came knocking at the compound's door with a solution, a hope. But not for you. After all, Loki wasn't one of the blipped ones, though a part of you wished he had been.

In the end, you won the war, and you brought everyone back; but you lost a piece of yourself.

You felt numb, hollow. Now, looking down at your hands, under the cold running water of the bathroom sink, you could see red even when it wasn't there. It stuck on your skin and under your fingernails. For the tenth time this week, you felt as if there were cotton balls in your throat and you couldn't breathe.

The sight was burned into the back of your mind, returning each night to haunt your nightmares. His bloodshot eyes, bright yet so lifeless; his hand still outstretched on the grounds of New Asgard when he'd last reached for you; dried tear tracks on his cheeks when he realized the inevitable; the crimson red blood dripping from his nose and mouth. That was the last image you had of your Loki, as you screamed—you couldn't even recall what exactly you had been screaming—and thrashed against Thor's strong hold on your body, dragging you away so you wouldn't meet the same fate.

You splashed water onto your face, making it hide your tears even though you could still taste the salt in between your sobs.

It's been over a year, and the pain has yet to subside. You've been living on autopilot since the last battle, helping rebuild and only eating enough to keep you going, barely speaking to anyone. There was a hole in your chest that you couldn't fill, a part of your heart that stopped beating the same day that his did. The year following The Snap had gone by in a blur, with everyone working incessantly trying to find a way to undo what happened, and part of you had a hope that you'd be able to bring Loki back as well; but when the solution was found, and he didn't come back, that last bit of hope was snuffed out like a candle, leaving you in the darkness.

People would look at you funny when you walked the hallways of the Avengers compound, you didn't know if it was because of the evident scar running from your forehead to the beginning of your left eyebrow, or because of the dark circles under your eyes.

You finally reached the kitchen and grabbed a mug with a sigh going past your lips. Steadily, you poured yourself some black coffee. Was it your second, or third mug of the day? You weren't sure.

"You drink a few more of those, it'll soon be running through your veins."

Thor's voice made you close your eyes, your back still turned to him. Despite loving the guy, you really didn't feel like talking right now. You brought the mug to your lips and took a generous sip before facing him.

"Here's hoping." You tried smiling, but it came more like a grimace.

A strong hand found your shoulder and squeezed. "Tony says he's worried about you... everyone is," Thor said quietly, trying to catch a glimpse of your eyes with his own.

You bit onto your lower lip, nearly drawing blood. When you looked up at Thor, you could see a reflection of your own pain in his kind eyes. "I just wish I could see him again. Just one last time." You shrugged weakly, watching as your vision turned blurry yet again.

In the same beat, Thor pulled you to him. His chin came to rest on top of your head as he hugged you tightly. "Yeah, me too," he whispered. "Me too."

It was on this same night that you woke up yet again covered in cold sweat and with a scream lingering on your tongue. Each beating of your heart against your ribs was a punch. The last image you had of him burned behind your eyes.

You got up and walked to your bedroom door, hands shaking when you turned the knob and when you filled a glass with water.

When you lost Loki, there was no time for a goodbye, there was no time for you to lay a last kiss on his forehead and promise to find him again in another lifetime. He was taken from you—abruptly, and without remorse—leaving behind a gash on your heart; an open wound that still bled.

Maybe that's why, on this same night, you made your way to Tony's lab, grabbed one of the few remaining pym particles, and pulled yourself through time.

Just one last time. You had to see him just one last time. You had to say goodbye, and make a promise.

The TVA found you before you found Loki. You never got back to your timeline.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 3 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

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[ode2rin]

hold on to me

pairing. mikage reo x gn!reader

genre. hurt/comfort | a post-nightmare comfort | fluff | established relationship | a light angst if you squint hard !! 

content/warnings. 1.3k+ wc | characters are aged up ! | maybe slightly ooc | mentions of nightmares | self-indulgent also! | minimally proofread

in which: a nightmare made reo hold on to you a little tighter

the room was cloaked in darkness, the only source of light being the soft moonlight that seeped through the half-closed curtains. the gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the silence as you stirred, your sleep disrupted by an unsettling feeling.

there’s no firm arm on your waist. nor is there a warm body next to yours.

confusion tugged at your mind, and worry crept in as you glanced at the empty space beside you.

a sliver of light spilled out from beneath the bathroom door, casting a glow across the dimly lit room. 

glancing at the clock on the bedside table, it reads 2:37 am. why was reo awake at this hour?

curiosity piqued, you sat up, a knot forming in your stomach. your concern grew with each passing minute, and after what felt like an eternity, you decided to investigate.

quietly slipping out of bed, you padded across the room, your bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. each step felt heavier than the last, anticipation mingling with the remnants of sleepiness that clung to your senses.

pushing the bathroom door to open fully, you were met with a scene that instantly tugged at your heart.

reo was hunched over the sink with his forearms supporting his body weight, his disheveled purple hair falling across his face, partially obscuring his troubled expression. the soft glow of the bathroom light illuminated the lines of distress etched on his features.

“reo…?” you whispered, your voice filled with concern, trying to get his attention.

he turned his head slightly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and relief as he recognized your presence. “why are you up? it’s late.” 

“i should be asking that. what’s the matter, love?”

god, that endearment still made him feel unwell even after three years of hearing it from your lips.

“nothing,” reo responded, basically lying through his teeth. he knows you know he’s lying. 

throwing him a narrowed look in response, you held his gaze, silently urging him to open up.

reo looked away from your gaze, “i… just had a nightmare,” he admitted, his voice laced with vulnerability. 

“i dreamt that... that you left me.”

your heart ached at his words, and without a second thought, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. reo leaned into your embrace, his body seeking solace in your touch. 

but before you could say something, he beat you to it.

“please don’t leave me.”

“reo…” you whispered in response, a bit surprised by his sudden plea.

“no, that’s too selfish to ask,” he interrupted, realizing the absurdity of his request, “i can’t ask you that.”

reo turned both of your bodies to face each other, the mirror in front of you reflecting your intertwined figures. his hands found their way to hold your face, his touch tender yet desperate.

“if you wake up one day and you no longer love me or if you no longer want me to be a part of your everyday, i only ask of you to not leave me so suddenly,” he pleaded, his voice filled with fear.

reo's biggest fear is not losing any of his billions in a blink of an eye. it's not even losing his thriving soccer career. ever since you entered his life, reo's greatest fear has revolved around you.

it's not about you lying to him one day. heck, it's not even you using him for his money.

reo's biggest fear is that one saturday morning, you’ll wake up before him and you won't lean in and kiss him on the forehead like you always do. instead, you'll gaze upon his sleeping body and start noticing all of his flaws. your thoughts lingering on his shortcomings and everything that he's not. then, as you walk into the kitchen and brew yourself some coffee, staring at the pale morning rays of sunlight entering the window frame, you'll come to the conclusion that, for no particular reason at all, you don't love him anymore.

reo's biggest fear is that one day, on a goddamn random morning, you suddenly realize you no longer love him. 

nothing. nothing would ever prepare him for that.

and so, with his voice quivering with a mix of uncertainty and distress, “just give me a month— heck, who am i kidding, a year if you may— worth of notice,” he pleads more.

you felt his touch pressed slightly in your jaw, as if seeking comfort and reassurance from the warmth coming from your skin. 

“because i don't think i'd ever make it out alive... if one day this came crumbling right before my eyes and i couldn’t do anything but watch you leave.” his voice cracked, and you felt your heart do the same at the sound of it.

reo gently took your hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart, as he spoke with a trembling voice, “i don't think this heart will ever beat the same way again.”

because it’s yours. his heart belonged to you. it was so full of you that he could hardly call it his own.

and the mere thought of you dropping it because you no longer wanted it was beyond devastating to even process—to even think of without physically feeling his heart shatter piece by piece.

“so please, please give me time to prepare. not so sudden, y/n.” 

a tear welled up in reo’s eyes with his final plea, glistening with unspoken emotions. with unwavering intensity, he locked his gaze with yours, as if searching for reassurance and promises.

feeling the weight of his words, you gently held his hand that rested on your cheek, intertwining your fingers with his. without breaking eye contact, you brought his hand to your lips, pressing a tender kiss against his warm skin.

reo's breath caught in his throat as he felt the softness of your lips against his hand, a gesture of comfort and love. his gaze never wavered from yours as he listened to your response, his heart hanging on your every word.

“you do not need to ask me for time, love,” you whispered softly, your voice filled with sincerity. “because there's no day in this lifetime that i would not choose to be by your side.”

“and that day you fear will never come,” you declared firmly, your voice unwavering. “because to me, it will be constantly, continually, consistently, you.”

your words washed over reo, soothing his fears and filling him with a renewed sense of hope. the depth of your love and commitment resonated within him, providing solace to his anxious heart.

“and i know it's scary,” you continued, “there will be times that your fear will speak loud, but i just hope that my love will be louder because i am here, just with you.”

“i will never cross a bridge without your hand in mine,” you added, your voice filled with conviction. “i will never sit at a table that doesn't include a seat for you right beside me. and i am never, ever going to any place that you can't be.”

it’s not fair.

this is why it’s so hard not to love you fiercely. 

why do you always know the right words to soothe him? it’s as if you’re fluent in speaking his heart’s own language. after three years of loving you, reo didn’t know he could possibly be in love with you more.

“don’t say things like that. i might hold on to it,” he admitted, his eyes brimming with vulnerability.

a gentle smile graced your lips as you reached out, gently caressing his cheek with your fingertips, your touch conveying reassurance and warmth.

