#or is that just me? do other people not experience feelings of utter dread for no reason at all?? is that not normal???

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

"If you had a happy childhood of course you don't find the movie scary and find it rather boring. "

"if you didn't experience abuse it isn't scary for you"

these takes are driving me bonkers I had a perfectly normal childhood with no abuse or trauma and that movie scared the pants off me. I have a thing about audio/visual distortion. also liminality. also I liked to stay up way too late as a kid. also everything scared me as a kid because I have a very anxious personality. not trauma just like... I definitely felt Unsettled in a place that still dissonantly felt Safe as a kid and it wasn't due to any trauma or neglect or abuse. I had a good childhood and Skinamarink still terrified me.

[lollytea]

Therapy

(Wrote this in five hours without stopping. Nothing fancy. Maybe sloppy and unpolished. Bon appetite???)

"Leave it alone, Darius," Hunter snarled, slamming down his chisel and wooden shape on the desk as he whirled around to face him.

"I'm doing a load anyway!" Retorted Darius, one hand gripping the laundry basket against the hip and the other holding a graphic tee with the solar system printed on it. "You know it bothers me to walk in here and see dirty clothes tossed all over the floor."

"I can do my own laundry!"

Hunter internally winced at his tone the second it burst out of him.

He sounded like the cranky, whiny child that he had once been, always gnashing nonvenomous teeth in an effort to be taken seriously.

Being treated as a child was one of his most explosive buttons. And the worst part was that if pushed, he always acted up in a way that proved them right.

He reeled himself in, filling his lungs to steady his wrung nerves before turning back to his work.

There was a pause.

"I know you are," said Darius, his voice softer than it had been a moment prior. "But considering you've been letting it pile up for the last few days, I figure I'd lend you a hand."

"I don't need a hand." Hunter took furious chunks out of his hunk of wood. "I'm gonna do it myself. I'm just....busy. Right now."

Hunter was "busy" a lot lately, leaving things such as laundry overlooked, as he focused on one obsession after another. Darius referred to his bouts of productivity as "manic episodes."

It was preferable to the other half of the time when he went borderline unresponsive. Those days weren't fun.

He heard a fwump, which was presumably the sound of Darius dropping the shirt back on the floor.

"Ocellena called," He said.

Hunter's rough attempts at whittling went still. "That's...the therapist's name, right?"

"Yes. Your first session is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. 3pm."

"Right. Okay." Hunter intoned. "Thanks."

When he offered nothing else, Darius pushed a bit.

"I know you're scared."

Hunter wanted to hotly declare that he wasn't. But he felt like the blood of a lie would seep through his words. He said nothing.

"But you haven't been doing well, Hunter."

He wanted to argue that he was actually doing awesome. But Darius was a lot better at arguing than he was, so he'd probably just end up looking stupid.

"And I promise that this is a step in the right direction."

"I said I was sorry," Hunter found himself uttering in a quiet, scratchy voice.

There he was again, that whiny difficult child inside of him. And in that moment, he had touched Hunter's throat, letting out one final plea to be forgiven.

He didn't know what he expected to happen.

Maybe deep down, he desperately wanted Darius to soften up and say to him, "Oh Hunter, what am I thinking? I shouldn't send you to therapy. You don't deserve that."

Darius said nothing of the sort.

Instead, he sighed. "You have nothing to apologize for,"

Hunter felt fingerpads gently drill against his temple. "How do I get that through your stubborn skull?"

His insides writhed with empty dread.

So, apologizing was worthless in this case. Noted.

Before Darius left the room, Hunter's hair was affectionately ruffled. He slid his eyes shut and savoured the feeling.

Every day for the last few months, Hunter was handled with such gentleness by the people around him. It had become so frequent that he had come close to taking it for granted.

He once caught himself wondering if maybe one day he'd forget how it felt to be treated.....the other way.

Well, it certainly wouldn't be anytime soon.

Hunter was, quite possibly, one of Bonesborough's most insufferable roommates. The number of times Darius and Eberwolf were awoken at untitanly hours by the sound of him suffocating on his own serrated screams was embarrassing.

The memories still seared raw and achey, nowhere close to scabbing over.

He couldn't forget.

And now, he was about to experience it all over again. But for morally correct reasons this time.

Hunter exhaled, irritated by the way it rattled. He leaned forward and hung his head in his hands.

There was a persistent gnaw of guilt in his abdomen that he was doing his damndest to ignore.

He did not want to go to therapy. But he knew he'd be a coward to admit that.

This was supposed to be a noble thing, right? Atonement. He was supposed to be owning up to his mistakes like an adult. But, being faced with the imminent appointment made him feel more like a spineless child than ever.

"Do you know what therapy is?" Darius had asked a few weeks ago when the topic had first been broached.

His tone made made Hunter bristle. He felt patronized. Nothing made him shrink in humiliation more than being confronted with the fact that he still didn't know a lot of things.

"Of course I do!" He snapped, not bothering to mention that he had only learned of the concept a few days prior when Steve brought it up in conversation.

"It's so chill, dude," He had explained. "It really made me reflect on all the bad stuff I did as a scout, y'know? And now I feel like I can finally move past all that business without the ol' baggage wearin' me down."

"But what is it?" Hunter prodded. "What happens in therapy?"

"Well it's...y'know,"

Hunter frowned, impatient. He did not know.

"It's just you and them. In a room together. Alone. And...you talk. About stuff..." Steve shrugged airily. "It's just that, man."

The last words Steve uttered sounded like they were underwater because Hunter had mentally blipped out after hearing the words 'In a room,' 'Alone' and 'talk'

His blood had frozen over.

Steve's wrist was promptly squeezed by Hunter's jittery fingers. And when the older scout curiously met his eyes, he said solemnly, "Steve. You don't have to go there."

Steve smiled his pleasant, lopsided smile. "I want to, Hunter."

His voice was so soft, so sure of itself, that a heavy weight of devastation unloaded in Hunter's stomach.

"Sure, it's scary at first." Steve continued, giving Hunter's knuckles a comforting rap. "But over time....it helps."

And then, he said the words that Hunter selfishly wished he had never heard.

"I go to therapy, and I think I'm now a better guy than I used to be."

The rest of the interaction had fallen flat because Hunter suddenly felt very disconnected from his body, and Steve could not reel him back.

He remembered the curt businesslike knock on the door of his castle bedroom. He knew it as the sound of guards delivering a message. A slip of paper from the Emperor himself, requesting his presence in the throne room. To talk.

He remembered the soft-spoken echoey order once he entered.

"Close the door,"

Hunter would obey. And then, they were alone.

'In a room'

'Alone'

'Talk'

Hunter knew how to read between the lines.

He felt stupid. Naive. They had told him that the things Belos had done to him were wrong.

They promised him that it was wrong.

But it seemed as though Hunter had severely misunderstood.

The actions themselves were not wrong, but the reasoning.

Hunter did not deserve to be punished for failing to carry out the dirty work of a vile, depraved man.

Every punishment was undeserved by default, on the grounds of it being delivered by Belos.

But Hunter, idiot that he was, had foolishly believed that he was never going to be hurt like that again.

And if he was, he would at least take comfort in the fact that it was wrong.

The realizations were crashing over him in overpowering waves. He felt pathetic for not being able to take it.

I'd like to leave the Emperor's Coven and never set foot in that throne room again

I go to therapy, and I'm now a better guy than I used to be

There were people on the Isles who hurt you and....and it was right...?

You face the consequences of your actions, and you allow them to hurt you in a way that was ethical, and then....you were a better person.

Of course.

Of course that was how it worked.

How could he possibly believe it worked any differently?

It had struck him the moment Steve had said it, that nobody on the Isles deserved therapy more than Hunter.

The actions of the Golden Guard had been unspeakably cruel. All the times he had stood there, turning a blind eye, as his uncle tore open a living creature. All the carnage Hunter had allowed to happen directly in front of him.

It was borderline brainless of him to ever assume that he could escape consequences.

He desperately wanted to be a good person. He would start ripping his own innards out if it meant he could be deemed a good person.

He'd do anything. Really.

Which was why he had decided to steel his nerves and agree to therapy.

He would walk into that room and his legs would not shake.

He would tilt up his chin, close his eyes, and stomach the consequences he had earned.

And then, Titan willing, he'd be one step closer to being good.

And yet...he would rather be dismembered than admit it, but...

Hunter was scared. He was scared to receive his punishment.

After everything he had done to innocent lives, Hunter had the audacity to be scared of the punishment.

He disgusted himself.

_______________________________

With the Emperor's Coven dismantled, the vacant police precinct currently had a plethora of uses.

Most notably, it was a research facility that Darius frequented. The current project was working on a safe sigil extraction procedure. Hunter gave Darius a headache by asking for updates every damn day, despite the latter's insistence that it would probably take years to perfect.

But today, when Hunter visited the building, he and Darius did not turn right towards the lab, but they ventured down an entirely foreign hallway.

Hunter was doing everything in his power to keep his breathing steady.

"Would you like me to sit in the waiting room?" Asked Darius.

"No," Hunter answered.

They continued to cut through the hallway in silence.

"Yes," He corrected himself, so quiet he worried Darius wouldn't hear it.

He did hear it. "Alright. I think we'll pick up some fatty junk from the market for dinner tonight. I don't feel like cooking."

Darius hated fatty junk.

Despite the terror teething his insides, Hunter's lip still quirked upwards, feeling the tiniest surge of warmth.

He loved fatty junk. And Darius knew it.

His therapy session was not the end of the world. Life would continue afterwards, and there would still be little pleasures.

And he would be a better person than he was now.

Once Darius checked him in, Hunter tried not to squirm in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, debating whether he wanted to pick up one of the trashy magazines on the rack.

According to the front cover of one of the tabloids, a star grudgby player had an organ eating scandal. Typical tabloid stuff.

"Hunter?" Called a soft, docile voice that nonetheless made him glad he didn't eat breakfast because he wanted to puke.

Darius tapped his knee to signal him to stand up, which Hunter did. He managed to not cave in.

He crossed the waiting room and pushed the door open, pretending that he wasn't experiencing alarming flashes of hands and eyes and dripping green blades.

He was ready. He was going to be a good person.

"Hello, Hunter~" Singsonged a small pudgy woman, who was in the process of donning an ankle length cardigan. Occellena. "Do you find it chilly in here, by any chance?" She asked.

Taken aback by the question, Hunter dumbly shook his head.

"Guess it's just me, then. It's a curse. Cold blooded n' all."

She had a head of plump indigo tentacles, and her bright amber eyes were magnified by jar-like spectacles.

"Well, let me know if you catch a chill and I'll turn up the heater."

The heater in question was a crystal ball the size of an ottoman with a blazing flame contained in the glass.

Occellena swept across the room to where Hunter stood and put a hand to the door. "Let's just close this and we can get--"

As far as he was aware, he did not do anything. But something made her take pause, and when she glanced his way, he felt himself jot.

"Or would you prefer to keep it open?"

The question initially escaped his comprehension. It seemed out of the realm of his own reality.

Hunter's throat tightened. And when he tried to speak, he failed.

He nodded again.

"Okay!" She said cheerily, like this was the best thing she had heard all day.

Out of the thousands of tangles in Hunter's stomach, one of them spread loose.

It was faint, but he distinctly felt the way that tangle relaxed itself.

"So, we'll leave the door open for now," said Occellena. "And if you decide at any point that you don't want that anymore, you can just pop right up and give it a swing shut."

Defenses still scaling high, Hunter had no idea what to make of this.

"Anyway," She made to walk towards her own chair, politely beckoning him to follow with one of her tentacles. "Shall we sit? I recently got a new couch. I'd really like some feedback on how comfy it is."

_______________________________

Darius would never say it, but his heart was hammering like a jackalope with worry for that ridiculous kid. His legs kept crossing and uncrossing in the waiting room chairs that seemed specifically designed to be uncomfortable.

Darius had bumped into Occellena on a few occasions in the upstairs kitchen. He had spiked his apple blood while she grounded oyster shells into her tea. He had never been one for chit-chat, but she had been nothing but bubbly with him, in spite of his less than enthusiastic responses.

He couldn't determine her skills as a therapist from just a few conversations, but the extensive research he had done to find a qualified candidate had promised that she was highly competent

But was she 'Golden Guard as a client' competent?

Was anyone?

If all else failed, she was sweet. Hunter loved sweet people.

He needed this to go well. If Hunter had a bad therapy experience, it would both stunt his recovery progress and leave him far less willing to try again for the foreseeable future.

Darius resisted the urge to stand up and pace the room, knowing his footsteps would probably disturb Hunter's session.

He noticed that the door remained slightly ajar, which he found peculiar.

Were they not supposed to keep the doors closed? Client confidentiality and all that mumbo jumbo?

Granted, he could not make out the words being said. The pitch of two voices, definitely, but it was all muffled nothingness.

His nerves were barbed during those first few minutes, in which Occellena carried on speaking for several seconds at a time, while Hunter only offered singular sentences as a response.

It was fine, he convinced himself. They were just warming up.

The moments passed, and the session seemed to take a turn in a positive direction.

The seconds in which the slightly lower pitched voice stretched a little bit longer every time he spoke. Louder too.

At some point, he seemed to take off babbling, presumably having one of those obsession buttons pushed.

Darius could only imagine that Occellena had asked about one of Hunter's many passions. That would certainly work wonders.

He had such terrible control of his own volume when he got too eager, so this was a promising sign.

After that, the conversation took a subdued dip, the silences hanging for longer.

And then, he heard footsteps. He straightened his posture, startled by the session seemingly wrapping up so soon.

But no. It was the door clicking shut.

From then on, total silence. Thirty minutes of just Darius, his trashy tales of organ eating athletes, and the vacant uncertainty of how Hunter's first therapy session was going.

And then it was over.

When Darius saw Hunter emerge from the room with Occellena's hand on his shoulder, his eyes were strikingly rimmed with red.

"So I'll see you next week. Don't worry yourself with telling Jewel, I'll have her put it down in the system. Be sure to take it easy for the rest of the evening, alright?"

Though he looked like every ounce of energy had been sapped out of him, Hunter still pulled up a smile for her, and Darius recognized sincere warmth on that face when he saw it.

"I will. Thanks, Occellena,"

And when he approached Darius, he looked relieved, ashamed, and dazed all at once.

"Hey," He greeted, uncharacteristically quiet.

"Hey," Darius responded, softly incredulous. "Shall we go ruin our skin with your accursed bag of grease now?"

His reddened eyes glinted with light boyish amusement. He nodded.

Hunter did not say much during their quest through the Bonesborough marketplace, and Darius vaguely wondered if he should be concerned.

As much as he complained about the boy being an incurable chatterbox, his silence unnerved him.

Hopefully, the session had used up too much of his blabbering muscles.

It wasn't until they were home and seated on opposite ends of the dining room table that Darius understood.

One of his most strictly enforced household rules was that dinner must be served on an actual plate. No takeout containers allowed on his property.

His nose wrinkled in distaste at the atrocity known as deep-fried eyeballs that were making a greasy mess out of his ornate lilac dishes.

Hunter was rolling the unsavoury little orbs around with his fork.

He seemed relaxed, if distracted, so Darius decided to pop the question, only to fill the silence, if anything.

"Do you want to tell me how it went today? With Occellena?"

Hunter's fork went still, but his eyes never dared to draw away from the fatty dinner in front of him.

When he opened his mouth, his bottom lip wobbled, searching for a voice that he did not seem to possess right now.

"It's alright," said Darius. "What happens in therapy stays in therapy. Isn't that what they say?"

Hunter did not respond to that, not even with a glance or a nod or anything of the sort.

He remained hung up on the struggle of getting his initial words out. The bump of his throat bobbed.

Finally, with a small, feeble voice that cracked around the edges, Hunter said, "I didn't think she was gonna be nice to me..."

The silence that fell was born of complete and utter bewilderment. Darius was so flabbergasted by the statement that he spoke before he fully thought it over.

"Well, that is to be expected from therapy," A touch of laughter rose and fell between the words. "I mean, surely you didn't think she would--?"

Darius cut himself off, his smile dropping as he noticed the visible tremor of Hunter's mouth, which he had forced into a thin line.

"Hunter?"

The boy lifted his head, bright brown eyes already pooling with an open, lost, childlike anguish. Then he blinked and it spilled to his cheekbones. He looked to Darius searchingly, like he wanted to ask something, but he could not utter a sound more.

"Hunter...? What did you think was going to happen...?"

[namandabu]

It's about the efficacy

"The sole intent of Shakyamuni Buddha to appear in this world was to spread the teaching of the Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life."

This isn't a direct quote, but it is an idea that is repeated in Jodo Shinshu teaching over and over again. It is part of what is so hard to accept about the Jodo Shinshu teaching, coming from the west.

I'll be honest, I grew up with simultaneously a very secular upbringing, while also having my own interests in mysticism and western esotericism that, admittedly, gave me a very inaccurate image of religious experience because while I read all of this stuff, I never really practiced any of it. I knew a lot of book knowledge, but I was all armchair, no meditation cushion.

When I finally decided to get serious about religion (I.E., when I started taking Buddhism seriously), I was bad at it, naturally. Meditation was fun in bursts but anything more than 5-10 minutes made me dread it. I was too overactive. I still am to be fair. And then I found Pure Land Buddhism and I had two conflicting impulses, one of which won out in the end it seems. The first, was to scoff at it, as if it were not "real" Buddhism, whatever that means coming from an arrogant westerner. The second, was to feel as though this was a form of Buddhism that spoke to me as I am now. I'll address the first impulse, then the second.

The first impulse came from a number of things, such as how the after-death aspect of Pure Land reminded me of Christianity which I had long ago thrown into the wastebasket of my mind as a religious feel-good cop-out, mostly out of anger at some of its more "vocal" supporters. Or that the practice of chanting and relying on other-power felt lazy, as though I had any right to make such a claim, as some armchair esotericist, who had never engaged in any kind of truly intensive Nembutsu practice. And to be clear, if these were my feelings for Pure Land more broadly, you can imagine my utter disdain for Jodo Shinshu, which does not even require any intensive practice at all! And to say that this is the sole intent of Shakyamuni Buddha? When Vajrayana exists and yields enlightenment in this lifetime? I did not buy it at all.

Looking back now, I cringe at my arrogance and prejudice, both towards Pure Land Buddhism, and towards Christianity. Because Pure Land Buddhism (very much including Jodo Shinshu) is a full and complete path to Buddhahood that is suitable for practicers of all capacities, and I should not have painted all of Christianity as a bad religion just because christian extremists exist and this ideology is a problem in my country. And if Christianity and Buddhism have overlap, then that isn't a measure of what Buddhism gets wrong, its a measure of what Christianity gets right. Because even though I'm not a Christian I know for a fact that a lot of people, from laypeople to clergy, old and young, get a lot of peace and fulfillment from their lives as Christians, and that deserves respect.

Fortunately, the second impulse won in this internal battle. I decided to follow my intuition, rather than my preconceived ideas. I was lead by this to Amitabha. And though I scoffed, I could not help but to just try reciting his name. Just a little bit. I attended a few chanting services online. I did chanting in my practices at home, when I did them, and more and more I wanted to understand Pure Land Buddhism. The more I practiced, the more I felt as though I was at home in my religion. Saying Amitabha's name became a positive experience for me. And when I tried to leave it behind, I felt lost. Eventually, I gave up on seated silent meditation altogether. I wasn't doing it anyway, and thinking about Amitabha can be done anytime anywhere, so I just let my OCD brain run with it. It was as though I didn't have to practice anything, it was like walking or breathing. And this continued despite my lack of keeping of the Precepts, despite my lack of regular ritual practices, despite my own internal inconsistencies and prejudices. Amida was and is, someone who can be relied upon. Nowadays, Amida and I communicate regularly.

And that's the crux of the matter, isn't it? It's about the efficacy of it. You read these Sutras, and if you have my attention span, not the entire thing, but everywhere you go the Buddha is talking about Great Compassion, the Bodhisattva Vows to save all sentient beings, and all the ways that can happen. And in every verse, it is all about enlightenment as the dynamic activity of the intent to save all beings. And when you look at it like that, and you read just the beginning fasicle of the Larger Sutra, you realize it makes sense:

"The sole intent of Shakyamuni Buddha to appear in this world was to spread the teaching of the Larger Sutra of Immeasurable Life."

Were it not for the Jodo Shinshu teaching, as well as Pure Land Buddhism more broadly, I might not even be a Buddhist today.

[the-traveling-poet]

hullo!!! i just wanted to say i really enjoy your writing and i was wondering if you'd be so gracious as to write a levi x nonbinary reader, in which the reader is asexual and gets overwhelmed by physical touch so levi tries to comfort them. you can make it as angsty as you like

thank you so much in advance ε>

Ace

You’d always stood out. Never taking a partner, never seeking one. Out of spite to those who jeered your way, you refused to acknowledge them when they attempted to address you as ‘Ma’am” or “Sir”. It didn’t matter that they didn’t, or rather wouldn’t, understand. Because at the end of the day, he understood. And he loved you all the same.

Pairing: Levi x Asexual!NB!Reader

Warnings: language, bullying

taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe

A/N: Oh my god anon this is a blessing of an ask like- Being ace myself, I really appreciate this ask. Finding ace related content is a strUggle. I’ve only ever read ONE ace!reader x AOT fic before and I literally teared up. So in a way, writing this request was like actually writing MYSELF into a fic. And a Levi fic at that. Well, except I use she/her pronouns, and per your request this is non-binary, so I’ll do my best! Since being ace is a different experience for everyone under the ace umbrella, I’m writing this from my own perspective on the matter(s), as this allows me to speak my truth :)

(N/N: Nick Name)

Enjoy~

All your life thus far, you couldn’t help but to feel disgusted by at least fifty percent of the people around you. Both as a teenager making your way through bootcamp away from your controlling home, and even after you’d joined the Survey Corps and surpassed the cadet rank to become a Captain despite the jeers.

One comment after another; “faker” “liar” “prude” “confused” and so many more followed you around like a dark cloud whenever you turned someone down from their advances. And many there had been.

You’d have loved nothing more than to retaliate and lash out at them about how they were wrong about you in the moment, but you’d learned long ago it was a waste of breath.

It was around the time you were promoted to Captain that you’d given up on any chance of finding anyone decent that would respect your boundaries, and kept to yourself and your duties. Sometimes, you’d even had to cut friends out of your personal life for trying to push and pull you into directions you weren’t comfortable going.

But it wasn’t until you’d been selected by Captain Levi to participate in his squad that you began to think maybe, maybe…another shot at friendships was okay.

Your Captain treated you with respect, despite your hesitance to open up in the beginning. With the experiences you’d had thus far, you weren’t all too keen on making another friend to let you down. And somehow, he seemed to completely understand that without either of you uttering a single word on the subject.

As time went on, you both grew closer as teammates, and the idea that you could find a real, valuable friend within the brutality that was the Survey Corps sparked into your mind once more.

Many a time you’d accompany him for tea late into the afternoon. Idle chitchat would follow, perhaps even a soft laugh or two as the candle between you two melted past the wick and melted in its tray.

It became a routine of sorts, checking in on one another throughout the day and sharing tea by night. These days, your steps were lighter. You mind, less bogged down with negativity. He was certainly the first thing you looked forward to when you awoke, and the final thought that soothed you to sleep every night.

This provoked a realization within you, with a feeling of both dread and excitement making your heart plummet to your stomach. Despite having never felt this deep of a connection with someone before, you’d known exactly what you then realized you felt.

Which led you to now, standing before the only other friend you had accompanying you through this mental struggle.

“Well if you like him, go tell him!” she encouraged, grinning ear to ear as she squeezed your hands in excitement.

Pulling back slightly, you internally cringed. She knew how you felt about physical contact, yet always brushed it off with a simple ‘that’s just who I am’. And at this point, with this being her only way of overstepping, you decided to just deal with it. She was really the only one who didn’t judge you otherwise, anyways.

“I-it’s not that simple…You know I don’t have a lot of experience admitting what I feel. And to someone I like? I don’t know how.” You sighed, once again letting your hands slip out from hers.

Her exasperated huff made you raise your eyes and take in her perplexed expression.

“Now how in the hell do you think you’re gonna pursue a relationship with that hunk of a man if you can’t even handle holding hands? Relationships are a lot more physical than that, N/N.”

Immediately you froze, trying to find the right words to say next. “You know how I feel about that. I’m not comfortable with any of…that.”

“Psh, you never are. So what’s the point of even liking anyone, anyways? Anyone can be polite and understanding, but everyone has needs yknow.” She chuckled, patting a hand onto your shoulder.

You started to tense up, feeling your breathing shallow out. Not only for touch she laid onto you, but for the words she spoke that sank your heart further into your chest. For so long you’d overlooked this one trait of hers; being touchy and clingy, and this is how she would repay your tolerance? By ending up on the same road as everyone else had with you?

Feeling your heart pound in your chest, you averted your gaze and scooted away. Maybe she was right…

“He’s nice to me. He’s never hinted at anything more than being my friend…And he certainly has never laid a hand on me; friendly or other.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” She scoffed, furrowing her brow and retracting her hand. “I’m just being honest. You told me yourself once; you prefer honesty over a sweet lie. Should I lie to you and say ‘Oh don’t worry N/N, this guy’s different than anyone else on earth. He’s got no human emotions or desires; your perfect match!’ ? Cause I won’t lie to you. That’s the truth.”

Taking another step back, you fought to keep control over your shaking. But little by little your composure was breaking away.

“That-that’s not true. Not wanting to be touched doesn’t equate to being emotionless or having no desire, innocent or other.”

“Oh so now you’re not “ace” or whatever it is? This asexual thing you explained to me means no desire or attraction!” She chuckled exasperatedly.

“That’s not how that works for everyone-“

“No. You. That’s not how it works for you. Because there’s no one else out there who thinks up this bullshit like you do. You can think whatever you want for yourself, that’s fine. Just don’t confuse it with the truth.” She cut you off, crossing her arms over her chest with a sigh.

“Listen, I’m just saying that, as a woman, you gotta expect these things, yknow?” She continued on, using a softer tone paired with a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t go by woman, or man. You know that,” You cried out in exasperation, hugging your arms tightly.

“And that! First with the contradicting ‘sexuality’ and always with the in between gender! You cant just stay in between these lables and expect to live a normal life anyone could understand!”

Tears brimmed your eyes as you watched her storm out of your dorm room with her last insult stinging your heart, and your wanted nothing more than to run and hind when you heard her continue to mutter to herself as she paced down the halls. Now left alone, you contemplated your choices.

She could be right about him; he could simply be someone who knew how to hide his intentions and you’d end up trapped in a situation your rather die than be in.

But…

Who were you to trust? The woman who never quite accepted your request for physical boundaries, or the man who had applauded you for keeping to yourself out of self-comfort?

