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venusjaynie · 11 months

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Patch Me Up

Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

summary: Billy, your (secret) boyfriend, shows up at your house (which is really Steve's house) after a bad fight with Neil, and Steve has never been more confused.

CW: hurt/comfort, minor injury detail, mentions of abuse (it's very brief!!), lots of fluff, billy is probably OOC but I do not care 🫶🫶, Steve wants to put his and Billy's differences aside for your sake.

Word count: 2k

2:45am

Someone's at the door. They knock once, and you don't make a move to answer. But then the bell rings, and they knock again so, with a groan, you get out of bed and walk past Steve's room to see if he's still asleep, or if he was also woken up by the disturbance from downstairs. Luckily, he's asleep.

You make your way down the stairs of the house and, for safety, you grab Steve's nail bat from its place beside the front door. Slowly, you unlock the door and open it just enough so that you can see whoever is on the other side of it.

It's Billy.

You open the door fully and drop the bat as quietly as you can. Billy looks like he's been dragged to hell and back, to put it simply. For a second, you're confused as to why he's here at 2:45 on a Wednesday morning, but his eyes shine with unshed tears, and the big red mark on his cheek speaks for itself.

"Hey, pretty girl, mind letting me in? I'm dying out here." You nod and step out of the way with nothing but worry for him casting over your features. You notice that he's limping a little, but you don't mention it.

"God, Billy, what the hell happened to you?" You know it was Neil, but Billy had insisted that things with his dad were getting better. He laughs half-heartedly, not meeting your eye.

"I, uh, let Max go over to the Byers to stay over with her friend Ellie or El, or something, 'cause Neil and Susan were supposed to go away for a few nights. But they ended up coming home early, and when he found out he told me to go pick her up. But I told him I didn't want to disturb Mrs byers, and he didn't take to that too kindly." He huffs out another humourless chuckle, but you can hear him choking up as he speaks.

"Oh, babe..." You start, but you're at a loss for words. You've seen Billy a few times after a bad run-in with his dad, but there's blood coming from his nose and he's cradling his right elbow in his hand, and not to mention his left eye is swelling slightly. "C'mere, let me clean you up a bit."

As you go to take Billy's hand to lead him to the downstairs bathroom you can hear Steve's floorboards creak just above you, and his footsteps echo through the hall upstairs.

"Hello?" Steve calls out from the top of the stairs.

"Hey, Stevie, it's just me." You reply.

"Who were you talking to?" You can hear him making his way down the stairs. "Hargrove? Is that you?"

"Don't get too excited, Harrington." Steve rolls his eyes at Billy's sarcasm.

"Why are you in my house, man? What-" He stops himself as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and can see Billy's face in the light, letting out a soft 'oh'.

Neither of them speak for a moment or two, and you take that as your cue to get back to the previous task as hand.

"Billy, let's get you fixed up." He nods silently and follows you to the bathroom. You tell him to sit down on the lid of the toilet, and you open the cupboard under the sink to grab the first aid kit. You rummage around a bit, until you remember that Steve took it last week after Will had fallen off his bike and gashed a pretty nasty cut into his knee.

“I need to run to the living room to grab the first aid kit, okay?” You ask gently, already heading toward the door, but Billy grabs your hand before you can go any further.

“No, please don’t leave.”

“Baby, it’s only for a second. I’ll be right back.” He shakes his head.

“Can’t you just yell for Harrington to get it? I just don’t think I can be alone right now.” He speaks so quietly, more so than you’ve ever heard him do before, and there's something about the rawness and honesty in his eyes that makes you never want to leave him alone again.

“Steve?” You shout, feeling bad about disturbing your friend again.

“Yeah? What’s up?” He quickly walks back down the stairs and comes into view as he stands in the doorframe of the bathroom.

“Could you grab the first aid kit from the living room, please?” He nods without a word, and emerges a few minutes later with the little, green plastic box.

“Thank you. Sorry for waking you up, you can go back to bed now. promise we won’t disturb you again.” Steve just laughs lightly and shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m up now. No chance of me getting back to sleep for at least 2 hours. Might as well do something useful with my time.” He heads in the direction of the kitchen, and you close the door of the bathroom behind him.

Walking back over to billy, who is sat silently on the counter of the bathroom, you’re able to truly take in how beaten up he looks. His left eye is swelling more and more, and the red mark on his cheek has almost turned purple.

“Oh, Billy.” You slowly reach out to touch his face, but he flinches back slightly at the notion of your hand coming into contact with his cheek.

"Shit- sorry." He apologises quickly and takes your outstretched hand in his.

"You don't have to be sorry, it's not your fault." You give his hand a reassuring squeeze and get to patching him up. You clean up his bloody nose, which he scrunches up when the alcohol rub you use on his cheek stings a bit, and you apologise quietly. You find a bandage and you fashion a make-shift sling. It's definitely nothing special, but it's better than letting his arm hang free without support.

You catch sight of the shift in his features when he goes to adjust his position on the counter. His hand shoots up to hold onto his chest, and you immediately worry for the state of his bones and internal organs.

"Billy?" He looks up at you. "Can you take your shirt off?" He smirks.

"You tryna get me naked? Could've just said so, baby." He laughs under his breath, and despite the situation, you crack a small smile. He removes his shirt, and you can't help the short intake of breathe of breath that you take. The skin on Billy's chest is red and blue and black and purple and the more you examine it the worse it looks. It's horrible.

"Oh my god." You breathe. You look through the first aid kit for some kind of oil or ointment that you could use to treat the discolouring on his chest, but it was to no avail. "I don't think I have anything that can help that. I'm sorry, Billy. I'm so sorry." You aren't really apologising for your lack of treatment products. You're apologising because this is real. He has to live life like this, and there's nothing you can do about it.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's not your fault. You didn't know I was coming, yeah?" You nod. "And besides, you've done more than enough, sweetheart. More than you ever needed to, alright? I'm okay, I swear." You know he's lying. He's not okay. But for once, you choose to not argue back. You honestly don't have the strength.

The rest of his casualties aren't your forte, unfortunately. Bruises and a potentially sprained ankle- which he promises 'isn't even that bad'- aren't things that you can tend to, but you think some ice to his ankle will do him some good, and maybe provide some pain relief.

"Hey, Billy, let's go to the living room, 'kay?" He nods, and stands up, and you put your arm around his waist to support him. He kisses your temple and starts to limp out of the bathroom to make his way to the living room.

Steve is sitting on the sofa when you enter with Billy, and he makes a move to leave.

"I'll give you guys some privacy." He nods at Billy as he leaves, and you truthfully don't want him to go. He's your best friend, and you could use some grounding after what you've done tonight. You don't say anything in protest to his statement though, however, Billy does.

"Harrington? If you wanna stay down here, I don't mind, really." Billy looks almost as shocked as you do, as if he doesn't register what he's saying until the words have already flown out of his mouth and he can't take them back.

"Oh, uh, okay. You sure, man?" Steve makes a move to re-enter the living room.

"Don't make me change my mind, dude." Steve laughs lightly as Billy's answer, and walks back into the living room, closely followed by you and Billy.

You sit down on the couch, Billy following you, and Steve takes his previous seat. You have to admit, it's a little awkward at first. You're the one making conversation and trying to tie them both in, but it's difficult, what with knowing about their past rivalry and all.

You sigh, before saying,

"Alright look, I know you two have your differences, but I'm just as uncomfortable as you both. So, if we're gonna sit here tonight, is there any chance you could just make up? For my sake at least?"

It's a while before either of them speak, and to no one's surprise, it's Steve.

"Yes, yeah okay. I think I can do that."

"Thank you." You smile at him, and wait hopefully for Billy to agree too.

"Fine." He mumbles after a few minutes. You know you won't get much more out of him than that, so you're just glad he cooperated.

"Thanks, Billy." He nods, not saying anything more. "I'm gonna get you some ice for your ankle." Another nod, this time accompanied by a smile.

You leave the room, cringing internally at the thought of leaving Billy alone with Steve. You just hope they can put their differences aside, because it would make your situation a hell of a lot less difficult.

After retrieving the ice from the bottom drawer of the freezer, which took a great deal of effort because you had to clear out the contents of the drawer and then fit it all back in, you head back to living room, silently praying the 2 boys haven't killed each other in your absence. However, as you walk to the door, you hear them before you see them. Billy's laughing, and so is Steve. 'What the hell?' you think to yourself, bemused to say the least.

"Jesus, Harrington, that's fucking hilarious. You know, you're better company than I thought."

"What's gotten into you two, huh?" You chuckle as you saunter in and retake your seat, leaning forward to set the ice on the coffee table, and then prop Billy's ankle on the bag.

"Nothin', sweetheart. This guy's not too bad to have around. He's funnier than I remember." As you lean back against the sofa, Billy stretches his good arm around your shoulders, and you settle against him.

"It's good that the two of you are getting along, for my sake, anyway." Billy doesn't say much, but hums in acknowledgement, while Steve just nods.

It's quiet for a little while longer, until Steve clears his throat somewhat awkwardly.

"Uh, Hargrove- Billy, even- fuck, that feels weird. Yeah, anyway, um, if you ever need a place to stay whenever, you know, this happens, you can always come here." Steve doesn't look at Billy when he talks, but if he did he'd see the way Billy's eyes soften ever so slightly, the way his shoulders relax into the plush couch behind him, the way his eyes go a little glossy.

"Thanks, Steve." Billy replies, before continuing with, "Yeah, that feels weird as shit, man." earning a laugh from both you and Steve.

After a moment, Billy yawns, and his eyes look droopier than they did a minute ago, so you decide now would be a good time for the two of you to head to bed.

"Alright, Stevie, we're gonna head to bed." You stand up, helping Billy do the same.

"Me too." Steve follows in suit, standing and stretching his arms over his head. The three of you head toward the stairs, with Steve behind you and Billy to make sure he can help if the latter falls.

As you're climbing the stairs, however, Steve has something on his mind.

"Hey, kid, any chance you're making pancakes tomorrow morning?" You turn around to face Steve and you don't think you've ever seen him look more hopeful in your life. "Billy, I swear to God, she makes the best pancakes in the world."

Billy smiles and says, "Well, sweetheart, I gotta try 'em. I'm somewhat of a pancake connoisseur, if you will." You roll your eyes.

"Ugh, fine. Yes, Steve, I will make my famous pancakes." You say, and you swear Steve looks like he could jump for joy. "But, you have to make spaghetti tomorrow night."

"Done."

When you reach the top of you stairs, you bid Steve goodnight, and make your way back to your room, but this time with Billy in tow, and you tell him to sit on the bed. Grabbing him one of his shirts that you stole a month ago, you help him out of his other one, careful not to disturb the fine bandaging you had previously carried out on his arm, and you gently pull the new one over his head, guiding his arms through it too. He opts for no pants, just boxers, and you're too tired to object, not that you mind either way, and the two of you lie back in your bed.

"Thanks for takin' care of me." Billy mumbled into your hair.

"Thanks for letting me." You reply, making Billy smile. And for the first time in a long while, Billy sleeps.

#billy hargrove #stranger things #billy hargove x reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove fluff #jayne writes #billy hargrove fanfiction

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milktei · 1 year

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When you write angst/fluff one shots, I love how you indulge more with your character's feelings and not just straight up jumping to the good part where everything's alright. Specifically during "Again" and "Fine". Would you mind writing the same stuff but with a bit of hostile management of actions whilst in a disagreement with the reader? Will writing for Kuroo or Ushijima okay? ( I think you've taken a liking to Sakusa so I'm not sure if you want the first two captains.) Anyhow, I'm frankly talking about a bit of viol3nce. In this view, how would they speak up their mind and resolve the matter maturely?

Of course when you're available, thank you for your time:3

Love Sealed in Gold

Ushijima Wakatoshi x gn!Reader

Genre: Angst, tiny bit of hurt/comfort

Warnings: Violence (not towards reader), Possible oocness again. Not edited :P

The pace that i managed to get this out is surprising even to me :o But i had an idea the moment i read the ask!! Isn’t that crazy???

the fact that it’s obvious that sakusa is my fav is kinda embarrassing ngl HAHA BUT i just enjoy writing for haikyuu so don’t worry about requesting people i haven’t written on!

hope you enjoyed this anon! i couldn’t in good conscious add anymore “violence” than i did. what i wrote is really tiptoeing the line for me.

That being said anyone who reads this please don’t take this as me saying to forgive everyone who acts like Ushijima does in this, of course every situation is different but i don’t want it to seem like this is acceptable behaviour and something a person should have to deal with and accept. Violence is a scary and serious thing especially in a relationship so stay safe!

Anyways the idea of using Kintsugi as a metaphor in writing isn’t exactly new but i hope you guys enjoy my take on it and how i wrote it :)

The Japanese art of Kintsugi is a method of fixing broken pottery that has been popularized all over the world, romanticized even. Something about using the precious material that gold is (among other materials), to put something back together seems to tear into the hearts of people all over the world. So much so that companies even sell their own Kintsugi kits where you can break the provided pottery and put it back together yourself.

How ironic, to buy something only to break it and go through the tedious task of connecting all the broken pieces back together again.

Many hold the belief that kintsugi hold its own deeper meanings. Some say it shows that something breaking and being repaired shouldn’t be covered up, but instead embraced, as it is a part of that objects history.

A more pessimistic view on the subject could be the fact that no matter how beautiful the broken pottery looks, it will never be the same again.

As you stand looking at your boyfriend with only horror filling your body, you could only think about the same could be said for your relationship.

You knew from the get go that getting into a relationship with the Ushijima Wakatoshi was going to be a tough mountain to climb. Anyone from family, friends, colleagues, and even complete strangers had warned you of that fact.

From his personality, to his schedule and the demands that came with being a professional athlete; it seemed that everything was put against the two of you.

But he was the one to ask you out, to court you, the one who crossed the line from friends to potential lovers. That was something that no one could deny being surprised about.

