#*shaking my whirl figure* TELL ME I KNOW YOU HAVE THE ANSWER

[polyhexing]

He's been sitting in the same spot for days. Hunched over. Silent. A rubix cube with one side solved in his claws. A betting pool has formed on how much longer he lasts before he breaks the cube and starts shooting. Murmurs among the crowd are already comparing this to the Bop It Incident.

[whateveriwant]

Choice

Summary: Simon forces you to choose. Him, your husband… or the other man he found in your bed.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: ANGST

A/N: Forgive me.

“Simon!” you gasp, bolting upright in bed.

There, darkening the doorway to your bedroom, stands your beloved husband. You thought you'd spotted something lurking in the shadows of your periphery, but rather than it being a mere figment of your imagination like you'd hoped, you've come to find out that's not at all the case.

Simon’s brows are knitted tightly together, the lines framing the sides of mouth deepening as he begins to scowl. “Fuckin’ knew it,” he grits out. “Knew you were a fuckin’ liar.” His eyes flit back and forth between you and the figure lying beside you in bed, and if looks could kill, you'd both be six feet under.

“Simon, no, wait–!” You're quick to shoo the other male from your bed even as your husband storms away. Jumping to your feet, you chase after him, tugging your shirt into place from where it had ridden up. Simon’s just reached the living room when you manage to catch up with him. “Simon, please just–”

“When will enough be enough?” he cuts you short as he whirls around to confront you. You've never seen such anger rippling from him before, and it makes you recoil, stopping dead in your tracks. “When's it gonna end, huh? You promised me you were gonna fuckin’ stop this.”

“I-I-I know I did, Simon,” your voice trembles under the weight of your shame.

He's right. After the last time, you’d told him that was it, that it would never happen again.

So much for keeping your promise.

“I'm– I'm so sorry,” you try to offer him, for whatever it may be worth.

Apparently, it's worth very little as he proceeds to scoff right in your face.

“You’re ‘sorry’?” His expression pinches to show how he takes offense to that apology. “That’s three times this month I've caught you. Three. Let alone how many other times I'm sure have been behind my back.”

Again, he’s right on the target. You’ve been dishonest with your husband, been deceiving him more times than you can even remember at this point. Though you're in no place to feel as if you're the one that's been hurt in this situation, you can't help how his biting words feel like daggers plunging right into your stomach.

Simon sighs and brings a hand up to rub his forehead, the self-soothing gesture doing nothing to soften the lines creasing his skin. After a while, he asks, “Why?” his voice much calmer than it was a moment ago. “Why d’you keep doin’ this? Lyin’? Sneakin’ around?”

When he drops his hand to look at you again, you can see how quickly his emotions have shifted from fury to sorrow. The sight of his grief almost wrenches your heart in two, and you swallow the lump in your throat, your own emotions threatening to spill forth and choke you.

“I… I don't know,” you tell him, yet another lie.

You know the truth behind your actions, the real reason you can't break this bad habit. It's because you're selfish; because you're spineless; because you're fucking weak.

Your answer, the unconvincing slop that is, isn't good enough for Simon, and his shoulders rise in a show of perplexity. “Am I not treatin’ you right? I've been withholdin’ from you? Is that it?”

You're shaking your head before he even finishes the inquiry. “No, Simon. It's nothing like that,” you say.

“Well then, explain it to me.” He tosses a hand into the air, the frustration in his tone palpable. “Because I'm tryin’ to understand what makes him so bloody special. What is it about him that makes you treat me like a fuckin’ afterthought?”

“I don't–!” you begin, the accusation immediately putting you on the defense. But then you pause and intake a deep breath, trying to rein yourself back in. The last thing you want is to strike a match against this highly combustible conversation. If ignited, this powder keg runs the risk of taking you both out with it.

You take another moment to collect yourself before releasing an audible exhale. “Yes, he means a lot to me–”

“Oh, well, I'm bloody well aware of that, thank you.”

You ignore the derisive comment as you continue, “–but you're my husband, Simon. At the end of the day, I always want you,” you emphasize. You can feel a stitch forming between your brows as they slowly pull together. “I know you're upset with me – and I understand, truly – but I… I-I just…” your voice trails off as you consider your next words.

You know what you want to say, what niggling thought you want to express. But you're not sure if voicing it aloud is the right move to take. You're trying to cool down the tension here, not potentially add fuel to the fire.

But as Simon prompts, “What?” you realize there's no backing out of it now.

You sigh. “I just think you're blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”

The way your husband's eyes immediately widen tell you it was probably better to have kept your mouth shut.

“Blowin’ thi–?!” Simon blinks wildly in disbelief, his anger from earlier surging back tenfold. His voice is venomous as he spits, “I catch you lyin’ to me, catch you continuously goin’ behind my back.” He points an accusatory finger in the direction of your bedroom. “I catch you with that filthy shite in our bed–”

“Hey, don't call–”

“–see him lyin’ there, sleepin’ on my fuckin’ pillow, and you think I'm ‘blowin’ this out of proportion’?!” he's fully shouting now, his volume having risen alongside his fury. Simon lets out a dry chuckle that's entirely devoid of humor. “Do you even hear yourself? Do my feelings mean nothin’ to you anymore? Do you– Do you even really love me?” his voice peaks as a wave of despair washes over him.

“Wha–?” Now it's your turn to blink wildly as you're caught off guard by that last sentence. “Of– Of course I do, Simon! Of course.” How can he even ask you such a thing?

“You just love him more, then, right?” The question stings like a punch to the gut.

You shake your head vehemently, asserting, “No. No, of course not!” even as you feel a twinge of guilt pricking the base of your skull.

Just as you're slightly skeptical of your own words, so too is Simon, and he brushes you off with a, “Pssh, right.”

The heightened emotions of the last several minutes persist even as you and your husband lapse into a tense silence.

As you stand there, you watch as Simon begins to harshly run both hands through his hair, not sure what you should say – if there's anything to say in this moment. Though you and he have had this same argument more times than you'd like to admit, something about this time felt different to you, felt like there were higher stakes in the mix. And as you reflect on the quarrel, you can't help how one line in particular sticks out in your mind. ‘You just love him more, then, right?’ he'd accused, bluntly, bitterly.

The idea is ridiculous to you, loving someone else more than your own husband. It sounds like something only a fool could believe.

But if that's the case, why did Simon say it so assuredly?

And why does the thought of it make your stomach clench like there could be some truth behind the claim?

After another few moments of him tugging at his roots, Simon releases a billowy breath. He briefly closes his eyes and shakes his head to himself, before dropping his hands back down by his sides.

“I don't know how much longer I can keep this up,” his voice sounds as exhausted as his body looks. As he peels his lids open to once more lock with your gaze, you feel your own eyes narrowing in your confusion.

“What do you mean?” you ask, voice quiet, timid.

“I mean you need to choose,” he tells you. “Me or him.”

That statement has you balking, the cords that hinge your jaw shut practically snapping. “Si, you– you're not serious.” This has to be some kind of sick joke, right?

“I am.” He nods resolutely. “I can't keep doin’ this – goin’ back and forth with you, wonderin’ if you're really all here with me or not,” he says, frowning. “So you need to choose. Right now. Me… or him.”

It's like you've just witnessed your worst fears materialize before you. Simon, your loving husband, has just asked you to do something that was once completely inconceivable to you. He's asked you to make a world-altering choice: pick between him and someone else.

The decision should be easy – should be obvious – and yet, you find yourself frozen, unable to speak the words you know you should say.

Simon is your husband, the first and greatest love of your life. But this other man he's making you choose between is… well, he's something else to you entirely.

When you're having a rough day and feel like the world is collapsing in around you, he's the first one you want to run to when you need a shoulder to cry on. And conversely, when you're feeling on top of the world, feeling so high up you could reach out and touch the clouds, he's the one you want to call so you can share your joy.