The man who had been your comfort these past several months.

With your mind made up, you left your room in a hurry. Though your tears kept you from seeing exactly where it was you were stepping, you knew this rout by heart and could follow it blind.

A short moment that seemed to last forever with how hard your shoulders and sides shook and your heart pounded, you came at last to his door. Knocking quickly, you found it hard to find the patience to wait for his monotone voice to call out for your entry.

Pushing the door open quickly, you all but slammed it shut behind you with a stifled gasp. Immediately Levi’s gaze left the paperwork before him, shooting you a once over look of concern.

“The hell happened to you?” He muttered softly. While he might not be so soft with his words, his tone was never anything but gentle with you.

“M-my friend. She…She said…That I can’t do this-I can’t…” as you struggled for both your breath and train of thought to return, Levi stood from his desk and approached you slowly.

“Oi, you’re shaking like a damn leaf. Take a seat on the couch, I’ll get some tea for your nerves.”

He stood close, but didn’t try to reach out. Somehow, he always knew how to approach you, no matter the state you were in. Instead, he just stood beside you for a moment, letting you see he was only a pace away and listening. You could have cried from relief right then and there had his offer not reminded you why you were here.

“Yeah…Yeah, thanks,” you mumbled, shuffling over to his couch and plopping down in the corner seat. After a moment, he joined you with two cups of tea. He sat yours on the coffee table, then took a seat on the other side of the couch to observe you. After you’d downed a couple of sips from the warm mug, you sighed and closed your eyes.

It was now or never.

“So, your friend. Do you want to talk about it, or keep guzzling down the drink like a horse in their troft and rob me clean of tea?”

Nearly coughing over the chuckle you tried to suppress, you showed him a thankful smile.

“If you have the time, I’d like to get it off my chest.” You admitted, deciding to keep your eyes fixed on the mug in your hand rather than meet his inquisitive stare.

“I have the time. You think I poured us both cups if I didn’t?” He mused. To others it would have sounded like a scoff, but you knew him well enough to know he was only attempting to lighten your mood with crass humor.

“Well, I’ve told you before how she…oversteps my boundaries often.” You started slowly.

“And I’ve told you before you should kick her ass to the curb. You let one get away with it, and suddenly there’s a line of people demanding ‘their right.’ “

“Okay, firstly,” you chuckled, setting your tea down. “I have. She walked out, and I’m done entertaining her. Secondly, you’re one to talk. You let me get away with all kinds of things.”

“…That’s different,” he muttered from behind the rim of his cup, switching his gaze from your face to the window on the adjacent wall.

“Well, I uhm…She’s gone now. But, didn’t leave without a few harsh words. I’d hoped so hard she wouldn’t be like the rest, but in the end…A simple difference in preferences had her changing her attitude. I’ve always respected her decisions, I’ve always addressed her by she or her, and I’ve always respected how she feels about partners. But she can’t do the same for me? Because I’m not like her?”

You took in a deep breath, shuddering as you reached for your mug once more. Levi watched on in silence as you drank your fill and slowed your breathing, mulling over your words.

“Well, for starters, it’s a damn good thing you aren’t like her. She sees everything at face value; doesn’t dig deeper for any sense of meaning or value, and couldn’t even if she tried.”

You chanced a glance his way, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over yet again.

“She told me…She said that I can’t stay in between lables and expect to live a normal life anyone could understand. And maybe she’s right. Either way I’ll stay myself. But to think there might be some truth to what she said…”

“I’ll stop you right there. There isn’t.” He stated in a tone so sure and confident you nearly believed it yourself.

“Who gives a fuck if you’re a man or a woman? Or neither? Or both? Or what’s in your pants? Or whom you sleep with, and who you don’t. You don’t truly fall in love with one’s body or gender. Real love is seeing that person’s soul and understanding it. Learning with it, growing with it, healing with it, and all that other mushy shit.”

You took a moment to really absorb his words as your tears flowed freely now. You couldn’t be sure which emotion was running strongest through you at the moment; sadness, or relief?

“I…I never mentioned to love?” You whispered, chancing another glance his way.

With an expression similar to a child being caught in a wrongdoing, Levi’s eyes widened slightly and his lips were quick to close tightly.

“I…Just meant that, either way…Whom you love, whether they be a friend or a partner, shouldn’t be based on their preference of your identity.” He muttered softly, his eyes trained back on the cup in his hand. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have sworn you saw the tips of his ears flush a slight pink hue. Then again, maybe you didn’t know any better just yet.

Again your heart stopped, but this time not out of grief or fear. Turning to the side so as to face him better, you brought your knees up to your chest and cradled your cup close to your chest.

“Well…Since you brought it up…” you swallowed nervously and cleared your throat. “That’s what I was talking about with her. As much as it scares me…And excites me…I think I’ve finally found that.”

“Found what?” Levi asked slowly, eventually meeting your gaze with curiosity.

“Love,” you replied softly, feeling your face heat up and your hand begin to shake once more.

“I was telling her…Maybe I’m ready to take that chance, now that I understand what I feel. She was telling me that…I have to expect that every guy has needs, and while that’s not something I’m comfortable exploring…Love is. Romance, and affection found through things other than touch.”

He listened to you intently, looking deeply into your eyes as if searching for a question he hadn’t yet asked. But of course, you knew it was there. Eventually his silence made you worry, and you tucked in on yourself a little tighter.

“M-maybe she’s right, that any guy would get tired of waiting for something that may or may never happen but…I’d like to think she’s not.”

“She’s not,” Levi finally murmured, never breaking eye contact with you from across the couch.

“Not everyone feels or acts that way. Some of us feel the same way you do.”

“ ‘Some of us’? “ You asked, your tone just as quiet as his. He only nodded, giving you all the answers you needed with a simple gesture.

“So then…you…” A crack in your voice halted your question as your throat seemed to dry out.

Could he really, truly understand?

“Never been interested, never cared. Not after everything I’d seen growing up.”

Normally he would have closed off more when the conversation drifted to his life down in the slums, but it seemed he truly wanted you to understand something now.

“The things I’ve seen, and heard…The things they forced my mother into doing for table scraps…It was a deterrent from something I didn’t want any part of to begin with.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to drag the conversation here-“ He cut you off with a shake of his hand.

“No, it’s fine. I want you to know I understand, in some way or another, that you aren’t alone in feeling this way. And that…I won’t ever judge you for any of it.”

Uncurling your legs and loosening the grip on your mug, you fully faced him with a warm smile.

“And neither will I, to you.” You promised him softly, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your cheeks.

He turned too, so that he could face you fully from across the furniture.

“So then…What you said about love?” He asked cautiously, and you could practically feel how he sank further back against the armrest.

“Yeah, I may have been talking with her about you,” with an embarrassed chuckle you drained your mug and set it back onto the table.

“If-if that isn’t something you were thinking about before I won’t-“

“Would I be gripping the armrest with worry for your response if I hadn’t? I didn’t just open up for nothing you know,” he muttered, averting his gaze once more. And this time, you were sure of the color that filled his cheeks.

Relief washed over you, filling you with the courage it took to scoot a little closer to his stiff figure. Looking back over to him from only a cushion away now, you smiled.

“In that case, would it be too much for me to admit I like you a little?”

“Only if it’s not too much for me to confess I return those feelings, Y/N.”

[1realityjones1]

A little vent post:

I don't know if I've ever truly felt like this before in my life. I know the emotion I'm plagued with, the tightness in my chest that restricts my breathing. Dread, the utter fear of something you can't run away from. The fear of something persistent that haunts you day and night.

I feel as though I walk through a warehouse in the black darkness of night. There is no light to look towards, no guide to light my way on the right path through my life. I grasp towards phantoms and figments of the imagination, of hope, in the void and hope to find something concrete. I hope to finally grab on to something that may put me onto a desirable path.

The things I used to hold onto are fading and crumbling apart. My family is breaking, dying. My home is disappearing, I must find somewhere else to lay my head in peace. I'm the rope in a tug-of-war, my family tugging one of my arms and my friends tugging my other. My family is pulling me further as they have more strings to tie me down with, but my friends know to grab my heart and hold tight. It feels impossible to live with my family without my heart, and yet itbis equally impossible for the heart to live without the body.

The struggle to hold my head above the waves of events has been the struggle of my life, and I've been barely keeping my nose out of the depths for years.

I hadn't struggled for most of my life. I had known where to go and what to aim for. I never thought to look into it, never thought to look past the pretty colours of the painting of my imagined future as a child and see the trials I'd have to complete before I could experience what the art depicted. When one looks at art, they see wishes. They see the rose-tinted photograph, even if the photograph is of the heinous. Sometimes, I think the art that hides the horrible is worse than than the art that shows it proudly.

I wish I had been taught better. Not that anyone in my life that had taught me did poorly. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I was the one that should have done better. A good student asks questions, they understand the art themselves and understand the background of the image. They understand without being told to understand. I shrugged and told myself and others I understood even when I didn't so I wouldn't take time from others nor would I lose my own time.

I regret much in my life. I regret not asking more questions, not taking the initiative in so many things and allowing so many opportunities slip through the fingers like quicksilver. I made so many choices that hurt others just because those around me made those very same choices. I regret losing contact with friends, I regret the time I spent with them. I regret how I tried to help others when they told me not to help, where I ended up causing problems for everyone around me instead of doing any good.

I'm in a hall of mirrors. Constantly looking for an escape, yet finding only memories of misdeeds, mistakes, and moments I wish to return to. I look to my left and see myself as a bully, making fun of someone simply trying to fit in. I wish I hadn't fit in so well by being a bully. I look to my right and see myself saying horrible things to people that cared about me and loved me just so that I could be what I believed others wanted me to be. I look behind and see myself as a child pretending I am a super hero saving the damsel in distress in a small home with warm sunlight that never felt too small and still feels perfect. I look forward and see someone. They are my height, my weight, my shape, they have my face, my body, my hands, my scars. They are me, yet they are not at the same time. I walk forward, I do not want to walk to the left or right again. I cannot turn around and go back, I fear I will never be able to leave the paintings of the past.

I like video games because most of them have a way point. A candle in that dark warehouse. They are paintings I can physically interact with, paintings I can choose to understand or not as long as I enjoy experiencing them. I can learn from them, I can learn from the others telling their stories and painting the pictures. I have always wanted to be the painter. I have always wanted to draw a picture for an audience to understand or not, to try to teach them and show the mistakes I made and prevent someone from becoming me.

My father spoke about many things, as many intelligent people with little outlets for their genius do. He once told me he didn't want me to be like him, he wanted me to be better. His bar was not difficult to pass. He was an alcoholic and a chain smoker, I am not. I am better. He wanted to be a writer as a child, and he always encouraged me to embrace what I loved, my creativity. He was always supportive. Would he be supportive of other things if he were still alive? Would he be proud I'm taking the steps to become the writer he never was? I do not know. I doubt he'd support my identity, but I cannot see him being unsupportive.

I know I want others to be better than me. I don't want anyone to struggle like I have, and I realize I've been blessed by not being a poor child. I never had to receive hand me downs from family to even have anything to wear. I never had to struggle for dinner or breakfast or lunch. I never went hungry. I have it better than most, yet I feel the contrary. I hate that feeling.

I am running around in circles in my words and thoughts. I am reaching towards phantoms of my past and figments of hopes and dreams. I'm trying to find something to follow, and the things I'm finding are just memories leading me in circles. I'll find a memory of my father and it will lead me through the maze of mirrors again. I will take a left, a right, I'll turn around and go forward. I will latch on to one phantom and let it go just to chase another figment right before I get to something. I don't know what that something is. Is it the painful series of images of my father's conditions in the last few years of his life? Or is it flashes of happiness of my father, my mother, and I happy and enjoying each other's company. I don't know. I'll eventually go down those vortexes again, and again, and again. I will always find myself in that maze of mirrors of my mind, hoping to find a candle to use in the dark warehouse. I continue to search, even now as I write. I hope that perhaps I have found my candle.

TLDR: I don't know if I'd consider this a poem, but this is just me trying to figure my thoughts out. I have a lot going on, and I feel so overwhelmed. I'm hoping that I can keep my thoughts focused and deliberate if I write them down.

[beels-burger-babe]

Of Jealousy and Friendship - Epilogue

*** Back due to popular demand, here is a little epilogue for what happened at school the next day after pt. 2 Enjoy! - B***

Summary: MC makes a lower demon friend who may secretly be hoping for something more than friendship. The Demon Bros are not about to let this happen.

TW: Discussions about scenting and non-consensual physical contact. PART ONE, PART TWO

The next day of school was...interesting to say the least. For starters, the brothers refused to leave your side. There was one of them lingering near you at all times. Some of them had the decency to try and be subtle. Satan would just happen to be studying in the same room as you, or Belphie was napping and was wondering if you could keep an eye on his things while he did. But then there were the others who were more than obvious. Mammon and Asmodeus both had to pried off of your arms by Lucifer to get them to actually go to their own classes. Leviathan, despite usually doing his classes at home in his room, actually attended school that day and insisted that he needed your help finding a few rooms here and there. The normally sweet and friendly Beel was glaring at any lower demon that so much as looked in your direction. And boy did they look. The moment you took a step into a classroom, you could see a number of lower demons flinch back at the combined strong sent of seven of the most powerful demons in the Devildom. Everywhere you went, whispers seemed to follow you. There were undoubtedly rumours about what you might have done in order to trick the brothers into favouring you; though you never heard any of them since no one dared to come within a ten-foot radius of you.

This bothered you a little at first. Being the center of attention, especially this kind of attention, was never fun to anybody. But by the end of the day, rather than being disheartened by it, you were just exhausted. Finally, the last class of the day had arrived; the one you had been dreading since the moment your alarm went off that morning - Magical Potions.

Beel shifted from foot to foot as the two of you lingered in the entrance. "Do you really have to go to this class? You could just skip and come get some snacks with me instead." You smiled sympathetically at Beel and patted his shoulder. "Sorry, Beel. Diavolo expects good things from his exchange students. I need to keep my grades high, or who knows what Lucifer will do as punishment." The redhead pouted. "Lucifer would understand, I think. All things considered." You snorted and began to walk into the classroom. "Go to your own class, Beel. You can come to get me afterwards, and walk me home with Mammon if you really want."

Beelzebub mumbled to himself, before turning and finally walking off. You entered the class, ignoring the few gasps and gaping stares that you got as you walked through the room, and took your seat. You had been setting up for another class of note-taking when the door opened once more. Standing in the doorway, staring at you with wide eyes, was Cane. The moment your eyes met, the shocked expression on his face instantly dissipated and he flashed you a charming smile. You could feel a bubble of annoyance and anger begin to rise within you. The cocky demon swaggered over and plopped down into his seat beside you. "Hey, there Dare Devil. You didn't get in too much trouble last night with the big bad Avatars did you?" as he spoke he draped an arm on the back of your chair.

You eyed his exposed wrist and pushed his arm off of your chair. It seemed not even the obvious scenting that was supposed to tell him to back off would get him to take a hint. "No, I didn't. Though they did tell me a few interesting things last night." Cane chuckled and leaned into his palm as he smirked at you. "I'm assuming it has something to do with the reason why you smell like hell-incarnate?"

You scoffed and narrowed your eyes at him. "I'm sure you'd rather I smell like you. Considering you apparently did your best to make that happen yesterday." Cane tensed for a moment, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. Eventually, his expression fell into one of confusion as he frowned at you. "Are you talking about how I scented you? MC, do you really think I would do something like that without a good reason?" The frustration in you began to grow and grow inside you; somewhere across the school grounds, Satan sneezed. You weren't in the mood to have this talk now, and very much wished that your professor would hurry up and start the god damn class already. "I don't know you Cane. How am I supposed to know whether or not that's something you would do?" That stupid smug look on his face returned once more and you had to resist the urge to slap it off of him. "You seemed to know me well enough to go out with me yesterday. You didn't seem worried about whether or not I was too much of a stranger when we were dancing at the club and walking downtown late at night, where anything could've happened to a small little human like you," he chuckled as your face scrunched up in annoyance and leaned back into his chair. "I didn't scent you for any perverted reasons. I did it to keep you safe while we were out. I knew if you had my scent on you, you'd be less likely to get attacked, and I was right," he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "Admittedly, I should've asked first, and that's on me. But I really just wanted to make sure that my new friend didn't get hurt." He was lying. He had to be. If that asshole seriously thought you were stupid enough to buy that lame excuse, he was extremely wrong. You opened your mouth to tell him as much but were interrupted by a familiar deep voice clearing their throat behind you. "That is the worse excuse I've ever heard, and I live with Mammon." Cane stiffened in front of you before he looked up to meet the glaring eyes of Lucifer, and smiled. "Lord Lucifer, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. I would never lie, especially not to a friend like MC." The classroom seemed to be on the edge of their seats as everyone quickly picked up on the showdown that was happening right in front of them. One lower demon of gluttony even pulled out a bag of popcorn. Lucifer tsked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Do not insult mine and MC's intelligence like that. Sure scenting can be helpful to ward off other demons, but only if the scent is associated with a more powerful demon. Nobody would blink an eye at anything coated in your weak, disgusting scent." Cane scoffed and tilted his head. "Evidently you did last night. Don't think I didn't notice you and your brother's reactions." This gained a few gasps from your classmates. No one could believe that someone, that wasn't his brothers, was actually trying to stand up against Lucifer. The idea itself was insane. Even seeing it in front of their own eyes, most could hardly believe it, yourself included. Lucifer maintained his indifferent expression and raised an eyebrow at Cane. "You mistook our irritation and disbelief that someone would be so stupid as to even attempt scenting our charge for being even the slightest bit phased by you," he took a step closer to Cane, bending down to be eye level with him. "You should consider yourself lucky it was Asmodeus and myself that got to the two of you first. Should it have been one of my more reckless brothers, you would've been nothing but a pile of ribbons in our driveway," Lucifer's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as Cane gulped and took a step back. The Morningstar grinned dangerously. "MC is our charge. They are our family and our responsibility. Unlike you, we actually got their permission to be scented and bonded to them last night; meaning my brothers are more protective than ever. I would never stoop so low as to waste my energy on a pitiful excuse for a demon-like yourself. But I know for a fact, that Beelzebub eats demons like you as a snack on

days when he is particularly famished. Satan occasionally brings one home for his latest experiments. Belphegor has torn through an entire percentage of them when he hasn't gotten enough sleep. Asmodeus is surprisingly prone to temper tantrums and fits of jealousy. Leviathan drowns anyone that disrespects the things that he loves. And Mammon doesn't take too kindly to people touching things that he considers his." Cane's hands balled into fists, but even then, the tremble in them was still glaringly obvious. Lucifer remained unphased and unmoved by the reactions he was pulling from his victim; though anyone could sense the air of utter glee that was exuding off of him. "If I were you, Cane, I would sleep with one eye open." The teacher finally walked in and raised an eyebrow at the scene in front of them. "Lord Lucifer, is there a reason you are harassing my student?" Cane whimpered as Lucifer smirked at him before standing straight and turning to the teacher. "Not at all, professor. I am actually here to inform you that MC will no longer be enrolled in this class." You whipped your head up to look at him as he placed a hand on your shoulder. "The student council has realized it would be a much better decision to have the exchange students more knowledgable to the ways and customs of demons during their visit here, so MC will be enrolled in Devildom Culture Studies instead. We wouldn't want someone to take advantage of them just because they were taught our ways, now would we?" The last line was spoken coldly and pointedly as though to drive in his threats to Cane. The teacher sighed but seemed to know that there was no point arguing and instructed you to gather your things. You did so happily and quickly. As you left the classroom and walked through your halls with Lucifer, you bumped him gently with your hip. "Thanks, Lucifer. You really are the best." His chest puffed up the slightest bit in pride as he continued walking forward with his hand still on your shoulder. "There is nothing to thank me for MC. I was just doing my duty as Vice-President of the student council to ensure that the exchange students are happy and safe." But even as he said the words, you knew that wasn't the case. You were MC. The human that wormed their way into the hearts of the seven strongest demons in the Devildom. For that reason alone, you were untouchable to all others, and Lucifer and his brothers would ensure that for as long as they breathed. And whoever disagreed would have to be ready to face the consequences.

TAGLIST: @henry-and-the-seven-lords

@hopefulann

@vampwiire

@bunna-does-stuff

@obey-mes-treasure

@obeythebutler

[cqsuanla]

I need more mediocre gfs please!! Maybe like Reader getting hurt in an attack like I’m curious how she would act

sure but i didnt rly do that bc nothing serious ever happens in the mediocre gfs verse<3 welcome to the circus babies<3

edit: thanks to @seera-li for the clint bit

Your relationship isn't public in the sense that neither of you thinks it's particularly wise to advertise to Nat's long, long list of enemies that she fostered any sort of positive emotion towards any specific member of the general public. It isn't particularly wise to advertise that Nat experiences any emotions, really, since unpredictability is the name of the game. But it's okay if people know she, perhaps, might like her coworkers because her coworkers could kill someone accidentally by, like, breathing too hard or something. You, on the other hand, are entirely normal. Maybe not well-adjusted, mentally at least, but you're not an alien with super-strength, nor are you a mutated superhero borne from unethical scientific experimentation. Just normal human you.

Her friends and family know, obviously, since Nat is as unrepentant and shameless as they come. She likes to flex the fact that she's not emotionally stunted enough to not be able to bag a girl, basically. You're glad, at least, that you don't have to stop yourself from throwing yourself at Nat during house parties.

Nat also likes to lounge on an armchair with you perched on her lap, looking like the cat that got the cream; she said, one time, that it makes her feel like she has a huge cock. You had rolled your eyes at that, arms looped around her neck, and assured her that her cock was, indeed, quite large. She had smirked and kissed your neck and said in that insufferable tone: "I know." And Clint, who had been sitting on a nearby couch, had made a noise of revulsion and reached up to pop the battery out of his hearing aid so he didn't have to put up with Nat and you being so annoying. The two of you were a joy, to say the least, at Avengers dinner parties.

So, it comes as a surprise to both you and Nat--and your superhero friends when they hear about it afterwards--when you're shoved into a crummy alley by gunpoint because no one is supposed to know about your relationship to her outside of your inner circles. It's also a surprise because, you know, there's a gun pointed at you by a really menacing looking dude.

You're supposed to be safe. Everyone made sure to keep your relationship under wraps. How did they find you?

He's shouting at you, but you're too panicked, fumbling with your bag and backing into the wall, to really process what he's saying. Nat, who had been on a call with you, is also yelling at you in alarm through the AirPods Pro she had gotten you as a gift. You don't know what the fuck is happening. Maybe you shouldn't walk around the city with the noise-cancelling function on.

Suddenly, she goes quiet, and you glance at your phone, seeing the call has been dropped, and so too, then, does your stomach. A heavy feeling of dread sinks into you, and you find yourself shaking.

The barrel of the gun waves closer to your face, and you let out an undignified squeak, and then the man is wrenching your phone away with a curse when he realizes you had been on a call. Now, you are paying lots of attention to the man with the gun.

He is a mugger. You are being mugged.

"Oh, thank god," you let out in a rush, basically hurling your AirPods case at him. "Here. I-I'll get my wallet, too. It's- It's in my bag."

He is taken aback by your change in attitude, clutching the case like his life depends on it. "What- Hey, lady. What the fuck?"

You nod rapidly. "Yeah. Yeah, don't worry about me. Well, you can. I mean, don't shoot me. I have to get my wallet, okay?"

"...Okay?" The gun lowers. Dark eyes blink at you through his ski mask in utter bewilderment. "I mean-" He draws the gun back up with a scowl. "Just give me the bag."

You frown now, too. You had bought Nat a sandwich. It's in there. "But..."

"Give me the fucking bag!"

"Right! Yeah! Jesus, okay," you yell out, shoving the bag towards him and flinching away when the gun once again comes too close to comfort. "I just want you to know that my girlfriend's going to be so mad at you."

He ignores you. Why would he reply, after all? He's a mugger. You're his victim blathering on about your girlfriend. Your totally regular girlfriend.

Your girlfriend, whom you have yet to spot swinging off the roof and onto the fire escape above. Until, that is, her boots hit it with a loud clang, and both of you jerk up to look.

Then, it's over for him because Nat comes down swinging with a furious look on her face, utterly silent aside from her grunts when she lands on him and throws him upside down into the dumpster. A gunshot rings out, hitting the wall far enough away from you that you don't immediately piss yourself, but it's still a gunshot, so you still jump away with a screech.

You fall into the wall, dropping your bag, and scramble on your ass towards the main street. By the time you've gotten your bearings, Nat's straddled the mugger, gun kicked far into the alley and is midway through her third punch into the guy's face.

"Nat," you gasp out, pulse racing, throbbing, really, in your temple, "Nat!"

Your cries fall on deaf ears. She's still giving this guy hell, questioning him in a tone so cold you're glad you never have to face her for real. She seems to be under the impression that he's a neo-Nazi terrorist or something.

Quickly, you crawl over, scuffing your knees on the sidewalk, and place a hand on her back. She stills, still glowering down at the crumpled mugger beneath her. But then you put your other hand on her back, and you slide them onto her shoulders, and you cling on with a shuddering sigh.

She feels safe. She feels warm and solid and real. It hadn't felt real these past few minutes, you realize belatedly, and you cling on tighter. Suddenly, there are tears in your eyes. You feel a bit stupid for them since this is something that happens every day in the city, and Nat's faced worse, and here you are, about to sob your eyes out.

In relief, though. Relief. Sweet relief in the arms of your equally shaken up girlfriend.

She plants a hand on the guy's head, forcing his nose into the cement, and slips her free arm around your hiccupping shoulders.

"It's okay," she murmurs into your hair, a strangled note to her voice. "I'm here. It's okay."

"He-He was just mugging me," you manage, stilted, and so very much in love with Nat. Acutely aware of your love for her when you feel her relax and then stiffen up and then relax again once she's registered what you said. You keep blubbering on: "You crossed four blocks in as many minutes because I was getting mugged."

"Well." She sniffs, pressing him harder into the ground and disregarding his pained moan. "Yes."

"I love you," you say around a ragged breath. Your tears are subsiding.

Nat stiffly pats your back and glances down at him. "Yes."

"You should probably call off whatever national security agency you contacted," you say after a moment.

Both of you pay the mugger's squawk no mind. Nat just nods and says, again, "Yes." She releases you to pull her phone out of her pocket, face entirely unreadable, as she does as told. "You should also apologize to Carol."

"Me?" You make a face. Shuffle closer on your knees. "Why?"

"She, uh," Nat starts, then stops with a grimace. Rolls her eyes. "There's a war happening. Like, a few galaxies away."

"Galaxies," you repeat.

"Yeah. She's probably halfway here already."

"Galaxies."