Yes your boyfriend was intimidating, seemingly expressionless and emotionally constipated. But you loved him, and he loved you.

You could work around schedules, you understood why he works as hard as he does, and learning who he really was something that came with time.

As your relationship progressed you could really begin to see what kind of person he was, and how the most subtle changes in his demeanour could signal a change in mood.

But this behaviour was not subtle, it was pronounced, loud, it filled the entire room and made it difficult to breathe properly.

You could barely remember what you two were arguing about this time. Perhaps how you acted during a charity event? How he was running late to a date and didn’t text or call to let you know? it seemed to be a trend for you two in the last couple of weeks. Pick at every little thing one found less than pleasing and then getting mad when the other tried to defend themselves.

This cycle had been going on for far too long and both of you were tired of it, but at the same time too stubborn, too proud to admit defeat.

It was late, far too late for the both of you to be awake, it was far from an appropriate time for you two to be arguing at the volume you were, but whatever exhaustion either of you felt was smothered by a whirlwind of emotions and stubbornness.

Ushijima wiped a hand down his face in frustration from where he sat at the dinner table. Across the room you paced, ranting about your point in the argument that had only been going in circles at this point.

“I-it’s like you can’t even bring yourself to care anymore!” you exclaimed frantically.

A piercing glare was sent your way and it took everything in you to not shrink away from it.

He stood up, with his size, the action in itself felt extremely intimidating, but you felt the way he talked down on you much more severely.

To further articulate his words, a palm would slam down on the surface of the table, so hard that you could feel the vibration in the floor. Each slam was louder and each time you flinched.

His words grew harsher, louder, and more pointed with each sentence. The look of pure, searing anger and hatred on his face kept you frozen in your place.

The man in front of you was unrecognizable, the man in front of you was not the gentle giant you loved. If anything, he was exactly like how many people would describe him upon meeting him. If not worse.

His words, which had now become shouts swirled in your mind, your eyes began to sting as tears began to well in your eyes. All you could think about was how you wanted this to stop, how if only your body would listen to you and move so that you could begin to ask for forgiveness. How you would give anything right in that moment for him to stop yelling and to stop looking at you like you were dirt on his shoe.

Your prayers were soon answered by the sound of shattering ceramic.

The gasp you let out was visceral, uncontrollable, you couldn’t hold it back if you tried.

The fire in his eyes seemed to die out all at once, his gaze moved to his outstretched arm and he look at it as if it had a mind of its own.

His arms were his prized possession even if he never said it out loud, some would go as far to say that they were something to be celebrated. His arms that can hit a volleyball with the utmost precision, arms that brought him to victory and through loss. Strong arms that held you at night and provided you with a great amount of comfort some could only dream of.

Arms that now only served to fill your body with dread.

A vase, along with all its contents was shattered on the hardwood floor.

It had chipped the paint on the wall beside him where the impact initially happened, water that splattered the surface had begun dripping to the ground.

You both recognized the vase, how could you not?You had gone out together to buy it when he had brought you flowers for the first time and you had realized you had nothing to put them in. After moving in together, you used it as a center piece for your dining table.

How sad that an item so fragile and small could hold so much meaning, and that it now lay broken, it was almost as if it were mocking you.

The room was silent as the both of you stared at the scene before you. Minds reeling as you both tried to process the events that had just unfolded.

Ushijima had thrown the vase at the wall in a fit of anger.

“y/n-“

“Don’t”

You looked up at him and wondered if the conflicted emotions that flickered across his face mirrored your own.

You looked away and took a shaky breath. “An apology won’t fix it. You can’t throw and break something, especially not that, and just expect me to be able to hear and accept an apology, not now, not for this.”

His mouth snapped shut and the tension that filled the room was suffocating. Every time you glanced at the broken ceramic the urge to cry grew and grew.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and took a step back, “I’m…” You swallowed roughly as your voice cracked, “I’m going to the bedroom, you need to clean that up and it’s obvious that we need time to cool down.”

With one last glance at the scene, you turned on your heel and made your way towards your shared room, not seeing the look of anguish that Ushijima held on his face as the watched you leave his sight.

You softly closed the door behind you and as it clicked shut, the realization of what had just transpired fell upon you like waves during a storm.

Despite popular belief, Ushijima had never been an intentionally violent man. The only harm he had caused was on the court, where it wasn’t uncommon for athletes to get injured no matter how good or bad they played.

But tonight, he had no reason to do what he did, there was no excuse even if it was the nth argument of the week. The Ushijima you knew was emotionally intelligent enough to know that he did not have to go through the actions of picking up the vase and throwing it at the wall in order to let his anger be known. He did not need to do that to show you how angry you made him.

His anger had been shown all throughout the night. It was practically palpable.

Your legs shook underneath you as you tried to make it to your bed but your efforts were in vain, you crumpled to the cold hard floor, feeling like you were in pieces, much like the ceramic on the floor of your dining room.

You desperately tried to hold yourself together as you replayed the what had just unfolded again and again in your mind. Not understanding why you felt so conflicted.

Fear. You realized.

Fear is what you felt, refused to believe. How could you fear the one you loved?

And yet every part of your body rejected the idea of your boyfriend and urged you to be afraid of him. Afraid of the only man who could make you as happy as he did.

The man who was supposed to make you feel loved, protected, and safe was the same man that made you feel the complete opposite.

Your chest ached and you breathing quickened, now fully aware of the situation you found yourself in. You were afraid of your boyfriend and didn’t know what that meant for the future of you relationship.

He was- is all you ever want, you couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone but him, but how were you supposed to move on from this? You now knew how he could react in times of great anger, what if it only got worse from here?

It was then that you finally allowed yourself to cry. After all that had happened you didn’t know where your relationship stood.

It was only after a couple minutes that the door to the bedroom began to open ever so slightly, at a pace so slow you couldn’t even see or hear it through your sobs.

“y/n?” His voice managed to spit out. He was quiet, uncertain, he feared for what your reaction may be at him being there at that moment.

You didn’t respond to him but he knew that you knew he was there, even as sobs racked your body and you pressed a hand to your mouth in a feeble attempt to quiet them.

Slowly, as if not to startle a deer in the forest, Ushijima sank to the floor from where he stood. Keeping an eye on you as he sat down, angling himself so that he was looking at the far wall and you wouldn’t be forced to make eye contact if you could find it in yourself yourself to look up at him.

This was far from ideal to him. He wanted nothing more than to scoop you into his arms and bring you to bed, quiet your cries as he held you tight and told you that it would pass and by the morning it would be a thing of the past.

But he knew better. He knew that he was the reason for your tears and the last thing that you needed was for him to wrap his arms around you.

He was aware of your fear before you were. The horrified look you gave him would be something that would stay engrained in his mind for years to come.

He was only used to you looking at him with love and happiness in your eyes and he had managed to ruin that in one night.

“I know that you don’t want an apology right now.” Ushijima started, he looked down at his hands and clenched them together to prevent them from trembling. “But I just wanted to let you know that… I am fully aware of how unacceptable my actions were tonight, that was no way to take out my anger and I should know better than to display my anger in the way that I did.”

Your cries had stopped at this point but you still trembled, still it brought him the smallest amount of comfort knowing that you were likely listening to him now.

“You deserve better than my misplaced anger, and you have every right to be angry with me, to not want to even be in this room, in this house with me right now. If you wanted to leave-“

His breath hitched and he found himself looking down at the hands in his lap with disgust and sadness.

“If you wanted to leave right now I would understand, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on us, I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.”

Your head lifted ever so slightly and it gave him the confidence to keep going,

“I’ll get help, I’ll find other ways to channel my emotions. Along with that I’ll ask you for your feedback on how you think I’m doing, if what I’m doing makes me worthy of being with someone like you. It won’t start more fights I promise.”

He smiled at himself sadly “You seem to know me better than I know myself at times and that’s one of the reasons I fell in love you. I don’t think I could forgive myself for losing you if I didn’t put as much effort into trying as I could.”

The room was filled with silence once again as Ushijima finished talking. He sighed to himself. He hated this, he hated what he had done to you two, he hated that he was the reason for your tears and he hated that he was feeling completely helpless at the moment, and that you were well within your right to end everything, and there would be nothing he could do.

Your hand grazes his shoulder and he has to do a double take to ensure that you were there. Right at his side like you always had been for the years you had been dating.

Your smiled was coupled with sadness and exhaustion, and he couldn’t hold back the sound of surprise that left him as you wrapped your arms around him and let yourself press your weight into him.

He let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding and allowed his arms to finally reach for you, the next thing you knew, you were being pulled into his lap and he held your head close to his chest, you could hear his heart pounding and could feel his entire body tremble. He kissed the top of your head and let his head rest on top of yours. When he realized how instinctively he was acting, he froze.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to act so suddenly I-“

You shushed the man and ran your stroked his arm soothingly in an attempt to calm him.

“I understand.”

Quiet filled the bedroom and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel oppressive, or hot with anger. It felt comfortable as it always should have.

Ushijima was the first to break the silence. “We’ll be okay y/n, right?”

The question was almost childish, naive, and ignorant of how many more questions would be raised answering it.

But it was purely Ushijima. Something that only Ushijima would ask in a time like this, he knew about the complexities, knew it would be hard to answer, but he asks anyways.

You ponder for a moment, knowing that no matter how you answered, there was still always the chance that everything could still turn out very differently that whatever you two could imagine.

“We’ll have to work towards it Toshi, and it might be a slow process, but from the bottom of my heart. I believe in us.”

Strong arms hug you tighter, filling you with that familiar warmth

“Thank you.”

Kintsugi is the art of repairing what was once broken by adding something precious to the mix. When used as a philosophy it encourages the acceptance of fragility, coming back from hardship stronger than before, and being proud of something imperfect.

Something that is repaired using this method will never look the same, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that it still holds a unique beauty to it and will continue to function, as long as it is done properly and handled with care.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fanfiction #ushijima #ushijima x you #ushijima imagine #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader

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violetmina · 9 months

Text

Chokehold - Ch. 10

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii @123passwort @sanscas @lulzbrokenbyfantasy @icantevenchoose @marksassybanana @a-rogue-tiddy-bot @itsyellow @lmarina2000 @d3adite666 @casualfansoul @missrandomheart @cvstle

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,067

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, mentions of bodily harm, blood, and good ol’ Butcher himself.

A/N: Honestly, this chapter is basically a whole lot of whump and comfort. And despite my best efforts, Butcher might be a bit OOC for it. Nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy.

"Jesus, Butcher!"

With a flurry of fingers you snatch your phone from the floor before you can step on it, discarding it on the counter to approach the bloody man. You turn on the faucet after seizing a washcloth from one of the drawers, your stomach clenching at the sight of so much red swirling down the drain. It's then you finally notice your first aid kit on the other side of the sink, already half gutted by your unexpected visitor.

He's awake and something akin to alert. But you can tell that Butcher isn't processing on all cylinders. It's not until you wring out the cloth and turn to him that he catches your intent. He bats at your hand when you reach to wipe at the left side of his face. "Nah, nah. Stop. Stop! I don' need fuckin' motherin'!"

"No, but you could use a hand," you quip with strained patience.

"I told ya, I got it!"

Both of you swear when he reaches for the first aid and his bloody hand slips on the edge of the basin, nearly sending him into the mirror. You grab his belt and begin to gently tug him back towards the toilet. "C'mon, Billy. Sit down, just for a min-"

"Fuck off! I can-!"

"Sit!"

He glares at you through his seeping war paint. He grunts when you give a good yank on his belt, causing him to totter before he begrudgingly slumps onto the toilet lid. The glare grows into a full-on man pout, and in any other circumstance you might have laughed. Instead, you nudge one of his boots to the side with your foot and stand between his knees. You begin cleaning at his temple, making quick but gentle work of trying to find the source of blood.

"I'd have done it me self just fine," he grumbles when you clear around his eye. "Wasn't expecting you home this early anyway."

"Early? Butcher it's late. It's been nearly twenty-four hours since you left the office."

The pout gives way to confusion. "Has it really?," he asks, more to himself than you. He smears blood from the face of his watch and squints at the time. "Christ. S'pose you're right."

"What happened, Billy? How'd you end up in my bathroom like this?"

"Well I let myself in."

The groggy smirk he gives you is a double-edged sword. You're not certain if it's an indication that he's fairly ok, or if he's using humor to deflect. You take a slow, deep breath before replying, "I can see that. What happened after you left the hospital last night?"

"What'd MM tell ya?"

"He told me about the girl. No one has seen you since then. I'm asking you."

The biting edge of worry begins to gnaw at your guts as you rinse the cloth and try to clean his cheeks, what you can dab out of his beard. What if his head injury is worse than you thought? How impaired might his memory be?

A look of concentration flits in his eyes before he finally speaks. "Tracked down the club she told us about. Paid their security a little visit. Was waiting to be led back to their surveillance room when I got ambushed."

"By whom? Vought?"

"Not Vought," he winces when you swipe into his hairline. "Couldn't've gotten there ahead of me like that. I think Walsh used Vought's squawker to stay ahead of the company lackeys when they went snooping. But now he's gonna know somebody else is digging up his side hustle. Bastards he hired looked like third party thugs."

You rinse the cloth again and begin gingerly sweeping through his hair, his wince your first clue of where his wound may be. Your free hand works at parting the thick, sodden strands. "You mean he's hired people not part of Vought, to cover his tracks, right?"

"Believe so. They didn't act like the usual company muppets. Fuckin' hell, love!" He hisses before sending you an annoyed glance. "Don't mind a hair-pulling kink but you're fucking scalping me here!"

"I'm sorry. You're clotting so bad it's matting. I need you to move to sit on the edge of the tub."

"What? Why?"

"Please don't make this any harder," you sigh, gripping his belt again to help him shuffle over to the lip of the bath. Once he's seated and balanced to your liking, you unhook the shower head and start a slow warm flow. "I have to get some of the blood out of your hair. I can't see your scalp."