“good. hold on to them,” you whispered, your voice soft and your eyes locked with his. “hold on to me.”

note. i blame everything on that one tiktok talking about how what nagi did to reo will mess up his future relationships what the hell i did not need to see that | i also made this for me i’m convinced me and reo have the same fear when it comes to relationships jahskajhsajksh he’s so relatable damn it | also got inspired by a quote i saw on pinterest! (also also can you tell i’m referencing some scenes from the anime in reader’s lines 👀 )

another note. see u at the end of this month! all the love, mimi (❁´◡`❁)

[lukeywritesstuff]

Reader has a pregnancy scare over the summer at the lake house and dosent tell Jack at first so he gets mad. He doesn’t really want a child rn but ends up accepting that they will have a baby. But it’s just a scare so their are not going to actually be parents

baby? no baby.

jack hughes x reader

warning: angst, yelling, pregnancy scare, mentions of abortion, punching (m on m), vomit, swearing and suggestive sexual content (no actual smut)

note: i’m not from the states so all timing for drives and flights and stuff are made up because i’ve been trying to research how far detroit airport is from bloomington AND NO BLOOMINGTON IS COMING UP ON MAPS. i actually went a bit crazy writing this because of that. ALSO this is the first fic i’ve written in a couple years that isn’t a joke so please bear with me because it’s not perfect at all.

lowercase intended

this past week has been a nightmare, from waking up at 6:30 in the morning to throw up, to dealing with motion sickness on an airplane and dealing with my boyfriends absolute bullshit.

let’s start from the beginning: wednesday july 12th, the day i started feeling ill. it was around 5:30 in the morning the first time i threw up. that day i thought it was a bug so i didn’t think much of it. but it kept happening all week, and this freaked me out because i knew i was leaving for michigan on monday to visit my boyfriend jack and his family.

monday couldn’t have come any slower, knowing i needed to talk to ellen before anyone else, i was hoping for the day to come faster. she’d be the only one i can ask about what’s going on with me as i haven’t seen my own family since august of last year since i moved to jersey for college.

the flight was terrible but short, it didn’t help my nausea at all, specially with the turbulence, jack was late to pick me up because he left his phone at the house when he went boating with his brothers so i had to sit around the airport for a few hours. i’m not even gonna think about uber either cuz i’d rather get crushed by a plane than sit for hours in an uber with a complete stranger.

ok getting off topic here, we’ll we got to the lake house after a very uneventful and quiet drive from the airport. ellen was finishing up dinner and luke, quinn and jim were playing basketball in the driveway, which quickly came to a stop as jack pulled up smashing the horn causing quinn to (jokingly) throw the ball at the car. (it did not break at all.)

i settled in to jacks room and we ate dinner, we talked about the boys hockey and training and my school and what i’m doing after i graduate next year. jokes were cracked and it was fun, i actually forgot about jack being a bit of a dick for a good hour and a half. after i stayed in the kitchen with ellen to help clean up, jack and luke ran to the x-box in the other room probably to play fortnite.

‘el, this past week i’ve been feeling quite nauseous this past week and i was wondering if i should worry about it. knowing you’ve been pregnant a few times, i felt it was best to ask you for advice on the situation.’ i said to my boyfriends mother.

‘well if it goes on for a few more days i’d consider going to a doctor, but for now you can go to the pharmacy just down the street and try a rest or 2 if you wanna have an idea quicker.’ she said and i nodded.

‘wait you’re pregnant?’ i hear from by the counter. quinn. he heard.

‘i’m not sure. i was just about to go to the pharmacy to get a test’ i told him.

‘i’ll drive i want some gato and fuckass jack frank the last one.’ he said and i nodded.

we went to the pharmacy and got 2 tests (and a shit ton of blue gato for quinn) and we went back to the house. i went to the bathroom in ellen’s room to take them since she wants to be there for me and honestly i’m glad i did. she’s been so supportive even if it might just be a scare.

the tests came out positive. i broke down in tears and went out to ellen.

‘positive, i’m pregnant. and i’m only 21’ i said.

‘oh sweetie. it’s all gonna be okay. you’re gonna be a great mom and jacks gonna be a great dad.’ ellen said embracing me.

‘so she’s pregnant?’ quinn asked from the door. i just nod my head at him.

suddenly i hear from the hallway ‘who’s pregnant?’ and ‘is it mom? i think i’m a bit too old to be an older brother’ and then a little ‘ow’ after.

then quinn had to open his big ass mouth and say ‘no. it’s y/n. she’s pregnant.’

‘what?!’ jack yelled. ‘and you fucker knew before me? you fucking asshole!’ i heard before i see jack coke into the room angrily to punch his older brother in the face.

‘jack get off!’ i yelled pulling him.

‘i cant believe you told quinn before me! have him father your fucking kid. i don’t want it. i don’t want kids at all. specially right now. i’m at my prime right now! i don’t need a fucking baby ruining it all for me! get out of my house that’s not my kid! and if it is fucking abort it!’ he yelled while crying making me cry even more.

right after luke dragged him to his room and i can hear yelling between them as quinn and ellen comforted me in the master bedroom. todays been a lot for me so i eventually pass out in my boyfriend(?)’s parents room with his mother stroking my hair.

on wednesday, exactly a week after i started having my nausea i decided to visit a doctor to get the baby and i checked out. i haven’t talked to jack since he yelled at me so i go with ellen.

‘okay so it seems like you’re not actually pregnant and the test you took was wrong.‘ the doctor said to me.

honestly i have no idea if i’m relieved or sad. i was honestly quite happy to potentially be having a baby, even if jack was being a huge JACKass about it.

we got home and i saw jack sitting on the porch with a bouquet of flowers.

‘baby, i’ve thought everything over these past few days, and i’m actually excited to have a baby! with you! i apologize for everything i said, but it just hurt knowing quinn found out before me, because i am the dad. but now i am excited for this baby and this new chapter of our lives!’ he said smiling at the end.

‘jack, it was a scare. there’s no pregnancy. i’ve just been having a stomach bug the doctor told me. the tests were wrong too. i’m sorry.’ i said frowning.

‘oh. well i guess that means we just go upstairs and start actually making a baby, because i kinda want one now!’ jack said before pulling me in the house.

once we got up to the bedroom i hear ellen ushering everyone out, probably to spare themselves from having to hear whatever we’re getting up to upstairs.

[tofics]

Broken - Chapter 2

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes... Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he'll never get.

Word Count: 3987 words

Warnings: Little bit of cursing, implied panic attacks, mention of insomnia, mention of nightmares.

Chapter 2 - Settling In

"Soooo?" Ellie drags the syllable out and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "What's she liiiiike?" Much to her disappointment, Joel just shoots her a glare as he loads his plate, then walks off to find a seat at one of the tables.

"Come on, man, give me something." She slides into the seat across from Joel and starts digging into her own plate in the same hurried manner as when she first met Joel. Some things just aren't that easy to shake.

Joel, on the other hand, carefully chews each bite, making a point of looking at Ellie every time he swallows. Fork after fork goes in his mouth, but not a single word comes out. "Ugh." Ellie rolls her eyes. "She's the only interesting thing to have happened around here for months." To her dismay, instead of serving her with some juicy details, Joel just chuckles dryly.

"What, life suddenly become too boring for you, now that you're not out there anymore?" She elbows him in response. "You know that's not it. Matter of fact, I like it here just fine."

"Glad to hear it!" Tommy pats Ellie on the back and plops down in the chair next to her. "So? How'd it go?" He looks at his brother expectantly. Joel glares at him grimly. "It went."

"What, that's all?"

"Can a man just eat a meal in piece, for god's sake?"

"Ohoooo," Ellie grins at Tommy, "you poked the bear."

"You poked the bear first." Joel points his fork at her.

"Just because you won't give me anythinnnng!" She knows she sounds like a little whiny toddler, but seriously. Your arrival was something out of a movie, the way Joel dashed into Jackson with your limp body thrown across his saddle. He hadn't even needed to call out for help; his spectacular arrival already speaking for itself. People immediately ran up and helped get you off the horse. Within minutes, you were in the hospital being tended to by Jackson's finest doctors. The town had had a good run for a few months by then, very few raiders and even less infected that had to be dealt with, and so a the new arrival quickly became the hottest topic.

You were out of it for almost three weeks, with a fever so high that for a little while, it wasn't clear whether you'd pull through. People asked about your state at town conferences. The younger kids started bets about what your name could be and where you came from. When the news came that you'd finally woken up, the council had to put its foot down and remind everyone that no, they couldn't all go visit you right away.

The excitement quickly died down when Jackson's people quickly realized that you were not the chatter bug they'd hoped for. You weren't exactly unfriendly, but it became very clear that you were not a fan of big social crowds or private house calls. At the dining hall, you usually kept to yourself, quickly wolfed your food down and left again. During your two weeks of internships, where you went from job to job to see what fit you best, you did well pretty much anywhere, but Maria could tell that none of it excited you or gave you joy. You came, you completed your jobs to satisfaction and you spoke when spoken to, albeit curtly. Even so, no one took it personal. Everyone in Jackson had their own story to tell, their own horrors that they'd witnessed. People knew that life out there changed you, so no one judged you for your curt demeanor.

Still, Jackson's council made it their mission to find a job best suited for a person. It was best for the community if everyone got to do something they liked and were good at. It was good for morale. So when nothing had stood out as a fit for you at the end of your two week internship, Maria had an idea.

She'd seen the way you carried yourself. You were confident but careful. You listened intently to the instructions you were given for each job and even asked for help where necessary, but you made no contact beyond what was needed. When you stepped into a room, your eyes flitted over the scene, searching out every exit before you took a seat. During gatherings, your leg would bounce indefinitely as you sat on the outer skirts of the crowd, as if you were itching to get away as quickly as possible.

Maria knew the type, of course. Almost everyone that came here had a restlessness about them for their first few weeks. It's hard to settle down when your nervous system has been in fight-or-flight for so long. But it seemed to take you longer to adjust than it had taken most of the others. Usually, people relaxed a little after a month or so. They'd slowly start to warm up and join conversations at dinner or just start talking at the bar, one of the most common places for newcomers to open up and make contact for the first time.

You, however, did no such thing. You were seen at gatherings and in the dining hall, but you kept to yourself, keeping your conversations to the utmost minimum. You showed up for every single job you got selected for, did your work, and then returned home as soon as you got to clock out. It worried her that you still hadn't formed at least one connection. And it reminded her of someone else, a certain someone she happened to be related to.

That's when she spoke to Tommy and suggested that Joel should take you out for patrol. Her husband didn't take much convincing as he quickly caught on to the parallels between you and his brother. "Might be good for him, who knows," he'd said as they'd laid besides each other in bed. "He's doing better, but I just wish he'd try and find someone again." Tommy had turned to face his wife and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "Y'know, like I found you." Not a day later, Tommy caught Joel before his shift and dragged him to your house. That had been this morning.

"There's nothing to give. Can we drop it now?" Ellie can sense that Joel's getting annoyed for real now and it pisses her off a little. "Fine," she snaps and starts digging into her own food. She's not sure at first why it's pissing her off. It only comes to her when Joel has already left the dining hall and she's returning her plate. That fucker's not telling me something!

For the first time since you've arrived in Jackson, you have a routine, and you're grateful for it for the same reason you didn't mind getting switched around from job to job: it keeps you busy, and when you're busy, your mind can't wander.