"Yeah, baby," she says into her phone as she taps away. "She says that she's glad that you're all right, but you owe her a round of drinks."

You yank her arms closer to you--or, rather, she lets you pull her phone to your face. "She says you owe her drinks."

"We owe her drinks; that's what I said," Nat says. Finally, you see the wobble of her lips. Up and down, and up again. "You... You're okay?"

You smile softly, wiping the dampness from your cheeks. "Yeah. What about you, honey?"

Nat just nods. Then, she looks down at the guy under her and gets up with an out of place grace. He instantly tries to get up and run, but Nat just steps on his back, and he goes down again.

You pry your AirPods case out of his grip and get to your feet to pick up your bag. You put your stuff back in and shuffle back to Nat, who's palming her forehead and staring at the sky.

You curl your fingers around her tense forearm, rubbing a thumb into her skin until she turns to look at you.

"I love you," you repeat.

Nat lets her lips slant upward, and she cups your cheek. "Me too. About you."

You lean into her, nosing at her shoulder with a sigh. "How did you even get here?"

Nat lets out a breathy laugh. "Breaking and entering, and parkour on top of rooftops."

"Thank you," you say after a beat.

She shakes her head, hand pressing harder into your face. "Don't thank me."

"This is, like, cute and romantic, but I think you broke my ribs and my nose," says the mugger who has since dragged himself up to sprawl against the dumpster.

"Shut up," Nat snaps. "You should be glad I didn't break more."

He huffs and crosses his arms.

You wrap your arms around Nat's waist, smiling widely into her jacket. Nat can tell, of course, because she always knows. She tangles her hands in your hair, cradling you close to her chest, as fond of you as you are of her.

"Oh," you remember suddenly, "I got you a sandwich."

The cops find the three of you like this: Nat munching on a club sandwich with you draped over her side and the mugger looking awfully put out opposite you guys.

That night, and in the days following, Nat refuses to let you leave her sight. Very awkward to wash your hands in front of the bathroom line that had all seen a stoic Nat barge her way into your stall. You wouldn't change a single thing about it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Laisse tomber les filles 4

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; tags to be added as story progresses

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: Things are starting to pick up but Lee’s still playing low key.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The book club let out on Friday and you quietly packed up your fraying copy of Nabokov, happy you would finally be able to throw it on the shelf and forget about it. As you pulled on your jacket and hooked your bag over your shoulder, Andre, the star of the club, approached you. He wasn’t as curt as Nora but he still made you feel daft.

“Hey, you like the book?” he asked.

“Um, yeah, I guess,” you answered, “I never really read anything like it before.”

“It’s definitely no Secret Garden,” he quipped.

“Oh, but I read the Bell Jar already, that’s the next book, right?” you countered.

“But did you really read it?” he challenged, “did you soak in the depth of the words?”

“I’m sure my second reading will help with that,” you said plaintively, “I think even, I’ll enjoy it even more.”

“It is more of a woman’s book,” he said tritely, “where are you going now?”

You went to the door and he followed you casually. You walked down the hall and shrugged as your sole tapped on the wooden floorboards.

“Oh…” you stopped yourself from saying no where, “actually, someone’s expecting me.”

“Oh ha, really? I saw those flyers they hand out. That’s one of the tips, say you’re being expected so the creep doesn’t follow you,” he rolled his eyes, “I was just asking, I’m not tryna pick you up or anything.”

You came out in the early spring dusk and stopped at the top of the stone steps. “I know you weren’t, I only… I am supposed to be somewhere.”

“Oh yeah? Well, if you ever need a reading partner--”

A honk came and cut off his invitation. You glanced over at the black and white cruiser then back at Andre. You gave a weak smile.

“Maybe,” you answered, “sorry, that’s my ride.”

“So you’re dad’s a cop?” he wondered.

“My dad?” you shook your head, “he’s… a uh, friend.”

“Friend,” Andre echoed and another honk came, “he’s sure impatient.”

“Sorry, I should go.”

“See ya next week,” he called after you as you stumbled down the stairs.

“Yeah, see ya,” you tossed over your shoulder.

You approached the cruiser and Lee got out to open the door. You got in and waited for him to settle on the other side of the seat. You watched Andre stroll down the pavement and catch up with Van.

“You didn’t have to honk, I saw you,” you said quietly.

“Who was that then?” Lee asked as he steered onto the street.

“Just some guy from the club,” you replied.

“So, shakes?” he asked.

“Can we stop by my dorm first?” you hugged your bag anxiously.

“Why’s that?”

“I want to give you back those clothes, I can’t wear them,” you said.

“What? They’re a gift,” he furrowed his brow but you looked away before he could glance back at you as he stopped at the sign.

“It’s too much and they… they won’t fit me,” you said.

“Well, did you even try them on? You’re young, it’s the new style, I thought--”

“But why would you even think to buy me anything?” you interjected. 

He inhaled and said nothing. His breath rose like a growl as he passed the road that led to your dorm. He switched gears and headed for the south exit of the campus.

“Don’t interrupt me. Ever,” he snarled, “and I was being nice, honey. It’s nothin’ bad, just a gift ‘cause I thought it’d look pretty on ya.”

“It’s not that I’m not, er, grateful, I only--”

“No thank you, no nothing,” he moped, “you really hurt me, girl.”

“No, it’s not like that. I just--”

“Just what? I saw you back there, tryna act like you don’t know me in front of that boy,” he grumbled, “‘cause I’m old, right?”

“We were talking, I was just saying goodbye,” you returned, “I don’t know why you’re being like this-- Can you please turn around and just take me home?”

“You promised me a date,” he huffed, “so we’re going… next time you can wear your new clothes.”

“Date?” you sputtered, “Sheriff, please, I want to go home.”

“My name’s Lee, honey,” he purred, “I wanna hear it on your tongue.”

“Wha--” he snaked his arm over and slid his hand onto your leg, just beneath your bag.

“Go on and say it,” he squeezed, “please.”

You swallowed and stiffened as you stared down at your lap.

“Lee,” you eked out.

“Good girl,” he snickered.

“Please, I don’t want a shake, I want to go--”

“I ain’t done nothing, honey, don’t be so dramatic,” he drew his hand away, “have I?”

You were quiet. He hadn’t really done anything more than be a bit grumpy. The touch was nothing, wasn’t it? Just a friendly gesture, trying to calm you down. And he bought you nice things and expected nothing but you to like it. It really seemed like you’d done something wrong the more you thought about it.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Nah, don’t be, I’m happy as long as you’re here,” he turned off of campus and sped up, “I read that book, you know? Lolita. Made patrol a bit easier. I haven’t read a book for years. It was… interesting.”

“You read it?” you flinched.

“Oh, yeah, it was… the man, Humbert, messin’ with a child, that’s some sickness there,” Lee mulled as he kept his eyes on the road, “don’t you think?”

“Um, yeah,” you answered, “I think it was also about, um, you know, an unreliable narrator and how stories unfold differently for people. How we can experience the same thing but not in the same way… I don’t know.”

“Hmm, yeah, that’s probably it,” he said, “but I just thought, that’s awful. You know, we’re adults, you and me. How old are ya, again?”

“I’ll be nineteen this summer, sir,” you replied.

“See, girls here can marry at sixteen,” he said, “but no twelve year old gettin’ hitched.”

“Oh, well,” you murmured, uncomfortable by his rambling, “can I try the vanilla this time?”

“Vanilla? Sure,” he smiled over the wheel, “think I’ll stick to strawberry, I like the sweet stuff.”

📚

The radio show came to an end and you fumbled with your empty cup. The dread still lingered in your chest. You counted the minutes until you could go home. The milkshake settled like a stone and added to your queasiness. Lee put his cup on his other side and yawned.

“Vanilla good?” he asked.

“Not bad,” you answered as he took the cup from you, “it’s late, hm?”

“Not that late,” he slid across the seat as the radio host picked up after the outro, “so you makin’ friends then?”

“Some,” you said, “just talking about schoolwork and, um, books.”

He was close, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of him. He pushed his arm over your shoulders and let his hand hang down above your chest. You went rigid and tried to sidle away.

“Sheriff?” you croaked.

“Aw, come on, honey, ain’t nothin’ wrong, just getting close, it’s cold, ain’t it?” his other hand came up and caressed your chin, “I like spending time with you… not havin’ to worry about my radio or criminals, just you.”

“I don’t… I think…” you grabbed his wrist, “I thought…”

“I’m just being nice, I’ll admit, I’ve grown a bit sweet on ya. You’re so pretty and that,” he slipped from your grasped and framed your chin and turned your head, “am I hurtin’ ya?”

“N-no, but I…” your lip quivered. 

Was this how it happened? Maybe every girl felt like this the first time a man was near. You didn’t know, you couldn’t. You stared at him wide-eyed as he leaned in and his breath grazed your lips. You smelled the sugary strawberry flavour.

“This hurt?” he asked as his lips brushed yours.

“No,” you gulped as he pulled you to him.

“And this?” he didn’t wait for an answered before he kissed you.

He pressed his lips to your and sucked on your bottom lip. His teeth nipped lightly and he shoved his tongue against the creased of your mouth until you opened it. You garbled as he filled your mouth and hugged you tighter. You were terrified and confused by the suddenness of it all.

You grunted and pushed on his chest. You turned your head away and gasped as you shoved him harder and he relented. His hand slipped to the bottom of your neck as he looked at you in disappointment. 

“What’sa matter?” he asked.

“I… I wanna go home, it’s late,” you whispered.

“Oh honey, don’t be scared, it’s a date, I’m just kissin’ ya good night.”

“I never… said it was a date,” you mumbled.

“And why not?” he pressed, “you’re an adult, I am too.”

“I don’t… know,” you uttered, “I never… never been on a date so I guess I wouldn’t know.”

“I didn’t mean to confuse you, I thought you knew,” he said, “a girl like you, I thought you had plenty of dates.”

You shook your head and chewed your lip. You stared at your shoes and wriggled away from him. You ran your fingertips along your jawline as you huddled against the door.

“Please take me home,” you breathed.

“I didn’t mean nothing by it, I just think you’re very sweet and… beautiful,” he reached out and took your hand gently, “I can go slow.”

“I just don’t know,” you didn’t pull your hand away as he held it.

“Ah, I get it, I’m old, I know it, I ain’t stupid,” he sighed.

“I don’t care about that,” you withdrew and wrung your hands in your lap, “I’m… embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” he repeated.

“That I never… That I don’t know about all that,” you confessed, “but I don’t wanna think about that now.”

“Can I see you tomorrow then?” he asked, “I wanna see your new clothes.”

“Sheriff,” you said.

“Lee,” he corrected sharply.

“Lee,” you hissed, “please, can you take me home?”

“Well, you just needa ask nicely is all,” he pushed himself in front of the wheel and jolted the whole car with the movement, “let’s get ya there all safe and sound and you can rest up for tomorrow, huh?”

“I gotta study tomorrow,” you argued.

“You can,” he assured you, “you come study at mine and I’ll make you a nice home cooked dinner, how about that?”

You sniffed and pouted, “sure, if you take me home.”

[sepublic]

           God seeing Marcy in that tank, floating and healing, unconscious… A part of me is relieved as hell, but;

           A part of me is still in utter despair. It still hurts to watch; Not only because of what happened, the emotional and mental and PHYSICAL anguish she went through… But also, even if she’s recovering, well, she still WENT through that to begin with, she shouldn’t be in this kind of state, EVER! She’s literally a child and Marcy has gone through unimaginable trauma of multiple forms, and it shouldn’t have happened at all!

           She’s not fully safe yet, she’s still by herself, still wounded… Hurting, scarred already- GOD, can you imagine Marcy handling a scar for the rest of her life, of her most traumatic experience!? Dreaming, possibly having nightmares, not even fully aware or realizing that she’s alive- She might think she’s dead, or is in too lucid of a coma-like state to even realize or remember, too lucid to be relieved and given hope. She looks so lonely in there, so forgotten...! So small, but also weirdly peaceful and tranquil, like a dead body resting... It’s bittersweet and leaves me conflict and confused like her. Blissfully unaware... of the pain but also that she’s safe and still alive, so she’s trapped in that terror in a sense. The void- She must FEEL dead and I hate it. That this is the rest from life she wanted all along...

           And I’m sad because… Marcy was so afraid of being left behind. Sasha and Anne didn’t even KNOW she was going to leave them, can you believe that?! How they’d have reacted if Marcy told them, but she didn’t trust them, didn’t feel safe enough to admit this first at least? They had no idea that they were about to lose her too, they would’ve found out on Anne’s BIRTHDAY… Marcy was so afraid of being left out, behind, alone from the others, and she kind of was on that day; Anne and Sasha had fun (well mostly Sasha) as they forgot about Marcy, who had to grapple with the worst news of her life all by herself.

          Watch Sasha and Anne’s antics, knowing that somewhere out there, Marcy is having a borderline panic attack and feels so incredibly isolated and detached, desperate even- It’s the end of the world for her, while for Sasha and Anne, it’s just goofy antics; The worst thing for Anne is being late to her own birthday, but at least there will be more birthdays, and more times to hang out with her friends. But Marcy…

           Now, Marcy is left alone, once again! Because Sasha and Anne… They have company. They have people, REAL friends. And they’ll no doubt reunite and put in the work to stop Andrias. Sasha is going to learn and heal from her mistakes, but Marcy… She’s probably going to float in that tank, all by herself, taken advantage of by Andrias’ master, for who knows how long. Marcy’s going to miss out on so much, the chance to grow and develop and be with her friends against Andrias, because now she’s trapped with them…

           Even though Marcy lived… Just. The WAY the show handled it. The complete and utter breakdown. The despair, the terror, the regret… The genuine belief that she was dead, the shock from Marcy and everyone else. It all felt real, and still does, in the moment, that you keep forgetting she lives- Like you’re actually there, reliving the moment as if it were new, each time and feeling the dread alongside everyone else. For a moment, Marcy DID die- And they’ll never forget that. She went through the experience of believing, of feeling she was dead, and for all intents and purposes she was. Marcy shouldn’t have EVER been dead…

          We would’ve had to wait who knows HOW long before we got reassurance that Marcy lived, had True Colors aired properly. Even if Marcy lives, that trauma… She’ll NEVER be the same after this, the innocent girl she was, it didn’t grow into someone else- It felt more like it was brutally murdered to make room for another, more mature yet scarred Marcy.

           Marcy may not have literally died in True Colors… But it was the death of her innocence. Her spirit, her hope, and dreams and fantasy… The fun, the carefree attitude that every kid is owed; And the trust from her friends, the trust towards others, the belief in herself. Marcy may not be completely dead, but a part of her DID die, irreparably I feel… And I’m just afraid that Marcy is going to return rather late in Season 3, and be forced to catch up on all this growth she missed out, on the time Sasha and Anne had together. Still left out…

           But, hopefully they’ll stick with her, to let Marcy know they’re never leaving her behind. But DAMN it sucks that Marcy might not get this full development on-screen, and it just feels so unfair and descriptive of her life, always overlooked and ignored, given the short end of the stick… Barely making through with the bare minimum of a victory, and just being grateful for that! I swear, I NEED to see Season 3 fully delve into Marcy’s recovery from her wound, let her realize she’s alive and still has a chance, fully develop her hope, rekindle friendships with Sasha and Marcy, actual time to do so, at her own pace (mostly)…

           Just… let Marcy be here. Let her participate like the rest of the girls, and not be forgotten and sidelined again. NOBODY deserves this, least of all a literal child like her… She just wanted to avoid loneliness. She could’ve learned her lesson without this sort of trauma, so all of it, all of Marcy’s suffering- It’s just pointless and needlessly cruel, and accomplishes nothing but to break her. And she had NO ONE to listen to her, no one who actually cared… So dammit, I want to see Marcy reconcile and vent and admit to Sasha and Anne, and have them listen and forgive her, and let Marcy know that she’s HEARD, all right! I just need some full emotional closure for her, some on-screen, canonical development, inarguably there and described, and not just alluded to or set up in an off-screen epilogue.

           And I need Marcy to know that it’s all right. That as she floats, she’s going to be dreaming a lot, and… A lot of her dreams will be nightmares. She won’t wake up for a while, she’ll be trapped in her fears, reliving trauma and isolation and despair, over and over again, not realizing that there’s an end or even that there was ever anything else to begin with. But you’ll wake up soon, Mar-Mar, and it’ll be all right… It wasn’t just a bad dream, a lot of it DID happen- But the rest, Sasha and Anne will fight to make sure it never occurs, no more pain. No more suffering and anguish… They know what happened and they will FIGHT for you this time! They’re here to protect and defend, and you can trust them, rely on them, to come for you in the end… They’ll come back, I promise.

           I want to see it- The hope, the glimmer and realization, the new life and invigoration and joy in her eyes, when Marcy first realizes that Anne and the others are coming back for her. I want to see it. And I want her to experience and appreciate this joy by herself, to be left alone with it, without Andrias or his master or anyone else there to ruin it.

           ...Not too long ago, she was so HAPPY singing with Anne and Sasha. She really thought it’d all be okay and she was looking forward to it, even! I see her in that tank and I want to hold her, cherish her, cuddle and comfort Marcy, and tell her it’s gonna be alright, it’s okay, you’re safe now- And we understand. We still love and forgive you.

[belit0]

Hey, can you write Indra + size kink + cockworship + nasty cum stuff ?? Sorry, i'm hungry for that man

Sorry this took me SO FUCKING LONG omfg

No need to be sorry, I’m as hungry as you. I haven’t written smut in a while, so bear with me, I’m getting back at it:,(

Tw: Indra knows nothing about communication

When Indra enters the house, the sun has already set. He looks drained, tired. It’s been days since he started wearing his hair loose, devoid of his usual ponytail, and it only helps to make him look more massive than he is.

His steps are heavy as he heads to the bedroom, and when he looks at you with those expressionless serious eyes, you know he won’t be eating dinner today either. That’s okay, you’re not used to spending time together as a normal couple anyway, and you know you’d feel weird if he actually sat down with you and joined you for a meal.

His form disappears down the corridor and you know he has found the way to bed, seeking comfort from the adversities of the day. His shadow is dragged across the walls by the candlelight, and for a moment, it looks like the demon everyone says he is.

But of course, you know better than to believe those ridiculous tales.

It’s been months since this man appeared in your village, a place led by a poor wretch who was trying his best to get his people ahead. Only a few enjoyed good fortune, privilege, and wealth, and you were not one of them. Life before Indra, here, was based on working hard for pennies, finding food wherever possible, wearing the same clothes repeatedly for lack of more garments. Poverty was rampant among almost the entire village population, and despite the leader’s best efforts, nothing seemed to work for the betterment of the situation.

But a mysterious man with long hair and thick shoulders, tattooed eyes, impressive physique compared to the famine-stricken people... left everyone captivated. With just a couple of suggestions and commands, things turned around, and the outlook brightened for everybody. This mysterious man quickly rose in the hierarchical power of the village, and the current leader ended up giving up his place.

Indra became their ruler overnight, and hopes for the future of the town seemed to grow stronger and stronger again.

Town expansion was inevitable, welcoming visitors and travelers intrigued by the legends of this man who brought fortune to a doomed place. Enemies were also unavoidable. The Otsutsuki defended and used all his power to prevent the destruction of the foundations he had built with so much effort, leaving everyone terrified in his steps.

His red eyes became stories used by mothers to frighten disobedient children, his violet beast traveled on the tongues of all the merchants and their incessant rumors.

Respect mingled with fear, yet Indra never wavered.

He looked imposing as he walked the streets of the town, staring at nothing in particular, an expression forged by iron and ice. His towering figure seemed to cast a gigantic shadow over every other man nearby, and all the women were dying to take the vacant place at his side.

Everyone thought as he became leader he would choose one of the few wealthy ladies of the village as his wife, but he did not.

It was months after his ascension to power before he communicated with a woman. And that turned out to be you.

Although the village prospered and grew bigger every day, your life remained the same, complicated. Money was scarce as well as food, and working hard every morning was necessary if you wanted to get a crumb of bread.

You tended the garden of a prosperous family, kneeling in the morning dew, your clothes covered in dirt from the work you had started just a few minutes ago.

Footsteps in front of you broke your concentration, and when you looked up, a tall figure was staring down at you. A flowing robe floated in the wind, and that frown was visible even from the floor. Indra was intimidating without uttering a word.

“You look thoroughly filthy.” He had said. “I’m sorry, my lord.” You had replied, bowing your head in respect.

You did not finish that day’s work, for offering you a wide hand, Indra Otsutsuki himself lifted you from the dirt and escorted you to get a fresh change of clothes. Not one of the worn-out ones you used to wear, but an expensive one, of excellent quality, full of exquisite details. A garment of high society, one of the kind he himself usually wore.

From that moment on, he did not leave your side. It was only a matter of time before you moved into his residence, an immense house in the middle of town. You became the envy of all women, no one being able to understand how their leader could choose a servant girl as his partner.

And despite the fear you felt towards him at first, although his haughty looks seemed to be empty initially, you eventually grew to understand him. Dread turned into respect, affection, love.

After all, he saved you from that life of misery to give you one of luxury and privilege, asking for nothing in return. Even though you slept in the same bed every night, he never touched a single hair on your head, never came near you, never took the initiative you feared he may take.

“Why me?” you asked once, the blush on your face shielded by nighttime darkness inside the room. A large space lay between you both on the bed, and Indra, while you couldn’t see him, probably had his back to you. “You are the prettiest.” He replied simply, and you caught a note of amusement in his voice.

During the day it was rare for you to see him, but at sunset, you would both be in the bedroom. No lustful touches in the middle were necessary to make the night complete, for the silences which at first were awkward eventually were filled with chatter.

That intimidating look, that wide-backed warrior with blood-colored eyes, became a companion, a pleasant person to spend time with. Never smiled, never laughed, but you know he is calm, that he enjoys the moment as much as you do. You’ve seen him interact with other people, how his muscles tense when someone is way too close for his comfort, how his brow furrows when anyone speaks to him. You know you’re the only person he tolerates, appreciates, and loves around him.

That’s why seeing him arrive like this is something uncomfortable in your chest. Slowly following in his footsteps, you find his clothes lost all the way back to the room. You pick up garment by garment, and there is a certain satisfaction as you smell his clothes and feel his perfume. As you reach the doorway, he is already tucked into bed, buried under sheets. One of his arms supports his head and acts as a pillow while his other hand scratches his chest, which is slightly uncovered. One of his legs is bent, and covers slip off his skin, revealing a thigh and worked muscles. His eyes are closed, but he knows you are there.

Leaving his clothing on a chair, you approach him and sit on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in your lap. Rarely have you seen this scene, where he relaxes with all his rights in his own bed. Sex has never been addressed between the two of you, and it’s something you’re grateful for. Rumors travel faster than the wind, and many a woman has walked around claiming to have spent time in the bed of the mighty Indra. Whether that’s true, you don’t know, and you’ve never asked either.

If true, your experience is undoubtedly unparalleled.

Still, seeing him like this, becoming one with the bed and stretching out, getting a taste of his toned chest and his thick thigh... Curiosity suddenly demands more.

“You’re staring.” His eyes are still closed, but to be put on display is still just as humiliating. “I’m sorry...” You’re not sure if get up and leave at that moment, but it’s his voice that clears the uncertainty. “Why? I’m your partner, naturally.”

It feels like confirmation of your actions, and you become brave all at once.

“Can I help you... To feel better?....” Your voice is full of hesitation, yet one end of his lips lifts, revealing a wickedly tinged smirk.

“Be my guest.”

Climbing on top of him, your hands tremble with anxiety and anticipation. His eyes flutter open and he watches you intently, analyzing where your actions lead. The man really is huge, and being partially on top of him, the size difference is even greater. Indra seems to rejoice in your stupor, picking up on your intentions and stirring the sheets covering him as you settle between his legs.

Whatever nervousness you felt about what was to come only grows worse at the sight of his size, as even half-hard, his cock’s intimidatingly enormous length.

“Already frightened?” The teasing tone sliding across his tongue fills you with new determination, and with both hands, you hold his shaft. One at the base and one at the head. Your tongue timidly explores that unfamiliar surface, feeling in your grip how hardness invades his dick second after second.

Your lips wrap carefully around it, and pushing gently, inch by inch, his length finds its way into the pleasantly warm depths of your mouth. One of your hands slowly slides down, dragging skin in its wake.

Fixing your eyes on Indra while trying to deal with the raw, inexperienced situation and size, you notice impatience and need, lust swimming in red eyes dominates his expression.

From an instant to the next, your shoulders are enveloped by two gigantic hands, and position is turned around, a vast body hovering over you and trapping you underneath it.

“You teasing little fucker...”

Being handled like that awakens something on the inside that you rarely felt before, some sort of tingling urgently needing to be soothed. A broad palm grasps your chin, which moves your face in the direction Indra desires as he suddenly engulfed your lips.

You have never kissed this man before, and to be making out with him for the first time in these circumstances should feel wrong... but it only builds up more sensations in your lower belly, a treacherous emptiness, and an almost unfamiliar fire.

Your hands awkwardly find his back, and the need to press him against your face, to demand more, to extract more from those luscious lips is interesting. There is no more distance to close between the two of you, but you want to crush yourself against his labored chest until becoming one.

The moment ends quickly as you gasp for air, and trying to recover, a sultry Indra, who grins viciously seductive overpowers your gaze.

“I’ll introduce you to a thing or two...”

Before you comprehend what his words mean, the position changes again, and his two knees are one on either side of your head. He looks even more terrifying from this angle than in everyday life, and you don’t venture to peek at his dick. Two of his fingers slide across your lower lip, caressing your cheek, and suddenly squeeze your face harshly. Your mouth is forced open, but when his cock slides over your tongue and you understand the functionality of the pose, you ease back.

Your lack of experience was driving him crazy, and rather than loosening him up, you were upsetting him further. Managing the matter with his own hands, or rather with his own hips, Indra finds peace again.

Rising to height, one of his palms cradles your face, while the other supports himself against the wall. You try to find stability by holding onto his thighs, and as he buries himself lower in your mouth, sensations in your body become almost unbearable, coupled with his movements.

Indra is kind at first, gradually pushing into your inexperienced cavity slowly, closing his eyes tightly and fighting the urge to destroy your mouth.

Yet when your jaw relaxes completely, grasping the rhythm and feel of the situation, he lets go. The beast is finally released, and the Otsutsuki fucks your lips with abandon, hitting the end of your throat with each thrust. His hips move with agility, and imagining him between your legs with the same surrender and strength makes you hold on.

Tears decorate your cheeks and eyelashes, blending with the saliva dripping from your mouth every time that cock lunges at your face. Indra becomes completely abstracted, tilting his head back as deep growls rise from deep within his chest.