"Should probably clean this one first," Butcher grits as he starts fiddling with his shirt.

You turn from the water with a frown. "Clean what one f-? Oh my god!"

A knot of nausea squeezes your belly at the sight that appears when he slips off the left side of his shirt. The rivers of blood trace from his fingertips up to just under the end of his clavicle. There in front of the socket is a lumpy, pocket-like wound just under the skin from which the blood oozes, a long gouge trailing back from it towards his sternum like a thin, shallow comet tail. As his fingers begin to prod about the lump you realize that it is a pocket, and in it-.

"You didn't tell me you were shot!" You drop the shower head and reach for some of the clean gauze still left in the first aid kit. When you turn back, it's just in time to watch him squeeze the pocket with gritted teeth and watch the bullet slip out. He fumbles with a pant of relief as it drops into his slick palm. Before you can even process, he gives it a feeble toss over your shoulder. It clatters in the sink.

"Least it wasn't a hollow point," he mumbles. "Woulda been real messy."

"No. Nuh-uh," you stammer finally. "I'm taking you-."

"Nowhere." Butcher manages a steely look in your direction. "Can't go to the hospital. They'll be looking for me."

"Ok. Maybe if I call MM then-"

"Not doing that either. We split at the ER for a reason." Then almost under his breath, "Shouldn't have even come here."

You dart forward, cursing as you press the gauze against the wound firmly. He manages to sneak his right hand under yours to take over. "Calm down, it was more of a graze. Superficial. Hardly needs packing."

"Calm down? Any deeper and this-!" You cut off at the realization; if it had entered a mere inch or so further back it likely would have torn through the top of his lungs, his lower windpipe. Not wanting to dwell on it, you glare at his reckless face before ripping through your kit for packing, a sterile q-tip and an ampoule of sterile water. You pry his fingers and gauze back long enough to clean around the shallow pocket, trying to rinse without saturating. Then follow suit on the graze. "Don't know how the hell you got so lucky," you spit as you place the miniscule amount of packing needed into the bullet hole once the bleeding had been staunched. "Didn't even know this was possible."

"Nah. Seen weirder in my bootneck days," he says with a lopsided shrug, holding the left side still as you apply a dry dressing.

"I don't wanna know." Again, you rinse the cloth, which now is tinted a stubborn pink and set to cleaning off his arm. When he tries to take it from you, you snatch it back. "You're going to let me finish. Now what did you mean? Why did you come here?"

"I shoulda gone to my place," he admits quietly, eyeing the cloth in a way that tells you he is not going to fully cooperate. "Just couldn't quite get there on foot."

His skin finally loses its sanguinous sheen and you abandon the cloth in the sink for a fresh clean one. Setting it aside on the edge, you reach back down into the tub and retrieve the shower head. He attempts to slip it from your fingers but you manage to evade. "I'm almost done, Billy. How about you chill for five minutes of your life?"

"I think I can manage washing myself," he snaps.

"Didn't say you couldn't. You need to mind your shoulder though." You maneuver back between his knees. "If it doesn't make you too dizzy, you need to tilt your head back. Let's see if I can keep from soaking your new dressing. I can't speak for your shirt."

"Oh God forbid you get me bloodstained shirt a little wet." Butcher slips the right side off with a shrug and dangles the shirt between you with his good arm and a bit of exasperation. He tosses it onto the floor, next to his jacket in the corner you realize, before trying yet again to snatch the shower head. He nearly falls off the edge of the tub in the process and you bite back an expletive when you help right him again with your free hand on the back of his neck.

"Please, Billy." It comes out soft, almost tired.

He scowls at you for a moment. You almost wonder if he had heard your plea over the water. Then finally he grips the edge of the tub and slowly tilts his head back.

You dive in before he can change his mind, moving your hand from his neck to his hairline to block water from running into his face. In mere seconds your bath resembles your sink, bloody water dripping in little streams from the back of his skull. There had been many times over the past couple months your fingers had itched with want to run through Butcher's unruly locks. But you never pictured it being like this, easing and crumbling clots from his hair, fingertips only ghosting the roots for fear of pulling at the injured scalp beneath.

Briefly there had been a moment where you thought he might be coming around. But you still catch glimpses of it in his eyes, the brain fog that rolls in and out like a tide. When he begins to lean too far back and blindly reaches out to catch at your waist instead of the tub, you don't comment. But your worry grows in the sound of the running water, then doubles in size at a sudden thought.

"Please tell me I'm not about to find a bullet here, too."

The corner of his mouth curls and the brain fog ebbs out of his eyes. Mischief replaces it. "Don't be daft. I'm not a zombie out for your brains. Those twats were piss-poor shots anyway."

"Your spanking new dressings say otherwise," you deadpan. A second after and you finally find it. A long jagged gash arcing just behind his left temple and back, stopping a couple inches before his ear. You lower the shower head into the tub again to inspect further. "Definitely not a bullet wound. What made this?"

"Dunno," Butcher replies. "One threw something, didn't see what. Clocked me right as I rounded a corner."

"Threw it at you?"

"Pretty sure his gun jammed just before. Fucking amateur," he says smugly.

You shake your head. "Whatever it was, it got you good. Luckily it's not too deep. Just made you bleed like a stuffed pig. And I suspect a slight concussion. Those steri-strip things would be best but I don't think they'll stay with all your hair. I should have some liquid bandage stuff in the kit though."

You pick up the clean cloth and start dabbing at the broken skin, trying to be gentle. Once it's a bit more dry, you slip back just far enough to turn and dip into your kit. After a bit of rummaging you find the little tube you're looking for. With the faintest tapping on the back of his skull, you signal for him to ease his head to forward. You start applying the gel on the wound, working from the back towards his temple.

If he notices the sting that usually comes with liquid stitches, he says nothing. As a matter of fact, he's rather quiet as the minutes pass. Enough to unsettle you again as you reach the end of the gash. Satisfied with your work, you discard the tube with a toss back into the kit before carefully dipping both hands into his hair. When he arches a brow at you, you reply, "Just checking for any other wounds. And making sure the rest of your skull is still intact."

Still he says nothing and allows you to examine him further. He's already got a hell of a knot forming around the gash. But as you tread your fingertips along his scalp, you find no further injury. When your fingers reach far enough to touch, lacing round the back of his head, he makes a small hum in his throat. You glance at his face, finding his eyes flitting just a bit, more foggy than before.

When you snap your hands back to hold his face, he comes straight back to alert. "Wha-?"

"Look straight ahead. Need to see your eyes."

He stares back at you, brow arching again. "The hell you doing now?," he asks dryly.

"I'm checking for nystagmus."

"Plain English, Nurse Ratched."

"Involuntary eye movements. Like when you look at something but your eyes keep ticking away then right back. Thought I saw it a second ago."

He surprises you with a chuckle, and it manages to smooth out some of your concern. "I think I'll live if I have a lazy eye for a minute, darlin'."

"Not a lazy eye. Nystagmus often happens if there's neurological issues. Surgical sedation can cause it. Or, you know, someone or something trying to bust your head open like a damn pinata. If you have it, I'm calling MM."

His hands on your waist tighten slightly. "No, you're fucking not. I'm fine."

"Shut up and keep your eyes open, William."

Both brows shoot to his hairline for a moment. But they settle and you continue looking into his pupils, waiting for any rhythmic twitching, or any indication of stroke. Long seconds pass and you sigh with relief. No sign of nystagmus. He's got issues for days but at least for tonight it's not brain damage.

"That was a first."

You blink at him, noticing his pupils dilate slightly. "What's a first?"

"You called me William." A smirk starts to form on his face, and your eyes linger a little too long on his lips. "Wasn't that serious, was it?"

"Oh." Caught off guard, you suddenly realize your position. Up close with a shirtless and damp Butcher, cradling his face. You go to drop your hands to his shoulders but remember the bullet wound, and they stutter to an awkward stop on his neck instead. "I was…"

Butcher cuts off your train of thought when he pulls on your hips and leans forward, bringing your foreheads together. "Relax, love," he breathes, still smirking as he flips the roles on you - now he's studying your eyes. "M'alright. Been in way worse shape than this."

"Billy…"

"That's better."

And his lips press against yours without hesitation. It's short, perhaps teasing. But there's that underlying note of tenderness again, and it pulls a smile and a small sound of contentment out of you. Prior doubt slithering away like the water down the drain.

His response to your smile is quick, eyes flashing before his mouth captures yours again, but much firmer. Warm, borderlining hot. When you sigh one of his hands slides up from your waist to cradle the back of your neck. Butcher's mouth moves slow but unyielding against yours, wiping your mind clean of any thought and leaving only awareness of this. A tug on your bottom lip between his teeth morphs your next sigh into a tiny gasp. But it's all he needs to dip his tongue just within, testing, just tasting.

His hand on your hip glides to the small of your back, pulling you till you're almost flushed with him. You give no resistance.

It's not until your shins hit the tub that you realize too late you probably should have. The next second you're both fumbling to catch your fall with a yell. Butcher manages to get one hand on the lip of the tub, and you wrap one arm around his shoulders. Your other hand shoots out to slam against the wall, stopping your awkward, tangled crash. But not before Butcher's head thuds against the faucet.

"Aw fuck me!"

"Shit! Hold on!"

It's a mess, but with a bit more cursing you both strain to an upright position again. Butcher's eyes screw shut with a hiss as he holds the edge with a death grip. "Well if I wasn't concussed before I sure as shit am now!"

Before you can reply a knock sounds from your front door. "Shit! I forgot about the pizza! Don't move, okay? I'll be right back."

"Hold on a tic-"

"Don't. Fucking. Move!," you hiss before darting out the bathroom.

You scramble about till you find a little cash, just enough for a tip. Despite your best efforts, you still managed to get a little blood on the hem of your shirt, tiny specks of it drying on your palms from cleaning up the reckless mess in your bathroom. If the delivery guy notices when you answer the door, he says nothing. Just gives you a bored look and equally flat "have a nice night" as you exchange him for the food, then leaves.

You secure the door and move quickly into the kitchen to drop the pizza on the counter. You snatch a glass and fill it with water then turn back to head to the bathroom for tylenol. Instead you find Butcher filling your bedroom doorway, rubbing the back of his head.

"Damn it! I said don't move!"

"I heard ya. And I'm starving. Gotta do something for this bloody headache." He shuffles to the counter as you slink past him.

"Hold on, just getting you some medicine right now. Give me a sec and I'll see if I can find you some food," you call back.

"It's right here, innit?"

You pop two pills into your palm, then remember you have yet to finish the graze on his chest. Washing your hands and grabbing a packet of ointment, you head back to the kitchen. "Yes, but that's probably one of the worst things for a con-" You let out a sigh at the sight of Butcher already happily halfway through his first slice. "Nevermind. Here."

"Much obliged." He takes the tylenol greedily between bites and washes it down with the whole glass and a wince. Once he takes the last bite of food you rip open the packet and approach him. He shakes his head when you raise a hand towards the graze. "Now hold on-"

"Your hands aren't clean. So hush." When he rolls his eyes you pause in applying to give him a pointed look. "Not going to let you undo all my hard work by getting an infection via pizza grease."

You make quick work of it, focusing on applying just the right amount of ointment to hold off the thoughts of his mouth on yours moments before, or the fact he's standing in your apartment still shirtless. It's hard to ignore, though, what with the planes of his long torso before you, and his broad chest under your hands. But you manage.

With a nod, you step back. "There. Done. I'm going to grab your shirt, maybe I can still save it with a wash."

"Don't bother, love," he replies, seizing another slice from the box. "A wash ain't gonna fix the bullet hole."

Oh no. You're not doing this to me.

"Fair enough. Umm. I might have something then? Give me a minute."

You turn back to your bedroom again, making a beeline for your closet. For several minutes you rife through your clothes and your thoughts. You have no complaints of the kissing, aside from the embarrassing tumble. But you do feel a twinge of guilt. He's not completely well, and you certainly don't want to make things worse. You finally find an old, oversized t-shirt. A dark blue, ragged unisex thing you had kept for housework and "just in case" situations like this, it's hem riddled with holes. It may just fit him.

When you return you find him on your couch, eyes closed, right arm draped lazily across the back.You can't help looking him over. You're not sure what you had expected under those tacky shirts all this time but it wasn't this. He's not chiseled, which you're actually glad for, pleased by the hint of lean muscle under his skin. He's built for useful strength, not showboating. The urge to map his large ribcage and where he's soft or firm with your hands makes your fingers twitch. And the lines of hips you'd only peeked before are now on full display, framing a thin dark trail under his navel, and sloping sharp into his jeans. You'd heard a couple different names for hips like his, Apollo's belt being one. The other was Aphrodite's saddle.

Fuck Aphrodite! That one is mine!

The man has been shot! Can we fucking NOT?!, you snap at the little voice.

You call his name softly and he opens his eyes. A good sign, all things considered. You toss him the shirt before stepping back to get some pizza yourself. "Full already?"

"Nah, just pausing before thirds," Butcher quips as he stiffly tugs on the shirt. Thankfully it's not too snug.

You give him a look when you sit down beside him with your plate. "You got nauseous, didn't you?" He shrugs dismissively but you know better. Not a good sign. After a hesitant bite you decide to switch back to the other pressing matter. "So this lead at the club is a deadend then?"

"Fraid so," he nods solemnly. "Even if one of the others goes back for it, that footage is good as gone now. There'll be another person like that girl, you can count on it. Just have to wait."

"She got lucky," you frown between bites. "We don't know how many others there have been that weren't."

"We can't do anything bout that. We'd be chasing our tails if we tried digging that hard, and Neuman will wonder why our other cases have slowed down all the sudden. Too risky."

You finish your first slice and sigh. Now your appetite is compromised. "So now what?"