From the moment you met him, you knew he was one of a kind. He's got a smile that could rival a thousand suns, a kiss that could warm the coldest of nights, and the way he looks at you – like you hold the entirety of his universe in the palm of your hand – you think it could keep your heart beating long after it's chosen to stop.

He's your best friend, your other half of a whole, your personal ray of sunshine that cuts through all the gloomy rain. Simon is your husband, yes, that’s true. But this other man is your soulmate, and you know that however long you both shall live, you will love each other until you take your final breaths.

Tears start to bead in your eyes as the answer to your predicament reveals itself to you. And as Simon eventually pushes, “Well? Who's it gonna be?” you know there's only one thing you can tell him.

“Him,” you mutter, feeling the first tear spill over. “H-Him, Simon. Him. I choose… him.”

It's like the planet ceases to spin for a moment as your choice floats in the air like a ghost. At first, you think Simon must assume you're bluffing, what with the way he has no immediate reaction to your response. But as the silence stretches between you and you've yet to renounce your decision, you watch as the realization hits him like a slug to the chest.

Simon's face falls, the color zapping from his skin, and as his eyes start to shine with tears, you find your cheeks flooding with your own.

Simon blinks rapidly, his nostrils flaring as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. His brow furrows like he wants to say something – to argue something – but when he opens his mouth to speak, no words escape. He closes his mouth for a second but then opens it again soon after, once more nothing leaving him but the sound of his breath.

Open then shut, open then shut, he repeats the cycle over and over again, never once managing to get a word out. Finally, after several minutes of waging an internal battle with himself, Simon eventually lets out a low sigh of defeat.

“Then go,” he mutters, gaze falling to the floor. “Just… Just go.”

Your own heart shatters at seeing the pain you've caused your husband. But you can't take back what you've said now, and even if you could, you both know it'd be a lie.

Thus, all you can offer him is a whispered, “I'm sorry.” Any louder and your voice would break from the strain of your cries.

The room falls quiet again as you both let everything sink in. Simon, your husband, the man you'd promised forever to, just put his heart on the line, practically flayed himself open for you… and you didn't choose him.

“I'm sorry,” you say again because you don't know what else there is to do.

Simon waves your apology off with a dismissive hand, still refusing to meet your eye.

Over the next few moments, you continue to sob softly, the sounds of your sniffles puncturing the otherwise quiet house. After a while, you feel the faucet behind your eyes gradually slow to a trickle, and you wipe your face with the back of your shaky hands, swallowing down the last of your tears.

You take another minute or so to compose yourself, still standing before your forlorn husband. Once you feel somewhat well again, you clear your throat, then tip your head back to let out a short, high whistle.

Almost immediately, you hear the telltale noise of feet moving against the hardwood floor. Then, not a beat later, you see the man you'd just chosen rounding the corner to the living room.

“Come here, pup-pup. Come here,” you encourage Riley, your fourteen month old shepherd-mix, forward.

Like the good boy he is, Riley trots closer at your beckoning. But before he reaches you, he makes a pitstop by Simon, shoving his cold, wet nose into the man's empty palm.

Riley gives him a couple boops to the hand, politely asking him for pets. And Simon, for his part, despite still being obviously disgruntled, obliges and gives him a brief, dispassionate rub to the snout.

Having received his desired scritches, Riley then continues over to you, and you crouch down so you can meet him at his level.

“You wanna go cuddle with me some more? Yeah? Do you?” you pitch your voice up in that babyish way Simon pretends to hate.

Riley, however, absolutely loves it, and his tail wags back and forth in a way that says he's all too eager to agree.

“Okay, let's go!” You wave him after you as you take off down the hall.

As you both walk back to the bedroom you'd been occupying earlier, you hear Simon speaking behind you, muttering angrily to himself.

“Mangy fuckin’ mutt. Knew he was gonna be trouble,” he murmurs as he makes up a spot for himself on the couch. “First he steals my bed, then he steals my cuddles, next he'll be stealin’ my fuckin’ car…” his voice peters out the further away you walk.

“Don't mind your daddy. He's just being grumpy as usual,” you stage whisper to Riley as you approach the door to your bedroom.

Letting yourself inside, Riley quickly follows after. You shut the door and then waltz over to the bed, patting the empty space beside you as you settle in.

Swiftly, Riley jumps up to join you, taking the side normally reserved for your husband. He moseys all the way up the mattress until he reaches Simon's pillow, where he proceeds to lay down.

You roll onto your side and start to pet him, scratching that spot behind his ears you know he loves. As you do, you see that infectious smile of his slowly take shape, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as his eyes drift closed.

The sight of him so content makes your own lips upturn into a smile. He is so sweet, so perfectly innocent, that it makes your heart want to burst inside your chest.

And as you continue to cuddle Riley, making little kissy noises in his ear, you know you made the right choice as you grin and ask him, “Who's my favorite boy?”

__________

A/N: April Fools! Hope I didn't break your heart too much lmao!

As always, I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36

Eddie’s heart thumps oddly once again, this time because Steve had used his name. He’d already become used to Eds. He ignores it and spreads his hands. “I’m willing to accept whatever you’ll give me,” he says quietly. “I’m still groveling, here, I’m not exactly in a position to be making demands.”

Steve smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and Eddie hates it. “That’s the thing, though. It’s complicated. I don’t know how to define it.”

Eddie hums. “We’re slightly to the left of best friends.”

Steve snickers. “That’s pretty spot-on, actually.”

Eddie shrugs and grins, feeling oddly proud of himself for figuring it out and making Steve smile.

They stand in silence for a minute until Alli pops her head out of the kitchen. “Are you two gonna kiss again? Or is now a good time to offer food?”

Steve snorts and pitches forward to rest his forehead against Eddie’s shoulder. “Al, you’re awful.”

“You love me,” she responds immediately, grinning at Eddie.

Eddie grins back and pokes at Steve’s arm. “She’s offering us food, Stevie, I’m inclined to say yes.”

Steve chuckles before leaning back to smile at Eddie. “Yeah, alright,” he decides, “I could eat.”

Eddie reaches out, links their hands, silently offers Steve an out.

He doesn’t take it, instead grips Eddie’s hand more surely, and something in Eddie’s chest settles.

They walk into the kitchen, hand-in-hand, and Steve grins and shakes his head when Alli starts cooing at them. “Yeah, okay,” he says, then, seemingly out of nowhere, “Hey, you should invite Cassidy over soon.”

Eddie looks between the siblings as they have a silent conversation mostly consisting of eyebrows and head tilts that ends with Steve grinning and Alli shaking her head, trying to hide a smile. “So,” Steve says, “what did you make?”

Alli chuckles and hops up backwards onto the counter by the stove. “Mac and cheese.”

“Ooh,” Steve says, instantly intrigued. He lets go of Eddie’s hand to peer into the pot. “With the good cheese?”

“With the good cheese,” Alli agrees.

Steve whirls around to grin at Eddie. “You’re gonna love this,” he says, “Alli makes the best mac and cheese.”

Eddie grins. “I dunno, Stevie, I think my uncle’s boxed mac might have her beat.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head as he gets three bowls out. He tilts his head towards a drawer. “There’s forks in there, can you grab some?”

Eddie does so, and just as they’re finishing serving themselves, someone opens the front door.

“Steve?” A voice calls. “You home?”

Steve sighs and puts his bowl down. “The little shit,” he mutters, moving out into the living room. “Dustin, what are you doing here?”

The answer is too quiet for Eddie to hear, so he eats his food and eyes Steve’s bowl. Alli laughs at him. “Don’t even think about it,” she says seriously, “Steve’s fought me for less.” Eddie gives her his best innocent who, me? look, and she grins at him. “Oh, you’re gonna be trouble. I like you.”