Every morning now, you get up at the crack of dawn. Despite the freezing temperatures outside, you force yourself to take a quick cold shower before your morning coffee. Not only does it wake you up before you get your dose of caffeine, it also helps clear your head. Having a routine has helped with your insomnia somewhat and you occasionally manage to get something between four to six hours a night. On the downside, you're now often plagued with nightmares which you wake from in a cold sweat, panting and with the unnerving feeling that you've been found. By what, you don't know. You're not on the run from anything or anyone. But the feeling remains the same, and it's usually hard to shake for the first few hours of the day.

Going out and getting on a horse helps. You didn't have all that much experience with horseback riding before you started your new job, despite having grown up on a farm. But Joel's teaching you the ropes, figuratively and literally. Often enough, his comments about proper horse-care are the only words you exchange on your early morning rides. Despite the lack of conversation between you two, or maybe because of it, you feel oddly calm when you're doing your patrol rounds. You wouldn't go so far as to call it a feeling of 'peace', but still, you find yourself looking forward to your morning rides more and more. It feels good to be outside and to be doing something that serves not only you, but others too. In a way, you feel like you have a... purpose.

You snort loudly at the thought. Purpose. Like you're doing some kind of extraordinary work out on your patrols when really, you just get to sit on your butt the entire time and look at nature. Big sacrifice you're taking on there, really, you think before you notice that Joel's looking over at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, pff." You wave your hand dismissively in the air. "It's nothing, just had a stupid thought, that's all."

"Yeah?" It's the first time you hear his voice that morning. Quite on par with the rest of your interactions, his morning greetings usually consist of a nod into your direction.

"What was it?"

His inquiry comes as a surprise to you. A little bit of heat creeps into your cheeks, embarrassed that you made any sound to begin with.

"Uhh... I don't really wanna say, to be honest. Like I said, it's stupid."

"Alright." You peek over at him, out of the corner of your eye, and see a small smile twitch on his lips.

You ride on in silence. It's a bit of a grey day, the sky covered in hazy clouds that seem heavy with snow but so far, there's no downpour. You make it to your halfway checkpoint without any incidents, like every day so far. Granted, you've only been on the job for two weeks now, one of which was unofficial as you were still Jeff's replacement; you were only officially appointed to patrol duty last week.

Joel hands you a steaming cup. You wrap your fingers around, happy for a source of warmth for your slightly frozen fingers, but then gag after the first sip. "Eurgh." You pull a face and sniff at your drink before you turn to Joel. "This isn't coffee."

"Nope, ran out yesterday," he replies and takes a sip of his cup, obviously unbothered by its content.

"Uh-huh." You try another sip but end up spitting it back. "Right. What is this, then? Warmed up piss?"

Joel chuckles in response. "Bit too dark for that, ain't it?"

"Not if your kidneys' gone to shit. Say, Joel, when's the last time you had your kidneys checked?"

"How 'bout never?"

You nod with pursed lips. "Sounds about right. Now what in the hell did I do to you for you to serve me this shit?" You place your cup down on the picnic table and slide it over to him. No way in hell you're taking another sip of that again.

Joel shrugs and chucks the content of your cup off to the side before refilling his own cup. "Suit yourself. This's some kind of herbal tea. Doesn't taste great, but does the job when you run outta coffee."

You lean back on the table into the snow. "Yeah, you tell yourself that while you drink your piss. I'm gonna bring my own coffee tomorrow, thanks."

Despite the sky being one big grey cloud, you can still make out its movement as it wanders above you. Weirdly enough, there's barely any wind down where you are.

"What was that stupid thought you had?" His voice interrupts your cloud watching. "Oh." You sit up, propped up on your elbows. "Just some stupid shit about how being out on patrol gives me a purpose." Your voice has taken on a mocking tone and you roll your eyes. "Like we're doing heroic stuff out here when all we do is ride and have a hot drink, or, excuse me," you eye his cup with a wrinkled nose, "a cup of steaming piss."

"Hm." Joel smiles sarcastically and raises his cup to you before downing the rest in one swift go. "Best piss you can get out here." He starts packing up and you climb down from the table to wipe the snow off of you that got stuck to your coat.

"I won't tell Maria you said that," his voice comes from behind you. "Or she'll think that she's done something smart by putting you on patrol."

That same evening, your eyes wander over the tables in the dining hall in search of a spot to sit when you see a girl frantically waiving her arms at you. You find Joel sitting next to her, tugging on her shirt for her to sit down and obviously mumbling something to her with narrowed eyes. The girl keeps at it, unbothered and unrelenting. A smile breaks out on her face when you start to make your way over to them.

"Why do I get the feeling that you want to talk to me?" Your words might not be the kindest, but the smile that goes with your words is.

"Sit, sit!" The young teenager encourages you and you slide into the seat next to her, opposite Joel. He looks fed up, bordering on annoyed.

"Excuse her, she doesn't have any parents so no one ever taught her any manners," he presses out between clenched teeth.

"No, but I have you!" The girl beams at Joel before she returns her focus to you. "I'm Ellie, I live with Joel. It's nice to meet you." As if to prove Joel wrong, she holds out a hand to you and you shake it as you introduce yourself, amusement written all over your face.

"Joel here tells me that you hate his herbal tea too," Ellie says and begins shoveling food into her mouth like there's no tomorrow. You watch in amazement. "Oh, you mean that warm piss he tried to serve me this morning?"

Ellie grins widely. Some little chunks of food fall out of her mouth as she laughs. "That's what I said! See?" She turns to Joel and punches his arm. "I told you that crap is disgusting!"

"Yeah yeah." Joel rubs his arm and gives you an unenthusiastic look. "Do you have to encourage her?"

"Hey, I won't lie to an impressionable young girl." Your hands are raised in defense, but Ellie jumps right in. "I'm not impressionable!"

"No, you're not, that's true. At least you don't think that that 'herbal tea'," you say as you mime air quotes with your fingers, "can pass for anything remotely comparable to coffee."

"I never said it's like coffee. I just said it gets the job done." Even though Ellie's the one wolfing her food down, Joel's already down to his last few bites.

"Sure, if the job is tasting really shitty," Ellie retorts and glances over at you with a sly grin.

"Hey, I'm right there with you, kiddo." This is working up to be the longest conversation you've had in months, but to your surprise, it doesn't feel as tiring as every other interaction you have. It's almost... fun.

"I like her." Ellie points at you with her fork as she chews a humongous bite. "You should come over, play cards or something. I could read you some jokes from my joke book. They're very funny."

"Oh, uhh..." The invitation catches you by surprise. It's not the first invitation you've received since becoming a member of Jackson, but somehow, you find it a lot harder to turn Ellie down than the grown-ups that invited you before.

"You don't have to," Joel quickly chimes in, seemingly having picked up on your discomfort. "The jokes really aren't that good."

"Hey!" Ellie punches his arm again. You're about to reply when Maria suddenly approaches your table with a warm smile on her face. "Hey, what's going on here?"

"I just invited her over for jokes and playing cards," Ellie quickly points out before you can say anything. To neither yours nor Joel's surprise, Maria loves the idea. "That sounds great! You should go. I bet it'll be fun." She smiles warmly at you, but you know what's behind that smile. Go, so you won't be so lonely anymore. Great. You love being set-up. You look over at Ellie's face and see the excitement in her eyes. Can't say no now, can I, you think and sigh.

"Uhh, yeah, sure. Sounds great."

"Aw, yeah!" Ellie beams, but you can only smile faintly. What have I gotten myself into?

"Here, this is a good one. What is the leading cause of divorce in long-term marriages? - A stalemate!" Ellie breaks out into a giggle and you can't help but snort.

"Oh, or wait, this one. I'm glad I know sign language. It's become quite handy." Her laugh is shrill and light and infectious. You watch Ellie kicks her feet in delight and you can't help but think about how you won't ever hear her laugh like that again and right away, the hole in your chest reminds you that it's there, and that it's big and wide open and dark and hurting like hell. You want to laugh with Ellie and cry your eyes out at the same time.

You wrap your arms around your chest in an attempt to keep yourself from falling apart as Ellie chatters on in the background. There's a dark spot in the grain of the kitchen table. You focus on it until the pain subsides enough to where you feel like you can breathe again.

"Sorry, what?" You say as you realize that Joel's looking at you, holding up two glasses.

"I asked if you want something to drink." You thought your zoning-out went unnoticed, but with the way Joel's looking at you, you're not too sure. There's something in his eyes that you can't quite put a finger on, but you don't like it. It's too close to pity, and you don't need any of that.

"Oh, uh, yeah sure, thanks." Joel pours you a glass of water and sets it in front of you, then takes the seat opposite of you. You still feel like he's watching you, like you're under scrutiny. It's uncomfortable.

"So, how do you guys know each other?" You ask extra nonchalantly in an attempt to get the focus off of you. Joel leans back in his chair with a slightly pained look on his face, almost like he'd prefer if you'd asked any question but that one.

"He took me across the country for money," Ellie pipes up as she rests her chin in the palm of her hands. You notice that Joel shoots her a warning look, but Ellie doesn't seem to notice or care.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she shrugs, as if it's the most common way for two people to meet. "But eventually he grew so fond of me that no money in the world could have been enough to give me up. So he kept me."

"Huh." The way that Joel's rolling his eyes is adding to the grin that you notice has spread across your face.

"Next time someone offers me so much as a bent spoon for you, I'm handing you over," he grumbles and immediately gets elbowed in the ribs.

"He has to say that so people won't be suspicious. I've tried to escape twice, but this son of a bitch won't let me go." Despite her words, the affection in her eyes as she sticks her tongue out at Joel is unmissable. It's heart-warming and heart-wrenching at the same time. One arm wanders across your chest again to keep yourself together, but there's still a smile on your face as you lean over to Ellie.

"Blink twice if you need help," you whisper loudly to her and can't help but laugh when she begins to squeeze her eyes rapidly in a very overplayed manner.

"How 'bout you? Where're you from?" Joel asks when the laughter has died down. Both their faces are on you now, with clear interest written all over them.

"Small place near Peoria originally, 'bout 3 hours outside of Chicago. We had a cattle farm." Your mind wanders back to your hometown. It feels like a lifetime ago that all you had to care about was livestock and the smell of manure.

"Aww, did you have little baby cows?" Ellie's eyes glitter with excitement. You smile. "We sure did. Had a bunch of calfs every year. They'd suck on your thumb if you let them. It was pretty cute."