Butcher's all too familiar smirk returns. "We do our day jobs as usual, and prep for that gala like we planned. But right now?" He shifts in his seat, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into him. He hooks one of your thighs despite your protest and manages to pull you into his lap to face him. "I recall telling you last night that we ain't done."

"Seriously?" You scoff with a wry smile. "Even now?"

"Well no better time than the present, now is there?," he grins. When he leans up to kiss you, you press your fingers against his lips and the other hand on his good shoulder, and push him back. He gives an indignant look.

"As a matter of fact, there is a better time than the present." When he frowns you shake your head and continue. "Billy, you have a goddamn bullet hole under your collarbone. And you're concussed. Almost twice. You need rest, and the less stimulation the better. Not TV, not music, and definitely not getting to know you carnally."

"Stimulation sounds much more fun," he grumbles, still teasing.

"I'm not kicking you out. You can stay. As a matter of fact, I insist."

"Well I'm glad the lady insists."

"But," you press, darting around his flirtatious tone, "It's late. I'm tired. And more importantly, you are tired. Don't lie, I can see it."

"What? Don't fancy me bedroom eyes?"

"You need to heal, Billy," you intone, low but emphatic. "And that requires a quiet place and restful sleep."

He gives a bit of a pout, looking you over as his thumbs rub circles on your thighs. "No pizza, no TV, no sex. Fucking hell, you really are Nurse Ratched."

"You should be supervised for at least forty-eight hours. But you and I both know damn well you're not going to let that happen. Just let me keep an eye on you tonight and I'll quit being your nurse by morning. Okay?"

"No dice. You best have a better deal than that."

"Butcher-"

"How about…I pick some boring drivel on the telly, keep it real low…" His palms smooth warmly over your thighs. "...And you keep more on me than an eye, eh?"

"I keep both eyes on you then," you counter. "And I pick what's on the TV. Final offer. Otherwise, I'll cut the TV cord, kick you to bed and nap here on this couch-"

"You're not kicking yourself outta your own damn bed," he says with a bristling glare. The flirtatious tone returns after a beat. "And I ain't going near it unless you're in it."

"Well look at that, you being a gentleman," you tease. "So? Final offer?"

He stares at you, summing up the options. He's not pleased, obviously. But you can see the fatigue in his face, and you're determined that he makes it through the night without complications. His eyes narrow.

"...What you thinkin' of picking?"

"Something mild, kinda monotonous," you shrug. "Maybe one of those David Attenborough nature docs."

"Oh come off it!," he groans. "Bloody concussion won't kill me but you will bore me to death! I might as well just go to Bo-peep!"

"That's the point," you faux whisper.

He lets out a heavy sigh, minutely shaking his head. "Fuck me…Where's your remote?"

"Thank you," you beam before hopping off his lap. You snatch the remote before he gets any ideas, and set everything up, volume down to just audible. You grab one more slice of pizza from the kitchen, putting the rest away in the fridge, then turning off the lights. You set up an alarm on your phone for the end of the show, then a couple more about two hours apart to check on him through the night. The last would be your usual morning wakeup call.

You pad back to the couch where Butcher promptly pulls you down to tuck into his side. He throws an annoyed look at your triumphant expression, before finally easing back into the cushions, his eyes already heavy. You make quick work of your second slice as you feel his breath start to become rhythmic, ready to begin your watch…

It's not till the sound of the first alarm goes off that you realize you, too, had been lulled to sleep. You jolt, scrambling for your phone to quickly silence the alarm. You're disoriented to find that you're still tucked into Butcher but not as before. At some point you must have dozed a little heavier than him, allowing him to shift you both onto his good side. His left arm is draped over your hips, and when you reach for the remote to turn off the TV, it wraps a little closer.

"Billy?," you call softly over your shoulder. He stirs, giving a small grunt in response. Groggy but responsive, so far so good. You start to shift to get up. "I'm going to get you a blanket."

"No," he grunts into your shoulder. His arm pulls you back flush with him. You feel him wince at irritating his wound with the movement, then mumbles, "Don't need it."

Within moments his breathing becomes warm and steady on the back of your neck again, and his grip slowly softens as he slips back into sleep. You consider trying to sneak out. But honestly…this is more than you could've asked for. If anyone had told you not too long ago that you'd be cuddled by big, bad Billy Butcher, you would have told them to get their head checked. After all these chaotic, frustrating, dirty months this is the nicest thing you've experienced since joining the Boys. Then immediately after realize that this must be an even more rare moment of peace and comfort for him.

Smiling, you check to make sure the alarms are still ready on your phone, then set it aside on the coffee table. You let your eyes drift shut, determined not to take this for granted, soaking in the warmth, the silence…

^^^

Your eyes snap open, the room still dark. You sigh, waiting to hear your alarm. It doesn't sound. It's silent and you glance about, confused, why are you awake? It takes only a moment, the tingle of hairs standing on end, and you find your answer. The feeling is back. The feeling of something wrong.

You slowly raise on one arm, peering around. Only then do you notice something missing, warmth and weight. You turn your head and find Butcher sitting upright on the couch, your legs in his lap. You realize he must feel it, too. His face is turned from you, looking towards the windows.

"Billy?"

He turns his head at your whisper, his face a mix of brooding and alertness, all muddled with fatigue. The second you recognize it, the moment you realize it's the feeling of being watched again, it dissipates. His brow furrows.

"Billy, wh-?"

"Nothin'," he mumbles with a faint shake of his head. "Go back to sleep." He slides lazily back up the couch to reclaim his spot. You're on the verge of asking again but he hooks a finger under your chin. "Hey, what'd I say? I'm fine. It's nothin'."

He pulls you back in again, the solid weight of him behind you and the briefest press of lips upon the back of your neck both bring the tide of sleep over you, slowly but surely. You silence the alarm just before you close your eyes. When the next one wakes you, he's the one to shut it off.

You can't help but notice that his grip softens less in his sleep this time.

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys fanfic

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wildcatofgreen · 1 year

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Hows my Portrayal Meme As someone who has been on tumblr for a long while now, i can safely say your blog ranks near the top. It's the little nuisances that really surprise me! The fact that you took the idea of Anons and M!A's and integrated it into an in world item, really is ingenious. It adds to the world, and makes the funny grey questions all the more impactful. Outside of this Carol is just really well written, and you've done a great job expanding on the given lore! It really is awesome! and i hope to keep seeing you on my dash for the foreseeable future!

「 ASK MEME : HOW’S MY PORTRAYAL? 」

((i am so NORMAL about this i am SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS I AM SO NORMAL I AM SO NORMA--

((THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU

((the gemerald being apart of this blog at all was just a fuckin' whim that i ran with because i was like ''oh but wouldnt it be cool if so and so'' all the way back in 2015 ((i still completely suspect that the discordmun i wrote with back then sent in the ask to give carol the gemerald for... whatever reason. ((but keeping the object and running home with it and then all of the things im thinking of doing with it now its just AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

((not only praising my portrayal but how i expand upon the lore that makes me ESPECIALLY HAPPY. I JUST TRY TO WRITE FUN THINGS OR THINGS THAT MAKES SENSE i let my scrambly little brain go wild and make things up as i go along ((or i try to foreshadow things i want to put in later ((i like build up i like pay offs i like writing the funny green cat having her misadventures

((overall THANK YOU AZURE THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. happy catmun noises happy catmun noisesh appy catmun nosises))

#ooc posts #catmun speaks #asks #atangledfate #screaming. i am screaming? i am screaming.#your additions onto AVALICIAN LORE/FP LORE ARE GOOD TOO #YOUR ADDITIONS TO THESE CHARACTERS IT FEELS LIKE YOU KNOW THEM IN AND OUT #like i already praised you in the ask i sent but i WILL PRAISE YOU AGAIN YOU ARE INCREDIBLE #hug? can i hug? i wish to squeeze the breath out of you /pos #i wish i was at home id have way more kit icons to properly express how HAPPY this makes me #there was something else i wanted to say? but i lost it. so oops.

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chalkscene · 1 year

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tokyo revengers ⇢ “JUST A LOOK FROM YOU, I COME UNDONE” ft. ran haitani

song: 4 ever 4 me by demi lovato

wc: 1k

warnings: none except maybe ran is a little ooc

note: this is for @iitoshi’s the only truth is music collab. sorry for being late but thank you for letting me join!! happy new year <3

“there. all done,” you finally speak, though softly, after a stretch of silence and with a careful touch, you run your thumb along the bandage over the deep wound on ran’s eyebrow.

“thanks,” he mutters.

you’d think he’d be used to obtaining some cuts and bruises by now but from the moment he got home from a gang brawl tonight, all you’ve sensed from him is the absence of his familiar smugness and nonchalance—paradoxically speaking—as he looks a bit more pained than usual and you hate it.

you hate seeing him like this.

you look around the room in search for anything to lighten the mood when you see, propped up right in a corner is his baton.

in a lightbulb moment, you shoot up from your seat, excitement tingling at your fingertips as you stride across the room to retrieve your boyfriend’s weapon. you anticipate it to be heavy in your hand but surprisingly, you lift it with enough ease.

when you finally get a good look at it, you immediately notice the scratches on the surface—some more visible than the others—and the material has lost its shine, too. but despite the quality deteriorating from years of usage, you can only assume it still does the job to ran’s standard as he carries it around with him to this day.

you’re certain he used it tonight but you don’t focus on that. you have a different purpose in mind.

“ran, look.”

at the sound of your voice, he spins in his seat and as soon as his eyes land on you, you fix your stance and raise the baton. with a grin, you begin to twirl it in your hand like a majorette.

for a moment, ran only looks at you with the most unreadably impassive expression you’ve ever seen him pull off but you don’t get a chance to decipher it as a ghost of a smile soon appears on his lips.

it’s working, you think.

“you’re gonna hurt yourself.” his warning comes out halfheartedly, amusement now written all over his face.

“i won’t.” you beam with pride as you refuse to let it deter you but as if on cue, the weapon hits you just above your eyebrow. “shit.”

you hiss in pain, prompting you to drop the baton and let it clank on the floor. you expect ran to panic but he only pinches the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh then he gestures at you to walk back to your chair.

“told you so.” he sounds tired but looking closely, you notice his mouth is still quirked up at the corners—and smugly so—as he grabs the first aid kit to patch you up this time.

“shut up,” you grumble, slumping back into your seat. “you distracted me.”

he snickers. “just stay still.”

you take a deep breath, steeling yourself from the pain that may possibly come with the pressure from ran’s hand but as he begins to dab a small piece of cotton on your wound, there’s only a sharp sting from the disinfectant. it doesn’t last long though, as he gently blows on the small injury to soothe the pain.

right here, you see the difference between ran haitani and ran. just ran.

countless times you’ve witnessed his lips curl with sinister as the images of other people’s torment surely flashed in his mind. you’ve held his hands and wiped them clean of blood—and more often than not, it wasn’t his. but as he cradles your face in his palm, you realize that his iron fist has a polarizing featherlight touch, delicate and benign when he wants it to be.

either way, he makes you feel equally safe.

staring at your boyfriend’s face that is currently etched with focus, you take a mental picture of the situation—a notorious gangster tending to a civilian’s wound. you can’t help but find it hilarious.

“what’s so funny?” ran asks.

“we’re matching,” you reply with a giggle, pointing at the gauze on his eyebrow.

he can’t help but reciprocate your mirth with a chuckle of his own. “i can’t believe you’re enjoying this.”

“guess i got desensitized by dating a delinquent,” you retort. “you should put me in your gang. someone’s gotta help rindou cover your ass.”

“who did this to you again?” he presses a finger over your self-inflicted wound, applying just enough force to elicit a wince from you without hurting you severely. “not a chance.”

then there it is.

ran simply watches your irises glide along your upper lash line when you roll your eyes at his reply and as you soon fixate on his purple ones, staring right into his soul, he can only find the love you hold for him in each sparkle of your eye.

and if each sparkle were a star, your eyes would be an endless vast of a twinkling sky—infinitely more than ran knows he deserves and yet, it’s a constellation that’s just for him to see.

ran’s never been one to thank a higher power for being alive but in that moment, he finds himself doing so.

maybe it’s his whole life being tangled up in delinquency that made him too reckless, too bold for his own good but death was never his biggest fear. maybe he never feared it at all.

before he met you. before he found something—someone—to protect that wasn’t just him and his brother. before he found the one person who managed to blunt all his edges.

as the mere thought of it terrifies him still to an unfamiliar extent, he comes to an epiphany that he’s been wary of the wrong people this whole time.

it’s you who will be the death of him.

“earth to ran…” your voice snaps him out of his reverie. “you okay?”

and just like that, his heartbeat picks up the pace like it’s the first time all over again.

it’s so uncharacteristic of him, he thinks. not even a matter of life or death has ever made every nerve in his body go haywire yet you did it with the utterance of his name alone, its cadence so smooth and melodious.

“yeah,” he tells you anyway. “i feel better.”

#tokrev #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers #tokrev fluff #tokyo revengers fluff #tokrev x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #ran haitani #ran haitani fluff #ran x reader #ran haitani x reader

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factorialsotherfandoms · 3 months

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And done! Mostly archivists, some Roier, Fit, and the rest of deathfam at the end. TW: aftermath of torture, major character injuries, fantasy sickness, ooc warning for probs everyone but the situation is fucked so who knows. It's 6638 words please just take it as it is and love it or at least the idea for me <3

The doorbell rings, and it pulls Cellbit from his sleep. He’s curled on the floor of the fear room, having never quite made it to bed last night. With a bit of effort he pulls himself to his feet, cursing out whomever decided to wake him at this hour.

If it isn’t important, he’s starting another murder spree.

“Coming!” he calls, unsure if it will reach, as he takes the elevator up and then stalks down the hallways.

He gets to the doorway, and rips it open. With a sigh he prepares to berate them, only to freeze as he opens the door.

It’s Philza.

Philza. Who has been missing for a little over two months.

Philza, dressed in rags and smelling of blood.