His grin turns smaller, shyer. “Thank you for not kicking my ass on sight, earlier,” he murmurs.

She grins and nudges his shoulder with her fist. “Steve’s tough. He doesn’t need me to protect him.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says, “but it’s still nice to have someone in your corner.”

“Oh,” she murmurs suddenly. “I forgot.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Forgot what?”

“The stories. ‘Bout why you’re here, in Forest Hills, ‘stead of wherever he is.”

She says he in a way that Eddie knows she knows exactly what’s meant by those two little letters. He swallows a lump. “Yeah,” he murmurs back. “‘S why I know.”

She smiles at him. “Your… uncle, right?”

Eddie smiles back. “Yeah. Wayne. He’s… he’s pretty great.”

Alli rests a hip on the counter. “Tell me about him?”

Stomach full of food, safe and warm and happy in this house, with the sound of his maybe-boyfriend scolding his pseudo-younger brother in the other room, Eddie grins and hops up onto the counter. “Gladly.”

Towards the end of his story, Steve comes huffing into the kitchen, making a beeline for the phone. He punches a number in and waits. “Hi, Mrs. Buckley,” he says politely. “Is Robin home?” He listens for a moment, says, “Okay, thank you,” and hangs up, turning to Eddie. “What’s your number?”

Eddie blinks before grinning, and Steve good-naturedly rolls his eyes. “Not like that, you ass,” he chuckles. Eddie relents and rattles off the numbers, and Steve punches those in before waiting again. “Hi, Mr. Munson,” Steve says. Eddie mouths the words and makes a face, and Alli snorts at him. “Is Robin there still?” A pause, then, “Ah,” as his cheeks pinken. “Yes, sir. He did.” Another few seconds later, “Hey. The little shit found Dart.” He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “That’s the thing, though, is it did help. He fuckin’ domesticated the thing.” A laugh, then, “well I’m not gonna tell him.” A squawk, “I am not his-” he cuts off abruptly and pulls the phone from his ear to frown at it. “She hung up on me!”

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[bau-drabbles]

a/n: angst to fluff w hotch. idk i felt sad 🫡 it's very rushed my bad

the house was dark and still as you entered with the key he specially gave you. the night air was calm and for a second, you rest your forehead against the front door of aaron hotchner. lately it had been a constantly whirl of turmoil, never truly knowing where you stood with him. but he called tonight, trying to remain calm but you could sense the pure sadness practically dripping with every word he spoke. you almost rushed to be here with him and now that you were here, your heart felt weirdly empty.

turning the lock from the key he gave specially to you, you enter his humble abode. there's a scent of freshness in his home mixed with the sandalwood candles he has on his counter-tops. on your right, a digital clock reads 2am. you don't even know yourself why you're here but you venture forwards, careful not to make any loud sounds.

he didn't tell you specifically where he'd be and for a moment you contemplate going home. until you hear a rustle in the office followed by pages turning. figures, he never stopped working even at home

you made your way to the door, unsure of what to even say. it was different seeing him at work than at night. he was always so confident during the day, so determined to get the unsub. but at night was when you could see the little cracks in him, the vulnerability he tried to hard to lock away. all the dear characteristics you adore, you finally notice when it's the two of you alone.

"you came" hotch whispered, finally turning his eyes to you. they're filled with unshed tears, shining with the lights that reflect from outside. everything in you wants to hold him before the first tear drop but you hold yourself back, slowly nodding at his statement

and there you see him, by the window wistfully glancing outside. a half drunken tumbler glass is in his hands nursing the bottle of scotch beside him. you don't think he registered your presence until he lets out a breath, his voice hoarse as he speaks.

"you called" you answer softly, padding your way towards him. as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. you'd drop anything for him, whenever he needed you there you were. there you'd be.

"i-i'm sorry, i don't know what i was thinking..." he sniffs and offers you a glass but you shake your head no, sitting down on the desk beside him. joining him as you both looked onto the world, bathed in all its lights.

"is jack asleep?" you ask gently and he nods, setting down his glass.

"i almost envy the ability children have to fall into a deep sleep" he chuckles but there's not a drop of humour present in his voice. your heart aches for this man, clearly something has transpired tonight and you feel his pain as he tries to explain

"what happened?"

"nothing... everything.... something. i don't know anymore. i just don't feel in control of anything anymore..." his eyes never drift away from the window and yours follow, your heart breaking slowly for what he has had to deal with.

"given what you went through, it's natural to feel like that. you're human, hotch. life moves fast and it can be unpredictable, throwing your world upside down," you take a look at him and smile, shifting closer. "but this feeling will also pass. soon it'll feel nothing more than a small ache, i promise. your world may seem tilted on its axis right now but you'll regain the control again. you always have, you always will. and you always have me" you give him a small smile and he touches your hand with a tender touch.

"thank you" he whispers and you blink in confusion, raising your eyebrows slightly at the question

"thank you for being here. with me. i appreciate it. i appreciate you" his voice is sincere as his brown eyes twinkle, his thumb rubbing soft strokes on the back of your hand. you place your other hand on top of his, your face a couple inches away from his. here, you can see all the pain and sadness he hides on the daily. it makes you want to cry, to snatch every bad thing until he only ever knows happiness and love and light

"of course aaron" your thumb rubs soft circles around his knuckles. you both sit in comfortable silence, the stars dancing in the night sky as you both continue to look out from his house. the love surges off from both of you in waves and you both do nothing but bask in the light of it, for once no running to unsubs. no chaos, no tension, no anger, no frustration. just you and hotch, two people who are falling deeply for each other than they'd care to admit.

but that was tomorrows problem, you stay by his side. the smell of his gorgeous cologne drifting in the air and the sweetness of his touch tingling your skin, you smile to yourself.

it was beautiful, this was beautiful.

[titanicfreija]

Distractions

Sunny found the empress in the Hall of Heroes, standing tall at the doorway they normally started through. "You wanted to talk?" the Ghost asked sweetly.

Caiatl grunted and turned to lumber down the hallway, posture heavy and steps plodding. "I wanted you to talk. I am weary and would appreciate the company of a friend," she replied.

Sunny whirled around and wheeled. It was a relief that she knew Sunny needed the instructions, she must have been getting used to her habits.

"I have good news, then! We got to dig into Thomas's previous life, and Freija asked him about his history! Rex never told us! I have no idea wh-- actually, I do."

Caiatl's relief showed immediately, shoulders relaxing and weight resting on her heels. Her breath even slowed down.

Sunny figured she would only be half listening, but she was happy to have the audience, and even happier to be a relief to someone that needed it.

~

"So this roommate, of whom you speak quite lowly, was a Warlord?" the empress asked jovially.

"See, that's my favorite part about it-- he said no. He says no, but then every single time he tries to defend his point, he fails. He even gives up and says yes, but then if you say it later, he tries to say no again! I don't understand it. He said he wasn't proud of it, but he even thought about hiding it when they were talking about it!"

"They were not good times for your people. From the sound of it, he did not want to be a Warlord. I personally am on his side of this-- if he does not call himself a Warlord, regardless of his role played, he was not one. I am surprised to hear this. Was his skill always so limited?"

Sunny groaned and swept into a huge circle. "I don't even-- he's not big with his jump, which a lot of Guardians consider to be an important thing. He really is terrible at anything except clearing gaps with a good run-up on flat terrain. But he's fine on the ground. And he can shoot really well, I didn't even know that, and really, he's not bad, it's just that his Ghost is a jerk and he can't be bothered to put up with it enough to shake off the rust and gather some momentum!"

Caiatl grunted. "This Rex. Does he believe Thomas qualified as a Warlord?"