"Would'a thought you'd work with livestock here too, then, 'stead of going on patrol with me." There it is again, that watchful look in Joel's eyes that makes you feel like he's trying to open your head up and look inside. "What can I say, Joel," you say and lean in as you go for the attack. "You're just so damn irresistible."

Ellie makes a gagging sound and then grins as you shoot her a wink. One look back at Joel tells you that your attack landed. Clearly, compliments (even fake ones) rank high on the list on things that make him uncomfortable.

After your first games-and-jokes-night, Ellie invites you over periodically. You spend two to three evenings at the Miller household where you play one of the board games available for borrowing from the town's conference hall or just go for a round of cards. Maria appears very pleased when she catches drift of this new arrangement. You try to ignore it as much as possible. You're surprised by yourself and how much you enjoy these evenings with Joel and his surrogate daughter, but you try not to think about why you could be enjoying them so much. Anytime your thoughts drift anywhere near that particular area, your emotions shut down and you become unresponsive for a couple of minutes.

Joel noticed it the first evening at his house. He sees it happen again when you and him are out on morning patrol and he's just told you about how much Ellie enjoys her time with you when they have you over. You smile and begin to answer that you feel the same way, that it reminds you of - but that's where you stop midsentence and and your facial features turn from pleased to absent.

Joel watches as one of your arms snakes across your chest and latches on to your other arm, gloved fingers digging into your coat with such force that it looks like you're holding on for dear life. He wants to ask, but he doesn't. He doesn't know how and curses himself. Maria'd know, he thinks. Hell, even Ellie would. But he's not a woman, he's just Joel, and talking about feelings has never been his strong suit, not even when Sarah was still there.

So he just watches you out of the corner of his eye, not knowing what else to do, until you slowly come back to life. He keeps quiet for the rest of the ride, not wanting to say anything that could cause you to retreat back to wherever you just went, but for the first time, he can't shake the urge of wanting to know. It's none of your business, a voice tells him in his head, over and over again, and he knows that, but the urge doesn't pass. Something about the way you shut down, about the moments in which it happens, it seems all too familiar to him and he can't help but think back to what his brother said the day that he was dragged to your doorstep. "You and her, you got the same kind of twitchy." Joel thinks about the implications of what that could mean and just hopes, prays, that he's wrong.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!

Tag list: @eternallyvenus @frogsdeservelovetoo @akisfoxdevil @southernbe @nutterbitter @orcasoul @sunandmuun @noisynightmarepoetry

[laurancezvahlslefteyebrow]

ITS HIM!! MY BOY

LAURANCE ZVAHL’S REDESIGN IS HERE

i’ve been so excited to post this you have no idea

important notes and headcanons:

first and foremost, when Cadenza went missing so did his style. she would usually help him pick out his outfits and when she wasn’t around to help him, he just grabbed whatever he had lying around regardless of if it matched or not.

when cadenza dyed his hair back to its “natural” color it was a shade or 2 too light so as time goes on you can see it grow out.

he likes having somewhat long hair because he can put it in a pony tail and braid it an stuff.

-this next one is pretty intense so fair warning-

so when he was transformed into a shadow knight, he never technically died. he was grabbed and the shadow lord instructed gene to have him brought to the ritual table and turned. because most shadow knights are transformed before being resurrected, they don’t feel anything. laurance, however, was very aware. he could feel his soul being split in half, his bones breaking and mending themselves, his teeth sharpening, his eyes enhancing. he felt every inch of it and could do nothing to stop it. sasha is still haunted by his screams.

the only thing that got him through his time in the nether and prevented him from being corrupted by gene was that he needed to make sure aphmau was ok and that she made it home safely.

when garroth first saw laurance after he’d been rescued by ungrth, he was sure he was looking at a ghost for a split second.

laurance writes poetry in his free time, sometimes reciting it to cadenza to ask her opinion. it’s usually not great….

when laurance was about 9, both his parents died to to illness. he was forced to the streets and had to resort to stealing. he had been doing this for a couple years when one fateful day he tried stealing some bread from a little girl he’d never seen in town before. she caught him and cheerfully brought him to her fathers asking “can we keep him??” that girl was cadenza.

he hates wearing armor. it’s heavy and clunky and loud. he much prefers to wear normal street clothes much to garroth’s disapproval.

he loves cooking and does all the cooking in the guard station. he’s pretty good at it too.

he has nightmares due to his time in the nether. sometimes he’ll yelp or scream out. whenever this happened while he was living in the guard station, garroth would come into his room to pull him out of it and comfort him after he came to. garroth got hit a lot as a result. gar never minded but laurance still feels guilty.

the darkness on his fingers is due to being only half a shadow knight. the longer a shadow knight lives, the further up the darkness creeps, only stopping once the calling is answered (if you know what i mean) or until it reaches the shoulders/hips.

the tattoo on his palms are the source of all his shadow knight abilities and the scars on his face enhance them.

so… in this universe aaron is not alina’s father… it’s laurance….! he found out about aphmau’s pregnancy the same way he did in canon only this time he didn’t leave out of anger or betrayal. it was because the calling was becoming too much to handle. he loves aphmau so much but as long as the shadow lord lived he would only be able to see her with an ancient hatred in his bones. he feared he’d hurt her or their child so he left for their safety.

aphmau never knew that he knew about their child, but when she went to the nether to find him, he asked her name.

his shadow knight armor isn’t… armor…. it’s more like a shell, designed to look as intimidating as possible and be as sharp as possible. it materializes whenever his shadow knight form pops out or whenever his body thinks he’s in need of protection.

once when aphmau was trying to pull him out of his shadow form she cut her hand on it. she has a scar from it and he can’t look at it without feeling guilty.

every so often his vision goes. usually when he’s extremely angry or stressed his vision will just. go. it normally only lasts a few seconds or minutes but each time it happens he can’t help but think “this is it. this is when my vision is taken from me once and for all.”

alrighty! that’s all i have for now! i’m sorry i know that was a lot but i just love this guy so much you don’t understand 😭 i hope you enjoyed and feel free to add any more larry headcanons you have

next up is very talented seamstress

[ino-tamukas-baggy-sweater]

The Blessing to Your Curse - Part 2 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

I finally finished writing part 2, it was originally quite short but I managed to write over half of it in the last few hours while doing genshin dailies in the background lmaooo, anyway I hope you enjoy this part, it's been a few weeks in the making, and it's starting to kick off a little more! I'm super excited to write more for this series :)

Part 1 here!

Warnings: none really? quite fluffy, mentions of experiments later on but nothing described

Word count: 2.8k

“Brat, let me talk to her,” “No, you don’t deserve to,” “You can’t keep me suppressed forever! You and that stupid white haired sorcerer, you can’t keep me away from her!” “I’ll let you talk to her when you let me sleep peacefully for once!”

You’d been walking down the hallway of your house to the bathroom when you heard Yuji talking to himself. Or more accurately, talking to the curse inside himself. Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, who also happened to be your best friend and potential lover from a life you lived, lost, and then forgot a thousand years prior.

You knock tentatively on the door, “Yuji? May I come in?” “No! He’ll only get worse,” He grunts the last part but you crack the door open slightly, “Please Yuji, I can try asking him to leave you alone,” You hear shuffling and sheets moving and then the doorhandle is pulled from your grasp, his eyes dark with exhaustion as he looks down at you. He steps aside to let you in the room and you feel Sukuna’s energy reaching eagerly for you like a child would reach for his mother, seating yourself on his bed. He sits in front of you and brings his legs up to match your crossed position, “You really think he’ll leave me alone?” “I can’t make any guarantees, but I’ll see what I can do,” You say.

He sighs softly, his head drooping down and his eyes closing, before the familiar tattoos form beneath his skin and you almost feel you can see the changes to Yuji’s physical appearance as they happen. They’re subtle, and when he looks up again with all four eyes this time around you find yourself noticing the larger face shape and the fact his eyes are narrower. “They’re pathetic idiots, why won’t you help me take over this body? Why won’t you let me take you away?” He growls. You reach a hand forwards and take one of his, stroking the back with your thumb as you let your eyes trace over his body, Yuji’s grey sweatpants and plain yellow shirt looking so out of place on his body from what you remember in the Heian era.

His gaze is almost as heavy as Gojo’s six eyes, you can tell he’s getting impatient for your reply so you tilt your head, “Because we are different,” You murmur, “Though I remember you, and I remember me, I know that this body did not live through the trauma of our childhood, does not share that burden, and I fear you may resent me for it,” His hand finally grips yours in return, you can feel the taut of his muscles wanting to yank you closer as he hisses, “I made a binding vow, I sacrificed what was left of my humanity to avenge you, no matter how much we’ve changed since your death I will never break that vow, do you hear me?”

His nails prick into your skin but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a flinch. “Sukuna…” You murmur, squeezing his hand in return, “You said the world would be right when you found me again, but… as right as your world may seem, mine is on the edge of falling apart,” You’ve known for a long time that something was coming, and as soon as Yuji was introduced to you you thought the ‘something’ that haunted your dreams was Sukuna’s return, but a few more unexplainable nightmares later you knew whatever it is is definitely still coming, and it’s much worse.

“Your vow only stretches to me and my wellbeing, and while I am a well-trained sorcerer, I am first and foremost a healer,” He looks wholly unbothered by your words but you press on, “You promised to protect me, well answer me this Sukuna, my heart is a part of me is it not?”

He refuses to meet your eyes, stubborn as ever, but when you let go of his hand he reaches for it again before you get too far away, this time giving in to the urge to yank you towards him.

You tumble into his lap as he cradles the back of your head to look up at him, “No, no,  don’t look sad, I can’t handle that,” He’s never been the best at comforting you but you always managed to find some semblance of comfort and meaning in his words, “Just… tell me what you mean, and don’t call me Sukuna I hate how it sounds from your lips,” You manage to right yourself, feeling entirely out of place but completely at home in his arms.

“My heart belongs to the people of Jujutsu High as much as it belongs to you,” You murmur, feeling trapped within his crimson gaze, unable to escape, “If they die in the midst of whatever is coming, I fear my heart will go with them,” His nostrils flare and you can feel the raw heat of his cursed energy piercing your skin but he inflicts no wounds, hands gripping tightly, “They don’t deserve your heart, it’s mine, can’t you find a way to get me my own body?” He growls.