“Philza?” He asks, looking over him, looking for his wounds. “We missed you; where've you been?”

And it doesn't matter that Cellbit had been asleep, because Philza is somehow alive and somehow back, even after so long. He can’t be angry, not seeing him wide eyed and like this.

He doesn't get a reply, just a shake of Philza's head. He sways in place, stumbling into the wall. Cellbit reaches out, taking his arm and trying to support him.

Philza looks at him, and there's a purple taint to his eyes.

Some sort of void sickness?

What the fuck.

Cellbit wants to ask, wants to scream and to shout, but there are clearly much more pressing problems here. Instead he takes a deep breath, and tries to position himself to take more of Philza's weight.

Cellbit is a wet tissue of a man, strength wise but he could swear Philza was never this light before.

Philza, who flinches at the touch, then all but collapses against Cellbit's side.

“Do you have a warpstone?” Cellbit asks, already thinking through if he has the supplies to make a spare. “We should probably get you to the infirmary…”

The weight on Cellbit's side is suddenly gone. A trail of bloody footprints stain the stonework as Philza stumbles backwards, rapidly shaking his head. All until he's pressed against the wall and the… then he just shakes.

And, fuck, Philza is usually a sensible one. But it's been months, and he's wounded, and Cellbit can see the signs of torture and knows the obvious culprits but…

“Okay,” he thinks, and thinks again. “Okay. My drawing room then. I have the first aid kit Mike made for Richas somewhere.”

Philza calms, and hesitantly nods, and goes as if to stand before leaning back against the wall, and offering out hands instead.

Why isn't he speaking? Void-sickness, possibly, but if so Cellbit would expect the taint to be visible on his lips or throat. Roier would probably say something about trauma, but Roier isn't here right now - he's taken Richas and Pepito for a sleepover at Foolish's dragon and, hell, at least the children aren't here to see the blood on the floor.

He'll have to clean before they get home.

Still, Cellbit takes Philza's arm, helping him drape his weight across Cellbit. He drags more than carries him, and most of their movement is kept going only by Cellbit.

Beneath his hands, Cellbit can feel things - too thin, but then the Federation has probably starved him (why is he void-sick, if the Federation took him? That doesn't add up but who else would it be?). There's dried blood beneath his fingers, and some tacky like the scabs have not quite been able to set. There are ridges, too, new scars born across his skin. Philza’s own fingers are weak against Cellbit’s arm, hurting and blistered and the skin scraped like he had been scrabbling in gravel.

Torture. Cellbit knows what torture is.

He wonders if Philza remembers any of it, or if he is like him.

Either way, Cellbit is going to find Cucurucho, and rip his spine through his neck.

With a trail of bloody footprints they make it to the drawing room. Cellbit helps Philza sit, making sure he is steady before letting go. There's a water jug left on the table, so he gets Philza a glass, and hands it to him.

Cellbit doesn’t ask ‘where the fuck have you been’ like he wants to, nor does he comment on the man’s state, instead he says “wait there. I’ll get some potions” before turning and sprinting back up the stairs.

Potions, bandages, stuff for stitches, water and soup - he grabs two buckets of water and a bottle or three of antiseptic, too, just to be sure. Did the Federation have him? It’s the only answer Cellbit can think of - from just a brief look Cellbit could see he was covered in wounds, friction burns on his ankles and wrists while his feet bled, and he looks half-starved. He’s pale, too, too pale, and he isn’t sure whether to hope it’s blood loss or lack of sunlight as both options suck.

He messages Roier, just in case - Missa he’ll worry about later, once he knows what is going on. No need to worry Philza’s loved ones in the middle of the night, and certainly not when they’re surrounded by people.

HIs knife goes in his belt - there’s no room for mistakes.

And then it’s sprinting back to his front room, only to find Philza is… gone?

He would call it a hallucination, if not for the bloody footprints still all over his carpet, and the still-full glass of water beside the sofa.

“Philza?” he calls, swallowing the crack in his voice.

Did the Feds steal him back from his own damned house?!

There’s a shuffling nearby. Cellbit turns, looks up, sees Philza perched on his toes, bloodying the top of his bookshelf.

“Sit back down and let me see where you’re hurt,” Cellbit points to the chair.

Philza looks about and around, curling tighter into himself. He stares at the window.

Jumps down.

Bolts towards it.

Crashes into the glass.

There’s a very definite noise of main, but it’s muffled and something about it is /wrong/.

Cellbit grabs his shoulder, steadying him, leading him back to the sofa. His own hands are shaking, and Philza keeps glancing back to the window.

What about the window is wrong…?

As soon as he sits down, Cellbit goes to examine it. He cannot see anything odd, but pulls tight the curtains just in case.

“Better?” Cellbit asks.

He does not get a response, so he just hopes that he is.

The next question is… What first… Philza’s body is an itinerary of injuries - his face and his wings suspiciously intact but for the exhaustion and the void-sickness in his eyes, the stain also dappled across his nails and small patches of skin - but Cellbit knows what he wants first.

Everything is bad, but it is Philza’s feet that are bleeding.

So he grabs everything and kneels before the sofa. Carefully, watching Philza as closely as he is watched in return, he takes one of his feet. Cellbit has to pick the remains of utterly ruined shoes away, just tiny scraps of the fabric which once made up the uppers and soles. Beneath that are the wounds, and around it the blood.

Some of it is stones, and mud, and sticks, and dirt.

Some of it is blisters, a mark of how long Philza must have been walking.

Some of it looks suspiciously like very, very deliberate slash marks - all across the soles of his feet, and across the backs of his ankles. They’re deep, and surrounded by cross-hatched scars of equally thin slashes, like the wounds have been applied again and again and again.

If Cellbit were to cut someone’s feet like that, it would be to stop them from running. With how deep the slashes are… He doesn’t think that Philza was ever supposed to walk again.

“Fuck,” he feels himself swear and this… this doesn’t look like the Federation at all.

The friction burns around his wrists and ankles, looking like chains, sure, but the slicing…? They’d trust their bars, and they’d torture with something bigger, and if you are genuinely a flight risk they lock you away. Not… Not this.

It’s just as cruel, but not really in their style.

So he’s killing Cucurucho and someone else, then. Just got to work out who, because he cannot think of anything else on the Island which would trap someone in the void.

Still he slowly works on picking out the debris, doing his best to clean the wounds with a cloth dipped in clean water and antiseptic poured on it as he goes. The wounds are so extensive, though, and dirty, that…

Well, Cellbit isn’t a doctor; he pours the entire other bottle of antiseptic into one of the water buckets. Once he’s done all he can with his fingers and the cloth, he shoves Philza’s foot into the bucket.

Philza makes a strange noise; Cellbit checks, but he is gestured at to continue, so… So he repeats the actions.

The second foot is, somehow, worse; the cuts are shallower, but there’s barely skin between them.

Cellbit is out of his depth, he’s so far out of his depth, but they need treating now, and Roier has yet to answer the message - he’s probably, like everyone else, already asleep.

He picks out the gravel, and places this foot more carefully into the antiseptic bucket, and prays it’s enough to avoid an infection.

From there he moves to where he felt blood before, tracking the wounds. These ones are smaller, simpler, much more like their usual issues. Cellbit knows how to clean up a cut and bandage an awkward shoulder wound - he’s done it before. He can bandage to give pressure to a sprained wrist, and he’s certainly had his fair share of blistered fingers in his life.

The quantity is wrong, all wrong, but actually tending the wounds is something anyone of the island could have done.

And then… And then he must get carried away, too busy charting them, too busy tracking the black-ish stains on Philza’s stress and trying to calculate how bad the void-sickness is, too occupied to be taking proper care.

Because he does not mean to scrape a blister on his palm, tearing it open and letting the fluid leak out.

But he does.

Philza screams, but it does not come fully out. Neither do his lips open, the sound trapped in his throat and his nose, and Cellbit…

Cellbit has a horrible realisation.

“Philza,” he asks. “Philza, can you open your mouth for me?”

Philza shakes his head.

Wait, English is ambiguous, maybe… Maybe he’s not…

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

One shaking finger is raised.

And Cellbit slowly nods.

He’s known things like this before, he’s seen it before - he’s done it to people before - but think of it being done to someone who has only ever trusted him, only ever tried to help or be his friend…

“Can I touch your lips?” he asks.

Philza doesn’t react at all. He stares at Cellbit and barely even breathes.

Still Cellbit approaches, hesitant hands reaching out. He cannot see anything, not like this, so…

So if he’s right…

It’s not glue.

He’d be able to feel it if it were glue.

Slowly, carefully, he pushes a finger between Philza’s lips

and there, at the back, he finds the stitches. Thin but strong, pulled extremely tight and narrowly sewn. There’s not even space for a straw, and Cellbit knows how to fix this but he’s not sure he /can/.

He doesn’t even know who he needs to dissect.

“I…” he stares at it, leans closer to look, examines the thread - it was white, once, but it’s brown with dried blood and spit. They’re set so far back that they’re sewn more into Philza’s gums than the skin of his lips.

Cellbit pulls his hands away, “I don’t think I can help without hurting you.”

Philza tilts his head to the side, and gestures with bandaged hands.

He seems… resigned. Like he expected this.

Scared, too, glancing now at the door.

Who can Cellbit ask for help? Philza would probably want Missa, or maybe Fit or Etoiles or… Someone else early. But Fit is helping Missa protect Chayanne and Tallulah, and Etoiles is knee deep in /something/, which…

Roier might know. Pac and Mike are scientists, they could. Foolish has all sorts of strange skills, as does Bad.

He could just put a message in the general chat, but he really, really doesn’t want to do that…

And, there is also the problem that everyone is asleep.

“I’m going to get you some pyjamas,” Cellbit decides on, rather than making a decision before he’s worked out the right answer. “Will you be alright?”

Philza nods, his eyes already drifting to the door.

Cellbit hates it, hates how wrong this all is; Philza should not be curled on his sofa, clutching at himself, injured and shaking in fear. But, he is, and there is very little that Cellbit can do about it.

Something to wear is a start though - he heads back to his room, leaving Cellbit behind. Nobody on the island has a lot of spare clothes, but he manages to find a clean and relatively soft nightshirt at the bottom of a chest. He shakes out the worst of the creases, deems it serviceable enough, and heads back.

Philza is gone.

Again.

This time Cellbit checks for the footsteps - wet and still slightly tinged pink. Cursing the man and everything else he runs after, hoping he didn’t get too far.

He finds him very close to the bridge’s warp plate. Cellbit grabs his arm and, this time, Philza fights back.

It’s not a long fight, only seconds before Philza is limp in his grip and doing his best to snarl despite his sewn together lips.

The stitches don’t tear, but his skin does.

“Stop that!” Cellbit tries. “You’re making it worse.”

Philza /freezes/ when Cellbit yells, and his heart drops somehow further into his feet.

“Just… Come back inside? Please?”

Cellbit is so fucking tired.

Philza… Shakes his head.

“Philza.”

He pulls away his arm, and tries to run.

It’s not…

“Why are you running?”

It is far from the tone that Cellbit usually asks that question in, but it’s still one.

Philza… Does pause. He can’t even mouth his words, but he gestures to his eyes, and then to the darkness around them, glancing over his shoulder as he does.

He’s been looking around a lot…

“You’re being chased?”

Given someone was clearly trying to keep him wherever he was, it’s the obvious conclusion.

He nods - once, twice, gestures harder at the darkness and makes to keep running.

And then his eyes catch on a rose.

Missa had mentioned something about roses, how they were supposed to protect the family. There had been a garden of roses, the children asleep and Philza and Missa sat talking beneath the moon. And then Phil just… Dropped through the floor mid-sentence. Gone, before Missa could grab him. Gone, just like that, from a garden that should have been a sanctuary but whose leaves were withered now.

They’d looked and they’d searched and they’d hunted, and all that could be found was a small hole, with purple-touched darkness beneath.

Much the same colour as the void-taint in Philza’s eyes.

Cellbit picks a rose from the bush, and hands it to Philza, “Missa mentioned they’re… protection charms for you?”

At the mention of Missa, Philza's eyes snap from the flower to Cellbit, eyes suddenly much wider and Cellbit…

Cellbit maybe should have said sooner, because all he would want to know if he’d been tortured is if Roier and Richarlyson were safe.

“He’s safe,” Cellbit promises. “Foolish is hosting a sleepover for the Eggs tonight - he took Chayanne and Tallulah.”

Philza doesn’t look like he believes him.

So, Cellbit presses on.

“He showed me the rose garden, though the flowers were dead,” he continues. “And the… hole? Portal? Void-patch?”

Philza wriggles his hand, holds up three fingers, and huh. Between the rose and talk of Missa, he at least seems to have calmed a tiny bit. The talk of a dead garden seems upsetting, but he clings to the rose in bandaged hands like something precious.

“It was very small, very precise. Clearly whatever took you only wants you,” and Cellbit is spitballing, only hoping he is on the right track both emotionally and logically as he still pieces it together. “It hasn’t taken anyone else, either; even if you stay in my house, it’s unlikely it will take me.”

Frankly, Cellbit doesn’t care if it does - all the more chance to create a distraction for one of them to kill it - but he knows Philza will.

Because it’s Philza, and he’s a better person than Cellbit ever had the chance to be.

“So, please, come back inside?”

Philza looks at the rose, then at Cellbit’s hand, then hesitantly, very hesitantly, takes it.

It’s hard work, leading Philza back into the safety of the castle. He’s edgier than before, and keeps being startled by the slightest sounds. He is usually vigilant, noticing the smallest of oddities, but to jump at every animal scurrying in the underbush…

Cellbit sees him reach for an axe which is not there, and maybe that’s part of the problem too.

They make it back to safety, and Philza clings to the rose even as his feet are cleaned again - bandaged this time - and he is helped into the nightshirt. Cellbit has always been the taller of the two, but they were once of similar builds - it should not hang nearly as loosely as it does.