"You know, I don't know," Sunny mused. "Thomas did say he misses those days. Rex didn't say anything himself, he was grouchy that whole trip. He's jealous of me and Freija, they both are, no one is being secretive about knowing. They can't help it, and really, we can't either. The weirdest stuff can bother them, and sometimes I get it but other times I'm just confused."

"Their bond is...?"

"I don't know if you mean bond like the love I mean or like the connection Freija talks about."

"If you will clarify, I will accept any answer."

Sunny wondered briefly if the thing that connected a Ghost and Guardian could be disrupted at all. "The love like I mean, they're... Not in a good place. Rex gets spiteful and apparently won't heal under certain circumstances, and I did know he had problems with his scanner bandwidth range, but I didn't realize how bad, so even the few times he does help, he's not as helpful as, say, I am, just because he can't. Which... If he's been trying to make Thomas make up for things he can't do.... It's rough. They make me feel lucky. They make me feel lucky when we're fighting. But as far as I can tell, they're just as much Ghost and Guardian as Freija and I are. He's actually a great fighter, he really is. It's a shame."

Caiatl "hmphed". Something in it sounded amused. "This is an interesting account. I would not have imagined that a Guardian and their Ghost would be so at odds. It seems counterintuitive."

"People are people," Sunny sighed. "Even an obligatory mutual symbiont. Rex started it, but I think he started it out of something pathetic instead of something mean. Thomas might have been mean back, back then. He's so kind, now. If a little resentful, I can smell that without olfactory sensors."

"How old are they? How long ago was this rift formed between them?"

Sunny wheeled. "I have no idea. Thomas had indicated that it was the library, which means the Tower's formation a couple hundred years ago, but the story he told made it sound earlier than that."

"I would like to witness this discordance," Caiatl chuckled.

"I don't," grumbled Sunny. "They make me feel bad. Sometimes even a little guilty for being friends with Freija in front of them. The look on Thomas's face when I gave Freija her backpack before she asked for it.... I feel bad for Thomas sometimes because I know Rex just can't, but there's lots he can and won't. It's just... Sad."

"And yet he, like any other, kept a band of mortals," she chuckled. "Out of a sense of obligation, as I understand it. Was this Rex supportive?"

"I got a real keen sense that he wasn't." Sunny turned to see Caiatl's tusks bobbing thoughtfully. "I don't know. I literally can't imagine what would make me act like that at Freija. I know he thought he could drive Thomas into being more than he is, but he was mean about it. We've all tried to help, but Rex is too angry about being wrong to correct his mistake. And he gets to see where my incessant cheering on has gotten Freija, someone he considered to be far lesser than Thomas as long as he could get away with it, and that just makes him so angry."

"You seem to simultaneously pity and dislike this Rex. And yet you call him friend?"

"I can love someone I don't like," Sunny said. "I wish I could help them. Freija wants to, too, but neither of us know what to do. Rex is angry and wants to be angry. Thomas is.... Just.... He's so kind, patient, he loves Rex, I think. Feels sorry for him, too. I don't know. They... It's so weird. And sad."

Caiatl chortled and heaved a long sigh. "Somehow, it is a relief to know that even bonds so deep do not guarantee harmony. They do work together?"

"Only in combat. It's one thing Rex can do well, and it's what he wants to do. Thomas is good at it, too, as long as what you need is cover fire. His threadlings will dissolve Vex almost as fast as his needles can unmake them, and once he's linked the needles into his gun, he can send that magic everywhere. But he's not tough. And he's real bad about getting caught out, I think it's him and Rex both being bad at spatial awareness. He has to stay in the back. Rex hates it."

"This Thomas has aligned strongly with the Darkness?" Now the amusement turned to real interest. "Do you suppose there is a link between their weak relationship and his ability to use the Darkness? Does the Ghost facilitate the Darkness the same as the Light?"

Sunny wagged a "no". "Guardians are paracausal-- outside causality, able to break the rules of physics and create matter or manipulate the intangible forces of the universe. So it allows for manipulation of Darkness. I think. I don't know for sure. But anyway-- no, I really don't. Rex likes the Darkness, too, he says. He could just be saying it for effect, but he says Stasis feels minty and strand feels like to swimming in warm water, and he likes both of them. It's been a big relief to them both. We thought it would help them, but they're stuck in their ways. Rex refuses to help Thomas do anything but fight, and Thomas doesn't like fighting. He hates getting shot, he hates dying, and he doesn't like working with anyone at the same time as needing backup." She rolled in the air and wheeled her petals. "That's one thing he is jealous about, Freija is so stupid and headstrong and he would love Thomas to be so combat-ready. Thomas would, too, I think."

Caiatl chewed on that one, too. "Do you think he would be happier with her? Or a Guardian like her?"

Sunny wagged another negative. "I think he'd hate her and anyone else like her. He doesn't know what he wants. If he had Freija, if he tried to tell her to do anything, she'd fight with him first. Anyone like her would do the same. He can't be nice, and Freija doesn't respond well to authority."

Caiatl rumbled another laugh. "She responds to real authority well enough. She knows Rex is not her superior."

Sunny wanted to argue but then she remembered Neomuna. Yeah, fair enough.

"Do you feel a Guardian like Thomas would relieve you of the guilt you suffer for raising a soldier?"

"Eternally bound to the fight," she sighed. She hadn't considered it. "I would ... Probably feel like Rex. Like I wasn't doing enough. I like to think I wouldn't scare my Guardian away from me. I... I don't know what's wrong with Rex."

"You feel he is ungrateful?"

"He had Thomas for five hundred years before I found her and he was disappointed from the first day because he didn't want to get shot. I feel like it's blasphemy to be disappointed in your Guardian like he is. Something about it should feel wrong to him, if you ask me. I think it might and that's what makes him feel like that."

Caiatl chortled. "Is there a grander belief that one can blaspheme?"

Sunny didn't even think about it when she said it. "I mean.... Some of us think we were all created with a purpose and a single Guardian out there to find. Some of us think we happened by accident, tiny fragments of the Traveler trying to save ourselves, and the connections to the Chosen are happenstance, or are something else magical. Some of us think that we were created to fight, or defend humans. It varies by who you ask."

"Your personal belief?"

Sunny paused to consider it. She hadn't rethought it in a while. "Well, I believe that... We were created unintentionally. I also believe that no individual holds the spark for an individual Ghost. We have our Chosens, but to think that we were all created a thousand years ago to look for people that wouldn't be born, let alone die, for centuries..... Bodies decay. To think that anyone could miss their chance just because the body rotted... To think that the Traveler created some Ghosts to die... I don't think it did. Really, I don't think it did just because there's too many of us. I think it broke and we're just dust that came off it. I think the bodies we're drawn to call us, but I don't think it's any single one-- I think more than one holds our spark. But maybe not at a time, or maybe it's spread out until I feed the one that grows, like the one seed of three planted."

Caiatl silently considered this for a time, gazing ahead. She then smirked. "I do not envy your position. I would suffer many doubts, more than you, I think."

"I... Honestly, I don't know. It all comes down to the fact that, if we don't fight, there will be nothing left to fight for. And I have Freija, and she wants to fight, so fight we will. Terrifying as that is."

"Your courage is seen," Caiatl promised.

"Your strength is, too, but remember that you have to rest," Sunny said, seeing the light fade in her eyes. "Do you sleep? You should probably sleep."

Her weight rocked back to her heels and her face plate shifted as her tusks lifted. Her eyelids still drooped. "We sleep. I will. I am glad to see you. I will entertain you, next time." Caiatl put a fist to her chest and bowed, an unusually stuffy gesture.

Sunny nudged the tip of her helmet. She was pretty sure it was the first time she touched the empress, even that little bit. Caiatl chuckled as she drew back to her full height.