When air is inevitably needed and you can no longer avoid gagging, you repeatedly slap his thighs, drawing his attention. He leans his forehead against the wall and holds your face with both hands, withdrawing his dick from your throat and catching his breath with difficulty. His gaze is fixed on you, and although you could probably look better, you feel really appreciated under those red eyes.

The fluids from your mouth completely soaked your chest and cheeks, your clothes are soaked, and at the sight, the Otsutsuki slides his fingers across your wet skin, then strokes his shaft twice.

When you catch your breath, you place a kiss on the head which has been hitting the back of your throat for minutes, showing he may continue.

Without a second thought, he burrows deeply into your mouth, reaching a depth he hadn’t hit before. The grunt he exhales makes your skin crawl, and you really want to see him enjoy you like this for the rest of your life.

He gives you time to breathe again, and his thrusts become more shallow, seeking more contact with the softness of your tongue and the warmth of your cheeks. It isn’t long before his length is completely out of your cavity and he works it rapidly, seeking the longed-for finish. You’re not sure what you should do, so you simply watch him, amazed at the size of his hands.

After a few seconds, several white shots paint your face, staining your hair and chest, leaving practically nowhere without even a drop. It’s unexpected, but satisfying.

[aminiatureworld]

Damocles

Characters: Zhongli, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,211

Warnings: Hanahaki disease – depictions of a fictional illness with symptoms mimicking tuberculosis, mentions of coughing up blood, talking a lot about death

Premise: In which the reader thinks Zhongli doesn’t reciprocate their feelings, and fears the consequences.

Author’s Note: Ngl, I don’t think I’ve ever really heard about this trope before, except maybe in passing. So if it’s a little weird that’s why.

I ended up taking the story in a bit of a macabre direction. Hopefully not too melodramatic, but I kinda like how it turned out.

Zhongli

“Thank you for telling me, but I’m afraid I cannot return your feelings. I’m sorry to be a disappointment.”

 In truth you couldn’t decide whether or not you had expected your feelings to be returned. You and Zhongli had been friends for years now, and you had grown closer to him than you had to most of your previous friends and acquaintances. Indeed, you had grown closer to him than you had to many of the people you’d been in previous relationships in. You called upon him in some form almost every day, whether it be to discuss something of importance or simply bask in his presence. When there was something new you found about, whether it be a story in a book or a particularly funky looking shell, you almost immediately sought out Zhongli to share your find with.

For Zhongli’s part, he also liked to share experiences with you. At the very least you couldn’t say that your friendship was one sided. He often would be the one to walk up to you on the street, a new brand of tea written down on a piece of paper in his pocket, or a location where one could find particularly beautiful glaze lilies on his lips. He never seemed to mind when you peppered him with endless questions, or talked his ear off about your own day; something which you often asked if he found annoying. No, you were very sure that Zhongli wasn’t simply spending time with you out of pity.

In truth it was your friends who guessed the trajectory of your personal feelings before you did. Though you often found their poking and prodding intensely irritating, they had the common sense to keep the questions to a minimum – perhaps in hope their silence might guarantee that your affections would reveal themselves naturally one day. Now though you had to admit they had been right. You had fallen for Zhongli how long ago? It seemed so difficult to say when, so gradually had your feelings changed from viewing him as a confidante to viewing him as something more. Once you had finally come to terms with it you’d put off revealing your feelings as long as possible.

It wasn’t just the chance of rejection, something that would already cause emotions to run high. You had seen what sort of disease could ravage those who were unlucky in love. One of your own friends had suffered from such a disease, a fellow member of the Liyue Qixing had died from such a thing only a few months ago.

It was a terrible disease, everyone at least could agree about that. The origins of such an unfathomable sickness was much less understood. Most saw it as a curse from the gods, a punishment to the humans who would love a fellow mortal more than those who ruled above them, who gave their protection, their mercy, and their gifts to the people below. Others argued that it was simply a result of stress, for what heart could take the shock of a truly deep rejection. A rare parasite, a curse from malevolent demons, all these theories made little difference when it came to the actual disease. You were fairly sure anyways that people dying of it couldn’t care less why it happened, only that it was happening to them.

First came the coughing, easy enough to ignore in a land where the common cold truly lived up to its name. Then you couldn’t run as fast or as far as you had once, at least on the days were you weren’t fighting off crippling fatigue – the night sweats doing little to help you in your desperate need for rest. Then the fever set in, then the blood that stained the porcelain sink. By the time the first few petals would appear emaciation would already begin to claim your muscle mass and the precious body fat that kept you alive. Some people didn’t even get to the point of regurgitating fully formed flowers. Those people were usually considered lucky, for when one must deal with an incurable disease, well, surely it is better to go sooner rather than later.

You wouldn’t lie and say that wasn’t one of the reasons it took you so long to confess. After all, what you don’t know won’t kill you, right? You weren’t actually sure about that, but it sounded right in your mind, regardless of its actual veracity. However, as with most people in love, you’d found a growing recklessness inside you, paired with the sudden desperation for a happiness which you would certainly never obtain at this rate. So you’d made up your mind to tell him, deciding that perhaps the certainty would be better than the ever growing cloud of anxiety that surrounded your thoughts.

Now you’d been rejected. You had to admit that your first reaction was utter panic, the distinct feeling of having made a terrible sort of mistake. Oh sure, your feelings were undeniably hurt, but that was less important than the virtual death sentence you’d been handed. Why oh why had you decided to do this? The world seemed to swim in front of your for a moment, as simultaneously everything came into sharp focus and faded away into the recesses of your mind. What would you do now? There was nothing to do, you just had to wait for the inevitable, wait for the cold embrace of death to welcome you to its abode. You took deep breaths, trying to control yourself. Tears were forming in your eyes, but you knew that they weren’t from romantic distress. Ironically romance was the last thing in your mind right now.

“I, I see. Thank you for your honesty.”

It was all you could manage to make out. Turning around, head light from fear, you bolted down the streets of Liyue, desperate to be in your home, desperate to ignore the sword of Damocles that now hung dangerously low over your head.

 Zhongli watched you go, watched as you stumbled your way through the crowd that always packed the streets of Liyue in the daytime. He was fine, he was perfectly fine. He had seen it through, had done what he knew was right. There was no reason to regret. Surely the small stab of pain he felt was temporary, a pinprick compared to all that the ex-archon had suffered over the years.

Zhongli had suspected that a confession like this might’ve been on the horizon for quite some time now. Not that he was dreading it out of a personal inability to reciprocate. No, in his heart Zhongli already reciprocated your suspected feelings. He loved you, adored you even; within the stony heart that had atrophied over years of war, suffering, and personal duty, grew a love that Zhongli had not felt for a very long time. He cherished every moment with you, knowing that his long life would try to compress the memories that were so precious to them. Seeing you whenever he could, dragged out conversations as long as he possibly could, Zhongli was practically desperate for time with you. He was also intensely aware of how short that time would ultimately be.

How could Zhongli push the curse of loving an immortal being on you? For it truly was a curse, to both parties involved. His side was painful of course, the knowledge that your memory, you lifespan even, would slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He would always be wondering whether or not the two of you would be experiencing a “last”. Last visit to the sea, last time to climb up the Huaguang Stone Forest to watch the sunset together. Last, last, last. Always the shadow of death would hang over you, so palpable in Zhongli’s mind that he might almost reach out and grasp the gossamer veil that would eventually steal you away. Yes, it would be a truly painful experience. Not nearly as painful however as your own experience.

Zhongli had long ago come to the conclusion that mortals had no true concept of the passage of time. You were young now, the world was your oyster. Zhongli’s immortal status would be nothing more than a passing thought, an anomaly and nothing more. Then your 40th birthday would pass, then you 50th, then you 60th, 70th, 80th. By the time you reached the end of your life the difference between you and Zhongli would stretch out like a chasm between the two of you, something to never be reconciled, for the old rarely forgave the young for their youth. Not to mention the other scenario, the one that Zhongli would never allow the freedom to truly cloud his thoughts. Your death of old age would be a tragedy, the alternative a catastrophe.

He knew all this, had seen it time and time again. Zhongli was hardly the first immortal being to fall in love with a mortal, would not be the last. Adepti, archons, all walks of immortal life were drawn to humanity, drawn to the freedom that came with mortality. Humans did things because they died; they had no forcible tie to nature, no innate duty other than to themselves. Humans could be wicked or kind or cruel or merciful as they wished. To those who were chained by their destiny, well, there was something very anomalous in such a choice. Perhaps it was no surprise then that an immortal being would inevitable find themselves interacting with those supposedly below them. Perhaps it was no surprise that this often led to love.

All that being true, Zhongli still refused to give into his needless selfishness. He loved you, yes. Knowing that was enough. He wouldn’t push such a burden on you, wouldn’t cause you resentment or pain. It would be better if you thought that your feelings weren’t reciprocated, it would be less painful.

Nor would you have to worry about the curse to which many less lucky fell. Zhongli still loved you, still cherished you deeply. You would never have to worry about that, for archons and adepti do not move on from love the way humans do. Zhongli’s love for you would long outlast your lifespan, one which, the archon prayed, would be very long indeed.

Yes, everything had been handled well enough. Perhaps you would never wish to speak with him again, perhaps you would grow to resent him even, how quickly love can turn into hate. It didn’t matter though. Zhongli had shielded you from long, drawn-out suffering, and that was all that mattered. He should’ve been satisfied, should have felt relief. Instead however he only felt a great sadness pressing down, a sadness combined with the pain that accompanied a love that must never truly be realized.

 It had been nine days since you’d been rejected by Zhongli. Crossing off another square on the calendar which you had dug out of your old stationary you sighed. The nine days succeeding the encounter had been utter hell. At first you were convinced that the worst thing that could happen was the symptoms of the wretched illness showing up quickly, so convinced you were that the next day you would wake up with blood on your pillow. Soon however, you’d come to a completely different conclusion. There was nothing worse than waiting.

Every day was spent in the agony of anticipation, every day waiting for the coughing to begin, for the night sweats to begin ravaging your sleep, for the breathe to be stolen from your lungs. Yet every day you woke up with none of these things, though your fatigue was real enough.

You should have been relieved, should have been glad for the opportunity to live even a few more days. Yet instead of relief you only felt deep, unrelenting dread. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything, so crippled were you by morbid anticipation.

Not that your thoughts were particularly worthwhile either. Perhaps it would be one thing if your ruminations had brought up something profound, something that you could write down in a book for your family or your friends. Though it still would be poor solace, well, at least it’d be something. But your thoughts had all turned to mush, replaced by a paranoia so strong it confined you to your bed most days.

You thought that the death sentence would in some way be freeing, that you might be able to recklessly throw yourself at all the things you had avoided out of fear for so long. Instead you found yourself depressed, waiting for an inevitable so terrifying you found yourself disconnecting from the people around you. What did it matter anyways? You’d be dead soon enough.

This gross neglect of your wellbeing was at least somewhat allayed by the routine that had been drilled into your body from so many years working for the Liyue Qixing. Though you didn’t go to work, something you were sure you were going to hear about eventually, you still dared to venture out to the market. At the very least you would eat your fill in good for before the end was nigh. No need to worry about your health after all. Besides, your definition of good food didn’t necessarily always align with completely unhealthy.

Walking through the familiar streets you stared at the people around you. How odd it was to see people so close you could touch them but so far they might as well have been in Inazuma. Was there anyone else here suffering like you were? Anyone who could understand the thoughts that now flooded your brain? You stared at the ground, trying not to think about it. You’d be confronted with these thoughts the minute you got home anyways. Might as well delay it a bit.

Turning to find the fishmonger you spied a familiar silhouette. Stopping in your tracks you stared unabashedly at Zhongli. The man seemed to be carrying himself much as ever, but the unapproachable atmosphere which he’d blanketed himself in seemed somewhat more prominent. Perhaps it was your imagination, he seemed to be talking to the butcher easily enough. Not that it was any of your business. Zhongli wasn’t any of your business anymore. It would be better if you could forget him, if you could erase this feeling in your heart that refused to go away. Even now Zhongli was beautiful. Even now you wished to run up to him, to hug him, to make pretend everything was right with the world. You couldn’t do that though. Just as you couldn’t forget him, you couldn’t love him. Not in the way you wanted. Turning away you trudged back home, good food utterly forgotten.

It was day eighteen since Zhongli had rejected you, and by now your emotions were running almost unbearably high. You’d sunk into an odd reverie of adrenaline, anxiety, and utter disbelief. What in the world was going on? This was a familiar illness to you, something that had almost claimed the life of your friend and had felled your coworker. You knew everything about symptoms, timeline, etc.; and what you knew was you were supposed to be falling ill ages ago. Eighteen days between the initial rejection and the beginning of symptoms? It was unheard of! You didn’t know what to think. Were the rumors about the gods true, had Zhongli imposed some divine protection on you for the sake of your friendship? Were you somehow a superhuman who had the white blood cell coding to defeat the bacteria that caused this disease? Why hadn’t your descent begun yet?

You lounged on the couch, having moved out of your bedroom on the thirteenth day, three days after the latest possible showing of symptoms. Though you still felt deeply afraid, you found that curiosity was a surprisingly good deterrent when it wanted to be. Your fears hadn’t disappeared, but mixed with them was a disbelief so great that you often found your thoughts drifting to questions of how rather than questions of when.

Of course your initial instinct had been to seek out Zhongli. Pride mixed with fear however had kept you firmly at home. Really what was the point in even seeking out the answer to your miraculous reprieve at this point? It wouldn’t really change the outcome. Instead you might as well enjoy this unexpected extension of your life. Besides, you didn’t want to tempt the fates a second time.

 Zhongli stood at the window of your first story apartment, a glaze lily in hand. He hadn’t meant to do this, but the urge refused to leave him.

He’d noticed you a few times at the market, face drawn, eyes empty. Zhongli wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting, but certainly this wasn’t it. He knew you weren’t suffering from illness, your pace was strong, if slightly erratic, your general aura not that of the sick that Zhongli was all too familiar with. Why then did you look so terrible? The doubts that had plagued Zhongli began to rise again, jeering at the mistake he had made. He was supposed to protect you, right? Why then did you look as if you had experienced a total health collapse?

At first Zhongli tried to ignore it. You had not come to him for help, it was not his place to try and insert himself back in your life once more. The more he thought of you however, the more he found himself uneasy. He had to have some form of communication, some way to enquire about your health. At least one last time. If you explicitly rejected all forms of contact, well then Zhongli would leave. He would never defy your wishes in such a way. Until then however, he felt like he needed to ask.

The idea of walking up to your apartment and asking you was utterly off the table. Who knew how that might end? No, he wanted a subtler way. Glaze lilies had always been a favorite of yours, sneaking out into the evening to see them bloom even more so. He would simply leave one on your windowsill. If you took it, then he would enquire about your health. If you left it, well Zhongli would have his answer.

His hand trembled slightly as he stared at the windowsill, causing the gold ribbon tied around the lily to tremble slightly. At first Zhongli wanted only to give you the flower. He realized soon however that you might be confused, wondering if someone had not simply dropped a flower on your windowsill, or had the wind blown it there? The ribbon would hopefully clear things up. Even if it looked a little silly.

Slowly placing the flower down onto the open window Zhongli sighed. Turning around he did not dare spare a glance backwards. He would have his answer soon enough after all. Until then, well, there was no point in looking back.

 You exited from the kitchen, having finally felt the energy to make yourself that good food you’d been promising yourself. Going to look at the sunset you let out a soft gasp.

On your windowsill was a single glaze lily, wrapped in gold.

[from-seas-to-skies]

The Teacher / Bakugou x Reader ♕︎

warnings: NSFW, teacher/student relationship, oral sex, spitting, sir kink, slut shaming, somewhat brat taming, age difference, unprotected sex

words: 5,772

(a/n): Bakugou is 30 in this; reader is younger (college age)

-

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

One, two, three, four… How long was it going to take until class ended again?

Looking up from your notebook, you stare up at the clock, the large, monotonous face seemingly glaring straight back at you. You don’t know how it happens, but time always moves so slow when it comes to your calculus class. Frankly, you’d rather ditch the class altogether, but if you wanted to graduate from college, you had to pass. Curse stupid curriculums and all that shit.

However, despite absolutely dreading having to stare at numbers for a solid hour and a half, there is a plus side to taking this dreaded class. In fact, it’s the very reason why you signed up for it in the first place. You’ve heard so many wonderful things about it, all from girls and guys alike, and you knew you had to see it up close and personal – rather, you had to see him.

Professor Bakugou.

Age thirty, drives a Land Rover, and, most importantly, single.

He’s about as dreamy as they come; a complete and utter Dreamboat Annie, absolutely huge in both height and stature, intelligent, and handsome. He’s only been a professor for a few years, but it’s been made apparent to the school that he’s worth it. Not only are his teaching methods and lectures incredible, but he’s turned out some of the highest grades your college has even seen. That itself is impress, and, combined with the hype of how hot he is, it’s no wonder people rush to take his classes.

So, when it came time for class schedules to come out, you were excited, needless to say. Despite having a general disliking to math in the first place, you figured this one guy could be what it takes to turn that idea around. Oh, but that was before you first laid your eyes on him.

Shit, you had heard that he was attractive – godly, even – but this? You weren’t expecting this. His biceps alone could crack a watermelon, and his sharp jawline could easily cut diamonds. It sounds cliché, that’s true, but you have no other way of putting it. Words did not do this man any justice.

At first, his constant yelling and crude demeanor were a total turn off. Professor Bakugou was essentially the teacher version of Gordon Ramsay, and you weren’t entirely sure if you liked that or not. However, as time continued, you actually grew accustomed to it. In fact, if he didn’t yell at least once during the class, you’d immediately figured he was having a bad day.

That’s when the thoughts began. Call it infatuation, a mindless crush, whatever, but you wanted Professor Bakugou. Your eyes soon began to watch his large hands flex while he wrote on the board rather than the content itself. You’d watch his forearms flex while he turned the page in his textbook, prominent veins inviting you for a better look. How you longed to touch him, to grab his sturdy shoulders or pull his wild hair. He always looked so good, clothes tailored to fit his muscular frame perfectly.

You’d fantasize about the most random of scenarios, each of them usually ending up with him bending you over his desk at the front of the room. You liked colder days the best, especially since Professor Bakugou had the habit of wearing form-fitting sweaters that outlined his massive pecs or the swell of his arms. You wanted to make him feel better, to sit underneath the desk and suck him off while he taught the rest of the class. Those narrow hips had to be strong, and you’d be damned if you never got to experience their power at least once.

It’s almost as if Professor Bakugou had cast a spell over all of his students. Nearly all of them gushed about how great he was; and, if you were in the proper company, they exchanged fantasies or proclamations about how fucking gorgeous he was. You’d usually grow bitter at these types of conversations. It was a crush, for fuck’s sake. There was no need to get all pouty like some problematic schoolgirl.

Still, the thoughts wouldn’t go away, not when he taught, not when he yelled. His booming voice became a part of your wicked fantasies, wondering how it’d sound to hear him grunting your name or commanding you to spread his legs for him. Again and again, you told yourself that it was fine, that people develop crushes on their teachers all the time. It was only in the dead of night that you’d have your hand stuffed down your pants and mouth moaning his name into a pillow was when you regretted it. It was a phase, nothing more.

And yet, over two months into the semester, and these thoughts still won’t go away. The constant ticking of the clock brings you back down to Earth, your eyes focusing on the problems before you. Swallowing thickly, you loosen your hand, now just noticing how hard you’ve begun to clench your pencil. Your insides feel oddly warm, that pleasant, heavy feeling sitting behind your belly button. Dammit, you mentally curse, this is not the time to be getting distracted.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

If only class could end sooner.

“Right,” Professor Bakugou suddenly says from his desk, “this Friday, I’m holding a study session for the upcoming exam on Monday. There’s only going to be a limited number of seats available, so if you wanna join, here’s your chance.” With his words, he holds a blank sheet of notebook paper up, a rather bored expression on his face.

He must be tired, you think, unconsciously biting your bottom lip. But why?

Around you, students shuffle to the front of the class, waiting for a chance to scribble their names onto the paper. Some seem a bit more excited than others, obviously arching their backs or flipping their hair over their shoulders. With a scoff, you look back down to your work. Did they really think they could catch his attention like that? Yeah, so he doesn’t show off a ring on his finger, but it’s pretty likely that he has people throwing themselves at him all the time. Besides, Professor Bakugou is a strict guy; there’s no way he’d engage in a relationship with a student.

You really shouldn’t be getting your hopes up. It’s pointless to pine after your teacher like that, especially with the risks that come along with getting involved with each other. Still, you can’t help but feel bitter. Professor Bakugou is a god that walks amongst men, so how could you not want somebody like him?

“Alright, that’s all for today. Class dismissed,” Professor Bakugou calls out. Dammit, you spaced out again. Maybe you should get that checked out?

With a sigh, you stuff your belongings into your backpack and draw to a stand. You wish it would be spring already; trudging through snow and ice is never fun, and the fact that your dorm is basically on the other side of campus makes it even more rough. Pulling your coat on and slinging your backpack over your shoulders, you make way towards the classroom door, completely unaware of a set of eyes watching your every move.

-

“Man, this is impossible,” your best friend, Ashido Mina, groans. “I’m going to bomb this exam for sure!” Sprawled out on her stomach, she squirms on the floor, her face scrunching with her displeasure.

You, on the other hand, sit cross-legged across from her. Notebooks and math textbooks surround the two of you, your laptop and calculator at the ready. Bags of chips and pretzels sit to the side, along with abandoned coffee cups and empty water bottles. Professor Bakugou’s exams were notorious for being hard, but at the same time, if you payed attention in class and studied, you’d succeed. The thing is, though, that neither you nor Mina are the best when it comes to math.

“I thought you went to his study session?” you ask, glancing up from your own notebook.

Flashing you a pout, Mina nervously runs a hand through her fluffy hair. “Well, yeah, but you know how it goes! A secluded area with Professor Bakugou! It’s like a dream come true! It was hard to focus when he’s leaning over your shoulder like that…”

Rolling your eyes, you puff in amusement. “Really? Mina, you know what will happen if you fail this test.”

“Yeah, yeah, but come on! You can’t blame me! You would’ve done the exact same thing!”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh yes you would’ve!” Mina exclaims, pointing an accusing finger your way. “Don’t pretend like you don’t ogle Professor Bakugou during class! He’s one hell of a hunk, isn’t he? I never knew college professors could be so hot!” she gushes, a giggle following her words. “And that study session – oh my god, I nearly thought I was going to heart attack when he helped me solve this one problem. He’s so warm and he smells great!”

You cock an eyebrow at her. “You were smelling our teacher?”

At that, Mina blows a raspberry and waves a dismissive hand. “I’m not Kaminari, sweetheart. I have class. Besides, Professor Bakugou smells like caramel. Can you believe it? I wonder if he uses cologne or feminine soap.”

Caramel, eh? Now that’s something you can get behind.

“You want him to fuck you, right?”

Wait, what?

Narrowing your gaze at her, your brows knit closely together. “What kind of question is that?”

Mina rolls her eyes. “What, like you don’t think about it? Practically everyone on this campus has thought about it at some point or another? I mean, hello! He’s totally Daddy material. I’ve heard that he goes to the gym sometimes here on campus – turns out he’s huge.”

Huge. Of course this is what Mina chooses to focus on. You wish you had a spray bottle to squirt at her horny ass.

“And I don’t mean muscle wise,” Mina continues, a mischievous expression coming to her face. “I bet he tastes like candy.”

“Mina.”

“Why yes, Mr. Bakugou sir! I’ll gladly suck your fat cock for an A!”

“Mina.”

“His ass is really nice, too. I wouldn’t mind pegging him-“

“MINA.”

“What?”

You smack your forehead and groan as your hand trails down your face. “Are you going to study or not? I don’t know about you, but I’d rather graduate than work at McDonald’s for the rest of my life.”

Mina purses her lips at you in an excessive pout. “You’re such a fun sponge, holy shit. I think you need a good dicking down by Professor Bakugou. Maybe then you’d stop staring after him all the time during class.”

Your face heats up at her words, but there’s no way you’re owning up to that. Okay, so yeah, maybe getting fucked by him would be a dream come true, but you’re more realistic than that. “And you’re not concerned at all that he’s our teacher? You know, like he could lose his job and you could be expelled? That doesn’t bother you? At all?”

Mina shrugs. “Meh.”

“Woooow…. You really are shameless.”

“Hey, you win some, you lose some. If I could get that man to put a ring on my finger, then I’d be okay with it.”

“Yeah, because you definitely want to bring your math professor home. Uh huh, great one. Tell me how that goes.”

With a grunt, Mina rolls over and sits up. “Whatever, man. I’m hungry, so I’m going to go down to the dining hall. Wanna come with?”

Glancing at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand, you see that it’s only 5:15. True, you could get a bite to eat, but you’d rather stay back and finish a few more problems. “I think I’ll join up with you later,” you tell Mina.

She nods her head and offers you a small smile. “Suit yourself, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.” Gathering up her things, she unceremoniously shoves them into her backpack and salutes you with a goodbye. After she pulls the door shut behind her, you turn back to the task at hand.

It shouldn’t be this hard to solve these last couple of problems, but your brain is really starting to feel the struggle. A dull ache is already forming between your eyeballs, and you truly wonder if you’re going to make it through this or not. Maybe you should take a break, or at least give your eyes a rest. Still, that little stubborn streak in you tells you to carry on. You only have a few more problems left, and you’re so close to finally finishing!

As you set to work, the digits on your alarm clock change as time drags on. Okay, so maybe you’re demanding too much of yourself. Your brain is absolutely fried, and your headache is spreading. Glancing back up at the clock, luminous green lines glare a 5:31. Jeez, it’s only been sixteen minutes since you last checked, yet it seems as though hours have passed. You really want to finish this study session, but the last problem is throwing you in for a loop.

You’ve already scoured your notes and the textbook for how to go about the problem, but your mind is drawing up with a blank. It has to be because you’re tired, right? It’s not that hard… Or is it?

“Dammit,” you mutter, sitting back and pressing your palms flat against the floor. Again, you look at the clock. Frankly, you don’t want to spend all night pouring over this, and you don’t want to skip dinner, either. You know for a fact that Mina will beat your ass for skipping out on food. “Screw it.”

Scrambling off the floor, you throw a thick coat on and slide on your sneakers. Professor Bakugou sometimes has the habit of frequenting his office during the weekends (or so you’ve heard), and you desperately need to know how to solve this problem. Chances are something similar will be on the exam, and you want to get as good of a grade as possible. Plus, if he is there…

You swallow thickly. Now is not the time to let Mina’s previous words get to you.

And so, with your notebook tucked underneath an arm, you take off.