With his lips sewn shut… Cellbit isn’t sure he can help.

“They’re probably asleep, but do you want me to text Missa? So he can bring Chayanne and Tallulah in the morning?”

Philza hesitates - if he’s still being chased… Well, Cellbit can guess why the concern.

“I can put some wards down, and ask them to come with Roier? He’ll look after them.”

He gets a nod this time, though it is slow.

Cellbit pulls out his communicator, focused as he tries to think of how to tell Missa - it’s not even a case of what would he want to know if Roier was in Philza’s situation, because Missa… Cellbit doesn’t know the man well, but they certainly have very different personalities.

In the end he settles on ‘Philza appeared at my place last night. He’s hurt, but I’ve been looking after him. Get Roier to show you over. Doesn’t have a communicator or anything.’

He shows it to Philza, who hits send, and then with clumsy, bandaged fingers writes ‘Did HE hurt you? Be safe - HE still wants me.’

That message is sent, then another is typed. It’s just as slow, Philza obviously frustrated as he has to delete duplicated letters. Still, he turns Cellbit’s communicator towards him, and shows him the message.

‘Cut it’

That those words took three minutes and clear /pain/ to write cuts deeply into Cellbit.

Just being stabbed is too kind for whatever did this. Cellbit will tear it apart with his /teeth/.

“Cut what?” he asks.

Philza hesitates, before stealing Cellbit’s knife, and bringing it to his lips.

“Stop!” Cellbit grabs his wrist, disarming him far more easily than he should have been able to. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

The reply he gets is a withering glare.

It’s good to see him have some confidence back, whatever the roses mean, but if he’s going to use it to hurt himself…

“I don’t… Think I can do this,” Cellbit licks his own lips, running a thumb of Philza’s.

His hand with the knife in it is grabbed, and tugged on.

“Fine!” If he doesn’t, Philza’s going to do it as soon as his back is turned, isn’t he? “God, I’ll try. But just enough to drink something, okay? I don’t trust myself.”

There’s a long pause, but eventually Philza nods. Cellbit swaps his knife for a smaller switchblade, flicking it open and peeling Philza’s lips open. He aims for the centre where there is least risk of damaging other things, carefully slotting the knife through…

Fuck.

He manages to cut a few of the strings, but in doing so he catches Philza’s lip. It’s not a deep cut, but he can see the blood bubbling.

He wants to lick it.

He presses a tissue there instead.

“Hold this, just let me get you a straw.”

Cellbit waits to make sure Philza has the tissue held in place - he’s smiling at him, how is Philza smiling at him when he /cut/ and /torture victim/ - before running to the kitchens.

How is he being trusted like this? He’s a fucking murderer, a heartless, cruel man; he isn’t…

He isn’t someone you fucking trust with a knife near your face.

What has this island done to him? He doesn’t mind it, doesn’t… He doesn’t hate it, he actually likes it - the having friends, the having family, the people relying on him.

It’s fucking terrifying, though.

This has only proved that.

He still needs some moments to calm down. His hands shake with the memory of blood on Philza’s lip, and it’s all he can do to pour some soup into a saucepan, and set it on the hob. Half-remembering the last time he starved he adds extra water, thinning it down. While it cooks he makes himself tea, and fetches Philza water, apple juice, and a selection of straws.

It takes a few minutes to warm the soup through. Once it has, Cellbit has just about found his footing again. He serves it up, and carries everything through.

“Here, sorry about the wait,” he says.

Philza has somehow found a second rose, and is awkwardly braiding them together. With his hands it is loose, but Cellbit can see what he’s trying for.

His lip has stopped bleeding, at least.

Neither is put down as he’s handed the glass of water. It takes Cellbit a few moments to work out the problem, but eventually realises; with his own fully functional hands he helps Philza angle the straw through the gap in the stitching, and lets him drink.

He drinks like a dying man, and Cellbit supposes it’s close enough to true. He doubts either of them have any idea how long his lips have been stitched together, but it’s long enough that the thread is stained…

Philza manages the water, then looks curiously at the rest of the tray. Cellbit offers it to him; he hesitates over the juice, but points at the soup.

Cellbit checks the temperature first - drinking the water had been slow enough to cool it down a little at least - before helping Philza once again. This time he has to help support the bowl as well as the straw. It’s awkward, but they manage it between them.

About a third of the watery soup is managed before Philza refuses more.

Cellbit has no idea if that’s good or not.

Still, they’re both exhausted, and it’s something to keep him going, and Roier will be here in the morning. Roier isn’t a doctor, of course, but Cellbit trusts him with significantly more delicate things than himself.

Cellbit can be dexterous, but delicate is for investigations not handiwork.

Forcing Philza to walk again on his injured feet seems needlessly cruel; the sofa is not the comfiest place to sleep, but Cellbit would put money on it being the comfiest place he’s slept in a long while.

“Sleep here - I’ll go grab some blankets,” Cellbit says, and he leaves, and by the time he returns Philza has already passed out on the couch.

He tucks the blankets around him, making sure he will stay warm overnight; the castle is draughty at the best of times, and when someone is sick and injured is not the time to tempt fate.

Then he sits on the floor beside the bed, knife in his lap, meaning to think and meaning to keep guard.

Most of Philza’s injuries are just torture wounds. They say little about his captor, or what they want. He’s clearly been in the End or the Void for too long - his eyes have a hint more purple, there’s dappled stains across his skin, and Cellbit isn’t sure which symptoms he has but it will probably make him struggle for warmth and fuck with his brain. That should be something like proof against this being a Federation ploy - they don’t seem to have easy access to other dimensions - but is not definitive.

The slicing on his feet despite the lack of it on his wings also is not definitive, but does not fit their usual goal. Unusual location and unusual goals? Probably not them. Stitching inside his mouth… Adds to that, really, the Federation are more cut your tongue out or sedate people sorts, not sew them up.

A goal, a goal… Philza’s face and his wings are mostly untouched, which would imply some awful… display piece, Cellbit supposes. The rags of his clothes would count against it, but perhaps he was only allowed to wear them when he was needed. Despite that appearance he could not have been that highly valued - the stitching in his mouth prevents drinking, so he would have died in another few days. Mentally scattered, but does seem to recognise people and places still - Cellbit rules out brainwashing, or at least if they tried it they failed. The injuries don’t imply anything sexual, which leaves…

Cellbit runs through it all again. Nothing quite makes sense, except…

End entities don’t like water, do they? Maybe they don’t need to drink.

Do they even need to eat? Or do they exist on some other sort of sustenance?

If he was held captive by something with no need to eat or drink, the sewn up mouth is no longer incompatible with the idea of a trophy, or a prize…

---

At some point Cellbit must have fallen back to sleep, because he wakes up to yelling. He doesn’t even think - he grabs the closest item - bucket of water - and throws it in the direction of the assailant.

He recognises the voice about three seconds later, when Roier shrieks.

“Fuck! Sorry!” Cellbit’s awake now, hair stuck to the side of his face as he scrambles up.

“Bitch!” Roier shakes off the water then, realising Cellbit is getting up, latches onto him.

Now they are both wet.

“Are you okay?! Roier’s revenge is had, or maybe not as wet hands trail all over him. “Fuck, Gatinho, don’t message me asking for medical advice at 3am and leave blood on the carpet! Come wake me up next time!”

“I’m fine!” he promises back. “I’m sorry, I’m okay, I’m fine - is Missa with you?”

“Missa?”

Roier left before Missa was awake. Fuck. Hopefully he works it out, because Cellbit’s too asleep for this.

“It’s Philza,” Cellbit replies, dropping his voice at the secret. “He woke me up last night, looking for help. I think?”

Roier’s lips form a perfect O, as he turns and finally spots Philza still sleeping on the couch. Cellbit watches as he looks him over - most of the injuries are beneath the blankets, but he is still clearly unwell - and then sees the straw in the part-finished bowl of watery soup.

A rose is still clutched in Philza’s hand, just visible where it slips out from the blanket.

“How bad is it?” Roier asks, quiet.

“They sewed his fucking mouth shut,” Cellbit replies. “I cut a little so he could drink, but stopped when I caught his lip. Cuff burns on his wrists and ankles, fucked hands, they sliced up his /feet/ so he couldn’t run, then he ran on them barefoot anyway.”

“Stupid Feds,” Roier’s nose twitches.

Cellbit shakes his head, “there’s void-taint on his chest and in his eyes. No idea how sick he is, but the Feds don’t have End access.”

“That we know about.”

And Cellbit has to concede that point - still, he talks Roier quietly through Philza’s other injuries, and explains what he did. At the end, his husband looks about as helpless as he feels, but does pull a small pair of scissors out of a pocket.

“We should probably give him, I dunno, antibiotics or something,” Roier pulls a face. “For his feet. How do we treat void-sickness? Is it just keep him away from it?”

Cellbit has no idea - it’s not like he has spent prolonged periods of time in the End, “someone will know, right? Maybe when Missa gets here?”

Roier raises an eyebrow and, fair, Missa also has likely never been to the End, but Cellbit thinks the man deserves more credit than he ever gets. If it’s for Philza, he can probably brute force his way into the answer by sheer stubbornness alone.

That entire family is a bit like that.

“If not… We can at least ask who they want telling,” Cellbit concedes. “I didn’t want to just put anything in general and have everyone on my house.”

“We’re going to murder whoever did this, right?”

“Of course.”

Roier kisses his cheek, and once Cellbit is done blushing he finds Philza watching them.

“Morning,” he says, as Roier notices and waves.

“Hey Philza,” Roier drawls on the name. “Cellbo says you got something stuck in your mouth?”

Philza flips him off. It’s a clear struggle for him to sit up, but he manages it.

“Is it okay if Roier takes the stitches out?” Cellbit asks, getting a withering look from both of them at how soft his voice turned as he said it.

Despite that, Philza nods. Roier nudges him into a different position, and sits opposite on the sofa; he actually remembers to wash his hands before peeling back Philza’s lips, and Cellbit feels a bit stupid for not thinking of that.

As he watches Roier carefully use the tiny scissors to cut the threads, Cellbit keeps guard. His fingers flick back and forth over his knife but there’s no target, nobody who isn’t dear to him here to use it on.

He’s helpless, and he knows it; hopefully between them they can work out who he needs to kill and how.

The threads are cut, and Philza is allowed a drink as Roier finds the tweezers in the first aid kit. Pulling out the threads comes with flinching and bleeding wounds, and there’s only so much that antiseptic-soaked cotton wool can do.

The thread-holes are small enough that they stop bleeding quickly, but the blood from Philza’s mouth is horrific.

There’s a thread or two left to remove when Cellbit hears the door, and remembers he should have checked his comms. He leaves Roier treating Philza to head down.

This time he opens the door to find Missa, Chayanne and Tallulah - and an awkward looking FitMC, hanging towards the back.

And Cellbit suddenly realises it’d be a really bad idea to let the children see their father while Roier’s still treating him.

“Is Phil…?” Missa asks.

“Roier’s treating some of his injuries,” Cellbit replies. “Do you want to help me make breakfast for everyone?”

The sign Chayanne slammed down is put away in favour of nodding, and grabbing his sister’s hand. If Missa bought Fit, even if only for directions, Cellbit is happy enough to let him in - he gestures for him to follow, and leads everyone to the kitchen.

It’s awkward, and quiet, and nobody seems to know how to break it. Still, Cellbit shows them around and admits “they sewed his mouth shut. Roier’s fixing it, but we need light and easy food, okay?”

For all he nods, Chayanne seems to misunderstand. There is some simple stuff, yes, but a flurry of activity and complicated dishes too. Tallulah arranges them on the plate with extreme focus, and Cellbit…

Cellbit takes the two adults, and uses the stove.

Quietly, while the children are occupied, he explains what he knows. They listen, Missa frets, and Fit’s face is grim.

“I want to check with him first,” Fit looks at Missa, who gives him a nod. “But I think I know what bullshit he got himself into.”

“You do?” Cellbit asks.

Fit shrugs, looks uncomfortable. “He was scared, thought he was being threatened… We’ll explain later.”

And that’s the sort of shit Cellbit could have done with knowing before this shit happened. He’d like to strange someone, but he knows why he wasn’t told; Purgatory was… rough, to say the least.

“We didn’t tell anyone,” Missa adds, in Spanish, Fit glancing at his wrist to read the translations. “Fit only knows because it started when I was gone and the kids were missing.”

Cellbit doesn’t feel much better - the egg cracks with a little too much force, and he imagines it’s a skull.

It takes a little while for breakfast to be ready, and Cellbit hopes it gave Roier enough time. He warns the children their father is probably hurting, so be gentle, and also his mouth and hands hurt so he may not say much.

They consider him with far too much seriousness for their age; Tallulah writes a sign for them both, simply reading ‘I know’.

He leads them back through. Philza is holding some gauze to his lip, curled up in the corner of the sofa and watching the room. Roier sits on the other corner, sword clearly in grabbing range even as he tries to keep up low and playful chatter. It goes quiet when everyone else enters.

Chayanne and Tallulah move first, running to their father’s side. Neither of them touch him, though, waiting for the quiet ‘hello’ spoken in a deeply hoarse voice, and for Philza to offer them each a hand. Missa follows, taking the middle spot on the sofa. He hesitates, barely risking moving, but Philza leans his head on his shoulder and so Missa snakes an arm behind his back.

Every one of the four of them is either carrying or wearing a rose. Now he looks, Fit has one too.

“Was it him?” Fit asks, sitting heavily on a chair opposite.

Philza nods.

“Well, fuck,” Fit sighs, and looks around. “I’m gonna guess you need stuff for void-sickness? Anything else I should ask Pac e Mike for?”

And of course Tazercraft are the obvious people to ask. Scientists with a habit of breaking reality have likely seen this before.

“Antibiotics,” Roier adds. “For preventing infection in wounds dirty for too long? And painkillers.”

Philza gives him a withering glare at painkillers, but his hands are busy with his children and even if his lips are now free, it must /hurt/.