"You must be tired, defaulting to formality like that," the Ghost observed. "See if Nimbus will hide you for an hour or so?"

"I will steal the sleep I can," she promised. "How is your Guardian?"

"Standing ground with fire and hammer," Sunny said. "It can be so beautiful, even amongst the horror."

"Her fires are indeed," agreed Caiatl. "I look forward to our next meeting. Farewell.

@wolvereaux. @annieruok94

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Against the Tide - Five

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Four | Next Chapter: Six

Summary:

"I don't know," she says tiredly, throwing her hands up in frustration. "I don't know what this is. I don't know what anybody is thinking anymore, and I'm tired of trying to figure it out. I'm tired of not measuring up to anyone's expectations and being some colossal disappointment to everyone."

"I can't ever recall bein' disappointed by you," he grins. "And I certainly don't have expectations."

Read on AO3

Grimmjow has been watching her put away stock for a while now, leaning up against the wall just inside the doorway with his hands in his pockets the way he always does. When he speaks, Olivia jumps a little - he’s been so quiet and she’s been so engrossed in her own thoughts that she’s forgotten he’s there. 

“Is it true?”

“Huh?” She turns to him. 

“Is it true?” He asks again, pushing himself off of the wall and crossing the short distance between them. 

Her eyes fall to the sack of potatoes at her feet. “Is what true?” 

Grimmjow bends, hoists the sack in his arms, and sets it on the shelf it belongs on. “You and that rich bastard,” he says, much more casually than she’s expecting for what he’s asking her. 

Just for a moment, she considers letting her mouth form a lie. It would be so easy to tell him that Silvio’s earlier words were borne out of hatred and spite, to tell him that there never has and never will be anything between her and the prince. 

She isn’t sure why she feels like she owes Grimmjow the truth. 

“It was a long time ago,” she says quietly. “And it was a mistake.” 

“What kinda mistake are we talkin’?” 

“I don’t know what that means, Grimm.” 

He closes the last bit of distance between them, and she looks up. “Was it a, ‘oh shit, I got drunk one night and fell into his bed’ kinda mistake? Or was it some other kind?” 

She looks dubiously at him. “What other kind would there be?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugs. “Maybe the kind where you ended up feelin’ some type of way about him… like he really meant somethin’ to you.” 

He doesn’t miss the way her lips twitch slightly, even though she says nothing. “Well,” he starts after a moment. “Guess that answers my question.”

“What happened between us is ancient history,” she asserts. “I told you, it was a long time ago, and he…” She pauses. “He doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.” 

He doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t think it will do either of them any good to call her out on her lie. “Oh?” He says. “And what about me?”  

Olivia laughs. “What about you?” 

He doesn’t share in her laughter. His eyes are serious, focused only on her. “What do I mean to you?” 

“You--” She cuts herself off, confusion in her expression. “I don’t know how to answer that either,” she says slowly. “Why are you asking me that?” 

“Maybe I’m wonderin’ if I’ve got a shot,” he shrugs again. “I ain’t a rich prince, but I do alright for myself.” 

She shakes her head. “Don’t… treat me like one of your hired girls.” 

“Is that what you think this is?” 

“I don’t know,” she says tiredly, throwing her hands up in frustration. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what anybody is thinking anymore, and I’m tired of trying to figure it out. I’m tired of not measuring up to anyone’s expectations and being some colossal disappointment to everyone.” 

“I can’t ever recall bein’ disappointed by you,” he grins. “And I certainly don’t have expectations.”

“Be serious.” She moves to push past him, but his hand on her shoulder makes her pause. “What?” She snaps, whirling around to face him. 

“You don’t think I can be serious, Sae?” 

“When have you ever been serious about me?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Grimm, you’ve been flirting with me since the day we met. I know your M.O. with women. I know what you want from me.”

He studies her. “You think all the flirtin’ I do is just because I wanna have sex with you?” 

“Isn’t it?” 

“Hell no,” he laughs. “I can get that anywhere, anytime I want it. Sae… I want you. Not just what I can get when I take these off,” he goes on, tugging at the pocket of her trousers. “But all of you. You think I would invite some woman I don’t really care about onto my ship with me? For half a damn year?” 

She shrugs. “I’ve heard that seafarers get lonely too. Maybe you just want someone to warm your bed on those nights alone.” 

“Wouldn’t be mad if that came as part of the deal,” he admits. “But if you think that’s all I want from you, you don’t know me at all.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow at him, skeptical. “And what is it that you want, Captain Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez?” 

“I want the woman who can speak to me in the language of almost every port I’ve been to,” he starts unhesitatingly. “The one who reads history books for fun, who can kick my ass and drink me under the table any day of the week. I want the woman who can hold her own in a fight and doesn’t back down from one even when she should. And,” he adds with a little smile, “if she happened to wanna let me keep her up all night every now and again, then yeah… I’d take that, too.” 

Olivia feels a little like someone is holding her upside down by her feet and shaking her. She looks up at him. “I don’t… know what to say,” she admits, “and I’m wondering if this has something to do with knowing that I have a history with Silvio. The key word being history - as in the past,” she adds pointedly. 

He pulls a face. “Remember how I told you I see the way he looks at you when you ain’t lookin’?” 

She nods. “Yes. I remember.” 

“Well,” he says, chuckling a little, “what I didn’t say was that I see the way you look at him too, when you think nobody’s lookin’.” 

Olivia doesn’t have an answer to that. 

--

“It wouldn’t be fair to you,” she says quietly, her voice hushed. “I’d only make your life miserable.”

The sheets rustle and a moment later she feels him turn. She isn't looking at him and can’t see his expression, but she knows immediately what he’s feeling when he speaks. “Miserable?” He scoffs. “Idiot… do I seem miserable to you now?”

“No,” she admits. “But that’s because there’s nothing at stake now. If I…” She pauses to collect her thoughts. “If I marry you, you’ll have a wife and a queen that can’t live up to the standards she should.”

“What the fuck, Livvy,” the words burst out of him, colored with irritation. “Whose standards are you talking about?”

“Silvio… I know what the royals and nobles say about Antoine and Mirelle’s oldest daughter. That I’m an unruly disgrace on that foreign family’s reputation.” She shakes her head. “If I become your wife, their hostility will become worse… not to mention a lot of it will be directed at you, too. Besides,” she adds, “you deserve a proper lady on your arm.”

He laughs. “I don’t want a proper lady,” he teases. “All the proper ladies I know have empty heads and narrow views. I want to marry you,” he adds, his voice barely above a whisper and his tone going serious once more. “I want you to be my wife. I want us to rule this country together, and maybe someday have a family.” 

Olivia groans. “As if I wasn’t already feeling the pressure…”

He leans over, his lips touching hers briefly in a surprisingly chaste kiss. “Does it really feel like pressure, for me to tell you I love you enough to want you with me forever?”

All she can manage is a sigh. Whatever thoughts are swimming through her head refuse to arrange themselves into coherent words. 

“Marry me, Livvy,” he nuzzles her cheek with his nose. 

She bites down on the word, alarmed at how eagerly she’s almost said what he wants to hear. 

“Can’t hear you, Livvy,” he teases. “For such a mouthy woman, you’re being awfully quiet.” 

“Silvio---”

“Please,” he looks down at her, and suddenly all the amusement has left his expression. It tugs at her heart: that this rude, arrogant prince is practically pleading with her. This man who has few kind words for anyone but shows his softer side to her whenever she asks for it. This man that she loves more than anything in the world. “I said I wouldn’t ask you again, but---”

“Yes,” she says, the word tumbling from her lips unbidden, unapproved, unabashed. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

--

“The Sundance is gonna miss you, you know,” Prisca sighs. “And I don’t know how I’ll get by without you.”