It’s a damned shame that his office is practically on the other side of campus, but you figure it wouldn’t be too bad to get your body moving after spending so much time hunched over. Now that you think about, you could just email him, but you’re not sure how quick he’d respond. This is a dire moment. Okay, maybe not, but still. Maybe you want to see Professor Bakugou. Maybe.

You’re thankful when you finally enter the building, free of the flurries of snow and the seeping chill. Stomping your feet free from snow, you look around, creeped out yet fascinated by the silent, empty halls. You doubt very many people are here besides lingering staff and the janitors. One could only hope that Professor Bakugou is frequenting his office.

As you draw closer and closer to his office, your footsteps bounce off the walls, reminding you of how alone you are. There’s a fifty/fifty chance that he’s even going to be in his office, yet your heart pounds frantically in your chest. If he isn’t there, you’ll just simply turn around and stalk back to your dorm and hope for the best. If he is there, well, you’re not entirely sure what you should say.

He’s your teacher, dammit. It shouldn’t be this hard going up to him and asking him for help. It’s literally his job to help students out; nothing more, nothing less. Still, Mina’s words ring throughout your mind. It’s just a crush, you remind yourself. Stop getting so worked up about it.

There it is, just straight up ahead – Professor Bakugou’s office.

Like the other offices lining the hall, it’s made from a heavy wood, a frosted window place in the top half with Professor Bakugou’s name printed on it. A simple door like this shouldn’t intimidate you so much, but yet it does. All you have to do is knock on it, wait for a possible response, and then go from there. However, now that you’re in front of it, you somewhat hope he’s not there. Your palms are growing clammy and your throat feels fuzzy.

“Here goes nothing,” you tell yourself, reaching up and rapping on the door.

For a moment, nothing happens. Perhaps Lady Luck has decided to spare some mercy on you, after all. Releasing a pent-up breath you didn’t know you were even holding, you prepare to step back and walk away, but then a muffled come in sounds through the door.

Oh, shit.

You wince as your cowardice floods you with a renewed force. There’s no way you can just leave now, not if you want Professor Bakugou potentially chasing you down. Taking in a deep breath, you turn the brass knob and poke your head inside. “Uh, Professor Bakugou?”

Oh, shit.

There he is, sitting behind an oak desk, hunched down over a stack of papers. He holds up a single finger, a signal for you to give him a moment. Immediately, your eyes skim over his exposed forearms, skim over the tight black turtleneck that fits him like a glove. Rolled sleeves, watch on wrist, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose, he’s just dripping with classy sexiness.

The steady tick tock, tick tock fills the otherwise silent room. It grates on your already wired nerves, mocks you for just standing there, waiting. You can’t help but glance at its face – 5:49. It’s already dark out, winter’s everlasting darkness sapping the Earth’s light. Stepping fully inside the room, you gently shut the door behind you, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.

After another moment or so, he finally clicks his pen closed, tosses it onto the desk, and leans back in his chair. “Oi – what do you want?”

Removing your notebook from underneath your arm, you hold it out for him to take. “I was… I was wondering if you could explain how to work out this problem?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Professor Bakugou sits upright and glances at what you’ve written. “We discussed this during the study session on Friday.” His eyes dart up to yours. “I’m surprised you weren’t there.”

Is he singling you out right now? It feels like he’s singling you out right now. But wait, doesn’t that also mean that he noticed you not being there? He’s just saying that to say it, right? …Right?

“There was a lot on my mind,” you say softly.

Professor Bakugou sighs. “Alright, come here.” Maybe it’s the gruffness of his voice, but the simple command nearly has you whimpering on the spot. Jesus, you need to get your act together!

“Of course, sir,” you reply, the title subconsciously rolling off your tongue. Skirting around the desk, you come to his side, unaware of him shifting in his seat.

“It’s really not that hard if you put your damned brain to use,” he grunts, picking his pen back up. You notice how the tendons in his hand flex with the subtle movement; actually, now that you’re up close in personal, you can clearly see the veins racing up his forearms, the sheen of blond hairs.

Warmth seems to radiate off of him, just like how Mina said. You wonder if he gets hot easily, or if that’s just the way he is. Either way, you shimmy the slightest bit closer to him, eager to ward off the chill that still clings to you from the outside. He goes into great detail about how to go through each step surrounding the problem; you lean over his shoulder as he goes through the steps, the heat emanating from his skin drawing you in more and more. With each breath, the scent of caramel floods your senses. You’re almost half tempted to press your nose to his nape and get a better smell, but that’d just be creepy. Plus, even if you did that, Professor Bakugou could probably pick you up and literally throw you out of his office.

Still, despite knowing the risk, your mind takes off, just like it usually does whenever you’re in his presence. It would just be so easy to squeeze his thick arms, to run your fingers through his thick blonde hair. Maybe you could push the collar of his turtleneck down, expose his neck and bite the pulse. It’s almost ridiculous just how big he is, how easily he could overpower you. A familiar warmth floods your system, encasing your insides and clutching onto your heart. This is bad – very, very bad.

“Oi, what the hell are you staring at?” Professor Bakugou barks.

Snapping yourself back to attention, you notice him staring at you, his glasses now off his handsome face. If possible, he’s even more attractive up close; thick lashes, full lips, a slight gleam in his eyes that demand power and control. He almost looks entirely different like this, face lax instead of fixed with a scowl. Good lord, you really are whipped for him.

“Oh, um, sorry,” you ramble, eyes going wide. “It’s just that your hair looks really… fluffy…?”

“…Hah?”

You quickly avert your eyes. “Nevermind…”

“You know,” Professor Bakugou starts, voice low, “you stare at me a lot during class, too. You’re not very subtle.”

You wince at his words. “I… I’m not sure what you’re talking about-“

Rolling his eyes, he scoffs and tosses down his pen. “You’re not majoring in theatre, are you? Because you suck at acting.” He flashes you a cocky smirk when you look back to him. “Just admit it – you like what you see, don’t ya? Can’t say I blame you.”

Okay, wow, cocky much. Yeah, sure, he’s an absolute babe, but wouldn’t you think he’d be a bit more… modest?

Now it’s your turn to scoff. “Didn’t know my math professor thought so highly of himself.”

“Tch. Looks like you got a damn mouth on you, after all. Well, if you’re done undressing me with your eyes, do you want to learn how to do this problem or not? I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ll let it slide just this once since I like you.”

Wait, wait, hold up. Did he just say he likes you?

“You’re a good student,” Professor Bakugou continues. “Even if you do focus on me more than my lecture.”

Is this how the conversation was supposed to play out? Because damn you’re nearly shaking, and you still have your coat on. He knows too much, dammit. He’s known this entire time and he’s playing you.

“And yet you could’ve easily told me to stop,” you shoot right back, sick of being prosecuted like this. Sure, it might be a bad idea to pick a fight with a teacher, but this is outside of classroom hours; and, frankly, he can kiss your ass. Crude demeanor or not, you’re not about to let this man push you around.

“Who said I wanted you to stop?”

No. There’s no way he just said that. This big-headed narcissist is relishing in this, isn’t he? Bastard.

“Hate to break it to you, Professor, but almost everyone stares at you like that,” you tell him. You realize you just admitted it to the accusation, but there’s no point in defending it anymore.

“Like I give a shit about the others? Really? You’re gonna talk about them?” He scoffs his amusement and leans back in his chair, thick arms crossing over his chest. “Did you come here to ask me questions about the exam or did you just want to be with me all by yourself?”

You hesitate. Is that really the reason you came here tonight? The whole way here you debated this yourself, Mina’s words circling around your head. No, you’re smarter than this. It’s a bad idea to get involved with a teacher – it’s wrong.

“I’m not going to lie or deny the truth,” Professor Bakugou continues, his voice dropping to an uncharacteristically low pitch. “I’m also not stupid. You’re just as scared as me, aren’t you? Of the repercussions.”

Your mouth falls agape. What is he going on about…?

Slowly, Professor Bakugou sits back up, his face getting dangerously close to yours. Hot breath fans over the bottom half of your face. His eyes are heavily lidded, his lashes kissing his cheeks. “I’m not going to force anything on you,” he murmurs. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Oh my god.

Unable to resist the close proximity anymore, you shoot forward, your hands landing on the arms of the chair; Professor Bakugou’s lips are softer than you anticipated, but in no way is he gentle. Right away he’s clutching the back of your neck, dragging you forward so you’re settled on his lap. The arms of the chair pinch into your thighs at the tight fit, but you could care less. You’re on Professor Bakugou’s lap, you have his tongue in your mouth, his hands landing on your ass and kneading the flesh.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this forever,” he growls, his hands slipping under your shirt and gliding over your lower back. You arch into his touch, a breathless moan slipping past your lips.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you pant.

“I know.”

Fuck, it’s all so good, his tongue licking the inside of your mouth and hands unbuttoning your jeans. A startled noise erupts from your throat as a large hand slides into the front of your pants, cupping your crotch. You buck into his touch, all sense dissipating from your thoughts as you fervently grind into his heated palm. There’s a clutter of paper and office supplies as they hit the floor. Before you know it, you’re rising from the chair, your ass landing on the wooden desk instead.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” Professor Bakugou grits. Your ass is barely on the desk by the time he’s done dragging you forward, your jeans aggressively getting yanked off, your underwear following suit. Your thighs instinctively snap shut at the cold air making contact with your bared skin, but strong hands pry them apart, fingertips kneading into the flesh. “I wanna make you cum with my tongue.”

“Wai- Ah! Fuck!” you cry out, your fingers clutching onto the edge of the desk as his head ducks down, his mouth latching onto your sex. Until now, you weren’t even aware that you were dripping with arousal. Sinful noises spill from between your legs as Professor Bakugou fucks you with his mouth, his lips wrapping around your most sensitive parts.

“God, you’re such a slut.”

Smack.

You cry out as he brings a hand down on the innermost part of your thigh; your nerves quake, your blood pumps wildly through your veins. Again, he slaps your thigh, a growl tearing itself from his chest as he looks up, his eyes catching yours.

“Say it.”

Smack.

“I – I’m a slut,” you babble, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth.

Smack.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m a slut!” you exclaim, voice cracking.

“I expect you to refer to me properly,” he says darkly, his pupils dilating to the point where you could barely see his irises. “Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

A single smirk is thrown your way before his mouth is back on you, his tongue lapping up your arousal. His moves are quick, sensual. It’s clear he’s experienced, and you don’t blame him. Just look at him for Christ’s sake. The man is basically sex on legs, all nicely wrapped up in a turtleneck sweater and a simple pair of slacks. The pleasure only heightens as his fingers come into play, prodding at your hole; the tips just barely push past the muscle, leaving you moaning even louder and clutching harder on the desk. Your fingernails scratch the surface, the lacquer coming off.

“Tasty little brat, aren’t ya?” he drawls. Your entire body jolts as he spits on your sex. “I could get used to doing this.”

“Please, sir,” you plead, desperation filling your voice. You want his mouth back on you. You want to cum. “Please, it feels so good…”

Professor Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Shit, you’re even obedient. How nice.” He redoubles his efforts, then, wet noises filling the room along with your heavy breathing.

“Shit, shit, oh my god,” you babble, your body tensing. Still, his tongue digs in just right and there goes your sanity, flying out the window as you cum.

A deep chuckle fills your ears as Professor Bakugou sucks it down; drawing away, he flashes you his tongue, your arousal coating his tongue before he makes a show of swallowing the last bit of it. Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, he draws to a stand. The tent in his slacks is obvious, the front of it darker than the rest. Your insides squeeze around nothing, the idea of making him get like that making you feel hotter than before.

You’re hypnotized as he pulls his hands away. His movements are slow and methodical, the clink of his belt echoing throughout the room. Swallowing thickly, you bite your lip as he leisurely undoes his belt and slacks. Blood rushes through your ears, your mind a complete mess. You feel dizzy with want, with the need to sink your teeth into the swell of his pectoral, to claw the plains of his back.

All the air is sucked from your lungs when he finally pulls his cock out, the head flushed a deep red. Your eyes trail over the prominent veins, the fat bead of precum pushing its way out the tip. Fuck, he’s huge, both in length and girth. Whoever told Mina that he was big wasn’t lying. Your legs subconsciously spread even wider, a silent plead for him to fill you up and fuck you raw.

“Tell me you want this,” he husks. He does the honor of unzipping your coat and slipping it off your shoulders before easing you onto your back. The cold from the wood permeates through your shirt, brings a new wave of goosebumps to your flesh.

“Only if you tell me the same thing,” you croak. “Do you fuck all of your students who walk in through that door?”

“No,” Professor Bakugou blatantly says, and you can tell he’s being earnest. “It’s wrong of me to think so, but I’ve been wanting to do something with you since I saw you. It sounds like some sappy bullshit, but it’s the truth. I was too much of a pussy to ask you out for a coffee.”

Something about hearing him confess his feelings to you sets your heart alight. A slight smile tugs at your lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Tch. And you’re a fucking brat.”

Hunching over you, a large hand plants itself by your head while the other guides his cock to your awaiting hole. A shaky breath passes through your mouth as he pushes himself in; the stretch burns, his thick cock filling you up in a way that you didn’t even know was possible.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he breathes. “Look at you, sucking in my cock like that. What a good little slut. I bet you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? I bet you touched yourself while thinking about this very moment, about me fucking you on my desk like this.” A surprised squeak bursts from your throat as he grabs your legs and throws him over his shoulders, effectively bending you in half. “Gotta fuck you nice and deep, right? Because that’s how a slut like you likes it.”

Like this, with your knees almost touching your ears, the tip of his cock hits your soft spot. A pathetic whimper comes from you as he grinds his cock into you, his eyes carefully watching your erotic expressions, figuring out what you like best.

Before long, he’s fucking into with vigor, his hips moving restlessly. His cock pounds into you mercilessly, the slap of skin against skin mixing with your cries. His mouth is at your throat, teeth skimming your jugular before he latches onto your thundering pulse. You helplessly claw at his shoulders, your fingers bunching into the fabric of his shirt. You’re so fucking full, your velvety walls clamping around his cock selfishly. A blend of curses and yes, fuck, you fucking slut fill your ears; he’s panting hard, a slight chuckle breaking through every once in a while.

“Fucking let everyone know who’s fucking you this good,” he grits. “Jesus, look at the mess you’re making…”

“Professor Bakugou!” you whine. “Your cock feels so good… Fuck, fuck, oh my god, yes-“

“Katsuki. My name is Katsuki.”

Katuski.

The name rolls around your brain like a loose bolt. It settles on the tip of your tongue, just waiting to be let out.

It’s when you cum that you shout his name, your walls tightening around him harshly while your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders. A load groan rumbles from the depths of his chest as he follows suit shortly after, his hips moving erratically as his cum splashes against your insides.

The both of you are sweating, panting messes by the time he finally pulls out. You whimper as you clench around nothing, the emptiness a bit too much to bear. Surprisingly, Professor Bakugou – no, Katsuki – is gentle as he cleans you up, his free hand rubbing your side. Swallowing your pride, you clear your throat.

His eyes flick up, land on yours. “What.”

“Do you…” You worry your bottom lip. “Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

Katsuki snorts. “Wow, got a real fucking charmer here, don’t I? How about you come to my place instead and I make you a proper dinner. You didn’t eat yet, did you?”

As if on cue, your stomach growls. Well, you did deny Mina’s offer for dinner, after all. You smile nervously and give him a shrug.

Chest swelling (with pride, you assume), Katsuki flashes you a cocky smile. “I’m a damn good cook, brat. I’ll cook a meal that will have you weak in the knees.”

“Maybe… Maybe you could finally show me how to do that problem?” you offer.

He rolls his eyes. “Will you finally pay attention this time or will I have to pound it into your brain?”

[rafael-silva]

guide me back (I’m lost without your light): a tarlos fic

“All available units respond to a 10-50 at the intersection of Sixth and North Lamar Boulevard. Multiple vehicle pile up.” “Dispatch, this is 363-H-20 responding. ETA three minutes.”

*

When Carlos and Mitchell respond to the call, the last thing Carlos expects is to find TK in the middle of the wreck. He races against time to keep TK awake and stable until fire and medical arrive, while sending out prayer after prayer that his time with TK hasn’t been cut short. That they haven’t run out of time.

for bad things happen bingo: tarlos + bloodstained clothes 

hurt tk strand, worried carlos reyes, established relationship, whump, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, kisses, blood, injury description, major character injury, angst with a happy ending

10.1k | on ao3

*****

“All available units respond to a 10-50 at the intersection of Sixth and North Lamar Boulevard. Multiple vehicle pile up.”

“Dispatch, this is 363-H-20 responding. ETA three minutes.”

The sun sits high in the sky as Carlos grips the steering wheel tightly while Mitchell releases her radio and flicks on the light bar and siren, blaring loudly as they head into the heart of downtown Austin.

It sounded serious, if all available units are being dispatched to the scene, meaning fire engines are being dispatched, too. Carlos fleetly wonders if the 126 will be called to the scene, but he knows he won’t be seeing TK since it’s the paramedic’s day off.

It’s difficult when one of them is working and the other is off; at least if they were both working, there are always chances of them meeting on calls, and if they were both off, well, those days were spent in utter happiness together, either spent in or out, it didn’t matter as long as they were spent together. They make it work, however, spending as much time together before one of them goes to work and then at night, cuddling on the couch or in bed, safe in each other’s arms after a long day.

Carlos hopes the accident isn’t as grave as he’s imagining but his gut is telling him otherwise. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realizes there’s a big possibility he might be late for the home dinner date he and TK had planned. TK had said he had a surprise for Carlos, and was clearly super excited about it. Carlos was looking forward to it and now…

Carlos’s gut is proven right when they round the corner and he catches sight of the crash from a few blocks away. Dread sets in his stomach the closer they get to the scene, other police cruisers pulling up at the same time.

He might need to tell TK that his shift may run long. He holds back at that, though, first wanting to get a full feel of how the rest of his shift will pan out.

Carlos parks and shares a concerned look with his partner before drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. They hop out of the car and Carlos takes a quick survey of their surroundings, noticing that they had arrived at the scene before fire and medical.

Carlos starts moving towards where the accident is the worst, and well, it’s bad. Four cars seem to have harshly rear ended each other, the crushed metal an indication of how sudden and quick it had happened. He can’t really tell one car from the other, all of them mangled together in a way that tells Carlos there are definitely more than a few injuries sustained to the people who were in these cars.

He doesn’t have much time to draw any more conclusions because he’s frantically being flagged down by a man around his own age, who seems unharmed. Bystander, Carlos’s mind supplies.

Carlos jogs over as the man takes a few steps towards him and starts speaking.

“He’s stuck,” the man starts, leading Carlos to one of the cars, or what’s left of one, in the middle of the wreck. “The door on one side popped open from the force of the crash but the guy inside can’t move. And we didn’t want to move him. He’s on the opposite side of the backseat and he’s in rough shape, seems to be going in and out of consciousness.”

Carlos swallows and follows him, whoever this man is, Carlos is going to do everything he can to help him until fire and medical arrive.

“It’s good you didn’t move him, that might have caused more damage,” Carlos tells him, his legs moving quickly.

The closer he gets, the more Carlos is hit with a sense of familiarity towards the injured man. He frowns, his heart starting to race in his chest as he zeroes in on the figure slumped in the backseat.

And that side profile, Carlos can draw it with his eyes closed.

He freezes when the realization dawns on him. His legs stop moving, his feet nailed to the asphalt. It feels like his heart is about to leap out of his chest while his eyes go impossibly wide.

TK.

And no, no, no. It can’t be TK. He was just texting him less than twenty minutes ago. He’s worried his brain is playing a cruel trick on him, conjuring up this nightmare. Carlos shakes his head, earning himself a confused look from the man leading him, who has also stopped moving.

But Carlos doesn’t spare him a glance, his attention solely held by the man in the crushed car. And when said man weakly opens his eyes and they catch some light, Carlos knows beyond a doubt that this nightmare is in fact reality.

Those green eyes, even seeing them from the side and through an awkward angle, can only belong to the love of his life.

“No,” Carlos whispers as his heart plummets into his knees, his body heating up. “No, no,” he repeats and then his feet are finally moving again, and he’s running around another car, his eyes not leaving TK.

He briefly registers the man’s growing confusion but he just rushes past him, no time for explanation, the only thing mattering to him is getting to TK. Saving TK.

He only slows down when he’s right by TK’s side, with only the smashed door separating them. The window is shattered, the ground littered with broken pieces of glass that crunch underneath Carlos’s boots.

TK’s eyes have closed again, but Carlos can see his chest slowly rising and falling with each shallow breath he sucks in.

“TK?” Carlos speaks, the rest of the accident fading away. The movement around is in slow motion, sounds muted, the world narrowing to just him and TK. “TK, can you hear me?”

Carlos can’t even hear his own voice over the blood rushing in his ears, but by the way TK tilts his head an inch towards him, he heard him.

A beat. And then: “‘Los…”

Carlos lets out a breath he wasn’t fully aware he was holding, his shoulders sagging forward a little. “Hey, babe. I’m here, I’m here.”

Carlos runs his eyes over TK, and his heart breaks a little more at the bloody state the paramedic is in.

“I’m stuck,” TK wheezes. “Can’t move.”

“We’ll get you out, just hang on. Help is on the way,” Carlos replies, hoping his voice is steadier than it sounds to his own ears. He then turns his attention to the older man in the front seat. “Sir, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” the man nods. “I’m fine, nothing hurts too bad. The hit was harder from the back.”

Carlos’s fear increases at that piece of information. “You let me know if your pain changes,” he tells him before his attention is back on TK. “TK, can you tell me what hurts?”

“Head, chest…and side,” TK replies through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes as a wave of pain shocks his nerves, running through his battered body. Everything feels like it’s on fire, every breath he tries to draw in hurts, and he’s tired, he’s so tired.

But he isn’t alone anymore, Carlos is here now. TK is aware that his odds aren’t good, based on his years of work experience, but he finds himself not panicking at that thought as much anymore. Because Carlos is right here. He would even go as far as saying he feels a little calm now, but what he can’t answer is whether that is due to shock or Carlos’s presence. TK decides to believe it’s courtesy of the latter. Because shock would be very bad.

He isn’t aware his eyes have drifted shut until the officer’s voice filters through, telling him to open them and TK manages to peel his eyelids open and faces Carlos’s worried gaze.

“Stay with me,” Carlos pleads, those brown eyes that TK loves so much filled to the brim with terror. “Don’t close your eyes, look at me. Focus on me.”

TK obliges. He loves looking at Carlos, loves running his hands over his face, his cheekbones, feeling Carlos smile against his touch. TK wants to reach out, to smooth out the worry engraved on Carlos’s forehead, in the creases that sit above his eyebrows, but he can’t move a muscle. He wants to reassure Carlos that he’s okay, but not only does he momentarily lose his voice, he also doesn’t know how true his statement would be. Because he’s now suddenly very much aware of the amount of blood running down his side, sticky and hot. The side glued to the crushed door.

He groans, feeling the panic start to rise again. Being stuck was already bad enough, but being stuck while also bleeding is far worse that TK doesn’t even want to think about it.

“Hey, hey,” Carlos’s voice returns. “Focus on me, it’s okay. I know it’s scary, but I’m right here.”

“Carlos,” TK cries out, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Carlos, very carefully, reaches his arm through the busted window, and with just as much caution, cups TK’s face and wipes the stray tear with the pad of his thumb. He’s aware of everything all at once, the way his hand shook as he moved it towards TK, how clammy TK’s skin feels, the beads of sweat rolling down his own neck and back.

“I’m right here.”

TK sniffs and nods as he leans into Carlos’s touch. It’s warm, and TK gravitates towards that warmth. The warmth that has become his home.

Carlos begins cataloging TK’s injuries: a cut near his temple that looks deep enough to need stitches, possible concussion, chest pain can be a result of the seatbelt tightening when the crash happened, but he can’t assess how badly TK’s side is hurt from his current position.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on that, though, because TK is speaking a few moments later.

“My side…it’s bleeding…” TK murmurs once he’s gathered his voice, his mind suppling that he needs to tell Carlos. “I think it’s bad.”

The small amount of color remaining in Carlos’s face drains at TK’s words, his heart dropping further and it feels like he’s been drenched with a bucket of ice water. His mind freezes for a second before he’s shaking himself out of it. He needs to act, and quick.

“Can you reach it and apply pressure?” Carlos asks. “Easy though, slow movements.”

TK attempts to move his arm towards the injury but quickly grimaces and drops his arm.

“No,” TK’s voice shakes, the slight movement exhausting him further. “Hurts.”

“Shit,” Carlos’s own panic starts taking hold, evident in the way his hands start to shake again. They have to slow the bleeding if TK has any chance of making it out of this nightmare.

Then Carlos remembers that the other door is practically already ripped off the car. Making up his mind, he gives TK’s hand a squeeze and rushes to the other side of the car.

“Hang on, TK, I’m coming,” Carlos says as he quickly assesses the area where the door was once attached to the car.

It looks stable enough and the car isn’t tilted to either side or unbalanced, so Carlos carefully climbs in and pauses to see if his added weight caused any shift. Once there’s no evidence of that, he moves closer to TK, their thighs side by side.

Carlos reaches around TK with his left arm, eyes glued to his middle and surely enough, TK’s t-shirt is stained with blood. The officer has to swallow against his dry throat at the sight, there’s so much blood already and TK is looking paler by the second.

Carlos’s hand finds its target, and his fingers brush against the tip of the metal lodged into TK’s side. He feels sick to his stomach as he begins to apply as much pressure as he could without causing further damage or sinking the metal deeper into TK’s flesh.

TK whines at the pain jolting through his body, waking him up a little as he squeezing his eyes shut, more tears run freely down his face.

“I know, I know,” Carlos speaks, his tone apologetic.

TK’s eyes start to droop, the momentary adrenaline already wearing off and his head falls backwards against the headrest.

“No, no, TK,” Carlos eyes go wide, his voice strained. “Keep your eyes open, stay with me.”

“Carlos…” TK whispers.

“Right beside you, babe. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re his fiancé,” the older man’s voice reaches Carlos’s ears from the front seat.

Carlos turns to face him with a questioning look, his eyes drawing together at the statement.

“He was,” the driver pauses to breathe. “He was talking about you before the crash.”

Carlos sucks in a deep breath through his nose, nodding as his eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears. “Yeah,” he turns back to look at TK. “He’s the love of my life.”

TK is still clinging to consciousness and Carlos receives a small smile from him at his declaration.

“That’s it, baby. Stay with me,” Carlos pleads once more, closing his eyes and gently resting his forehead against TK’s uninjured temple, melting into him.

He keeps a steady hold on TK’s side, and senses TK weakly gravitating towards him even more, Carlos his lifeline. TK uses all his remaining energy to reach out into the small distance and latches his hand onto Carlos’s arm, wrapping his fingers there.