Chayanne distracts him by placing a huge amount of food both on his lap, and the floor all around. Missa laughs and Philza looks fond, but shakes his head softly. Missa takes one of the broths, though, and offers it to him.

Despite having his mouth free, Philza still reaches for a straw.

And Cellbit, Cellbit wants answers, but Fit is texting his boyfriend who Cellbit hopes has Richarlyson, so there’s not really anyone to ask.

Roier pulls a silly face at him.

Cellbit likes to think he’s above pulling one back, but whatever he does, Roier laughs anyway.

But, he does have breakfast for everyone else, so he hands it around and drinks his coffee and waits impatiently patiently for the family to quietly sort themselves out.

Eventually, Philza looks at Cellbit, mouthing ‘thank you’ and then, “I… you want to know?”

“Yes.”

Philza looks at Missa, then Fit - both of them nod.

“Fit,” Missa says. “Can you? I am not sure all of how to say it in English.”

Fit sighs again, puts his communicator away, and nods.

“What do you know of the Ender King?” He asks.

It’s a name that Cellbit has never heard before, but ideas are already forming; Roier is also shaking his head, a shrug on his arms and confusion in his eyes.

“Right,” Fit pulls a series of faces. “Now, I don’t know a lot. But, couple of months ago, Phil called me over to his house. It’s happened a few times - seeing messages and structural changes in the bunker I couldn’t see. One time Pac was with me, and he was just weirded out-”

Philza butts in, with a quiet, “it was Rose.”

“Rose?”

Philza nods, Chayanne slams down a sign.

‘She looks after us!’ the boy writes. ‘All of our familia.’

“She’s a goddess,” Missa adds, slowly, clearly thinking about his words. “But her powers are weak here… She looks after four, King only wants one.”

Tallulah adds ‘it’s why the bad things can’t find us’, and Cellbit isn’t quite sure which bad things Tallulah means, but it has to mean something.

Eye workers, maybe.

The idea of a goddess protecting a family is… Not exactly strange to Cellbit; he’s dabbled in the occult enough to know what sort of entities would do that, at least.

“She’s my,” Philza coughs, harsh, his throat not really ready for talking. “Spawn goddess. Where I come from.”

That’s stranger, but explains why she might like that.

“Right,” Fit says. “That one turned out to be less a problem, but the one that followed… When I went over Philza was in the middle of a panic attack, only not crying because Chayanne and Tallulah were there. He said a being from his dreams had contacted him, one more powerful than anything, against which there’s nothing we can ever do. Something about a war, and wanting Phil for himself. Phil made me promise to look after the kids if he was taken, that he’d find some way back but we were /not/ to go after him.”

And they listened? Cellbit is mostly surprised that they listened, but then Philza and his friends are more practical sorts than himself and Roier.

“There were more letters,” Missa says. “He started… corrupting Rose’s letters? Because he couldn’t find Philza.”

“And then he found you.” Cellbit finishes.

And it’s not the whole story, he knows it isn’t the whole story, but he’s got enough for the themes - a being which calls itself a god wants Philza for some reason is hunting him. That being comes from wherever Philza was before here, and has plans for him. Perhaps he is trapped as a pawn in a war between the gods and a war prisoner you are trying to sell makes sense for his treatment.

Perhaps he did something to piss off the god.

“My memory is,” Philza gestures to his head, and Cellbit knows the amnesia affecting many islanders touched him too, so he nods. “I don’t remember but…”

There’s a sign, turned to Philza where Cellbit cannot see.

Philza’s face shifts, and softens, and he reaches out for his children again as he says “I promised, didn’t I?”

“Does he have weaknesses,” Roier asks. “Everything has weaknesses!”

Philza laughs, bitter and dry. It turns into another coughing fit, one that leaves him shaking and leaning on Missa for support.

Cellbit notes Fit texting again, and has his suspicions as to what it says.

Once Philza recovers, he says, “the Ender King is fucking dead, mate. Water burnt him, but now he has no body… He’s weaker, can’t steal entire cities anymore, but he lost his weaknesses to.”

Worse than a god, it is the ghost of a god.

Has no body, though?

Cellbit looks at Philza again, and wonders - the void sickness has clearly done more to his mind than his body, and a deity of the End could likely manipulate it. If it had left him a functional body but empty mental shell…

War prisoner or flesh suit, either way Cellbit needs to work out how to kill a god’s ghost.

[Notes - void sickness. I’ve not really developed it but tldr overworld bodies are not well adapted to other realms. Too long in the void (also the End, where the atmosphere is void) fucks you up. Purple rash-like staining across skin, purple tint getting into your eyes. Common symptoms include dissociation, derealisation, and a susceptibility to the cold. If it reaches organs it can cause them to shut down, though always works from the outside in (or if caused by eating too much chorus fruit, which is an option, from your digestive tract out). The comment about Philza’s lips or throat with not speaking is if the taint had reached either his voice box or the muscles controlling his lips. Philza’s actually pretty fucking resistant to it, by a combination of genetics and very slowly increasing his exposure over time. Most people would be dead from that long, he’s just… It’s deep enough to cause muscle weakness in places, but it isn’t yet deep enough to cause damage like ‘lungs cease functioning’. The ‘bonus’ of his mouth sewn shut is they couldn’t feed him end-food, so it was only working out-in not in-out. Much like with fairies if you eat of the end bad shit happens.]

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp philza #qsmp cellbit #hurt/comfort #angst #*gestures vaguely*#please just take it I'm done with this fic #there was supposed to be more after but I liked that line as an ending line so it's the end now #I also feel you should know I wrote this watching old 3D animated b@rbie movies in the background #specifically princess and the pauper and 12 dancing princesses #plus a lot of silence #but please appreciate me writing torture aftermath to kid's movies #stuck the @ in so it doesn't show up in the other fandom tagsg

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newtthetranswriter · 6 months

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heLLOOOOO can i ask for some baji scenario?? a fluffy one, where baji and reader have to babysit some relative's child and then the child starts to have fun with baji's hair? yk the braids, some cute clips etc... and then baji shows up to the gang's meeting with the new hairstyle....

rest is up to you!!!! it doesn't have to be romantic tho, i see it as a more platonic/friendly scenario?

YOU GOT THIS MY FRIEND AND REMEMBER TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!! love u 💞💞

Word count:982

Warning:none I think other than people may be a little ooc as I haven't written much for Tokyo revengers but I do want to do more.

Pairing: Keisuke Baji x reader (platonic)

A/n: Hello Ness, thanks for requesting, I enjoyed writing this even if it seems a little clunky. I gotta say writing on my phone on a long ass road trip is a little difficult but I hope you like it. Also in this everyone is alive and well. The kids in the story are modeled after my own niece and nephew, who I will hopefully see on this trip. Let me know if you like it or want more. My requests are still open. Anyway, remember to hydrate or diedrate, and have a good day.

It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend hanging out with my best friend Baji, but unfortunately my older sister decided she wanted an afternoon without her kids. Being the only one without 'important' plans, I was volunteered to take care of them for the afternoon. Being busy with a nine year old and a six year old I forgot to cancel my plans with Baji.

While trying to get my nephew to sit and watch a movie with his sister, I heard a knock at the door. I quickly ran to the door hoping it was nothing, only to be greeted by a slightly upset Baji.

"Oh shit, Keisuke I'm so sorry. I was in the middle of getting ready to meet up with you when my parents told me I had to stay home to watch my sister's kids and they haven't stopped running around since. I completely forgot to text you." I ramble out my explanation.

As he was about to speak my nephew ran up behind me grabbing my arm. "Y/n, Amara took the remote and won't put it back. She's trying to buy movies." The nine year old tattled on his younger sister.

"Sorry I have to deal with this, you can come in if you want." I said moving back to the living room and grabbing the remote from my niece's hand. "I will put on a movie and that's what we are gonna watch." I said turning on Frozen, knowing it'll keep the kids attention for at least a little while.

I then remembered Baji was here and turned back to him. "So, we can reschedule or you can chill here with this circus, it's up to you?" I asked.

He paused for a moment before responding. "I can help you watch them, it can't be much different than keeping Chifuyu and Kazutora out of trouble." Baji then sat on the couch next to my niece and started talking with her about the movie.

After finishing both Frozen movies, I got the kids a snack before they decided they wanted to play with some of the toys they keep here. My niece immediately grabbed a brush and butterfly hair clips from her little makeup kit.

She ran up to Baji with the cutest smile before asking her questions."Mister, could I do your hair? It's so pretty, like a princess." She was so sweet but knowing Keisuke isn't a fan of people messing with his hair I was about to tell her to find something else to do, when he spoke first.

"Sure why not. Just don't pull any out, get it." He said picking her up and placing her where she could get to his hair.

After about twenty minutes of My niece doing Baji's hair, she proudly announced she was done. Baji accepted the little hand mirror he was offering inspecting what had become of his hair. "I love it thank you, Amara, it looks wonderful. Don't you agree Y/n?" He asked, turning for me to see.

I held back a laugh as I took in what my niece had done to his hair. The longest part of his hair was in what looked like the best attempt at an Elsa braid my niece's little hands could manage, while there were also different colored butterfly hair clips throughout the braid and his bangs. "It really suits you Kei." I complimented.

At that moment my nephew then grabbed Baji's arm and pulled him to help him play a video game, saying something about it being 'his turn with Baji'. I smiled glad my friend was here to help me with these two.

Eventually the kids decided they wanted to sit at the table and color. Keisuke and I both seemed to space the fact that his hair was still in the messy style my niece had done. We also lost track of time because it was starting to get dark out and a sharp ringing blared through the dining room.

Realizing it was his phone, Keisuke excused himself saying he'd be right back. Only a moment later he walked in and explained he forgot there was a Toman meeting tonight and that the phone call was Chifuyu trying to figure out where he was. After saying goodbye to my niece and nephew he said a final good night and hopped on his bike to the meeting.

P.o.v change to the Toman meeting

As Baji arrived at the shrine he realized his hair was still in the messy braid and full of butterfly clips. He sighed as he decided the best way to prevent him tearing out his hair was to wait till he could take it down when he got home. With one last sigh, he made his way to the meeting ready to deal with the inevitable jokes to come.

"Nice butterflies dude, finally decided to spice up the look for once" Came the slightly teasing voice of Chifuyu as he noticed Baji had arrived.

The brunette just rolled his eyes and shoved the blonde's shoulder. Walking to his place towards the front of the meeting, ignoring all the comments being thrown his way.

When the meeting was dismissed it seemed all of the division captains decided to make their own jokes.

"I like the braid but the butterflies are too much. Maybe try a bow next time dude." Came Kazutora's jest at his best friend.

"Hook me up with your stylist, they did a great job" was shouted by Smiley as he laughed walking away with his twin.

Mikey even made a few comments about the look. But Baji just brushed the comments off, he had a fun afternoon sure it was what he had originally had planned but it was fun. The guys can make all the jokes they want.

#tokyo revengers x reader #x reader #baji keisuke #baji x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers baji #tokrev baji #baji keisuke x reader #gn!reader #fluff

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fun-k-board · 8 months

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Could you possibly write some dating headcanons for Ben Reilly?? He is such a himbo, I love him sm :D

Dating headcanons for ATSV Ben Reilly

Note(s) : The reader is a Spider from another universe!

I'm just gonna guess that you mean ATSV Ben! My bad if that's not the case, this might be OOC because I haven't seen the movie since it came out.

He feels like you're so strange and different to him, you don't speak out loud what your emotions are and that's so different from his universe, it's almost like a puzzle that Ben is desperate to solve, even if he can just ask you, audibly guessing is just that much more fun.

Ben isn't too smart with body language, in his universe, everybody says what they're feeling or doing, so if you're somebody who has very neutral expressions, he tends to get confused a lot and misinterpret your actions. He doesn't do this on purpose, and you can always correct him which he fully accepts.

Ben loves to give you things, usually it's a modified version of your web shooter, or maybe extra web fluid, if you're a spider that needs it, a gift that would benefit you and the missions you go on, but he also gives you matching clothing items.

While he'd never trade his blue hoodie for something else, don't even try it's not going to happen, he's willing to wear bracelets, rings, a new belt, etc, etc. Sometimes he makes them, which is usually from one of those crappy DIY bracelet kits, but usually they're one of those couple bracelets with magnets you can click together.

But he might wear a different hoodie for casual clothing, maybe on a date to another universe of one of your own, he's not a suit and tie, fancy dinner type of guy.

He's a clone of Peter, he's going to be broke.

Fully willing to give and receive PDA, the only times he won't is if you don't want to, he always says things audibly so you can know when he'll give you a hug or a kiss, and if you don't want one, then you can just say no or move away.

Ben despises beach dates, the sand gets everywhere, it triggers his spider sense whenever a beach ball gets near him, if you're in your universe or one that isn't like his, people stare when he narrates.

His ideal date is a pizza date, what does that entail? Either, you go to one of those places where you can customise your own pizza, or, you bake your own at home! He thinks it's fun to experiment with flavour and different kinds of pizza.

He just likes pizza, okay?

Specifically Hawaiian pizza.

Ben's a workout boyfriend, he's always lifting, fighting villains, or holding up a helicopter, he's buff, and he also likes to carry you. It doesn't matter how heavy you are, or if you're not heavy at all, he's strong enough to carry you wherever or whenever.

He gets sad whenever you have a mission and he's not paired with you, and vice versa for when he's on a mission and not with you. Sometimes he calls you mid fight, which means either one of you is running from a villain and being all 'awh, I love you!(⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡' but then a metal tentacle crushes your watch because you were distracted.

Let's hope Miguel finds your or Ben before your atoms dissolve.

Ben isn't too panicked when you're hurt, it all depends on how you're reacting, even if you've broken all of your bones, if you're chill, so is he. Obviously, he's always concerned, and you'll hear 'my beloved is injured, they're hurt and I can't do anything! But I must stay strong, so they can.' But besides that, he's cool.