“It’s just for a little while,” Olivia laughs. “Besides, Murph here will be around until spring. You know he’s a better barkeep than me anyway.”

“Damn right,” Murph chimes in. “I can’t wait until you leave so I can shine.”

Prisca shakes her head, but she can’t hide the smile on her face. “You just be careful out there, with those two.”

“Oh come on, you know I’ve been holding my own against all sorts of men for years now,” Olivia snorts. “Those two don’t scare me.” 

“It ain’t the scaring you I’m worried about,” Prisca laughs. “It’s whether or not they’ll kill each other before you even reach Vora.” 

“I’m sure it won’t come to that.” 

Her words are firm, but her heart is less sure. In truth, she has no idea what will happen once their voyage begins - whether the two men in question can put aside their differences to accomplish what they’re setting out to do. She’s even less confident in her ability to put aside whatever personal feelings she’s bound to struggle with in order to protect the home that she loves. 

She keeps her doubts to herself, though, determined to see it through. 

“When do you set out?” The question comes from Murph. 

“In three days’ time,” she tells him, grateful to have the distraction from her thoughts. 

“Damn, that’s soon,” he muses. “Got your diplomatic dresses ready?” 

Olivia groans. “You joke about it, but it pains me to admit that yes, there will be dresses in my trunk.” 

“You mean I finally get to see you done up like a proper lady?” 

She turns at the sound of that familiar voice. The Captain of the Hellcat is standing in the doorway of the Sundance, a smirk on his face. “Don’t start,” she chides him, “or you can turn right back around and walk out.” 

Grimmjow laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

“What I’m still trying to figure out,” Prisca starts, “is how you convinced the Prince to take the Hellcat.”  

He shrugs. “It was his idea. Don’t ask me why, ‘cause I don’t really give a fuck. All I know is my ship, my rules.” 

“Please… don’t put it that way in front of him,” Olivia sighs. 

“I ain’t scared of him.”

“I know,” she replies, “and that’s what scares me.”  

She expects him to laugh, but he doesn’t. “Look,” he starts somberly. “I’m coming on this manhunt for you. I don’t give a fuck about him or Barnes. But if Barnes ain’t on Vora, that son of a bitch is gonna need me, ‘cause it’s clear he doesn’t know jack shit about the sea and how to navigate it. People come to him - he ain’t used to goin’ to them.” 

Olivia won’t admit it aloud, but he has a point. She wonders how long it’s been since Silvio actually went out on the sea - for years now, he’s let other men captain the ships he owns. “Still,” she says after a moment, “I need you to promise that you’ll be civil.” 

“If he leaves me alone,” Grimmjow concedes grudgingly, “I’ll leave him alone.” 

It’s about all she can ask for, but she wonders how long it will hold. 

--

“Three days?” Her mother sighs. “I can’t say that I’m in complete agreement with everything about this journey, but I know that won’t stop you.” 

“You seemed very happy about it before you found out that it wasn’t just going to be Silvio and myself,” Olivia points out. “I wonder what accounts for the difference.” 

“Can you blame me for being worried?” Mirelle shakes her head. “I don’t understand why the pirate is being included.” 

“He’s a merchant. Furthermore, it’s his ship and he can be useful.” 

“At what? Killing people?” 

Olivia looks at her mother incredulously. “Are you seriously saying you think Silvio has never killed anyone? That if it came to it, he wouldn’t hesitate to end someone else’s life?” 

“Not without justifiable cause.” 

“Mama---” She cuts herself off, taking a deep breath to calm the blood in her veins. “Mama,” she starts again after she’s composed herself. “I know you think that this voyage is somehow going to rekindle some spark between Silvio and me… that it will change things and we’ll come back happily in love. I hate to shatter your dreams,” she goes on, “but there’s no chance of that happening.”

“You never know,” her mother smiles. “Long months in close quarters make for unpredictable events.” 

“He asked me to marry him five years ago,” she says quietly, her gaze on the ceiling of her bedroom. “I told him yes, and then I changed my mind. If you think he’s going to ask me again, you’re going to be very disappointed.” 

She hasn’t looked away from the blank expanse of the ceiling above her, but she knows without seeing it what sort of expression she will find on her mother’s face. Mirelle is quiet; the shock is almost palpable. 

“Why, Livvy? Why would you tell him yes and then change your mind?”

There is nothing humorous about her mother’s question, but it makes her laugh anyway - more out of irony than anything else. “Mama, can you seriously sit here and tell me that I would make a good queen?” 

“You could if you’d work as hard at it as you do at the docks,” her mother rebuts stubbornly. 

“Alright,” Olivia concedes. “I can’t argue with you there. But… do you really think I would be happy as queen?” 

“How will you know if you never give it a chance?”

“That’s just it,” Olivia says frustratedly. “It’s not something I can undo once it’s done. If I’d married him and found out a year later that I hated everything about being his wife and the queen, I’d be stuck in a life that makes both of us miserable.” She throws up her hands. “Who wants that?” 

“So instead, you’d rather be a pirate’s whore.” The second the words are out of her mouth, Mirelle’s expression changes. “That… was harsh,” she says quietly. “And I shouldn’t have said it.” 

“But you meant it,” Olivia surmises with a sigh. 

“Are you involved with him?” Her mother asks the question hesitantly, almost as though she’s afraid of the answer she’s going to get. 

“I’m not,” Olivia replies candidly. “But would it bother you that much if I were?” 

Mirelle reaches for her daughter’s hand, squeezing it in her own. “You’re an adult,” she starts quietly. “I may not always like your choices or agree with them, but I can’t stop you from making them or force you to change them. I just…” She looks away briefly, the corners of her mouth turned down in a frown. “I just think you deserve better.” 

Olivia chuckles. “Then I probably shouldn’t tell you about some of the things Silvio and I used to get up to.”

Mirelle stares at her with wide eyes. Before she can respond, Olivia speaks again. “I promise it’ll be fine,” she reassures her mother. “Remember, the focus of this whole journey is so I can do something good for Vora,” she adds with a smile. “I won’t have time to entertain any suitors.” 

“That’s what you think,” her mother murmurs. “Until you’re at sea with nothing to keep you occupied.” She sighs. “Just promise me that you’ll be careful. That’s all I ask.” 

Her mother’s guarded words make her laugh again. “I promise I won’t come back with my belly full of a pirate’s child,” she teases. “Or a prince’s.” 

--

Three days’ time comes and goes like the east wind, and it isn’t long before Olivia finds herself surrounded by the crew of the Hellcat. The Captain of the vessel is kind enough to give her her own cabin - not without first asking if she’d like to share his - and she finds the accommodations nicer than she’s expecting them to be. 

“Why so surprised, Sae?” He laughs, watching from the doorway as she takes in her surroundings. “Did you think I was gonna make you sleep in the cargo hold?” 

“You might’ve,” she laughs with him. “I wasn’t sure what to expect when I told you I wouldn’t sleep with you.” 

“Well, like I told you before,” he starts, sidling closer until he’s right behind her. “I’m takin’ my time. I’d say there’s gonna be plenty of days ahead where you get to feelin’ lonely and homesick all by yourself in this big ol’ cabin.” 

“Oh?” She turns to face him, hands on her hips. “And why do you suppose that has anything to do with you?” 

He flashes her a grin. “Might not,” he shrugs. “But I never say never.”

“Are you done flirting, or should I come back later?” Silvio snaps the words from where he’s standing just outside of Olivia’s cabin doorway. He looks agitated, his silver brows furrowed and his mouth twisted in a frown. 

“You should come back later,” Grimmjow drawls lazily, never taking his eyes off of Olivia. 

“Stop,” she chides him. Her next words are addressed to the prince. “What’s going on?” 