“I got you, Ty, I got you.”

A few moments later, the air around them fills with the roaring of sirens, getting closer and closer.

“Hear that, TK? Help is here,” Carlos says, instilling hope with every word.

He turns his head in the direction of the incoming fire trucks and ambulances, watching as red and blue color everything around. His eyes immediately find the bold 126 painted on the truck that comes to a halt on the edge of the crash site.

“Hey!” Carlos calls out for the young man who lead him here. “Direct them this way!” He nudges his head towards the team who are disembarking from the truck.

The man nods and starts running towards the firefighters.

“Hang on, TK, hang on,” Carlos whispers.

He looks back into the open and relaxes just a fraction when he spots Judd on the man’s heels, jogging towards him.

Carlos can pinpoint the moment Judd realizes who he’s moving towards, the firefighter’s eyebrow raising a little.

“Reyes?” Judd calls out before he’s reached the car.

“Judd, it’s TK,” Carlos wastes no time in responding.

Those three words have Judd’s eyes going wide, his speed picking up and he runs the remaining distance to the car, coming to a stop on the side TK’s jammed.

“He’s stuck and bleeding badly,” Carlos continues, looking past TK and at Judd through the broken window.

“Shit,” Judd mutters and then louder, in the direction of the rig: “Tommy! Nancy!”

Judd’s eyes roam over TK’s ashen face, the younger man’s eyes barely opened.

“Hey, brother,” Judd speaks, his voice carrying its natural strength but also soft and filled with concern. “You’re gonna be alright, just hang on.”

He gets a half-nod from TK in reply.

Tommy and Nancy approach the car, each of them clutching their equipment and medical bags, ready to get to work.

“It’s TK,” Judd tells them when they’re by his side. They both pause midair as they’re lowering the bags, their eyes going equally wide as they process Judd’s words.

Carlos can see the worry flash over their faces and they share a quick look of concern before they both switch back into paramedic mode. He knows what they’re thinking, that they have to be at the top of their game. TK is family, and he can feel their fear and pain, but they need to focus so they can save TK.

They both meet Carlos’s worried eyes before getting to work.

“Hey, TK,” Tommy gets closer to the crushed door, gloves on and clicks her pen light. Her voice is calm and gentle, her motherly tone helps even Carlos relax a little.

“Cap…” TK whispers.

“Follow the light, TK.”

She shines the pen into TK’s glassy eyes, his pupils responding to the light as they should, albeit a little weaker than she’d like.

“Talk to me, Carlos,” Tommy says while her attention is solely focused on TK. “Tell me everything.”

“He said his head, chest and side hurt, his side is bleeding badly. I have pressure on it and I can feel a piece of metal stuck in there,” he swallows, feeling the blood seeping through his fingers. “The bleeding slowed down a little but he’s already lost so much blood.”

Tommy nods, accepting the c-collar from Nancy and carefully placing it around TK’s neck to stabilize him.

Judd looks up when he hears the rest of the crew approaching, and after a brief glance with Carlos, Judd moves in their direction, seeking out Owen.

“Cap,” Judd shields Owen’s view of the wrecked car.

Owen frowns, but immediately sees through Judd’s worried eyes. “What is it?”

Judd takes a deep breath. He has always been a straightforward guy, he won’t start beating around the bush now. “It’s TK, he’s in that car.”

Carlos’s heart breaks even more at the gasp he hears from Owen, followed by rapid footsteps pounding the gravel as the captain rushes over.

He’s at the car from Carlos’s side and looking past his shoulder a few moments later, Owen’s eyes blown wide as they move from his son to his soon to be son-in-law.

“Carlos.”

“His side is bleeding,” Carlos tells Owen, more tears gathering in his eyes. “He couldn’t reach it to apply pressure and I had to do something.”

Owen nods, his eyes going back to TK, who’s barely moving. “It’s gonna be okay, son. You’re gonna be okay. We’re here.”

TK slowly opens his eyes the rest of the way and looks in Owen’s direction through his blurry vision. He tries to send a wordless message to his father and fiancé of I’m okay.

Owen gives him a smile, but it’s shakier than he intended.

“Here,” Tommy’s voice grabs their attention. She hands Carlos a large piece of gauze as Nancy moves to the front to check the driver.

Carlos begins to move, and TK instantly whimpers and tries to keep his already weak hold on the other man.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, TK,” Carlos is quick to reassure him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He maneuvers his free arm to take the piece of cotton and swiftly lifts his bloodied palm to cover TK’s wound with the gauze and returns the pressure there.

The team has gathered what was happening and crowd the car, Carlos is vaguely aware of Judd telling them they’ve got TK and they should go around the rest of the scene to help.

And then Judd is back, evaluating the situation and weighing their options.

“His breathing is getting worse,” Carlos announces with fright as TK’s hold on him starts to falter. “We need to get him out now.”

“The driver is doing okay, Cap,” Nancy chimes in. “Alert and his numbers are holding.”

Tommy nods. “We get TK out first. Carlos, is the metal connected to the door or is it separated?”

Carlos shakes his head. “Separated.”

“That’s good, makes busting the door open easier,” Judd nods.

“Judd, grab the—” Owen begins.

“Jaws, got them,” Judd finishes for Owen before running in the direction of their truck.

He returns less than a minute later, but it feels like forever for Carlos and Owen as they watch TK struggle to hold on.

“Come on, come on,” Owen whispers, his eyes not leaving his son’s battered form as Judd returns, pushes the piece of equipment into the mangled metal and starts to tear it apart.

Tommy and Nancy get the backboard ready in the meantime, ready to move as soon as it’s clear. A lot of movement erupts when the door is finally ripped open. Judd lowers the jaws to the ground, quickly reaching for the cutters he had also retrieved and cuts the seatbelt off TK. It takes Carlos’s brain a second to catch up with all the action and then his eyes land on Owen now standing on the other side behind Judd as both men make room for Tommy and Nancy.

They carefully place the tip of the backboard against the backseat cushion and Nancy and Judd carefully take hold of TK’s shoulders, moving him sideways and then guiding him to lie on the board. Carlos goes with them, the pressure he’s applying constant and he only lets go once he’s certain Nancy’s taking over, her hand firmly covering his.

He pulls back and watches as Judd and Owen carry TK over to the gurney. He wastes no time in getting out of the car himself, darting to TK’s side.

Once TK is out, Judd starts working on extracting the driver.

Tommy and Nancy work in unison, the Paramedic Captain covering TK’s face with an oxygen mask while Nancy inserts an IV in his arm and runs a line. Carlos then notices that Owen is applying pressure to TK’s side with one hand while the other runs through TK’s hair.

Carlos takes TK’s hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Let’s move,” Tommy instructs a moment later.

Nancy takes over holding pressure as they push the gurney towards the ambulance, Carlos and Owen trailing behind.

“Carlos?”

Carlos turns at his partner’s voice, coming from a few feet away.

Mitchell is about to ask where he’s been but her eyes go wide instead when they land on TK lying on the gurney.

“I have to—”

She’s nodding before Carlos finishes his sentence. “Go, I’ll sort it out.”

“Thank you,” Carlos gives her the best grateful smile he could muster before hopping in after TK and Tommy.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Owen says once TK is inside the rig.

Carlos nods, taking a seat on the small bench.

Nancy shuts the doors and races to the driver’s seat, climbing in and the sirens wail as they start to move.

Owen watches the ambulance drive away, the hot pit in his stomach growing with each passing second.

Carlos and Tommy don’t exchange words, each of them focusing on TK. Tommy is monitoring his vitals, giving him fluids and administering a local nerve blocker to help with the pain.

Carlos clutches TK’s free hand with both of his own, closing his eyes and willing his racing heart to slow down a beat. He works on his breathing, steading his rhythm but he can’t help the stray tear that falls when he opens his eyes and looks at TK.

Carlos’s chest is in knots, his heart in pieces, TK is too still, too pale.

It’s almost like TK feels his fiancé’s anguish and pain, and on some level, he does because he’s weakly turning in Carlos’s direction. It’s always been a thing TK and Carlos talk about—the way they sense each other and what the other needs and this moment is yet another one to prove that connection true.

“It’s okay, ‘Los,” TK manages, his voice frail and muffled even more by the oxygen mask.

Carlos sniffs, moving closer to TK so he’s in his line of sight and nods. “Yeah, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I love you,” TK whispers.

“I love you too, baby,” Carlos reciprocates. “Hold on.”

TK nods, a promise Carlos clings onto with everything he’s got. And he prays today isn’t the day he loses TK.

They’ve only just begun.

*****

It’s a short but tense ride to the hospital.

Tommy had examined TK’s chest and Carlos’s assumption that it was the seatbelt that hurt him is proven right by the massive red bruise already formed down the paramedic’s torso. Carlos had drawn in a sharp breath at seeing it, heartbroken that TK has been injured to that extent. Tommy had also told Carlos that TK may have also suffered a bruised lung from the force of the seatbelt against his chest.

A team is already awaiting their arrival, tearing the ambulance doors open as soon as it comes to a halt in front of the Emergency Room entrance. Tommy relays all the information as they push TK inside and through the hallways. They reach a point where Tommy, Carlos and Nancy can’t follow and Carlos has to reluctantly let go of his tight hold on TK’s hand.

His heart shatters as he watches the doctors and nurses wheel TK away, feeling like he’s been ripped away from him.

He stands there for what seems like hours, watching the hallway long after TK was pushed into the elevator, Carlos’s eyes fixed on its closed doors. He feels a hand land on his shoulder, and he doesn’t need to turn to know who it is.

“Come on, Carlos,” Tommy’s soft voice reaches him.

Carlos lets her lead him towards the waiting area and he drops into one of the plastic chairs, hating how familiar they have become.

He shakes his head then drops it slightly and only looks up when a few wet wipes are in his line of sight.

He gratefully accepts them but doesn’t move for a few moments after. His gaze is focused on his own hands, his hands that are covered with TK’s blood. And his ring, his ring is coated in crimson, nearly obscuring the silver underneath and it makes his stomach churn in an unnatural way.

Carlos closes his eyes, going back to the day TK had slid this ring onto his finger, to the joy and contentment they had both felt, they way they basked in each other’s love when Carlos had said yes. A tear rolls down the officer’s cheek, one he doesn’t bother wiping away. He sniffs, opening his eyes and begins cleaning his hands.

Once the evidence of TK’s accident and injury is transferred to the wipes, Nancy takes them from Carlos’s hold and throws them away before sitting down, too.

The silence stretches, the feel and sound of the hospital nearly haunting. Owen’s arrival breaks it, Carlos looking up when he hears his name being called from afar.

“Carlos,” Owen’s eyes are wide and movement quick.

“Owen,” Carlos gets to his feet in time for the Captain to throw his arms around him in a hug, which Carlos returns.

Owen gives Carlos a squeeze before pulling back. “Did they say anything?”

Carlos shakes his head. “They took his straight up, didn’t say much of anything.”

Owen nods and sits on the chair next to Carlos’s as he too returns to it.

Tommy and Nancy’s radios spring to life a little bit later, and they reluctantly leave, promising to be back as soon as they can.

Carlos starts rolling his ringer over his finger, a gesture he does when he’s nervous or anxious. TK would always notice, and he’d reach out, taking Carlos’s hand and holds it tightly; a silent promise that he isn’t alone, and that TK’s got him. Carlos would give anything to feel TK’s tender touch.

He notices that his ring is still speckled with blood.

“I’ll be right back,” Carlos says as he rises from his place. “Just going to the bathroom.”

Owen nods. “Take your time.”

Carlos follows the signs to the nearest bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror as he gets closer to the sinks. The bathroom is empty, his boots echoing in the space, his eyes not leaving his exhausted reflection staring back at him. All the color has been drained from his face, his eyes a stark red against his pale skin and his usually neat curls are out of place. His eyes drift lower until they stop at his waist where there’s a large, dark stain. His uniform is stained with TK’s blood.  

He swallows as he turns on the faucet and lets the water run down at the coldest temperature before sticking his hands under it and working the remaining traces of blood off his ring. He momentarily relishes the cool sensation against his skin, but he soon breaks watching the pink-tinted water swirl down the drain.

It feels like TK is getting further and further away from him as each second passes by. He feels like he’s losing TK.

Helplessness settles in his bones, barely turning off the water and he grips the marble to support himself as his entire body starts to shake with the force of his oncoming sobs. A cry rips through his throat and he tightens his hold on the marble, afraid that his knees will no longer hold him up and he’ll crumble to the ground if he lets go.

He feels the fear crawling underneath his skin, the terror ringing through his whole being, the longing, the pain…it all washes over him at the same time, and he almost collapses from the weight of it. But he holds on. TK needs him to hold on. So he draws in a deep breath, stands up straight and splashes icy water over his face a few times.

Carlos returns to the waiting area with swollen eyes and Owen runs a hand up and down his back once he’s seated next to him once again, patting his shoulder before pulling back.

“We…we were planning on going over to my parents’ for dinner this weekend,” Carlos’s shaky voice slices through the silence that settles over them. “Our schedules lined up and TK was so excited. He,” he pauses, a small smile forming on his face. “He was saying how we should bake something to take to dinner. Chocolate chip cookies. They’re his go-to when it comes to baking,” he trails off, his hands connecting and he starts nervously fidgeting, rubbing his hands together.  “Chocolate chip cookies,” he whispers.

“They were always his favorite kind of cookies when he was a kid,” Owen says.

Carlos turns to look at Owen, his features broken and eyes filled with fragments of loss and aching. “He’s going to be okay, right? He has to be. He…has to be okay.”

“He’s strong, and he’s in the best of hands. He’s going to fight to come back to us, to come back to you, Carlos. The happiest I’ve ever seen my son was when he was with you, even in the beginning, when you were still figuring things out, there was something different about him, I could see it, I could feel it. He seemed lighter, brighter. His eyes lit up. I didn’t want to pry or push to know more, but when I saw you together, I knew. You were the missing piece he needed, you helped make him better, stronger. He’s going to come back to that.”

“It was the same with me. He saved me, in so many ways,” Carlos expresses.

“You saved each other,” Owen replies with a smile, giving Carlos’s knee a squeeze.

Carlos and Owen move to the waiting room on the surgical floor a little while later. Owen sits down on an identical plastic chair while Carlos paces around the room.

He stops when he looks out into the hallway and sees the rest of the team making their way towards them, all wearing the same concerned look on their faces.

“We got here as fast as we could,” Judd says as they step inside.

“Have you heard anything yet?” Marjan asks, her eyebrows drawn together.

Owen shakes his head. “He’s been in surgery for almost two hours.”

“He’s a strong kid, he’ll make it through,” Judd speaks with a steady voice.

“I should go call my mom, let her know what happened,” Carlos starts walking towards the door.

Paul pats Carlos’s shoulder as he passes him, and Carlos responds with an appreciative nod.

Carlos’s short trip to go outside is a haze, moving robotically until he’s stepping into the open air, the sun still high in the sky. It’s hot, Carlos closes his eyes and tilts his head up in the direction of the sun, letting its warmth seep into his skin. He takes a deep breath as he opens his eyes, pulls out his phone and he notices a few texts from Mitchell. He makes a mental note to reply later and moves to the phone icon, touching his mother’s contact from his favorites list.

One ring, two rings, three rings…

“Carlitos!”

“Mami…”

Andrea immediately picks up on his broken tone. “What’s wrong, mijo?”

“It’s…There was an accident…a car pile up downtown and…TK, he…he was in it,” Carlos’s voice cracks.

“Oh, Dios,” Andrea draws in a sharp breath. “How is he?” She asks and Carlos can hear rustling and movement in the background now.

“He…he lost a lot of blood, Ma. He was stuck in the car and his side was hurt…they took him straight to surgery and we haven’t heard anything yet,” Carlos sniffs.

“Where are you? I’m on my way,” Andrea says.

Carlos can hear the emotion in his mother’s voice and he knows she’s trying to keep her worry and fear for TK from breaking through the phone. She’s always been Carlos’s rock, strong and steady, and he can tell by her tone that she’s keeping it together for him. Still, though, he can hear the slight waver in her voice at the knowledge that her soon to be son-in-law is badly injured, currently undergoing surgery.

Since the moment TK was officially introduced to Carlos’s parents, they welcomed him into their family with wide, open arms. They had immediately liked him and adored him, Andrea happily whispering it into Carlos’s ear at the end of that very night. They saw the love between him and their son, and it had uplifted Andrea and Gabriel’s spirits and filled their own hears with so much love and glee.

And when Carlos had called them one night, voice filled with bliss and excitement, telling them that TK had proposed to him, Andrea and Gabriel wept tears of joy.

Knowing how much Andrea loves TK, telling her that he was hurt is one of the hardest things Carlos has ever had to do.

“We’re at West Park Memorial,” Carlos replies.

With a promise from Andrea to be there shortly, they end the call. He returns to the waiting room a few minutes later, everyone’s eyes landing on him. Carlos feels shrunk, his shoulders drawn in, his body feeling so heavy.

“She’s on her way,” he says before turning to stare into the direction of the operating rooms.

“No news yet,” it’s Judd who speaks next, reading Carlos’s mind.

Carlos nods and returns to his seat next to Owen.

Silence falls onto the room, everyone doing little things to keep themselves busy. Mateo praying, Marjan and Paul standing and pacing, Judd grabbing a couch pillow and holding it against his chest, Owen’s head is thrown back against the wall with his eyes closed and Carlos’s leg starts bouncing up and down while he fidgets with his hands. His fingers gravitate towards his ring, the one tangible piece of TK he has with him in this moment. Carlos always gravitates towards TK.

The team eventually get called away to a rescue with their promises too to return as soon as they can.

Carlos’s phone rings and a glance at his screen tells him it’s his mother.

“Ma,” Carlos answers.

“Hi, mijo. I’m walking in now, where are you?”

“We’re in the waiting room on the surgical floor,” Carlos tells her.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Carlos spots Andrea hurrying through the hall, handbag clutched against her side soon after they hang up.

“Carlitos,” Andrea breaths as she steps into the room.

Carlos walks over to her and falls against her as she wraps him in a tight hug.

“It’s okay, mijo. Va a estar bien,” she whispers reassuringly, holding him in a steady grip. It’s going to be okay.

Carlos returns the embrace, burying his face in his mother’s neck, more tears spring to his eyes at being held by his mother and feeling her safety and comfort.

There’s a considerable height difference between Carlos and Andrea, but right now, Carlos may as well be a little boy and she a giant. Her protective hold on him is steady and grounding.

Once they pull back, Andrea cups Carlos’s face and wipes the fallen tears with the pads of her thumbs.

“Any news?”

Carlos shakes his head.

Andrea walks over to Owen, who gets up and they exchange a quick hug.

“He’s going to be fine,” Andrea says as she takes a seat next to her son.

Carlos nods, his eyes drifting back to his ring.

“There was a missing ingredient,” Andrea says after a while.

Carlos frowns as he turns to look at her.

“I was talking to him this morning, I sent him the family recipe for tamales,” she explains. “He wanted to surprise you but there was one missing thing.”

“Our dinner date tonight…that’s why he was out, he was going to the store,” Carlos connects the dots, eyes filling with tears.

Andrea nods.

“That was his surprise,” the realization dawns on Carlos. “He knows tamales are my favorite,” a small smile forms on his face.

Andrea places her palm on the nape of Carlos’s neck and pulls him gently towards her. He goes easily and rests his forehead against her shoulder. She whispers comforting words in Spanish as she runs her fingers over Carlos’s short hair just above his neck. He closes his eyes, evening out his breathing as he soaks up his mother’s comfort.

*****

Carlos is staring into nothingness almost an hour later, his eyes glued to to the hallway but unseeing. His mind on TK, all figures that pass through and walk the hallway blurred. Until one doctor is walking towards the waiting room, his form getting clearer and clearer as Carlos forces his vision to focus on him.

The doctor is visibly tired, his face crunched up, still wearing his surgical cap as he enters the room. Carlos can’t read him, and that worries him even more. He braces himself, swallowing as the doctor starts speaking.

“Family of Tyler Strand?”

“TK,” Owen corrects as he gets to his feet. “How’s my son?”

Carlos and Andrea follow suit, the tension building in the small space.

The doctor nods at Owen. “TK made it through,” he offers them a kind smile.

The collective breath Owen, Carlos and Andrea were holding is released as they breathe out a sigh of relief. Carlos closes his eyes, letting the doctor’s words sink in, sagging forward a little. He feels Andrea’s hand running up and down his back, grounding him and he leans into her warm touch.

“There were some complications, however,” the doctor continues. “We were mostly concerned about the amount of blood he lost, which caused his blood pressure to drop. His numbers were low during the surgery but we were able to keep him stable and with some blood transfusions, his blood pressure began to improve. The metal shard nicked his kidney but it didn’t cause major damage, we were also able to repair the laceration. Brain scans were all normal, indicating no brain injury. His chest is bruised and he has a minor lung contusion from the force of the seatbelt, but that will heal on its own. He’s young and healthy, I expect him to make a full recovery.”

“Can we see him?” Andrea asks, knowing it’s on Carlos’s mind and also knowing Carlos is still processing the doctor’s prognosis.

The doctor nods. “He’s currently in recovery and he can have visitors once he’s settled in a room after some observation. I’ll make sure a nurse comes to inform you when he’s ready.”

“Thank you so much, doctor,” Owen extends his hand.

The doctor nods once more, shaking Owen’s hand. “He’ll be home in no time.”

Carlos is rolling his ring on his finger and nervously bouncing his leg a while later when a young nurse approaches them.

“TK is ready for visitors,” she announces with a smile.

Owen turns to look at Carlos. “Go,” he urges.

“Are you sure?” Carlos asks.

Owen nods. “I’m sure, I’ll stop by to see him in a while.”

Owen pats Carlos’s shoulder as the officer gets to his feet and follows the nurse towards TK’s room.

“I’ll be back in an hour to check on him,” the nurse says as they come to a halt in front of a closed door. “The nurses’ station is down the hall if you need anything, or you can just press the call button near the bed.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, taking a deep breath and pushing the door open.

He knew what to expect, he knew what his eyes would land on once he stepped into the room but still, seeing TK looking so small and still in the hospital bed shakes Carlos to his core.

An ache bolts up and down his body as he makes his way towards TK, his footsteps echoing off the walls, the only sound aside from the beeping of the heart monitor. He doesn’t take his eyes off his fiancé as he lowers himself on the chair situated next to the bed, watching as the paramedic’s chest rises and falls with each breath he takes.

Carlos is at least glad to see that TK has regained some color but it’s the stillness that also makes the officer uneasy. TK is always active, even when he’s asleep, twisting and turning in bed every now and then. Carlos would say he’s a light sleeper, he loved when TK started spending the night in the early days of their relationship. Though TK’s restlessness would sometimes wake Carlos from his slumber, he’d wrap an arm around TK’s middle and drift off to sleep again only for it to happen again a few hours later. Carlos never minded that, though, he’d be woken up by many things over the years, and being woken up by TK’s movement is by far his favorite.

Eventually, those movements from the younger man through the night had become a source of comfort for Carlos over the months, a reminder that TK is right next to him, in his bed. It grounded Carlos, and a sleepy smile would spread over his face as he gravitates towards those movements, warmth spreading through his body.

But here, right now, Carlos shivers, an icy sensation darting through his nerves. TK’s stillness is wrong, all wrong and so unlike TK is breaks Carlos’s heart all over again.

Carefully, Carlos reaches out, clasping TK’s hand in his own and prays that he can feel the familiar pressure.

“Hi, baby,” Carlos eventually speaks, his voice hoarser than he expected. “I’m here and you’re okay. They took really good care of you and you’ll be back on your feet in no time. I just…I miss you, Ty.”

The only response Carlos gets is the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

He sighs, running his thumb over TK’s knuckles. “I miss your voice, your smile, those beautiful green eyes of yours…your kiss. Come back to me, babe. This is only our beginning, we still have so much to do together. And I’ll be right here, right by your side, always. I’m not going anywhere,” Carlos vows.

Some time later, Carlos is so focused on TK and watching him, he doesn’t hear the knock on the door or it being pushed open until he senses another presence in the room.

He turns to see Owen stepping in, and stops by the foot of the bed.

“He looks better,” the Captain says, his eyes glued to his son.

Carlos nods, and continues running his fingers through TK’s hair.

“Your mom is heading to your place to pack a bag for you and TK,” Owen adds after a few moments. “She said to tell you to call or text her if there’s anything in specific you’d like her to get. And she’s also getting you some food.”

Carlos nods again. “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat, though.”

Owen’s eyes soften. “I know, but you have to keep your strength up. He’s going to need you when he wakes up. You need to take care of yourself so you can take care of him.”

Carlos knows Owen is right, so he doesn’t argue. “Thank you,” he tells Owen.

“Thank you,” Owen reciprocates. “You saved his life.”

“Part of me hopes I could have done more, I felt so helpless just…I wish I could have done more,” Carlos drops his head.

“Hey, Carlos,” Owen walks over so he’s behind the officer. He places a hand on Carlos’s shoulder and gives him a supportive squeeze. “You did everything you could, I know you did. I’ve seen so many accidents to know that in that pile up today, TK’s chances were…” he trails off, shaking his head. “His chances weren’t good. If it wasn’t for you, TK wouldn’t be here right now.”

The mere thought of that brings tears to Carlos’s eyes. “A guy flagged me down and…I followed him and then I realized it was TK and…my whole world stopped.”

Owen nods. “I hate that you had to go through that but…part of me is glad it was you who got to him. Because I know you would have done, and did do, everything you can to keep him alive. You climbed into the wrecked car, and that says everything.”

Carlos moves his hand to cup TK’s face, lightly tracing his cheekbone with the tip of his thumb. “I would do anything to make sure he’s okay.”

A moment of silence washes over them as Owen dips his hand into his pocket and pulls it out, fist closed before opening his palm in front of Carlos.

“Here,” Owen says.

Carlos looks down into Owen’s open hand and a tear rolls down his cheek when he sees TK’s ring there.

“The nurse gave me his stuff after she lead you here. I thought you should hold on to it for him,” Owen explains.

Carlos sniffs, reaches out and takes the ring. He secures it in a fist and brings his hand over his heart, holding it there before leaning forward and brushing a kiss to TK’s temple.

*****

Owen stays until Andrea is knocking on the door, walking into a room carrying a duffel bag and a brown paper bag. The delicious smell immediately hits Carlos and his stomach rumbles. His mother must have heard it because she gives him a knowing smile.

Owen excuses himself a few minutes later, making Carlos promise to call if anything changes. With one final glance at his son, Owen leaves.

Carlos settles on the small table in the corner of the room as he unwraps the food his mom brought him. Andrea stands near the bed and plants a tender kiss to TK’s forehead then sits in the chair previously occupied by Carlos.