Your face twists sadly and tears well up in your eyes, “I don’t know,” You murmur, “Maybe, with my abilities, but I can’t guarantee anything especially if it puts me in the line of fire from Gojo or the higher ups,”

You hear him growl, his teeth sharp as he grimaces, “I didn’t make a binding vow to protect you all those years ago just to allow it to be broken by one brat who can’t even survive a special grade on his own,” His grip on your arms is both painful and comforting and you cup his cheek, “I won’t let the vow break, Ryomen, vessel or no vessel,” He’s forced to meet your gaze and you resist the urge to poke him, “You’re one proud self-centred piece of shit you know that?” “If I’m self-centred you’re a part of that self, like it or not you’re stuck with me,” He grunts, his eyes softening as his grip loosens.

You sigh, letting your hand fall and sitting back off his lap, “Look, I’ll do it, the body thing, I will really try, but only because you actually asked me to,” His wolfish grin makes you huff, “And only if you help me convince Gojo by getting along with the sorcerers for once, because there’s something worse than you coming,”

His face is blank and he sniffs, “I’ll protect you, that’s what I promised, so if that means I have to help some idiotic sorcerers claim victory over a threat supposedly worse than me then so be it,”

“I can’t believe I’m helping you,” You grumble, “You know I could get in a lot of trouble for this,” “Such a pity I’m your only weakness,” He teases, running his tongue over his teeth with a predatory look in his eyes. “Mess with the bull and you’ll get the horns, I’m not as physically restricted as I used to be,” You chastise, “And if you don’t play along I refuse to risk my place here just to save your ass,”

With a roll of his eyes the tattoos fade from his face and Yuji returns, yawning widely, “What did you guys talk about?” He mumbles, rubbing his eyes. You tilt your head, “I made a deal with him that can benefit us,” You shake your head, “But you don’t have to worry about that, he won’t hurt me, so if he goes off the rails all I need to do is throw myself off a cliff or in front of his technique and he’ll stop,”

“You have an awful lot of faith in a thousand year old curse who treats everyone like a piece of crap,” He side-eyes you, clearly suspicious, but you brush it off, “Yuji, let me just assure you, he doesn’t do it for no reason. His village, my village, was afraid of him, they treated him like dirt and then exiled him and expected him to go quietly,” You touch his arm softly, “I did everything I could to prevent him from turning on everyone, but my village was swarmed with curses and I died in his arms,”

His eyes soften slightly as you recite your memories, “He made a binding vow to reunite with me, he’s not going to risk that just to return to punishing the world, I know him better than anyone because I was there, I was his only hope in a world that punished him for existing,”

“Was it his cursed energy?” Yuji asks, tilting his head slightly. You nod, “It’s always been that strong, it was volatile and uncontrollable and he hurt people when he was much younger, he’s spent his life refining it and trying to prove he could control it, and it took me dying for him to finally find the strength to wrestle it into something he could wield properly. I was the only person that treated him like a human, but he and I were the same,”

“Your opposite energy, right?” You nod at his inquiry, “He and I were like two sides of the same coin, I suppose it could have been some sort of coincidence that we were in the same place, but I was treated with reverence and respect where he was ridiculed and rejected,” Yuji yawns again and you brush some hair back from his forehead, “Get some rest, I’m sure Gojo will want you at peak performance for training,” He nods, slumping back against the pillows and falling asleep with soft snores almost instantly.

You sigh softly, standing to leave the room. Things just got a lot harder, you’ve now got to figure out how to use your abilities to create an entirely new body for Sukuna based on what you remember from the Heian era, and then you’ve got to make sure that nobody figures out it was you, lest you break all trust placed in you.

You like to imagine that if your life was a movie, the next few weeks would have made up a training montage under some popular tune like Holding Out for a Hero by Bonnie Tyler or We Built this City by Starship, but unfortunately the vast majority of your time is spent on unsavoury experiments on curses that leave you soaked with sweat and make you vomit from exertion.

You’re disgusted with yourself, knowing that you’ve stooped to levels that Noritoshi Kamo once did. Each new mission comes with an opportunity to test out your developing skills. An arm here, a leg there, every so often a face pops out at you, but nothing human. You want the best for Sukuna, as morbid as that seems, and you will not settle for anything less than entirely human.

But, creating life from nothing but cursed flesh is one of the hardest things you think has ever been attempted in Jujutsu history. You’re sure it can be done, you know that all you need is to channel enough of your energy and focus into it and you’re sure you’ll be able to recreate his body perfectly.

Only one person seems to notice the change in your demeanour, and he has finally been able to remember the conversation you shared with Sukuna that night. Itadori approaches you seated in the clearing behind your house and sits beside you, “Sukuna thinks I can help you, with the body thing,” He says bluntly.

“Don’t tell me that,” You murmur, rubbing your eyes tiredly, “You’ll be punished as an accomplice if I’m discovered,” “You just need my DNA, it’ll help you create a clone of my body and then-” You cut him off with a side-eye and a hand clapped over his mouth, “Yuji, you’re not listening, they’ll know, and they’ll punish both of us, he’s dangerous,”

He grabs your hand, superior in strength, and lowers it from his mouth, “If it gets this idiot out of my head, then I’m willing. I trust you, even if I don’t trust him, and I know you’ll stop him from doing anything awful,” He shrugs, “Besides, its not like they weren’t going to kill me the moment they found out Sukuna was inside me anyway, what’s an extra crime on my head in the grand scheme of things?”

You tear up, sniffing quietly, “I’m sorry,” You murmur, “I shouldn’t be asking this of you,” “You love him, we all do crazy things for the people we love,” He’s oddly mature for his age and it scares you a little, “Whatever, just make sure next time we’re on a mission together you let me do this for you, okay?”

“As much as I hate this plan, I’ll do it,” You murmur, “But not at the expense of a life, if someone innocent is in trouble they come first, agreed?” He nods firmly, “Save as many people from unnecessary death as possible,” After squeezing his hand gently and metaphorically sealing the deal, there’s no going back. One way or another, Ryomen Sukuna will return to the mortal plane, for better or for worse.

It comes as no surprise to you that the night you spoke with Yuji, you find yourself dragged into a deep sleep where you wake in Sukuna’s innate domain. A place you’ve only seen once before, in a waking nightmare that gave you a glimpse of his past through his eyes. “Sorry about the mess,” He rumbles from atop his throne of skulls and bones, “I don’t normally have visitors beyond the brat,”

You cross your arms, sitting in the oddly not wet pool of suspicious red liquid, “You didn’t even think to spruce it up in here a little bit for my sake? You brought me here after all,” He shakes his head, standing and then walking down the pile of bones to your side where he crouches, “I didn’t bring you here, you fell in on your own,” He pokes your cheek, “Guess I should’ve known this would happen when I opened my domain to you,”

You frown, “I… fell?” He nods, “Probably the result of over-exhaustion, and the relief of finally having some sort of solution to the problem I gave you,” He shrugs, “Who can say?” He seems distant, detached, it hurts you to know he hasn’t reached for you since that night you spoke.

You stand up and look around, taking in the endless black void beyond the massive ribcage that encapsulates his throne, “Why now? Why’d you invite me here?” “I wanted to see you, is that so much to ask?” You shake your head, “You could just come to me through Yuji,” “And have the brat listening to everything we say? You’re crazy if you think I’d let that happen,”

You sigh, “Yeah, but why now? You haven’t spoken to me in weeks, and I refuse to do this for you if you’re keeping secrets from me, I’m not weak Ryomen, not like I used to be,” He stands beside you, looking down at you with an unreadable expression, and suddenly the space around you changes. A field of grass, painfully familiar, and a pair of young teenagers in the distance laughing playfully.

Why is he showing you this? Why is he rubbing salt against an open wound? “When I look into your eyes, I see her,” He murmurs, looking over at the memory of your past, “I see her, but I also see you, and I see how you’ve changed, I see your differences and I see how you’ve stayed the same,” You remain quiet as his memory tackles yours into the grass, handling you delicately as he always did.

“I’m… readjusting,” He looks down at you, his arms crossed and face still painfully neutral, “You were born in this era, you know your way around, I’m still the same as I was, I’m still a thousand years old,” He points to the memory, “That is me, but that isn’t really you, just your mind,” You yearn to comfort him but you don’t know how, you don’t want to risk alienating him from you more than he already is.

“I suppose there’s nothing I can really say to convince you otherwise,” You say slowly, “Considering the fact it took a jolt of your energy to jog my memory, but… I am here, and I want to be that for you again,” You gesture out to the field which has begun to fade. He sighs, his shoulders slumping just a bit, “You won’t be caged for much longer,” You murmur, reaching your hands up and resting them on his cheeks, your thumbs brushing just under his second pair of eyes softly.

“Don’t make promises you may regret,” He mumbles and, if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought for a moment he might begin to cry, but he remains silent. The domain falls away around you and you’re left with the feeling of his face in your palms as he lets you go and you’re allowed to return to sleep.

thanks for reading!!!

Part 3

Post dividers from @cafekitsune

[writeforfandoms]

Shadows 2

Find the John Price masterlist

For @glitterypirateduck O, Captain! Challenge. I used #18 for this chapter.

Trying to find a new normal after everything is hard, but Price makes things a little easier. A late-night conversation helps you both.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of past events, scars, past injuries, nightmares, unsettled emotions.

Word count: 1k

The town was amazing. You hadn't seen anything like it in a year, at least. 

Probably, anyway. Time had been a little hard to track while you'd been with the men. 

But the world had ended almost a year and a half ago, you were assured. 

The four who'd rescued you, albeit unknowingly, seemed to be the center of the town. The protectors. Everyone knew Gaz and Soap, the two most friendly of the four. (And also both taken, as you discovered on your first night there, a boisterous kind of family dinner with both of their significant others. That inspired a kind of ache that you pushed down out of long habit.) 

Ghost was quiet and watchful, probably the least trusting of the group. But in those first days, you saw how gently he treated the two women, voice gruff but sincere in his thanks. The single wandering sheep that meandered up to the house got gently but firmly redirected back to where it belonged. You'd known men like him before. Gruff, grumpy, soft as a marshmallow deep down. 

But Price… Price was something else. He made you feel safe. Probably just because he'd been the one to find you and cut you free, but still. He never raised his voice to you, never minded when you settled near him to read. 

That wasn't a feeling you were so willing to give up. 

Price had told you that you'd stay with them for a few days at most, until they found a better spot for you. You understood why - the house was a little crowded, with Gaz and his significant other, Ghost, and Price there full time. Soap seemed to bounce between the house and his parents’. 