“We need to discuss our plan,” Silvio says irritably. “Before we leave. We need to talk about what’s going to happen and how things are going to go.” 

She can tell by the way Grimmjow has set his mouth that he’s planning to say something snide. She puts a hand on his arm, shaking her head and casting him a warning look. “Fine,” he says instead. “We can talk on deck.”

“Just so you don’t forget,” Silvio says as Grimmjow passes him. “This is my diplomatic mission. We do things my way.” 

“Just so you don’t forget,” Grimmjow responds mockingly, “this is my fuckin’ ship. You do whatever the hell you want once you step off of it. But as long as this wood’s beneath your feet, the Hellcat’s rules trump everything else. Prince or not,” he adds. 

“Are you that threatened by me?” 

Grimmjow just laughs, pushing past him to go up on deck.

Silvio looks at Olivia as though he has something to say. Instead, he turns away, following the Captain of the ship up to the deck.

Previous Chapter: Four | Next Chapter: Six

[blueberrywhale123]

I really like your writing. Can you what a Leonetta one shot?

Absolutely! Sorry for the wait, it took me some time to figure out a plot that I could wrap up in one post 😄

I'm still longwinded, so my apologies!

I got the idea from a headcanon I saw that said Violetta slips love notes into Leon's locker, which I thought was adorable!! Here ya go!

~~~~~

It was a perfect day for a walk; the sun was streaming through the trees, their branches so full of leaves that they formed a canopy of glowing green overhead and a light breeze whispered gently through the park. Many people were out enjoying the fine weather, walking and biking their way down the paths. León and Violetta strolled together down one of the few quiet walkways, arms wrapped around each other as if to ward off a chill that wasn’t even there. Violetta had her head resting on León’s shoulder, occasionally closing her eyes, perfectly content to let León lead her where he wanted to go.

“Are you asleep,” The chuckle that came out of León’s mouth rumbled under Violetta’s ear and she smiled to herself.

“Maybe,”

“I guess I’ll just have to carry you, huh?” Violetta felt him stop and bend to scoop her up and quick as a whip, she jumped out of reach, giggling like mad.

León grinned, holding out his hand and Violetta drifted back, shaking her head. “Fine, I’m not sleeping.”

“I can see that,” León murmured into her hair. They stayed silent for a moment, meandering out of sight from joggers and bikers, just enjoying each other’s company.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Violetta was instantly standing straight as could be, her attention focused solely on her boyfriend. León fought to keep a nonchalant look when he wanted to smile at Violetta’s wide brown eyes boring holes into his head.

Violetta forced him to stop walking and laid both hands on his chest. With a bright and cajoling grin, Violetta asked, “Where is it?”

León’s lips quirked in a smirk as he leaned down into her face, “It’s-” here he paused to tap his finger on the tip of her nose- “not ready yet.”

Violetta took the collar of his shirt loosely in both hands and ever so gently but ever so insistantly tugged, her beautiful smile transforming into an equally enchanting pout. “León, you can’t tell me you have a surprise and not be ready to give it to me! Can you at least tell me what it is?”

“Then what’s the point of it being a surprise,” León asked, finally allowing himself to fully grin at his girlfriend’s pouty face, rubbing his thumb along the hem of her shirt where his hand rested on her waist.

“Please,”

“No, no,”

“Please,” Violetta tried once more.

“Nope,”

Seeing that León was not budging anytime soon, Violetta dropped the issue with only a small venomless glare, roughly scooping up his hand to hold as she tugged him further down the lane. León merely laughed at her and followed along. They walked for five minutes in companionable silence, admiring the blooming flowers and the warmth of the sun when León spoke.

“Next week you can have your surprise.”

Violetta flashed a mild scowl. “I’m trying to forget about my very distance surprise, please.”

“Okay, sure,” León put his free hand in the air to surrender, but when Violetta turned back to watch a butterfly land on its flower of choice, León leaned close and whispered in her ear. “It’s pretty big. You’ll love it. Totally worth the wait you’ll have to go through.”

“León!” Violetta whirled around on her snickering boyfriend and fought back her disbelieving laugh.

“That was your hint,” León defended himself. She raised her hand to lightly hit his arm and León only snickered harder. Violetta covered her mouth to hide the laughter that was escaping, allowing León to tug her back into his embrace.

~~~~~~~~~

“Someone’s in a good mood today,” Olga crowed from where she was leaning in the doorway. “Could you have seen a special someone; a Mr. You-Know-Who?”

Violetta grinned so hard her cheeks felt like they were splitting as she tried to answer as nonchalantly as possible. But it was no use; León had her so besotted with love that it was impossible not to enter the house after spending time with him without the whole house taking notice of her giddy happiness.

“Well I have something that’ll fix that,” Angie said as she descended the stairs, a chipper smile on her face which foretold of doom. Hoisting a textbook into the air, Angie spoke the dreaded subject’s name: “Geography.”

Violetta sagged, “Oh no, Angie, please, not now. I won’t be able to concentrate.”

But Angie was not to be swayed. “Nuh-uh, let’s get up to your room and get busy so your dad doesn't have a reason to ban your little dates because of schoolwork, okay?”

Violetta trudged up the stairs after Angie and they cracked open the textbook, pouring over its contents for a good hour before Angie finally declared they could take a break. Violetta fell back against her mattress with a sigh and stared blankly at the ceiling, willing the maps dancing across her vision to dissipate.

“So, how was your date,”

“Great,” Violetta couldn't stop the dreamy sigh that escaped her lips, nor did she really care. It was Angie, her tutor was like a mother - well, no she was too young to be her mother, perhaps her aunt - and Violetta had never felt safer with another woman, like she could tell her anything and trust it would be kept in confidence.

Violetta sat up in bed, that special smile that peeked its way through when anything involving León came up forcing itself across her lips. “He said he has a surprise for me. Next week. He won’t tell me what it is, though.”

Angie smiled, “That does ruin the whole point of them, doesn’t it?”

“That’s not my point, Angie,” Violetta groaned goodnaturedly. “Anyways, it’s not too big of a deal. I’m excited about the surprise now, but I just really wanted him to tell me earlier.”

“Well, you’ve never liked surprises,” Angie eyes went distant before she shook out her waves and leaned forward. “You’re really happy with León, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Violetta’s eyes shone with her happiness in tandem with her response.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was a little surprised when you said you liked León. Only because I knew León before. But, I can see why you love each other so much. All the teachers think you’re precious, by the way.” Angie patted Violetta’s knee, her smile still firmly in place.

Violetta scrunched up her shoulders, almost shy, her fingers looping around the loose thread on her bedspread. “León takes such good care of me, Angie. I didn’t even think it was possible to be so cared for and not feel smothered, but León doesn’t try to control me, he just supports me and respects me. I feel so safe with him.” Violetta looked up to ensure that she wasn't boring Angie and Angie nodded encouragingly.

“I love all the little gifts and things we do. Even when I’m upset, he finds a way to make me feel better.” Violetta’s hands sought her diary out of habit. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not doing enough for him. He does so much for me.”

“Well, you could think of something to give him. What about flowers? Even boys might appreciate some flowers every once and a while. Or a card? Something that really tells him how much you appreciate him.”

“Oh, I could write him a song,” Violetta burst out, delighted with herself.

Angie nodded approvingly. “You definitely could.”

Violetta suddenly deflated. “But it’ll take a while. What can I do in the mean time?” She sat in deep thought, geography forgotten.

“What about a note?” Angie suggested. “You write a lot so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Angie that’s perfect!” Violetta pulled Angie into a tight hug and scrambled to grab her pen. Angie laughed quietly to herself and left her charge to her project. The last sight she saw before her mind swarmed with words all begging to be expressed was Angie’s fond look as the door closed.