Carlos watches the sweet exchange and feels his heart flutter in his chest at the sight. It’s such a simple gesture but it speaks volumes of the way Andrea had come to love TK and happily welcome him into the family. Carlos had witnessed TK and Andrea growing closer and closer over the course of their relationship and it had made him happier than words could express. He’d smile, his heart soaring as he watched them in conversation or watched TK help Andrea in the kitchen, talking about anything and everything, while preparing dinner together at the Reyes ranch.

There’s pain and sadness in his heart at seeing Andrea sit next to TK’s hospital bed. And even more when he hears his mother’s broken whisper of oh, amor, as her eyes roam over TK’s battered face and he can tell she’s imagining the layers of bandages hidden underneath his gown.

Carlos can tell she’s struggling, trying to remain strong for both him and TK. Because not only is Andrea’s Carlos’s rock and support, but she is also TK’s.

“It’s okay, Ma,” Carlos reassures her. There’s so many layers to those three words, and she catches on to each and every one.

She gives him a small, sad smile, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“Your dad sends his love, and he said he’ll be by to visit TK soon, once he’s awake and strong,” Andrea says a little while later, after Carlos had finished eating, freshened up, changed into sweats and a hoodie, and returned to TK’s side.

She was about to get up to vacate his seat then, but Carlos shook his head and gestured for her to remain seated there. He dropped into the chair on the other side of the bed, the one Owen had grabbed from near the wall and had been sitting in.

Visiting hours were coming to an end and Andrea was getting ready to leave. With a gentle pat to TK’s cheek, she gets to her feet and clutches her handbag, Carlos following her.

“Carlitos,” she starts but Carlos is quickly shaking his head, knowing what she’s going to say.

“I can’t leave him,” he answers.

Andrea sighs. “It’s going to be busy in here tonight, they’ll be checking on TK every couple of hours and you need to rest, too.”

“I know, but I won’t be able to sleep if I do go home either. I’ll stay wide awake, worrying and wondering and going back home now, going back to our bed, without him or without knowing he’s really okay…I can’t. At least staying, I can grab an hour here and there when they aren’t checking on him.”

Andrea nods after a moment. She knew deep down that Carlos would stay, hence the bag she had packed. She’s cupping Carlos’s face, caressing his cheek before pulling him into a hug.

He goes easily, wrapping his arms around his mother and returning the hug. Her strong hold on him gives him strength himself, almost transferring some of hers to him and he soaks it all up.

“He’s going to be just fine,” Andrea whispers, kissing Carlos’s cheek as they separate.

Carlos nods.

“I love you, mijo,” Andrea expresses. “I love you both.”

“We love you, too, Ma.”

After a similar promise to Andrea like the one made to Owen, she leaves, grabbing the bag sitting next to the door containing Carlos’s bloodstained uniform on her way out.

Carlos returns to his original place next to the bed, his hand going back to TK’s.

“It’s just you and me now, babe.”

*****

It starts with one slow movement. It’s so slow Carlos would have probably missed it if he weren’t watching TK as closely as he is.

The sun has climbed high in the sky, the hours ticked by from the time Carlos had given up on sleep around dawn. It was a night filled with fitful and restless sleep, as he had expected and between the nurse checking on TK and Carlos’s own worry, the officer managed to get three hours of shuteye.

He couldn’t sleep past the moment light cracked through the darkness of the sky above, so he got up, running a hand through his loose curls and stretched his aching muscles. The sun slowly got higher and stronger, painting the sky in streaks of orange, yellow and red, the colors morphing together in a magical way. He watched the process through the thin curtain, getting lost in it for a few moments before directing his attention back to TK.

TK who still hadn’t woken up. Who hasn’t even stirred.

Carlos was awake during the nurse’s more recent visit and she had assured him that it was perfectly normal, that TK’s body still needed some rest and that TK is doing well. He thanked her, giving her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes followed by a nod when she mentioned there’s a coffee station just down the hall.

He feels TK’s ring sitting in his pocket, and he longs for the moment when he’ll able to slip it back on his finger, where it belongs.

He kept a positive attitude, repeating the nurse’s comforting words in his mind over and over, clinging to them as more minutes passed by with no indication from his fiancé of waking up.

“Come back to me, baby,” Carlos had whispered, giving TK’s hand a light squeeze.

He eventually left the room for a quick trip to the mentioned coffee station, and was back by TK’s side in a matter of minutes.

He kept himself occupied replying to texts he had received—from Mitchell, some of his other colleagues at the precinct, and most recently the 126 group chat, while keeping an eye on TK, as well.

The texts were all replied to and the coffee had long been consumed when the slow movement from the bed catches Carlos’s attention.

A small nudge of TK’s head to side, his eyes still closed. For a second, Carlos thinks his mind is playing a trick on him. But then it happens again, in the other direction and that has Carlos moving forward, heart picking up speed in his chest.

“TK?” Carlos calls. “TK, can you hear me?”

His heart is on its way to sinking from the lack of response from the paramedic, but instead flutters because TK is slowly opening his eyes and finding Carlos through the haze.

Carlos’s face breaks into a smile that does reach his eyes this time, said eyes also filling with tears at the sight of the green irises he has so terribly missed.

“Hi, baby, hi,” Carlos continues, his voice soft.

“‘Los,” TK breaths, his voice scratchy and low but it’s his voice and Carlos can almost weep at his nickname that only TK uses.

“I’m here, I’m here. You’re okay,” Carlos reassures him. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

Carlos’s hand moves to cup TK’s face, caressing his cheek and his heart sings when TK summons all the energy he can and leans into Carlos’s touch.

“Get some more rest, babe, I’m not going anywhere,” Carlos says when he notices TK drifting back to sleep.

Watching TK’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm now, TK’s ring in Carlos’s pocket feels lighter.

*****

The sun is getting lower when TK wakes up again. Andrea had passed by and joined Carlos for lunch a couple of hours before, Carlos feeling better and able to eat properly.

He was sitting in his usual spot on the chair next to the bed, mindlessly going through his phone and switching between apps when the same nudge of TK’s head pulls his attention, albeit it’s a little more frantic than the previous ones.

“Hey, hey, baby,” Carlos gets closer to TK, eyes on his face.

TK’s eyes are faster in opening this time, landing on Carlos and then looking around the room.

“Carlos?”

“Right here, I’m right here.”

“What…” TK’s eyebrows draw together, confusion written all over his face.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Carlos takes hold of TK’s hand. “You were in an accident, you were hurt pretty bad but they took care of you and everything’s okay. Do you remember?”

TK nods after a second and swallows against his dry throat.

“Do you want some water?”

TK nods again.

Carlos grabs the plastic cup from the nightstand and guides the straw through TK’s parched lips. “Easy, slow sips.”

“How—how bad is it?” TK asks once he’s done drinking.

Carlos sighs as he returns the cup. “We don’t have to talk about that now.”

“Please…I…I need to know,” TK says with a low tone.

After a moment, Carlos nods. “You were stuck in the backseat, you had some cuts and scraps, a concussion, bruise from the seatbelt and…there was a piece of metal lodged in your side. You lost a lot of blood, and I tried to keep pressure as much as I could but I didn’t want to hurt you more and…” he sucks in a shaky breath.

TK uses his energy to squeeze Carlos’s hand, knowing where the officer’s mind is going, taking him back to the horrific accident scene. TK squeezes Carlos’s hand to ground him and bring him back to the present.

“Never in a million years had I expected to see you in that crash…I was actually thinking the opposite, that I won’t see you because it’s your day off. But then the universe flipped the table on me and there you were…” Carlos trails off and then shakes his head. “I’m sorry, you just woke up, this…this isn’t what you should be hearing.”

It’s TK’s turn to gently shake his head. “Hey, there’s nothing to apologize for. Whatever you need to let out, and everything you’re feeling and thinking…I’m here to listen, no matter what.”

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Carlos lowers his gaze.

“Look at me, baby, look at me. You can never overwhelm me…I know how tough this has been, and I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Carlos tightens his hold on TK’s hand. “I was…so scared. I felt so helpless and it felt like you were being ripped away from me. And for a moment you were, when they wheeled you away and it broke me, in that moment, I shattered,” the tears get heavier in his eyes and with a blink, a tear falls and streaks down his cheek.

TK’s own eyes well up at seeing the pain and heartbreak drawn on Carlos’s face and coating his voice, wanting nothing more than to take it all away.

“I remember coming to after I blacked out from the initial crash and it was…terrifying. My mind hadn’t completely caught up with what happened and once it did, I was really scared,” TK sniffs. “I felt so alone. But you know what? When I saw you, well, at first I thought I was dreaming but then you reached out to me and touched me and it felt real, you felt real and warm and you were right there…I knew in my heart you were there and I wasn’t scared anymore. I didn’t feel alone anymore. I knew you would save me, like you did so many times before.”

More tears roll down Carlos’s cheeks at TK’s words.

“And you did. You saved me, ‘Los.”

Carlos lunges forward, taking TK’s face gently in his hands and plants a kiss on TK’s forehead.

“You saved me just as much,” Carlos whispers, looking into TK’s eyes where brown meets green, and there’s so much said without needing words, so much love communicated and felt. Carlos leans in, first touching their foreheads together and then brushing a tentative kiss to TK’s lips. And Carlos feels whole again.

“Also,” Carlos starts once he pulls back. “We’re definitely making those tamales once we’re back home.”

“You know?”

Carlos nods. “Ma told me. Missing one ingredient.”

“Yeah…I wanted to surprise you. You’ve been working so hard lately and I wanted to do something for you,” TK expresses.

“That means everything, TK. I just hate that you got hurt, I know neither of us could control what happened but still…I hate that it happened.”

TK nods. “But I’m here and I’m okay.”

“You are,” Carlos drops a kiss to TK’s cheek this time. “And one more thing,” he adds, a hand digging into his pocket.

He opens his palm in front of TK to reveal his ring and TK looks up at him, eyes glistening.

“I believe this belongs to you,” Carlos holds out his free hand to TK.

TK carefully lifts his hand and gives it to Carlos.

He watches as Carlos slides the ring on his finger, the familiar weight of it a comfort. He closes his eyes when Carlos brushes a kiss to the ring now sitting where it belongs, relishing in the touch.

“I love you, Ty, now and forever.”

Carlos's eyes are so soft and filled with love and adoration, it makes TK's heart swell with just as much love. He smiles, knowing he's found a home in Carlos. And he knows with his whole being that Carlos has found one in him, too.

“I love you too, ‘Los, always.”

And when TK gives Carlos the smile that’s reserved for only him, Carlos knows in his heart that they’re going to be just fine.

[weasleydream]

siblings are the angels who lift you up when your wings forget to fly

Another idea i’ve struggled to write, but i really love it! do you think i should make it a series? we would see different moments of the triplets life, it’s something i would love to write!

As usual, feel free to like, comment, reblog and enjoy!

Masterlist 

(photo not mine) 

“There’s no way you’re coming with us Y/N, that’s all.”

For absolutely everyone, my triplets, Fred and George, were funny guys never afraid of anything. But Merlin, when it came to me… 

The atmosphere at the 12, Grimmauld Place had been really tense since the beginning of the day, when some members of the Order and our family had gathered to talk about the most important mission of all: bringing Harry safe and sound to the Burrow. The first plan had been simple and only involved Mad-Eye, but since the Ministry of Magic had been infiltrated by Death Eaters, we had to think of something else. That’s how Mundungus had come up with the idea of using Polyjuice Potion, which could work only if six people volunteered to enter Harry's skin. We had been seven to agree taking the risk, and when Mad-Eye had grumbled one of us would stay with Mum and Ginny at the Burrow (which Ginny didn’t like at all even though she hadn’t her word to say), Fred had claimed I would. 

Now, he, George and I were arguing because I didn’t want to stay on the sidelines.

“You know you don’t have to decide for me, right?”

“We just want you safe and sound, Y/N.” intervened George. “We know you can do this, but we would be worried and -”

“And you think I won’t be?” I interrupted him. Fred and George exchanged a look I couldn’t read, which annoyed me a bit more. They had always been like this, with this deep connexion I didn’t share with anyone. Don’t get me wrong; I was extremely close to them and we understood each other perfectly, but there was something unique between these two. “Practically all our family will be in danger, and you two will be out there without me and- and if anything happens, I don’t know what-”

“That’s exactly why you’re going to stay at home.” Fred put his hand on my shoulder. “If you’re not out there, nothing will happen to you and if, by the greatest of misfortunes, we die tragically, you’ll be there to carry our legacy. What do you think?” he added with a wink. 

“I think you’re a git. You’re both gits.” I mumbled before storming out. 

At this point, I knew arguing was useless: the plan was ready, and all of this was bigger than just my worries. But I just couldn’t picture myself waiting patiently on the couch while they were outside, threatened to be killed at every second, fearing the moment they would come back injured, and dreading the moment someone would tell me they were dead. I would have given anything to be able to go with them, even though risking my life to not fear for my family was selfish. 

I was downing the stairs as quietly as possible - even Filch hadn’t ever uttered insults as demeaning as the ones Sirius’ mother loved to throw to us - when shouts came to me. They seemed to come from a little room at the end of the corridor and I recognized Remus’ voice. I slowly approached the door. I didn’t want to eavesdrop, just to know if I could help, but what I heard made me stop. 

“You can’t go! I forbid you, you just can’t put yourself in danger!”

“But that’s my job, Remus!” It was Tonks, and her voice was high-pitched. I was sure her hair was currently bright red. “And the plan is ready, we can’t change it.”

“We can ask Y/N to take your place and-”

“And let her put herself in danger like this?” interrupted Tonks. “She’s too young!”

I groaned and decided to make my big entrance. 

“What’s happening?” I asked with my most innocent voice while opening the door. 

I met Remus’ eyes and mentally scolded myself. I used to reserve that voice for the professors when Fred, George and I were caught after a prank and I had forgotten for a second that Remus had heard it more than once. Now, he knew for sure I had heard everything. 

“Nothing!” replied quickly Tonks. “Nothing! Tell me Y/N, can you go and ask Molly if-”

“She’s pregnant.”

A long silence followed, during which Tonks was glaring at Remus who was looking at me with a determined look. And me, between the two, looking at them in turn with my mouth wide open, I was understanding why she couldn’t possibly participate in the mission. 

“Y/N, I’m begging you, you have to exchange places with her!” said Remus. 

“Of course.” I immediately agreed. “I’ll do it, yes, you can’t put your life and your baby’s in danger.” Another silence and I exclaimed. “I’ve almost forgotten! Congratulations!” 

But the couple didn’t seem in the mood of rejoicing and they were still tense. 

“Do you think Molly will agree?” finally asked Tonks.

“She won’t really have the choice.” I shrugged. 

“And Fred and George?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll understand.”

_ _ _

“Are you crazy? We told you no!”

How could I think they would be okay with that? 

I had joined Mum, Dad, Ginny, Fred and George in the kitchen. They were talking about how Aunt Muriel would be happy to see two members of the Order bursting in her place when I had innocently dropped the news. Ginny was glaring at me, Mum and Dad sharing worried glances, George rolling his eyes and Fred infuriated. 

“You do remember you have no right to forbid me anything, right?” I asked sarcastically. 

“She’s right, boys.” intervened Dad, which caused him to deal with some murderous looks. “She’s as adult as you both are.”

“Yes, I’m even older than you, George. Respect your elders.”

“Shut up, there’s only twenty minutes of difference between us!” replicated George. 

“That’s twenty minutes of constructive experiences more than you have.”

“Stop this!” interrupted Mum. “Stop now, or else I swear none of you will go out there. Y/N, whose place will you take?”

“And why?” added Fred. 

“Tonks is pregnant.”

Mum seemed torn between her concern for us and the happiness brought by the news of a baby’s arrival. 

“I understand…” muttered Dad. “That means you will protect someone else. Are you sure you will be okay? Maybe you can trade place with Fleur, I’m sure she will-”

“No, it’s okay! Bill wants to stay with her, I can’t separate them.”

Plus, I had understood during the meeting that Tonks would have been paired with Ron, and I was relieved to be able to stay with him. I knew my little brother had a true gift when it came to finding the problems, even more than Fred, George and I. And even though I loved all my siblings unconditionally, I had always had a soft spot for Ron. I was feeling like I had to be the one staying with him for this mission. 

“What’s happening here? I bet all London can feel the tension.”

Ron had opened the door but was staying on the doorstep, eyeing us all suspiciously. 

“Yes Y/N, what’s happening here?” asked Fred in a cranky way that was getting on my nerves. 

“Hope you still know how to fly on a broom, I won’t wait for you.” I winked and Ron smiled before frowning when George groaned. 

_ _ _ 

“Come on guys, you’re not going to ignore me forever!” I whined as Fred left the kitchen unceremoniously.

Mum shot a glance at me and turned her attention back to the pie she was baking. We were back at the Burrow and the house, even though it wasn’t particularly emptier than usual, was more silent. Something like a heavy tension seemed to be stifling all the sounds, and it made it even more obvious that my brothers were mad at me. If George was just a bit more withdrawn when he was in the same room as me, it was a whole other story with Fred. It’s not like I didn’t know he would be the worst about it because let’s be honest, I knew he was the most impulsive. But not speaking to me in three days? It was childish and definitely hurtful. 

“You know he’s just worried, right?”

George’s voice made me jump and I looked up. His back was resting against the back door. He was just standing there, his hands deep in his pockets and his eyes soft. 

“All I know is that he’s being a prat.” I muttered. 

Of course I knew he was worried, not only about me but also about the rest of our family. I knew this little voice he had probably in his head, the one that said There’s no way everyone is going to come back alive.

“And you’re being a prat too, Georgie.”

“Shut up.”

“You, shut up.”

George rolled his eyes and smiled.

“Sometimes I wonder why I even tolerate you.” he said while patting my shoulder as he walked past me. 

“Because you love me?”

“Obviously.”

“George?”

He stopped and looked back at me, his eyes a bit darker than usual. 

“I know,” he sighed heavily and grabbed a chair to sit next to me. 

For a minute or two, we watched silently as Mum was walking everywhere in the kitchen, grabbing things and putting them elsewhere, cleaning a corner of the table and placing an apple back on the basket. She eventually left the kitchen to go I didn’t know where, clearly disappointed as we hadn’t said anything else yet. 

“I’m as scared as you are, Y/N.” murmured George. “And so is Fred. You know how he is,” he added with a humourless chuckle. 

“Of course I know. George, we’ll be six out there, there’s no way-”

“Talking about our bright future without me? I’m hurt.”

Fred grabbed a third chair and pushed his way between George and I, the beginning of a smile on his lips. 

“Oh, so you suddenly remembered I’m your sister?”

“Yeah but unfortunately I haven’t forgotten how stubborn and annoying you can be.”

“That’s one of the nicest things you’ve told me these days. Oh wait- that’s the only thing you told me!”

George was watching out bickerings with a smirk. 

“Sometimes I wonder who is really the youngest,” he stated. 

The effect was immediate. Fred and I shared a glance before defending with an all renewed vigour our oldest-ness, and we kept screaming until George’s chuckles made us stop. 

“Here, I was beginning to think I would have to get Mum involved to get you two to talk again!”

“Same for me!”

Mum entered the kitchen again, a small smile on her lips. She made her way toward her, caressing my cheek and ruffling the boys’ hair before sitting in front of us. Any trace of joy had left her face; at this moment, the realization that she had never looked older hit me, hard. 

“I know we’ll all be worried to death tomorrow,” she began, and her lower lip trembled, making her stop a second. “I know it, but I also know how you three will be. I just wanted to remind you that no matter how hard it’ll be, you’ll need to focus on getting home safe and sound. Okay?”

“Come on Mum, you know we’re always focused!”

_ _ _ 

“Y/N, you need to focus!”

Ron’s voice arrived in my ears like a distant echo, but the urgency in his tone made me look away from the spot in the sky where the green light had just disappeared. I didn’t know who it was, but my mind couldn’t stop imagining the worse even though I didn’t even know what exactly the worse would be. Fred, George, Dad, Bill, my heart was aching at the very thought of one of them even slightly hurt. 

“Y/N!”

My instinct reacted for me, and my broom swerved violently to dodge the curse. Ron came closer to me and accelerated, making me understand I had to follow him. 

“Ron!”

For a split second, I thought that he had been hit and was going to fall off his broom, but it was knowing very little about my little brother. Not only did he dodge and regain his balance, but also stupefied the Death Eater, the spell hitting him right between the eyes. I didn’t have enough time to say anything though, because an intense sensation of heat enveloped me. With horror, I realized my broom was burning, and the responsible was just behind us with four of his friends. 

“Ron, leave!”

I barely registered him shaking his head and extending an arm toward me. 

“Y/N, take my hand!”

I couldn’t though, because I was falling, fast. The sound of my scream was getting lost in the deafening noise of the wind in my ears. The floor was getting closer and closer, and my thoughts got confused, becoming nothing more than an ocean of regrets, the biggest of them being failing my brothers, my family. I wouldn’t get Ron home, I wouldn’t get to see Fred and George again, and Bill’s wedding, I wouldn’t be able to hug my parents and Ginny, to reconcile with Percy and to hear Charlie’s stories. 

The vague thought that I still had a few seconds to live crossed my mind, and then I closed my eyes. 

_ _ _ 

It wasn’t the soreness of my body that woke me up, or the flow of thoughts that was crossing my mind, but Ron’s rambling. 

“Bloody hell,” he said, “what’s wrong with this family? No one is able to stay safe, crazy that we’re even still alive. ‘Ron, leave’? Seriously, Y/N? Come on I’m not a coward and certainly not a quitter, I thought you knew me better than that. You’re getting heavy though, I would love it if you-”

“That was mean.” I murmured.

All absorbed by his thoughts, Ron realized two seconds later I had spoken up and almost dropped me. 

“Y/N! Glad to hear your voice! You scared me to death earlier, I barely caught you before it was too late but I broke my broom. That’s why,” he stopped before letting go of me and wrapping an arm around my waist as I faltered, “we’re walking to Muriel’s. I think we’re almost there- here, isn’t it this awful tea room she loves?”

“You mean the one George almost set on fire when we were four? You’re right, it’s just here.”

_ _ _

Saying that Muriel wasn’t pleased with us being late would be a massive understatement. The portkey disappeared just before our eyes, meaning that we would have to take another broom, and it obviously wasn’t going to happen without us receiving “the lecture Molly and Arthur should have given to all of you when still in the crib”. If usually it was hard to listen to Muriel rambling about our lack of education, at the moment it was definitely the most infuriating thing I had ever experienced. It was getting more and more on my nerves, and I would have exploded if Ron hadn’t decided he had had enough. 

“Listen Aunt Muriel, we’ll finish this great conversation at the wedding okay? We have to go back home. Bye!” he added with a loud voice to cover Muriel’s protests. 

We got out and snuck into one of the neighbour’s garden to grab a broom. It was old and not very well maintained - which made Ron groan, how could someone with a Firebolt leave it in the garden all night long? - and eventually flew back home. 

I heard Ron mumbling something but the wind didn’t bring his voice to my ears, only vague sounds. I was behind him, tightening his waist as hard as I could as I didn’t trust my arms. They were shaking, as were my legs and pretty much all the rest of my body. I was trying to convince myself that it was because of my fall, but vicious images of Fred or George or anyone in my family being hurt kept creeping in my mind. It was a huge relief that the Burrow appeared in my sight, and as soon as our feet hit the ground, Ron let go of the broom to join Harry and Hermione, who were waiting in the garden, and I rushed to the door, oblivious to the voices calling for me. 

I had never actually felt my heart stopping beating. Sometimes, it was very close calls, like the day McGonagall had told us Ginny had disappeared in the Chamber of Secrets, but the second I registered the dried blood and the hole…

“George!”

My voice was high pitched, my sight blurry and my legs trembling, and I didn’t even hear what was said after my entrance. In a breath, I had crossed the living-room and I was now hugging George as tight as I could. My arms didn’t stop moving, trying to get a better hold on his body to make sure he wouldn’t leave and get himself in danger more than he had already. 

“George… Georgie you- you-”

“I’m okay Y/N, don’t worry. Don’t worry.” he added softly. 

I looked up, not even realizing I was crying. Once I was sure George wouldn’t magically disappear in the next seconds, I let go of him to engulf Fred in an equally tight hug. His arms wrapped strongly around me, and after a few seconds I grabbed George’s sleeve and pulled him toward us. 

I didn’t know if the living room had become silent or if I just wasn’t paying attention to anything that wasn’t Fred and George's breath. I could have stayed like that for years, making sure they were alive, they were okay and here with me, but they obviously decided otherwise. Fred pushed me gently backwards, and my eyes fell on him after having watched worriedly George’s weak movement to lie back on the couch. 

“Where the hell were you? What happened to Ron and you? Y/N, do you even have an idea on how worried we were?” 

“I- we were followed and- Ron, he saved my life. I was falling and-”

“Falling?” 

Fred’s horrified look only left his face when Ron finally entered the living-room, followed by Harry, Hermione and Bill and Fleur, who had just arrived. I jumped on my feet and rushed to Bill and Ron, hugging them both tightly before being pulled out of the embrace by Mum, and then it became a blur because of all the hugs that succeeded one another. 

Such sentimentalism was rare in our family, and it was in time like these that I regretted it the most. 

_ _ _ 

Everyone had gone to bed for a while. Fred and I were sitting on the floor next to the couch, keeping an eye on George who was sleeping soundly. His pain had only seemed to fade away when he had closed his eyes, and he had gotten two hours of sleep so far.

“You should sleep,” I murmured when Fred yawned extensively. 

“If you don’t sleep, I don’t sleep either.” 

“And I’m the stubborn one?”

Fred chuckled. 

“Guess that’s something we share.”

A moment of silence followed, the both of us watching George stirring weakly. 

“I couldn’t believe my eyes…” whispered Fred. “When I saw him I just- I didn’t even freak out, it was so much more than that. So much worse.”

“It felt like I just died on the spot.” I added on the same tone, my voice so low George probably wouldn’t have heard it if he had been awake. “I’ve never felt that before and I- I would give everything to never feel it again.”

“I’ve never seen Dad like that before. It scared me, Y/N. I thought ‘If Dad loses his calm like that- it’s not good, right?’”

Fred wiped a tear from his cheeks and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. 

“And then you weren’t coming back. For a second, I thought the both of you had left me and-”

“It’ll never happen Fred.” I interrupted him, my voice not really steadier than his. “Never. It’s the three of us, there’s no other way. Believe it or not, but you’re quite good to be around.”

“I’m flattered, Y/N.” Here it was, this smirk I liked to see, the one he, George and I used to have almost daily. “I could say the same for you, actually.”

“You know what? I think I’ll sleep. You should too, Freddie.”

“I will. Good night, insufferable little sister.”