But you didn't want to go. 

Oh, everyone in town was nice. Welcoming. Word got around that you were a nurse, and it didn't take long for people to start showing up asking your opinion, or asking you to look at something. 

Price just huffed and dragged the furniture around in the main room, giving you a corner with some privacy. 

A few days turned into a week, turned into two. Price didn't push about finding you another place to stay, and you never asked. 

You thought maybe he understood. Maybe he was being kind, giving you time to settle in, before bringing it up again. 

Three weeks into your stay, you woke from a nightmare, the lingering cruel laughter and screams still echoing in your ears. You sat up, hands shaking as you pushed the blanket off yourself, hunching over to try to breathe more normally. 

You hadn't had a nightmare in… a long time. You'd have been happy not to have another. Ever. 

Well. Might as well put the kettle on. 

You shuffled into the kitchen, simultaneously tired and vigilant, moving as quietly as you could. Tea was a calming ritual you'd gone without for a long time, but the muscle memory and timing hadn't left you. (And if you were oddly proud of the fact that you made the only cuppa the American would drink, well, nobody else had to know.) 

You'd just sat with your tea when you heard a stair creak. You tensed automatically, shifting your weight, fingers clenched around your mug. 

Price stepped into the kitchen, nodding to you. You returned the nod, shoulders uncoiling. 

“Still hot water left?” He asked, voice hushed.

“Plenty,” you agreed, waving a hand for him to help himself. “Shouldn't need to be reheated yet.” 

He got down his own mug, the soft sounds of him making tea helping soothe you fully back into the present. The warmth of your tea seeped into your hands, just on the verge between comforting and too hot. 

Somehow, you were still surprised when he sat across from you, gaze far too alert for the middle of the night. 

“Trouble sleeping?” 

“Mm.” You dropped your gaze to your mug, fingers tracing the handle. “You?”

He just shrugged, taking a sip of his tea. In the low light, a flash of color on his wrist caught your attention. You moved without conscious thought, one hand gently catching his. 

Both of you froze. 

“Sorry.” You started to pull your hand back. 

Price just switched his mug to his other hand and placed his hand back in yours. “Nothing to apologize for.”

You blew out a slow breath, looking into his eyes briefly before lifting your linked hands, just enough to get a better look at the scar near the heel of his hand. “What happened there?” 

He tipped your linked hands to look and then chuckled. “Burned myself on accident as a kid,” he said, shooting you an amused little smile. “Surprised you saw it.” 

You shrugged. “Must have been the lighting,” You dismissed, giving his hand one gentle squeeze before you released him. 

The two of you sat in comfortable silence together, drinking your tea. It was odd, how comfortable it was. You hadn't felt so at ease with anyone else since… before. Not all the way before, before the world ended, but before the men. Before the fire and the screaming. 

He was just… easy to be with. For you. 

“Alright there?” He kept his voice low, hand touching yours again briefly. “Look like you're about to nod off into your tea.” 

“Hm?” You blinked rapidly and looked at him. “Oh, I'm okay. Just thinking.” 

“Anything you want to share?” He kept the question mild, gentle. A clear invitation. 

You bit your lip, gaze refocusing on him. He held up steadily, unmoving, at ease. “Just… thinking that this is… comfortable.” Face burning, you dropped your gaze again, chewing lightly on your lip. 

You startled, just a little, when he took your hand again, warm fingers curling around yours. You looked back at him to find him smiling, just a little. 

“I'm glad,” he murmured, low and rougher than usual. “You deserve a safe place, and I'm happy to provide that for you. Here, or anywhere in town.” 

Your lips parted, eyes going wide, fingers clamping around his. 

He just smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and let you keep hold of his hand as he finished his tea.

[icyowl]

Fields of Dolos

Pairing: Leander x reader

Synopsis: Leander sees your curse in action for the first time. You tend to his wounds while he tends to your heart.

Request: none

A/N: Help this man has made me feral. How can you expect me to wait 2 and a half years to find out his secret?!

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

You'd love to say you were surprised, that you'd never expect yourself to be facedown in the mud, choking on street water, with a man's knee pressing down between your shoulder blades and forcing the remaining air from your lungs. . . but you'd be wrong. Why were you blessed with such a gravitation towards trouble?

The burly man's arms pinned yours to the ground, making it impossible to do anything other than thrash helplessly. He was huge — tall yet thick, his neck bordering on a triple chin. “We saw you with that horned demon. Conspiring to bring the soulless in here and massacre us all? Huh, worthless little wench?”

“That's not. . .” You wheezed. Lack of air was robbing you of your sight. After facing off against monsters from beyond your most twisted nightmares, it would be a slobbering, balding, pig of a man that would end you. How cruel. How ironic.

One comment by him shocked one final, desperate wave of adrenaline into you: “What're these bandages for?”

Suddenly your fight grew more desperate. “Don't! I'll hurt you!”

He seemed to take it as a challenge. “You? Don't think you're in any position to be making threats.”

Words were nearly futile, he was still bracing most of his weight on your back. Still, you had to try, especially when his fingers began to dig under the bandages. “'S not—” your demands turned to pleas when he began to reveal your darkened skin, “please!”

“Whoa, looks like we got ourselves a bonnefide freak here, boys,” he said to the chuckling grunts behind him, “your mom sleep with a monster or something? Bet getting someone to love an unsightly thing like you has been a real chore.” He ended with a laugh, tinging your fear with humiliation. Your mind threw up a brief image of Leander, the only person you'd been able to touch, the only one who put so much effort into showing you kindness. Would he care when he found your corpse?

“Hold her arm still, gents, I wanna take home a souvenir.” You could just catch the gleam of a knife—from what you could see with your head buried sideways in the ground—and struggled with everything you had left.

“No!”

The three of them together took your arm in their hands, the one on top of you bringing the knife to rest on your skin, causing blood to well from under the serrated edge. He had just begun to cut, eliciting a scream from you at the terrible plain, before the madness took hold of them, and brought the whole struggle to a screeching halt. The earth stilled, so too did your heart, until time began to pick up at twice the pace.

By some stroke of luck, as the insanity began to plague their minds, the men turned on each other rather than you, lunging and ripping at one another in a brutal frenzy. You could finally run. And run you did.

Their hideous cackles sounded behind you as you hastily scrambled for purchase in the mud and took off down the streets. Anywhere was safer than here. Were they following you? You didn't stop to look. The only thing you could process as you tore down the alleys was the overwhelming desire to run, to escape. Water obstructed your already impeded vision, burning hot with emotions you couldn't hold back: sorrow, hatred, regret. You'd just condemned more souls to insanity. It didn't matter that they probably deserved it, it didn't matter what they called you or wanted to do to you, it only mattered that you'd brought more trouble than you were worth and you despired your existence for it. Why couldn't you—

—you narrowly avoided colliding right into the man rounding the corner towards you, careful to clutch your arms close to your body until you took in the shocked lichen-colored eyes of the man you trusted most.

“L-Leander?”

He placed gentle hands on your shoulders. “I've been looking everywhere for you—what's wrong?” He added, clearly seeing your terror. You didn’t have the time to answer. If they chased you down, if they caught up… you dreaded to see the aftermath. People affected by your curse not only grew mentally fractured but physically unencumbered by basic human limits. They turned beastly, inhuman, unrecognizable, and the last person you wanted to witness that was Leander.

“They’re coming, we have to go,” you begged.

“Whoa, slow down…”

Icy dread enveloped your burning lungs at the sound of maniacal laughter and rushing footsteps. The three men had indeed tailed you, and now appeared from behind the corner, sporting horrible grins and distorted cackles. They moved at you in a trance; your attempted escape probably provided the instinct to chase you down through the sprawling streets. Frankly you had entirely forgotten Leander was there at all until he pulled you behind his large silhouette, causing the men to slow and become wary at his gaze alone.

They slobbered through enormous smiles until it fell from their chins in fat globs, giggling and mumbling all the while. It was a painful sight to watch but one you were far too familiar with. Just as scared as you were for your own life, you too worried about Leander. Three against one? Three against two—if you could be any help—still didn’t seem like a favorable outcome. There was no way—and yet, Leander looked like he certainly would try.

His hands lit up with the same bright swirls you first saw in the Wet Wick, but the feel of the energy was a far cry from what you’d seen before. Now he felt dangerous.

You voice trembled. “I’m sorry, I never—“

“Stay behind me.” Leander growled lowly. Had he always sounded so commanding? Guilt enveloped you to the point of resigned silence. It was one thing to deal with problems of your own doing, but now you were bringing in others too.

There was a momentary standoff while Leander kept them at bay with his aura alone, enough time for you to be engulfed by guilt to the point of pain. It was one thing to deal with problems of your own making, but now you were dragging in good, innocent people. People that would lead simpler lives without your presence.

Before you could think anymore the three men jumped on Leander. Or, tried to. Your companion transformed into a skilled, tactical fighter, keeping three grown men at bay with his fists, dagger, and waves of magic. It seemed to be going in his favor until the numbers game and their natural ferocity began to play out: as good as he was, Leander wasn’t winning against six tearing hands and burly adults with no regard for personal safety. They went at him like animals.

In the fray, Leander tossed one unwittingly close to your feet. You prayed you wouldn't be spotted, you really did, shrinking back against the alley's decrepit walls. The man's eyes were far too familiar.

Despite the broken jaw, courtesy of Leander, swaying to and fro, the man held you still with a gross and wicked grin. You could tell he had a broken leg, too. It didn't matter. He only stood, forcing the bone protruding from his shin farther out into the open air when he put his weight on it.

Fear? Absolutely.

Guilt? For sure.

Resignation, maybe even relief, that you were about to be put out of your misery? That was there, too.

It seemed like you were meant to suffer, so why not get it over with?

You stared while the man got down on all fours and lunged like the animal you'd turned him into. He flew at you, mouth agape and serrated teeth gleaming with saliva. It would have been the last thing you ever saw if it weren't for Leander, who, in one move, yanked you against his chest and turned so his back took the brunt of the attack. You both shifted as the enormous weight crash into him — he had to brace himself against the wall with his free hand to stay on his feet — yet he held tight, and you remained upright, protected, and unharmed.

A grunt gave away Leander's pain, yet he refused to loosen his grip on you. His voice was tight when he spoke. “You okay?”

You looked at his calm and gentle eyes, mouth wide with shock, and then to the man still biting into his back. Leander didn't wait for your answer. It was probably a good thing — words had escaped you entirely.