Speaking of, he has a lot of harrowing memories, and while he doesn't rely on you, he will occasionally seek comfort. Ben will usually just sob into your shoulder for a few hours, and after that, will probably cuddle you and trap you into a snuggle buddy situation, not like you're complaining.

Whenever you're sad, he won't expect you to come to him, but he'll accept you with open arms if you do. Whether you just want to cuddle, or have him in the same room, or if you just want comfort food, or a drink, or whatever. He's fine with whatever you want, and he'll provide whatever you want.

Within reason, obviously.

Ben isn't dumb, yes, he's a bit clueless and tends to get distracted, but he's incredibly smart when it comes to fighting, and he was previously a teacher, (I think, correct me if I'm wrong) so he's completely capable of being a smart ass if you get something wrong. Not in a mean way, just a corrective 'uhm, well actually 🤓' type of way?

He likes to have double dates! Whether Peter is with MJ, or Gwen, or whoever Peter Parker managed to rizz up, given that Peter is sort of like his brother, he likes to spend time with him, and he also likes spending time with you.

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herrscherrofyatta · 1 year

Text

Let you not break my heart again

Tighnari x Reader (one sided), Albedo x Reader

cw: angst, no gender/pronouns are used to describe reader (if there is one I probably missed it during editing!!) reader is described to have medium ish hair along with an earring, cursing, Tighnari is kinda ooc

summary: upon spending a few more days with the rangers, you heard from Collei that Tighnari took Haypasia to Pardis Dhyai so you head over there, not knowing that it would be the last time you'll see Tighnari for a long time.

any errors I'll fix later !!!

A week has passed since Albedo returned to Mondstadt alone while you stayed behind to make sure Collei was well enough to travel due to her sickness acting up again.

You know how to take care of the girl, being with Tighnari when she arrived at your doorstep with Cyno, wearing his long, black cloak, one he used when traveling out of Sumeru.

Today, you sat with Collei outside, smiling at her as she talks to you about the books she was reading when the traveler and Paimon suddenly arrived, clearly out of breath.

You thought nothing of it until Lumine got closer, blood coming from a cut on her arm is what got you alarmed. Standing up, you rushed over to her and she seemed surprised to see you.

"Lumine! What happened? You're hurt, come," you gesture to the chair you were just in, "take a seat while I get a first aid kit for your injuries—" you pause in your words, remembering that you can heal her.

Seems like you said that out of habit, kneeling down in front of her, she looks at you confused until she sees your vision beginning to glow as you close your eyes, remembering your training.

The blonde feels a soft, gentle breeze surrounding her, relaxing her as she noticed a mark on your forehead glowing slightly, becoming more visible the longer you kneeled there, eyes closed.

She feels more relaxed, less exhausted than she was before as she looks down to her arm to see the cut gone, the wind slowly dispersing as you look up at her, smiling, "do you feel better?" You ask and she nods.

Surprised, "you....healed me?" Nodding your head, standing up as she examines her arm, nothing.

"Wow, I didn't know you were a healer, did Albedo show you?" She lets go of her arm, standing up and you shake your head.

"No, it runs in my family but I was kept from expanding my knowledge but Albedo helped me." She can't help but smile how happy you looked, compared to the last time she saw you. You looked different, in a good way, more open knowledge about what was happening around you and the way you just brightened up while speaking.

It seems like her advice was a good for you.

She begins to explain what happened, getting ambushed by some eremites and how she was looking for Tighnari only for him not to be here.

You didn't even know he left for a reason, only now learning that he left with Haypasia, a scholar you knew, to Pardis Dhyai from Collei.

Making sure that Paimon wasn't hurt either, you and Collei watched as the pair left once more to find Tighnari.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Collei asks you, clearly worried for them as you shrug your shoulders.

"They'll be fine, Lumine knows how to handle herself. Also," you look at the girl, "do you think we can leave anytime soon, if you don't, that's fine I don't want to pressure you."

Collei smiled, "I feel better, Master Tighnari said I should be good to go soon." Returning the smile, you nod, "alright, the moment he says you're good we leave as soon as possible. Luckily the festival in Mondstadt lasts about two or three weeks depending."

You remember Albedo's words, "you'll get to see Amber again and meet some of her friends as well."

—

'Master Tighnari, he's....in love with you.' You look at Collei shocked before looking away.

'Collei, don't say those things. I know you don't want me leaving this place but I—making things up isn't going to change my mind —'

'I'm telling the truth!' She yells, 'Master Tighnari was the reason you left in the first place, he told me himself a week after you left. It took some time he said he was in love with you and he didn't see it until—'

Crossing your arms, you look down, closing your eyes tight, 'you weren't around anymore.'

Standing up from the bed, your back facing her as you grit your teeth, 'it's not fair for him to say that after all this time. After all he's done.'

Collei frowns at this, eyes narrowing down with sadness as she sees how your shoulder trembles, 'he wasn't —' you let out a shaky sigh, 'i was in love with him for the longest time but he threw that all away, he had his chance and yet, now that I—'

Collei stands up, placing a hand on your shoulder, comforting you, 'I can't, not anymore.' She sits you down as you look up at her, her hand on your arm, 'I'm happy where I am now.'

'Then.....tell that to Master Tighnari.' You blink at this, tears blurring your vision, 'and if he doesn't understand, it's your life and you should choose what you want to do.'

The rain soaked your whole body from head to toe as you breathe in and out heavily, hearing the sounds of a fight going on, you hurry into Pardis Dhyai only to find the Fatui fighting Tighnari and another woman.

Luckily, the Fatui hadn't noticed you due to the sudden sounds of lightning so it was easy enough to sneak up on them. Just as you hid behind on one that was closer to you, a yell if your name is heard, alarming the Fatui.

"Y/n! Don't!" Tighnari yells as the Fatui turns to look at you, wasting no time to attack as you dodge their swings aimed at you.

"Behind you!" The woman next to Tighnari yells, luckily her warning helped you block at the electric hammer with the sword you summoned before jumping back, stumbling on your legs as you slid to where your friend stood.

"You lummox! That was dangerous to do!" Tighnari yells as you get back on your feet, wiping the rain drops from your face, although it didn't help at all.

"I was trying to help but you blew my cover." You growl back at him, glaring at him as he does the same. The woman he was with looks over at you, "hey guys, I know you're both mad but we have a fight to finish."

You look away from the fox, getting a better look at her. Immediately recognizing her from the city sometimes.

"Y/n, stay back. We'll deal with this." Tighnari pushes you behind him but you fight back, pushing him back, holding your sword up.

"No way, I can fight—"

"No, you'll get hurt -"

"I can't just stand back and watch, I can help too." Just as Tighnari was about to protest, the tan-skinned woman backs you up, holding her claymore in position.

"They're right, the more help we get the better." You look at her and she smiles at you, sending you a wink before looking back at the Fatui.

As the three of you fought back, one of the fatui enemies snuck up behind you without anyone noticing, raising the hammer over their head and just before it made an impact on the back of your head, a bolt of lightning rushed down.

"Y/n!?" Tighnari yells in panic as you and Fatui with the hammer fall to the floor, this gives the others an opportunity to strike you down but when they get close, lightning hits them, making them cry out in pain.

Just as you think it's over and they'll retreat, another bolt of lightning strikes down and Tighnari lets out a groan of pain, lifting your head, your eyes widened to see him hunched over, body shaking as he struggles to breathe.

"Tighnari!" You scream, scraping your knees while pushing yourself up, rushing over to him as he's still losing in pain as you kneel beside him. Hand hovering his back, "don't, you'll get electrocuted as well." He looks at you with one eye open.

The woman, whose name you don't know yet, watches as the Fatui retreat before walking over to you two, "let's get inside."

Despite Tighnari's warning, you help him, feeling bolts of lightning going through your body but ignoring the pain, wrapping his arm over your shoulder to help him walk over inside.

Lumine and Paimon run out, "what happened!?" Paimon asks as Lumine helps you with Tighnari. Setting him down, he groans, sitting on the floor as you look over to the woman.

"Thank you."

She smiles, "no need to thank me. My name's Dehya." She reaches her hand out to you.

"Y/n, it's nice to meet you." You shake her hand.

"It's nice to meet you too, Cyno talked about a while back, said if we ever get injured we can come to you." You nod, your hand returning to your side.

Lumine and Dehya talk between themselves as you sit down in front of Tighnari, looking over his injured self, "I'll heal you, although the scars wouldn't be healed." You tell him, "look, I get you were trying to protect me but I know how to handle myself. I was taught well by Albedo and the other knights in such a short time, don't worry about me." You frown at him, but he refuses to look at you.

"Give me your hands." You gesture your hands and he finally looks at you, confused all over his face.

"So I can heal you." You plead, waiting for him to give you his hands to hold. His eyes search your eyes but he scoots away from you, making his decision as your face does at this.

"Tighnari, please, let me help you....for once, please."

You beg, "no, I'll be fine."

"Tighnari..." You sigh, standing up, feeling dejected, giving him another look before walking up to Lumine and Dehya.

"Are you hurt anywhere? I can heal you." The two shake their heads.

Dehya looks past you, eyes staring at Tighnari who continues to suffer in pain and puts a hand on her hip, "what about him?" Shaking your head, rubbing your arm as she frowns. "I see, I never expected him to be stubborn, anyways, when the rain and lightning cease, I'll be head back to meet up with Candace. I'll be waiting with everyone else." Lumine nods at this.

You stood there, not really paying attention to their conversation, not noticing Lumine giving you a side glance.

She finds you sitting down away from everyone else, messing with your vision until you notice her. Sitting up straight, you give her a forced smile. "Hey." You greet her.

"Hey, mind if I sit down?"

She smiles when you gesture to the side, sitting down, she sighs, "I wanted to talk about something. It might be related to what happened out there." She begins to explain, "have you ever met someone with short, indigo hair and wearing Inazuman style clothes?"

You think back, "um, there was someone I came across who looked injured, out of it I suppose. Never asked for his name, back then, I practiced cleansing and healing without Tighnari knowing. Ended up healing this guy, he matches the description, why?" You give her a confused look as she connects the puzzle.

She says that the guy you helped turned out to be a Harbinger, number 6th to exact and the lightning raining down outside was caused by him. In a way, he paid what he owned you.

"What's his name?"

"Scaramouche, he's very dangerous."

—

Waving goodbye to Lumine, you go back inside, finding Tighnari still hunched over and it began to worry you. Approaching him, you noticed that he was asleep so you quick and quiet began to heal him.

It seems to go well until he opens his eyes upon feeling this soft relief, but to his horror he sees you, with eyes closed and a focused look on your face. Faint marks on your face as you did so, only for him to raise a hand up, pushing you back to the floor.

"What the hell?! You need help!" You yell, the marks still on your face as you glare at him.

"I can patch myself up, don't use that. I already told you the consequences...what happened to him—"

"You don't think I know! We were both there, I know the consequences, Tighnari. I know them god dammit, stop treating me like a child!"

"You don't know any better, this will get you killed, you witnessed it firsthand. I'm trying to make sure it doesn't happen to you too!"

You stand up, "my abilities, I'm getting better at them. For fuck sakes, I healed a Fatui Harbinger months ago and I didn't know jackshit back then, now, with Albedo's help, he helped me unlock things I didn't know I was capable of—"

"Like using your energy and lifespan to cleanse, heal, all that stuff. That's what got him killed."

You turn around, gripping your fists, gritting your teeth, "I just want you to understand, I'm not like him, he had to figure it out all on his own....I have people, friends, who have experience in these things, unlike him. He walked so I could run with this, he lit up the torch and now I have to continue on this. That's what you missed back then, those were his final words, Tighnari. Every single time I fought with you was because that's what he wanted. I'm not someone who needs to be the damsel in distress, I want to make my own path, one that's clearly different from yours."

Glancing over to Haypasia, "....do you want to leave?"

Your eyes cast downwards, your silence was enough for him, "then leave." Your eyes widen at his harsh tone, looking up at him slowly.

"and don't come back." He glares at you.

With each step, your legs felt heavy, finally arriving back to get Collei and leaving immediately for Mondstadt. But your legs give up, as you choke up a sob, tears rolling down your face, gripping your coat and crying quietly.

Sniffing as you remember Tighnari's words, don't ever let me see your face again,' wiping your eyes as you stumble to get up. Arriving at Collei's room, you find her asleep and so you slump down against the wall, burying your face in your knees.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this." You mumble.

The next morning came quickly, spending the whole night sitting there in your misery at the thought of losing your best friend since childhood. Collei seems energetic, jumping up and down to leave while you maintain a good facade towards her, not wanting to ruin her excitement over an argument that didn't include her.

"Did Master Tighnari say I was well enough?" She asks, giving her a smile, you nod but she frowns at the sight of bags under your eyes.

"When we get to Mondstadt, make sure to get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay, come, we shouldn't waste daylight." She says goodbye to the ranger and the two of you begin to walk out, stopping in your tracks, you stand there, quiet.

And without looking back, you continue on, a gentle breeze swaying the coat behind you, a smile plastered on your face while looking down at Collei, taking in her words.

'I'll be fine.'

Tighnari looks down at the pile of photos in front of him, staring at one that caught his attention, one that was taken back in his Akademiya days.

Picking it up, he stares, it was a picture of the h/c haired and him, both wearing their uniform, as usual, he had his uninterested expression on his face while you had a bright smile.

'Thank you....for everything. Goodbye, Tighnari.'

A single tear rolls down his face, the droplet of water straining the picture in his hand, his hand covering his face as his ears flop down.

"What have I done?"

A/n: Well, this series is just done, well Tighnari's story is, now onto Albedo's story, although I don't know when I'll update this story since I'll be waiting for more Albedo content.

Also the one shot I posted for Tighnari's birthday follows up to this so go read that. That's about it, thank you everyone for the support on this series! Until the next update ^^

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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