“Barely little sister.” I mumbled before closing my eyes, comfortably snuggled against Fred, just next to George, in the warmth of our childhood home. 

Safe. 

[honey-hippie-harper]

In-Laws Being In-Laws (Re-upload)

 Hiii!

So, this is basically an old fic, which I deleted from my other account ( @dawniebb ) and was requested to be uploaded again.

This feels like a lifetime ago afgshjka, but I remember it was written for a Renegades content swap event, and it was for @healing-winston-pratt (hello, wifey!). The prompt was, basically, Nova and one of the Renegays being in-laws, and it was super fun to write! <3

If anyone’s reading this: Hi, you’re a beautiful human being, and I love you <3

In-Laws Being In-Laws

Dear Dread Warden,

I am not quite sure you will get this message because it is been a while since I last used my communicator but, in case you do: I  hope you are having a nice morning. 

The reason I am writing you this is that, as you must already be aware, right now Sketch and his teammates are taking part in the Annual Renegade Convention as special guests to be awarded for their heroic participation in the Second Battle for Gatlon. Hence, they are out of town. Due to my temporary resignation from the team, I declined the offer to attend the event and, for instance, to receive an award. This means that, unlike theirs, my routine remains the same as usual.

Unfortunately, I must see my therapist for my weekly appointment in two hours, and after that I will have to go to the supermarket to pick up some groceries and essential items. Under normal circumstances, given the nature of my relationship with Sketch, he would have driven me to the supermarket and then back to my apartment, as it happens to be located sort of far from the store and it could be pretty difficult for me to walk while carrying all those bags. However, as mentioned before, these are not normal circumstances and Sketch is not currently available.

I reach out to you with no intention to cause trouble; for instance, if I happen to be asking too much or disrupting your schedule (As I am conscious you are a busy person) and you consider you will not be able to help me, I assure you I completely understand. But: Could you pick me up from my therapist's office and take me to the supermarket afterwards?

I apologize for the inconvenience and I promise I will make sure this does not happen again. In addition, I also apologize for the alliteration in the greeting at the beginning of this message. I did not know whether you wanted to be acknowledged by your real name or your alias.

Sincerely,

Insomnia.

-.-

Hi, Insomnia!!!

So nice to see you!... Or should I say read you! Ha! It's been so long, it almost feels like an eternity! I hope therapy is going great! (We're all really proud of you!)

It doesn't bother me at all, sweetheart; of course I'll help you with that. Could you share the location of your therapist's office, please?

Oh, and also: What time do you want me to be there? (Not that I have anything to do today, I just want to be on time).  

I'm excited to see you! Can I take you to eat something afterwards? How does that sound?

Take care!

(Agh. I forgot these things don't actually allow you to write your real  name).

-S i m o n.

(Better).

-.-

He spotted Nova way before parking. She was sitting on a bench outside the building, staring anxiously at her phone. The body language of a nervous person.

Simon stopped the car right in front of where she was, and when she realized he was already here, Nova jumped out of her seat as if it had burned her skin, before jogging in an awkward manner towards the car.

Once she was inside, Simon couldn't help but feel a twinge in his stomach. He wasn't lying when he told her he was excited to see her. In fact, he was more than excited, and he had to hold himself back pretty hard to avoid hugging her, because it was evident she didn't want to be hugged right now, for she just directed a tiny smile at him and said:

"Hi."

She was the same Nova he had met some time ago, but at the same time she was different; she was wearing sneakers, skinny jeans and a basic white v-neck shirt; her hair was a little longer, too, to the point she could tie it in a cute little ponytail; Simon could tell she wasn’t wearing any makeup, but still her face looked healthier than before; less tired, with smaller under-eye dark circles and lips covered in chapstick. Finally.

She looked alive. More than before.

“Hi.” He finally responded.

Watching people get better was always satisfactory, but watching Nova get better was different. He had grown to appreciate her, since the very first moment he saw her with Adrian; since the very first moment he spoke to her and saw nothing but utter heartbreak in her eyes. Nova was hurting, and any sensitive person would’ve noticed that. So, watching her get better was a touching experience for him.

“You look so…”

Nova interrupted him almost immediately.

“I know. I...I barely had time to fix my hair. Gosh. It’s so uncomfortable and I want to cut it but I haven’t had time. I…”

“Oh, no, no, no! Your hair looks gorgeous! “ He chuckled, although he was confused by her reaction. “I was gonna say you look really good. Really, really good. The ponytail looks great on you.”

Nova gulped as she adjusted said ponytail.

“Oh.” She muttered in a hoarse voice. “...Well...Thank you. I thought…”

“No, no.” Simon waved his hand. “You look great. How.... how are you?”

She seemed to be processing the question, even though it was not that difficult.

“I’m…” Nova cleared her throat. “I’m doing great. How are you? How’s ...life going?”

“Absolutely great!” Simon smiled, clapping his hands together. “Things at home are great. You know, Hugh’s not currently here due to the Annual Renegade Convention. Adrian’s not here either (for sure, you already know about that) and Max…”

“Max went too, yeah.” Nova smiled. Her eyes seemed to brighten to the mention of Max’s name. Adrian had mentioned this fact about her a couple of times: Nova was fond of children. And even if she wasn’t, she had a tendency to protect and care about them. Since she had this type of strong personality, Hugh refused to recognize that as a truth, but Simon had no trouble believing it.

It was adorable.

“He called me when he got the invitation. He was eager to go.” She continued. “Which doesn’t surprise me. I...It’s his first time travelling, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Responded Simon. “We’re planning to go on vacation this year. Because, you know, the convention’s being held not too far away from Gatlon and sadly he’s probably gonna get bored.”

“Bored?” Nova shifted herself in the seat, awkwardly. “Why?”

“Well...those conventions are...well, conventions.” Simon shrugged, smiling at her. “There are a lot of speeches, one after the other and, sure, the guests that represent Gatlon can skip some of them, but others are mandatory and they’re like 2 hours long and it’s so boring and…”

Nova hissed, grimacing, to which Simon nodded in agreement.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to go.” He admitted. “Though I do wanted to be there when Adrian and Max received their award. Too sad.”

Nova tried to speak a couple of times, until she finally had found the correct words to said her thoughts out loud.

“Why...why didn’t you go, then?”

“About that.” Simon chuckled. “Tamaya is going to be there too, as a speaker. And she’s also receiving an award. So...somebody had to take care of the Headquarters and Kasumi and I were left with that responsibility. However, it’s been pretty peaceful, as you may have noticed.”

“I have.” Nova nodded. “Not that I...go out very much, but yeah. Things have been calm.”

“People are behaving for once. And it’s awesome.” he sighed.

Then they stayed in silence. For a while.

Nova stared out the window, avoiding eye contact, while Simon whistled as he tapped his fingers on the wheel.

Not a word. No small talk.

Nothing.

“Sooooo…” Said Simon. “Shall we go?”

“Perhaps we should.” Nova said, immediately, as a flash of relief crossed her face.

So Simon smiled at her once again as he turned on the engine, while Nova put on her seatbelt next to him.

-.-

It took her so little time to come back Simon confirmed she was one of those people who would strategically write their shopping list so they wouldn’t be going back and forth through the aisles. It also surprised him that, being a person so young, she was so...focused on everything.

She really had only bought groceries and essential items. No junk food. No silly things she swore she would need and then she didn’t. Not even candy from the checkout area.

Simon hurried himself out of the car to help her put the bags in the trunk, but once she saw him and guessed his intentions, she quickly said:

“It’s okay. I can do it.”

“I know you can.” He clarified. Because, well, she indeed was a strong person. “But maybe you could use some help. That’s...a couple of bags.”

“Yeah. I know.” Nova nodded, already carrying the first two of the bags. “But I can do it. Please. I’m already causing you too much trouble.”

Simon was yet again confused by her reaction, and he tried to talk to her about it. But just like Nova looked like she didn’t want to be hugged right now, she also looked like she didn’t want to talk about it right now.

So he just opened the trunk for her and held it in case it would go down by its own. It had never happened, but just to be sure. Sometimes Simon’s anxiety made him overanalyze some situations.

Less than 10 minutes had passed by the time Nova finished putting all her stuff in the car, Simon figured she was still training, since she was as agile and fast as she was the day she notified them she would be taking some time off from the team and the Renegades in general.

They got in the car again, and before the silence could get as uncomfortable as the previous one, Simon took the initiative to speak.

“I think...you forgot to answer a part of my message.” He said, carefully. “You know...the part where I told you that maybe we could...go to a restaurant or something?”

Nova’s face, ears and neck turned so red she became a human-shaped cherry, and although in other circumstances he would’ve considered it adorable, this time he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. He had been there and done that many times; the messages Nova had sent were peak odd. The type of messages one would overthink over and over again because they had to be perfect. And if something, anything sounded off after you sent it, your world would be in shambles.

So he just smiled to assure it was okay. That he didn’t mind. That those messages didn’t have to be so formal in the first place.

And that, obviously, didn’t work.

For his experience, it never did.

“I...I...Yeah.” Nova scratched her brow. “Pretty much I...I...can recall not knowing how to word that so I just left it blank and I...must’ve forgotten to…”

“Nova.” Simon said, softly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Did I...offend you or something?”

“Absolutely no!” He said. “Why would you think that? It’s just a slip. I know it wasn’t your intention and to be honest I still want to take you to eat something so...yeah, there’s no reason to get weird about this. There’s no need to worry.”

Nova took a deep, hasty breath. She was flustered, son Simon tried to keep her calm; to make her feel like she was in a safe environment.

Why wouldn’t she be, in the first place?

She was his son’s girlfriend.

Why would he want to hurt her or make her feel bad?

“Nova, darling.” He said again. “Do you have something on your mind?”

“I do.” Nova cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t really...can eat out right now. I barely manage to afford my groceries, you know? It’s been…”

“But you’re not gonna pay your own bill. I mean, why would you do that?” Simon raised an eyebrow at her, genuinely confused, but still laughing nervously. Sweet rot, who had hurt this child so much? “ I’m the one who’s taking you to eat. You wouldn’t have to…”

“You don’t have to either!” She snapped. Not mad, but rather distressed, while breathing heavily.

Simon went still, afraid he would make it worse. Still, he couldn’t leave it like that, so he gulped and, once he reunited enough courage, he dared to speak again.

“What’s really on your mind, Nova?” He asked, this time in a more soothing voice. Nova’s whole being went red again, but the shadow of confusion in her expression was noticeable and hard to ignore. For this reason, Simon decided to provide some kind of scaffolding.

“For example: Why would you write a message that is directed to me in such a formal way?” He asked, patiently. “Why would you ask me to pick you up as if you were asking me to help you commit a crime? Why would you act so uncomfortable around me when it’s not the first time that we’ve met? Why would you…?”

“Because it’s you.” Nova answered, avoiding eye contact.

And he expected that answer, yes. But, at the same time, he expected to understand the statement once it slipped out of her mouth.

However, he didn’t.

“Can you elaborate?” He requested.

Nova clicked her tongue as she rubbed her neck, staring at the dash right in front of her.

“...I can disappear if you want me to. Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

“No. No, no.” Nova nodded, waving her hands, finally looking at him. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Then...would you tell me what’s wrong?”

Nova thought about it. She squirmed in her seat. Gulped. Coughed. Squirmed again.

Then, playing with her own hands, she spoke.

“...I’m ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what…?” Simon tilted his head to the side. “Ashamed of who…? What exactly are you ashamed of? ...Dating Adrian?”

Nova flinched.

“I would never.”

A spark of pride illuminated his thoughts and his insides in general, but Simon tried to pay little attention to it.

“I’m just...ashamed. Of everything.” Nova said, sighing. “I…”

And she cut herself in the middle of the phrase, realizing that once again she wouldn’t be able to finish it.

Simon didn’t realize he was frowning until he felt the muscles of his face slowly giving in. He understood.

And he knew that anything that had happened during the Second Battle for Gatlon had been her fault. She might have contributed in some way but, at the end of the day, she was just a child.

A very confused and manipulated child who just needed someone to listen without twisting her words as they pleased.

“...I just think that...if I were you I wouldn’t like me either.” She wasn’t crying, nor did she sound like she was about to any time soon. There was so much resignation in her voice that her words weighted as much as a giant rock. “Hugh gave me his blessing to...you know, date Adrian…”

“I can recall giving you my blessing too.”

Nova tripped on her own words.

“I mean, you did. You both did.” She said. “But still… It’s because… because you want him to be happy. And I get it. I really do. And I understand because, like I said, I wouldn’t like me either...I know I am loved. I know I matter for some people...but I also know I did...bad things, and I carry this sort of cursed last name…”

She stopped and breathed for a second before continuing.

“And I…” She finally looked at him. “I get it. You don’t have to pretend you like me, after all that happened. After I stole stuff from your house; infiltrated into your system; caused a terrorist attack...You really don’t have to pretend.”

Simon blinked, and if it wasn’t for her specific and controlled body language, he would’ve thought she was making excuses or even joking.

But Nova was telling the truth.

And it was heartbreaking.

“Perhaps you should think outside the box and picture a scenario in which you realize we’re not pretending.” That’s the only thing he said.

“Perhaps you should realize that we love you and you matter to us.” He reached for her hand and softly touched her knuckles. Her hands were shaking. “And that, yes, we want Adrian to be happy, but we also want you to be happy.”

Nova’s eyes seemed to be covered in crystals, but she remained in silence.

“You’re part of this family now, Nova.” He smiled. “And I’m sorry, but you’ll have to deal with that.”

Nova sniffed, swallowing, while lacing her hand into Simon’s.

“Artino and everything?” She muttered.

“Artino it’s not what defines you.” Simon chuckled. “You’re Nova. Just Nova... And we’re really proud of you. Not ashamed.”

She smiled back at him, wordless, and Simon gave her a quick handshake before putting his hands around the wheel.

Because even now, that her walls were crumbling right before her eyes, she didn’t look like someone who wanted to be hugged at the moment, and he accepted and respected that.

“I was planning to take you to my favorite restaurant, but maybe we can prepare a homemade meal instead?” He suggested. “You know? In-laws being in-laws? … Not to brag, but I make the best lemon pie in the world.”

Nova chuckled. Relaxed.

Happy.

“Sounds great.” She said, nodding.

“Excellent.” Simon turned on the engine.

“Let’s go home.”

[nicknellie]

@fireflyingaway requested: willex + waffle house pretty plz

So I did have to do “extensive research” on Waffle House because I don’t have one near me and have never been to one, and that led me to find an incredibly good dessert place literally a ten minute drive from me so thank you for that lmfao. But anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this, I went with getting together (kind of) fluff because that’s my jam, so I really hope you enjoy it!

Smooth Like Syrup

Somewhere along the way, Waffle House had become Alex’s favourite restaurant. He wondered if it was the childhood memories it brought back, weekend brunches spent there with his grandparents who cared for him and loved him far more than his parents ever had. It could have just been the fact that he loved waffles, and with a name like ‘Waffle House’ they couldn’t really put a foot wrong when it came to serving him. Maybe it was just the familiarity of it all – Alex had always found comfort in routine, after all. Whatever the reason he loved it there so much, Alex went to Waffle House at least once a week, more if he had the time. And it was absolutely nothing to do with the adorable new waiter who had started working there for the summer.

If anything, he was ruining it all.

Because he’d been going to the same Waffle House every week for as long as he could remember, Alex was pretty friendly with most of the staff. A few of them had been working there as long as he’d been a customer, so they were on first-name terms and always took a moment or two to catch up with each other once Alex had ordered his food (which never took long because he always ordered the same thing and they all knew that by now). Seeing the same people working there and having the same generic chitchat with them each week worked perfectly for Alex. It was normal, routine, familiar, a social situation he knew how to navigate.

Then they’d gone and hired Willie. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but it was. A problem for Alex at the very least. Not only did it disrupt his routine and catch him unawares the first time he’d walked into the restaurant to see a new waiter, but the waiter had to look like that. Willie was all dazzling smiles and sharp cheekbones and luscious long hair and it was, quite simply, unfair. Alex came to Waffle House to eat, not get flustered over some ridiculously good-looking boy.

For a few weeks, Alex had taken the admittedly immature approach to just avoid Waffle House altogether. Out of sight, out of mind. The only reason it hadn’t lasted long was because he missed the waffles, and he couldn’t find anything to fill that extra hour and a half of his Saturday. So after not visiting for two weeks, Alex returned to Waffle House and resumed his routine, still flustered by stupidly attractive Willie, but most definitely working on a way to stop it being a problem.

His next plan of action had been simply trying to avoid Willie which was foiled the moment he sat down in his usual booth one Saturday afternoon. He had been hoping that his usual server would spot him and come over for a chat, but as luck would have it, Willie got to his table first.

“Welcome to Waffle House,” he had said, beaming down at Alex, who tried to act as if the sudden appearance hadn’t scared the life out of him. He wasn’t sure how well he pulled it off, but Willie had made no comment. “My name is Willie, I’ll be your server today. What can I get you started with?”

Two things had thrown Alex then. Firstly, it had been the first time he’d heard Willie’s name. It was strange to be able to put a name to the face of an angel and he was certain he would never have guessed ‘Willie’ if he’d been given a million tries. Secondly, the fact that Willie didn’t automatically know his order bewildered him. He was so used to the waiters coming over, confirming he wanted the usual, and slipping into easy conversation. This was new and unexpected, and if there was anything Alex hated it was new and unexpected things.

As such, his mind went blank and he completely forgot what he usually ordered. A plain waffle and a diet coke shouldn’t have been easy to forget, it wasn’t anything fancy, and yet Alex made it work.

“Um,” he’d said dumbly, looking up at Willie’s expectant face with his mouth bobbing open and closed like a mildly distressed fish. He could feel his cheeks heating in a blush and looked away as Willie raised a concerned eyebrow.

“Do you need a minute to decide?” Willie had asked sceptically.

Alex had shaken his head vigorously, aware that probably made him look as frantically flustered as he felt and was trying to hide, which only made him more flustered. He took several shallow but slow breaths before forcing words out of his mouth because that was how conversations worked and he refused to lose the ability to speak over this boy.

“No, no, I know what I want,” he had said eventually. “Just a plain waffle and a diet coke, thank you.”

“Is that everything?” Willie had asked, jotting the order down on his notepad.

Not trusting himself to speak any more than that, Alex just nodded. Willie had shot him a bright smile and disappeared off to get his order prepared. The moment he was certain Willie couldn’t see him anymore, Alex’s head flopped onto the table and he let out a long, exhausted, frustrated groan. He felt like an utter mess.

For the rest of that visit, he’d kept it together by simply not talking to Willie unless it was absolutely necessary. Had he been a more confident person he might have found a better way to handle it, but Alex had been cursed with social awkwardness from the moment he’d been old enough to socialise and it wasn’t suddenly going to fix itself just do he didn’t make a fool of himself in front of Willie.

As time went on, things got simultaneously worse and better between Alex and Willie, enough that Alex both dreaded and looked forward to his weekly Waffle House trips. For one thing, he and Willie had got to know each other a bit better – Willie could anticipate Alex’s order now, Alex could just about talk without tripping over his words or saying something slightly embarrassing (which always felt to Alex like something utterly mortifying and worth overthinking because his brain hated him), and if both of them were in the right state of mind they could manage a very brief chat.

But on the flip side, Alex hated Waffle House now and it was Willie who had ruined it for him. Not for any sane reason like being a bad waiter (because he was actually a very good waiter, which Alex thought had something to do with the fact that he always wore Heelys so he could glide across the restaurant which was much faster than walking). No, Willie had ruined Waffle House for Alex because now he couldn’t go in there and see Willie without getting butterflies in his stomach and a giddy grin on his face.

Now that he knew Willie better, it wasn’t just his beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous smile that Alex liked about him. He was talkative, he was funny, he was sweet. He was extremely considerate – when Alex came in one day, Willie met him at the door, walked him to his usual table, told him they’d run out of diet coke and that he had just popped to the store and bought some just for Alex, knowing he would order it. And he laughed at Alex’s terrible attempts at humour, he drizzled the syrup onto Alex’s waffles in the shape of smiley faces, he made sure Alex’s usual booth was always free of people for when he came in. Everything about Willie made Alex’s heart beat too fast and his breath catch and it was starting to make going to Waffle House a very stressful experience.

So Willie was the reason that Alex loved going there and was also desperate to find somewhere else.

But Alex, despite his many worries about life, wasn’t the kind of person to give up on something just because someone else made it difficult. Sure, that rule had usually applied to very different situations, and he actually liked Willie so it wasn’t as if seeing him was a bad thing, but it helped Alex to remember that he’d always powered through things like this and that was what kept him going to the restaurant.

One day, he arrived to Waffle House later than normal. He had come straight from band practise which had gone on longer than normal because they’d spent the first forty-five minutes arguing about the dangers of fiddling with electrical equipment in the rain and decided to make up that time at the end. As such, Alex arrived almost twenty minutes after he normally would have left.

He didn’t spot Willie immediately as he came in and couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Nowadays, Willie nearly always greeted him at the door, knowing exactly what time he arrived. He supposed Willie had long ago given up waiting for him to get there – he had a job to get on with, after all. Alex tried not to feel too sad about it as he made his way over to his usual booth; Willie was a waiter, not a friend, not anything else, and Alex shouldn’t have expected him to wait forever or be there whenever he wanted.

But when Alex came to his usual seat, he was surprised to see someone already sat there. Even more so when he noticed that person was Willie.

Willie looked up as he approached, expression changing from bored to delighted in a second flat. The grin on his face was more than enough to snap Alex out of his sudden bad mood, lifting his spirits and bringing a smile to his face in an instant.

“Alex!” Willie greeted. “You’re here! I thought something had happened to you, man, you had me worried.”

Alex laughed and sat down opposite him, trying to keep his eyes wandering so he didn’t end up just staring at Willie. “Nah, I’m alright. Band practice ran over, is all.”

“I’m glad it’s nothing serious,” Willie said with a small smile. “But if it happens again can you text me to let me know you’ll be late? Just so I know I don’t need to worry about you and I can still keep your table free.”

“Sure, but I don’t have your number,” Alex said, ignoring the persistent fluttering of his heart and the alarms blaring in his head. It seemed as if his mind had pressed its panic button at something Willie had said but Alex was too distracted to figure out what.

“That’s easily fixed,” Willie replied. He dug his phone out of his back pocket and slid it across the table to Alex. “If you put your number in there I’ll text you so you can save mine.”

Heart hammering, cheeks hot, and smile so wide it hurt, Alex nodded and entered his contact information into Willie’s phone. He tried to act nonchalant as he slid it back across the table afterwards, but in his flustered state his aim was off – he pushed too hard and it fell over the edge of the table, right into Willie’s lap. That was one of those slightly embarrassing moments that Alex’s subconscious would likely rub mockingly in his face for days to come and he couldn’t help but wince at the thought.

“Thanks, man,” Willie said, beaming. “It’s just for peace of mind, you know. I really like you and when you didn’t show up earlier I just… well, I wondered where you were.”

Willie wasn’t meeting his eye all of a sudden. In fact, he apparently found the table top very interesting because he was staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe. Alex knew the signs well enough to guess how Willie was feeling then – nervous. But what did Willie ever have to be nervous about?

“Hey,” Alex said gently, lowering his voice in an attempt to calm Willie’s nerves. He leant over the table a little though so that he could still be heard. “I’m here, aren’t I? Nothing bad actually happened. You don’t need to worry about me, Willie. I promise.”

A small, bittersweet smile fluttered across Willie’s face. “Yeah. You’re here.”

The short silence then felt charged, electric, fierce. Why, Alex had no idea.

But Willie broke it, his usual bright smile back on his face as he said, “I hope you don’t mind me eating with you, by the way. I’m on my lunch break and I’d kept this table empty for you anyway so I thought I might as well sit here.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine by me,” Alex insisted. It was a half-truth. Was he happy to have longer to chat with Willie than normal, eat together as if they were friends rather than just a waiter and a customer? Yes. But did this feel too much like a date for Alex’s anxiety to handle, even though it was very clearly not a date? Also yes. He half wanted to ask Willie to sit somewhere else, but that would have been unthinkably rude, so he settled for trying not to be awkward.

Not long later, another server came and brought their food out. For a moment Alex thought it was weird because nobody had even come to take his order, then he remembered that everyone who worked at Waffle House knew what he got so it would have just wasted time if they’d asked. The two of them ate in silence for a while, Willie enjoying his break and Alex enjoying the first food he’d eaten all day.

Their conversation started up again when they were about halfway into their meals. Willie asked about Alex’s band practise, how things were going, what they had lined up. Alex was more than happy to talk about Julie and the Phantoms for hours on end and the way Willie engaged with his waffling on so enthusiastically only fuelled that fire. But in return, Alex made sure to ask how Willie was, how he was getting on preparing to start college, whether he’d had enough free time to skate lately.

It was weird, he thought, that this was their first proper conversation and yet they already knew so much about each other’s lives that it flowed as easily as it would have if Alex had been talking to one of his closest friends. Perhaps he and Willie were closer than he had realised.

He only stayed until Willie’s break ended, which was painfully short. They said their goodbyes, Alex jokingly promised he’d be on time next time, Willie laughed that beautiful laugh of his as he took their plates away, and Alex left the restaurant. He couldn’t shake the odd feeling in his mind, still wondering what had panicked him at the start of their conversation.

It hit him as he was crossing a road, stopping him dead in his tracks and causing an irritated driver to beep his horn at him: Willie had been worried about him.

It felt so much more personal than it should have. If Willie worried, it meant he cared, and if Willie cared then it could have meant any number of things. It could have meant that when he looked at Alex he felt the same featherlight giddiness that Alex did when he saw Willie. It could have meant that Willie spent his days wishing Alex was more than just a regular customer. It could have meant that when Willie asked for his phone number he was actually asking for more than that.

Alex had no idea what inspired him to do it, what unusual burst of courage gave him the ability to go through with it, but a moment later he had whipped his phone out and opened Willie’s contact. There was only one message between them, the one Willie had sent so Alex could save his information, but Alex quickly typed out another and hit send before he had time to regret it.

I know you said I only needed to text you if I was going to be late, but I figured I could text you about other stuff too. Like the fact I’m free next Friday if you want to hang out.

Something like that ordinarily would have stressed him out but he didn’t have the time for that because Willie’s response was almost immediate.

Sure! I hear Waffle House is pretty great, how about we go there?

Alex laughed at how dorky and cute Willie was even over text and replied quickly with: It’s a date.

Willie replied with three emojis – a smiley face, a heart, and a waffle. Even just from that, Alex knew Willie had understood him and that next Friday they would be going on an actual date together. He didn’t care whether it was actually at Waffle House or they tried somewhere completely new; as long as he was with Willie, nothing else mattered.