By now the savage man had wrenched his teeth free from Leander's shoulder, eliciting a spray of blood, and moved back to assess his options or plan for another onslaught. Leander adjusted the dagger in his grip. Sure, he looked like he could look after himself, the other two already dispatched and laying in the dirt off to the side, but all you could look at was the burgundy blood ebbing from the back of his shoulder and staining his cloak. Your chest shrunk two sizes.

Frankly you should have been used to violence by now — you certainly had seen your fair share — but still you closed you eyes when the man charged at Leander, somehow convinced your skilled friend would meet his end and unable to watch it happen. When you opened them, he was holding the man back with nothing but his hands on the man's arms, pushing him off balance and using the dagger to swiftly and precisely cut across his jugular. The man stumbled, gurgled, and smiled until he dropped dead in a limp heap.

The air began to settle. Dust floated back to the ground and the alleyway had gone silent except for the mildly labored breathing of Leander. He didn't even sound like he'd broken a sweat.

Finally your body felt safe to worry about breathing again. When before you'd been silent with fear, now you took in loud, gasping breaths like there wasn't enough air in the city to fill your tight lungs. Leander was on you in a second, hands trying to ease every jump of your shoulders.

“Easy, easy.” He said.

“I'm so—you shouldn't have had to—I—they—”

You should have been used to instances like this, you were used to instances like this, but what you weren't used to was the sacrifice he had made to keep you safe. Never before had anyone done something like that, and now he was bleeding because of it.

Your eyes found the tears in his cloak where he'd been bitten. It was one thing to know about your curse, to hear about it's side effects, but now he'd seen, with his own eyes, what it could do; he'd bared the brunt of it, too. He had accepted the fissured skin and skittish tendencies, but fighting off deranged men with horrible grins and getting bit in the process as if he were fighting off animals. . . you tucked your chin to your chest, full of dejection. You didn't want to confirm what you knew would be there: anger, disgust, fear, and rejection. A gentle grip on your hands drew your attention. Leander ducked to meet your eyes and you saw nothing but concern for you. It made you feel even worse.

“I,” you began.

“Your panic is consuming you. I need to get you to calm down before your heart bursts.” Leander didn't mean it seriously, but still you did as told. The last thing he needed was to look after you like a child. It took time, and the occasional word of encouragement from Leander, but eventually you were stable enough to stop taking in strangled gulps through your mouth and breathe through the nose like a normal person.

“Focus on your breathing,” he continued, pausing to use his gloved hand to tenderly wipe the mud from your eyes and cheeks, “here, let's get you cleaned up.”

When he was satisfied, he disappeared to get water, and when he was done with that, he walked you back to your room at the Wick, briefly telling a bloodhound to 'tend to what's behind Merda street' while you hide you exposed arm under your cloak. You didn't have the energy to tell Leander that he didn't actually have to help you up the stairs. Before you could get your key in the door's brass lock, Leander's hand was hovering over your arm.

“You're hurt.” He said. For the first time, you looked at the cut you'd received from the man's knife. One clean, crisp line of red bubbled up from your skin where your wrappings had been unwound. In truth you'd forgotten about it entirely.

“It's nothing.” You replied, rushing to open the door and get some space between you and the warm, inviting, chivalrous man crowding your body and mind. The room was small—just a bed, two chairs and a table, and a nightstand—but clean. Better than you'd ever remember having, anyway.

Leander entered the room and shut the door quietly behind him. “It's natural to be scared. They could have killed you.”

“It's not that,” you said hastily. Where had these tears come from? They were invading your eyes and welling up in your throat against all wishes. When Leander grazed your shoulder, sensing something was wrong, you jumped. He saw the look in your eyes. You looked at him like you had the first day you'd met: like you could hurt him.

“Or,” you continued, hand on your forehead to perhaps keep you from falling apart, “or it's just that. I don't know. It's just. . . you saw. You saw what I do to people. Out of everyone, I somehow kept this curse from affecting you, and now it has. Now you have proof how inhuman I am.”

Your other arm inherently covered your body. Anything to be smaller, to disappear. When you spoke again, it was watery with emotion, and you gestured to the wound taunting you from atop his shoulder. “And now I've hurt you—”

Just as you broke down, Leander was there to piece you back together. He pulled you right against his front, close enough that your feet knocked into his, and thumbed away your tears with gentle touches, knowing how sensitive skin could get under his rough gloves. Leander even guided your head back to look at him when you attempted to back out of his hold. Somehow he had laughter in his tone even when you were wracked with guilt and shame.

“You think you could ever hurt me? That I'd blame you? Ais does worse than this on the monthly! And I know you have eyes, I know you've seen that I've been through much worse.”

His gaze was intense with many emotions while he gave you time to look at the scar on his face. The one you'd touched and revered just as he was doing with you now. Leander was right: the scar on his face was proof that he'd endured much more than a bite wound. He still hid much of his past from you; he never talked about himself, always putting you as the center of his attention, and whenever you tried to get him to open up, he deflected smoothly.

No close friends. No long-term relationships (Kuras had told you that much). No real connections apart from you. At least, you thought it was a real connection.

“I'd still like to help tend to it, if that's okay.”

His eyes widened as it dawned on him what that would entail. “Are you sure? I can go to Kuras—”

“Please?”

Leander appraised you for a long moment, looking for what, you didn't know, but eventually he nodded and moved to sit on your single bed. The bed creaked loudly under his weight and he fixed you with an expectant gaze. It dawned on you at that moment that this was the first time you'd see him shirtless.

“Uhh,” you struggled, “I'll g-go get some medical supplies.”

Your trip down to the bar for a small bucket of water and other necessary items was just as much to give you time to work through your thoughts as it was to actually get some water. Would he already be shirtless when you got back? Why did it matter? What if you didn't do it right and he had to leave to find someone else? How did this become such a big deal? Was it a big deal or were you just making it out to be one? No way Leander worried about this as much as you, the guy probably did this with another woman this week. Would you be mad if he had?

The bartender had to say your name twice to get you out of your thoughts.

You returned -- pale, towels, and bandages in hand -- up the creaking stairs to your little room just at the top of the landing. The narrow wooden door, worn with gouges from years gone by and darkened in the grain, stared you down and pinned you still. It felt unyielding.

The brass handle elicited a shiver when you took it in hand.

If you had to guess, you'd expect Leander to have taken his shirt off, and yet, there he sat where you'd left him when you finally opened the door. Clothed, relaxed, smiling.

“I was starting to get worried.” He said.

“Yeah, I. . .” You trailed off awkwardly. Sensing you needed some help, Leander jumped in again.

“I might need some help getting this coat off. If you're still—”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You rushed to put the bucket down by his feet at the bottom of the bed. When you straightened, his eyes were a vibrant jade, comparable only to the precious stones you'd seen the occasional diplomat wear on your travels, and you stepped back, suddenly aware of the close proximity. Leander touched your arm gently to try and prevent you from back away, and showed no reaction when you instinctively flinched. You were still wary of any touch to your arms — you'd been through too much to overcome it so easily — but Leander had been endlessly patient with you. He'd been that way from day one. It was a gesture you were endlessly grateful for, even if your nerves prevented you from voicing it.

There had been one of two people that had been similarly kind, only to reveal their true intentions: kill my enemy, let me experiment on you, help me threaten my family. No one had shown you the genuine kindness that expected nothing in return. No one.

Leander stood, letting you walk around his side to the wide berth of his back and shoulders while he pulled his gloves one finger at a time and tossed them on the bed. "I wish I could help, but," he caught your eye with a mischievous glint in his own, "I think you'll have to undress me yourself this time."

"This time? This is the first time."

"There can always be more."

You decided to ignore his quips in favor of gripping the collar of his coat in your hands. The shudder that overcame him at the feel of your fingers brushing the back of his neck went unnoticed by you.

Leander groaned when you tried to relieve him of his cloak; he couldn't lie, the tugging made the bite mark flare dangerously with discomfort. The guy really got him good.

"I'm sorry--"

"Don't be, just -- be gentle, baby. I'm a sensitive guy." He added with a laugh.

Leander did his best to suppress a grating hiss when you pulled one sleeve down past his elbow. Sure, the wound was on the other shoulder, but the radiant pain was no joke. Twisting his shoulders in any way sent more blood from the wound like it was excited to leave his body. Just ridding himself of the coat was a slow, laborious process. First one side, then the other, then back again, every tug on his skin pushing more blood out into the air. He was thankful for your patience while he carefully bent this way to shimmy free. After one last pained moan, you were finally able to rid him of the cumbersome jacket and toss it on the bed.

You'd never seen Leander without it before. Even with all the clothes still remaining, you couldn't help the nerves catching fire under your skin, and Leander couldn't help but watch you take him in with a barely-concealed reverence.

Your eyes, after finding Leander's gaze too powerful to maintain, drifted back to the wound and gaped at the clear damage he had to endure. No way would a regular set of teeth do this much damage. "Did this guy really have serrated teeth?" You asked incredulously.

"Some gangs of Lowtown will do it as initiation. They believe it emulates the Soulless and makes them more intimidating."

Well, it proved far worse than simply intimidating. To penetrate his jacket, the leather gorget underneath, and his shirt? Another wave of guilt consumed you. You were no better than the Soulless or those you cursed if you let people around you get hurt. Should you leave town? A painful twist deep in your gut told you how much it would hurt to leave those who were perhaps the first -- the only -- people who cared about you. If it kept them safe, though. . .

"Hey," Leander pulled you quietly from your reverie with soft words and a gentle thumbing of your chin with his good arm, "I could never blame you for something like this, understand? You looked so scared. . ."

You nodded, at a loss for what else to do, having yet to meet his eyes. Leander wasn't convinced, leaning down until there were scarcely a few inches between his face and yours. No way he didn't feel your heart galloping behind your ribs, and yet, the color of his eyes alone and the emotions flickering within -- you dared to think you might have seen adoration -- were almost strong enough to distract you from your own overwhelming reaction to him.

Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it. You'd just begun to taste his exhale on your tongue before he pulled back, allowing you to breathe and clear your head in the cool air that took his place. Had your mouth always been this dry?

You were trying to regain your bearings when another one of Leander's agonized grunts tore you back to the present. What didn't he understand about I'd like to help? In a rush you were on him, reaching up to loosen the straps of his gorget. The buckles were pliable after so much use and were easy enough to undo. Subtle clinking from the metal was the only thing breaking up the otherwise quiet atmosphere. One by one they gave way until all that remained was the one at the back of his neck, holding the collared portion flush against his neck.

Now it was your turn to close the gap. Your heartbeat accelerated with a vengeance, and your fingers trembled as they so often did around him, but still, your persevered. Leander was kind enough to lean forward to make it easier to reach the back of his neck. Kind enough to put your heart into overdrive, more like.

Hurry up. Don't mess up. Hurry up. Don't mess up. Hurry up. Don't mess up.

He only continued to stare down at you, smiling all the while, as you fought to remain calm and keep from fiddling too much with the buckle. At this rate, you were practically embracing him -- something you'd done with others -- so why couldn't you stop worrying?

From here you could watch the unruly strands of his hair tickle his long lashes. A set of criminally stubborn eyebags taunted you from beneath his otherwise vibrant eyes. How had they never gone away? His smile was so easy, so casual, even with the dark circles and the deep scar embedded under his eye and down his neck. Only now did you notice the intense color on his cheeks; how had you gotten so brave?

You stepped away as soon as you were done, embarrassed, only for Leander to catch your arms in a soft grip of his own and meet your eye -- giving you plenty of time to protest -- before deftly beginning to reveal the rest of your cursed hands to the open air. Even the room's stagnant air felt cool against the skin you diligently kept covered under layers of bandages.

"When are you going to worry about yourself?" He asked, carefully inspecting the slash on your forearm.

You resisted the urge to pull back. It was a strange dichotomy: you were so accustomed to keeping to yourself, drawing as little attention as possible, and putting up walls between you and people who would no doubt betray you if it meant bettering their own circumstances; you also felt an intense desire to bear yourself to the man in front of you and be encouraged to do so honestly. If you had the wherewithal, you'd be concerned.

"Uhh," you said faintly. He saw you eyeing the gorget and finally acquiesced to your silent request. The leather came off easily under your grasp. Now in just his shirt, what little of his physique normally kept hidden by his coat now left little to the imagination. Leander was broad, solid, and physically imposing. The remaining leather straps across his chest and stomach only made your mind wander farther faster. When those were gone, you then only had his black shirt to remove.

Then, after some struggle, that was gone, too.

The torrent of emotions sloshing in your stomach churned and roiled. Leander was so clearly damaged, and yet so, so beautiful. You hated staring and yet couldn't bare to look away. What had once been a sizable scar on his cheek and arm now revealed itself to be one massive, monstrous scar across his entire left side. It ran deep (how could he even survive something like this?) a covered his arm, shoulder, pectoral, and neck in a criss-crossing web. There were plenty of other nicks and scrapes and smaller scars, too. The man -- always so sweet and compassionate -- had clearly endured intense pain.

Yet even with all of that he remained devilishly handsome. Toned, muscular. . . he obviously spent a lot of time honing his physique and had great genetics to boot. Unfair, really.

Your admiration meant you'd been openly gawking for some time. Leander laughed a little to try and ease the tension. "I heard chicks dig scars."

That got you out of your funk very quickly. He shushed your rushed apology (you had done that too much today) and waited patiently while you procured rags and soaked them in the bucket of water. His wide back took up most of your sight when you moved to sit behind him on the bed.

"It's gonna sting." You said. His substantial shoulders hunched and flinched when you began to clean the bite wound on his back and shoulder. Now that you'd seen all he'd been through, the bite seemed meager in comparison, despite how it looked like it came from a rapid dog rather than a person.

You worked in silence for some time. Who knew there'd be this many tooth marks? Leander hissed quietly when you pressed on one, causing blood to ooze freely down his back.

Guilt took your heart in its claws and squeezed. Why did you feel so bad? He'd clearly been through worse before. You began to spiral. The emotions from the alleyway -- perhaps now that you finally felt safe -- raced up from your gut and into your throat and mouth. In no time at all water pooled at the bottom of your eyes and you were having a hard time staying silent. No one needed to deal with your silly emotions.

"Hey."

It was Leander. His good arm reached over his opposite shoulder to grasp your hand in a warm grip. Such a gentle caress put your heart on life support. A steady roar of blood erupted in your ears, turning into a cacophony when he let go of your hand only to carefully wipe away a tear that had escaped.

"Breathe." He urged.

How could you?

Regardless, you tried. It became easier when you focused on the jade light softly emanating from his eyes. He continued to thumb at your jaw, cheek, and chin, almost undoing all your progress with the simplest of actions.

"I'm so sorry," you said again, "for what happened, for me, for-"

"You," he interrupted, leaning in and kissing your forehead, his lips a little dry but nonetheless reverent, "never need to apologize for something you have no control over, okay? No one blames you, and if they do, tell them to talk to me."

He smirked. Against your will, the corners of your mouth lifted ever so slightly.

"Okay."

The rest of the cleaning went off without a hitch. It did, however, slow down considerably when you had to bandage the wound. Because of it's odd placement, you would need to anchor the bandages by wrapping around his arm, chest, and shoulder. Did you even have enough to fit around his bulky frame?

Your arms wrapped closely around him every time you wanted to pass the bandages around his front. Thankfully, Leander spared you from any of his usual teasing. You'd probably burst if he hadn't.

Heat continuously ebbed off of him and into your hands. It felt criminal for someone to look like this. . . and more criminal to hide it. How did Leander not have women hanging off his arms at all times?

Then again, the barkeep hinted that he did. Where were they? How was this man not married yet?

You tried to focus on your work instead of wondering about his private life. It wasn't hard, really. After all, Leander's physique was about all you could see. Large trapezius muscles held together toned shoulders, his arms were built, and his forearms veiny. His body fat must have been in a single digits, and his back muscles, prominent yet smooth under lightly freckled skin. . .

Again, criminal.

You swear you were doing final adjustments to the wrappings. You weren't intentionally stroking the large scar on his opposite shoulder. It just happened that you touched it accidentally.

Leander shuddered and worked through a shaky inhale. You retreated, afraid you did something wrong, only for him to quickly ease your worries.

"You're okay. It's just. . ." he exhaled, "sensitive."

Against better judgement, you moved to touch it again. How had Leander become the one person you were brave enough to get close to? He could have anyone, anytime, and yet, here he sat, patient and prone while you satisfied your curiosity and the overwhelmingly natural need for human connection. Your hands spanned the extend of the scar. First, his arm, which he lifted a little to give you better access. Your fingerpads danced up his tricep, almost fascinated when it turned and flexed. Then, you moved up to his shoulder, gently brushing the lines of scar tissue and ghosting along the changes from light to dark skin. The juncture of his neck and shoulder seemed to get the worst of it; so dense was the hatchings of scar tissue you could scarcely see any unharmed skin at all. What could have made such marks? Could it have been something physical, or magical?

Leander couldn't take it anymore when your fingers wandered to where the scar wrapped around his throat. If he let you continue, he didn't think he'd be able to keep himself in check.

Quickly he took you hand in his, dismissing your worries by rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. "Careful, sweetheart. We're supposed to be taking it easy. You can't rile me up like that."

Shame made you retreat. Getting off the bed, you moved to gather the unused materials and set them across the room. Your back was to Leander, and yet, though he made no sounds, you could sense him closing the distance behind you. It made the back of your neck break out in tingles and shivers. You could feel the heat from his bare chest at your back when you stood.

For a moment you didn't dare move, acutely aware of the imposing figure behind you. It made your skin zing.

Leander all but whispered your name into your ear. When you turned, somehow expecting danger, all he did was take your arm in his hands and move to inspect the cut you'd sustained.

"Can you tell me what happened?" He asked.

You swallowed in an attempt to ease the dryness at the back of your throat. "I - the guy, from before, he. . ."

For a moment you thought about lying. To ease his worries, to get this over with, to satiate some irrational fear that getting him angry would have dire consequences, who knew, but in the end you decided the truth would be best.

"They saw me with Ais. Wanted to teach me a lesson, I guess? They saw the bandages - I told them not to, I did - but they unwound them. When they saw my curse, they tried to - to cut off my arm, as a trophy."

You couldn't meet his eyes. It surprised even you how nonchalant you sounded. After all, this wasn't the first time someone had something like that; it wasn't even the worst you'd heard.

Suddenly Leander took you in his arms and pulled you into his chest, arms deftly securing you against him. You were shocked, to say the least, and rigid. Only when he rubbed your back and you'd gotten a chance to inhale his scent did you manage to relax.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner. I can't imagine what that must have been like. If I could, I'd never let out of my sight."

That would be impossible. You knew that, and yet, the sentiment alone was enough to force you into a moment of vulnerability.

Nestling into his skin should have been embarrassing, but he merely held you tighter when you did it.

"I think you can imagine." You said, muffled into his skin. He pulled away, fixing you with a look of confusion, head tilted in question, until he saw your eyes glancing at his scar.

"Oh, this?" He tried to brush off with a laugh. "Its really not that bad. I just-"

Leander stopped. When you looked at him, you saw that he'd begun staring off into space, unmoving except for the rapidly increasing rate of his breathing. His eyes didn't move even when you called his name. Then, they began to glow. At first you weren't sure, but now, without a doubt, you watched them brighten until they were as intense as candlelight. With one touch of your skin to his, he erupted into an explosions of movement.

His hand flew up to cover his nose and mouth and he turned away, creating space however he could. You tried to bring him back to face you, to help however you could, only for him to snatch his hand away.

"Don't touch me!"

Pain tore at your heart. "Leander? I don't understand? Did I do something-"

"No!" He interrupted, his face obscured by his hand and the hair falling over his eyes. "You didn't - just - you need. . ."

"Need to do what? Should I get someone?"

"No, no. I'll be fine. You need to leave, now."

Kicking you out of your own room? You'd never seen him act anywhere near as bad as this. It was such a turn that you didn't even think this was a way to somehow be rid of you. If it was, there'd be no way his pain and anguish would be this believable. His shoulder line rose and fell swiftly, like he was laboring every breath. He'd begun to shake violently, too. Despite his words, you didn't make ay attempt to leave. He'd done so much for you. How could you leave him in a clear state of distress?

Just as quickly as he regressed, Leander now settled into a calm stillness. The breathing and shaking disappeared entirely. Too calm. This was too calm. The hairs all over your body rose defensively. You backed away when he stood back up to his full height. Even if you wanted to leave, he was now between you and the door. No place to go, no way to bring back the caring soul that had left you behind.

Shakily, you ventured one word into the open air, realizing you were giving yourself up to the creature across from you. "Leander?"