The next day, Violetta had held tighter to her diary than usual, her precious note to León tucked safely within its pages. It had taken her far longer than she’d thought to compose it, all her inner thoughts that she couldn’t find a way to say vying for a chance to be put pen and paper, but in the end, her desire for conciseness won out and she was able to fit a rather meaningful letter onto one page. All morning, Violetta had been near giddy with excitement and nerves, her mind conjuring scenario after scenario of how León would react to her little gesture.

She finally had her chance to slip into his locker before dance class. She had changed earlier than most and was happy to see that León was nowhere in sight - most likely getting his dance clothes on. With silent steps, Violetta crept up and slipped the note between the slots. Then she hid behind the door, partially peeking to watch for León.

He was not long in coming, Andres by his side as they chatted. Violetta watched with bated breath as he waved Andres on and unlocked his locker. The letter fluttered to his feet and León stooped to pick it up, examining it and opening it.

“Vilu!” Cami called; her and Fran all but ramming into her with a chorus of giggles. “Come on, you’ve gotta start stretching.”

“But-”

“Come on, girlie. Girl Code. We need to talk.” Camila pleaded and Francesca let out a nervous giggle that signified something erring on the important side. With a sigh, Violetta allowed herself to be dragged away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

León flipped the piece of paper over for any identifying marks but found nothing. With a shrug, he opened the letter and was met with a handwriting he was getting more and more familiar with each day. Violetta’s neat, loopy words greeted him.

Dear León, I wanted to show you how much I love you, even if it’s just a letter. I am happy that I chose you when it comes to love. You came into my life like a knight in shining armor, a blessing, and I will forever be grateful to you for making it so easy to fall in love with you. I just know that every love song I ever write from now on will be inspired by you and your beautiful smile. Mi amor, you have my heart.

León’s lips stretched into a wide grin of their own accord. He reread it before folding it back up and slipping into the pocket of his jeans which lay rolled up in his duffel bag; already he knew that he would be rereading it many times throughout the day. Heedless to the lovesick smile he wore, León entered the classroom that was filled with students in various stretching poses. He spotted Violetta immediately, like a bright light shining through the foggy night and his heart flipped in his chest when she laughed at something Francesca said. She caught his eye and his heart went from flipping to racing.

Without a thought, León strode up to Violetta, leaned in close, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He was faintly aware of Camila and Francesca squeaking and the fact that they were fairly close by, but in the moment, nothing else mattered but Violetta’s soft warm cheek against his lips, the swift intake of breath to her lungs, and the hand that she laid to rest on his waist.

“What was that for?” Violetta asked when he pulled away, her eyes sparkling like stars, and it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and hold her all class.

“Nothing much,” León’s cheeks hurt from smiling but he could do nothing else.

Violetta nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip to keep her smile from stretching from ear-to-ear. León gave her hand a quick squeeze, nodded to Camila and Francesca, and moved to do his stretches as if floating on a cloud.

It wasn’t until the end of the day when he brought up the note. As they walked along the path that led towards Violetta’s home, León said, “Thank you for the letter.” Violetta turned her face into her shoulder and grinned, clinging tight to his arm.

“I’ll write you more if you’d like.” She promised, her sweet, expressive eyes falling on him in such a way that León felt for a long time that no one else in the world existed but the two of them.

León smiled, lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed her knuckles tenderly. “I’d love that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

León was attempting his tie for the fifth time, hoping that one of his groomsmen would notice and take pity on him and his shaking hands but also hoping that they wouldn’t. It was his wedding day, he was allowed to have nerves without being ridiculed. Somewhere in the same hotel, Violetta was surrounded by her bridal party, fussing and primping to the last minute, waiting for the moment when they would finally walk down the aisle and become husband and wife. Just the thought of her sent his heart racing faster than ever. Was she as nervous as he was? All day long, León had a bundle of nervous energy pooling in the pit of his stomach as the minutes ticked away like hours. Why was it taking so long? And why couldn't he tie his tie correctly?

“León,” Andres sidled up next to him nonchalantly, his eyes flickering from side to side before he slipped a piece of paper into his hand. With a firm pat on the back, Andres turned to face León’s front and fiddled with the tie around his neck, leaving León to examine the paper.

It was a letter, Violetta’s loopy script as familiar as home now after so many years. Peace flooded his body as León unfolded the letter, only remembering the outside world when Andres tilted his head for better access to his collar.

Mi amor, Today is the day. It is such a special day that I thought I would do something for old time’s sake. You don’t know how much I’ve longed for this time to come, where I can walk down that aisle as the wife of León Vargas, the love of my life. Knowing you has been the adventure of my life. This is our beautiful love story and we are never meant to be apart. And I want you to know that although singing is who I am, so is loving you. Throughout the years, you’ve been my support and my strength, I have flourished with you by my side and I can’t wait to continue this next step of life with you. I will never regret choosing to love you, my prince, my precious love. There is no one I feel safer with than you. Let’s walk hand and hand forever. Be the lyrics in my song. Te quiero mucho, Your soon-to-be wife, Violetta

León folded the letter, his eyes misty, his mouth beaming, and looked up when Andres patted his shoulders. “Tie’s done.” His best man said before leaning closer. “Feel better now?”

León laughed, his nerves replaced with or perhaps revealing themselves to be overwhelming excitement, and said, “Yeah, let’s not keep the bride waiting.”

[yuriko-mukami]

His Possession Dark 06

For the longest time, Yuriko pulled herself out of bed after sleeping only a couple of hours. She made sure that her neck was fully covered when she showed up in the kitchen where her father, Keisuke, was currently enjoying his breakfast… if you could call coffee and a mere slice of toast fully breakfast at all.

Yuriko didn’t say anything. She poured coffee for herself to keep her eyes open. Usually, she would have chosen hot cocoa but right now she felt like she was dying from tiredness. Yet she wanted to do this, waiting wouldn’t give her the information she needed. She had tried to concentrate on school, she had tried to search for answers on the internet and from books… but the truth was that only her father or Yuuto the fox could tell what had happened.

“Dad…” Yuriko started as she sat down at the table. Her father raised his gaze from his phone and frowned.

“You are up suspiciously early,” he commented. “Do you need money?”

“Umh… I guess, no. We still have money for groceries,” Yuriko answered and shook her head. Now it was not time to get distracted. “I… I need to know something else. About… about… you know… umh… Yuuto.”

The toast dropped to the table as Yuriko’s father stared at her. Yuriko swallowed. She had half expected her father to tell her that he had never heard such a name, but his face revealed the truth.

“How do you know his name?”

“I’ve met him.”

Suddenly Yuriko’s father was on his feet. With two quick steps, he was next to Yuriko, grabbing her arms and yanking her from the chair. Coffee spilled on the table, but Yuriko was able to keep her hold of the cup.

“Where? Where did you see him?” Keisuke asked.

“Umh… in… a… dream…” Yuriko mumbled.

“Lies! Don’t you dare to lie to me! I need to see him right now!”

“It’s not a lie! I really… He really… He has been appearing in my dreams for years now as a fox! And some time ago he called me a little sister…”

The hold on Yuriko’s arms was almost painful but Keisuke’s hands were warm, very different from Ruki’s touch. Though currently, Keisuke might be causing bruises on her skin. Yuriko tried to meander from his grasp, but her father held her too tightly.

“As a fox?” Keisuke repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

“Umh… Dad… You are hurting me…”

Keisuke released Yuriko as fast as he had grabbed her, staring at his palms. His whole being was shaking and Yuriko didn’t know what to think.

“Dad?”

“A monster… He has truly become one of them…”

“A monster?”

Yuriko put the cup on the table, her eyes leaving her father’s trembling form. Keisuke clenched his hands into fists, his mouth deforming.

“It’s just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything,” Yuriko said. “Maybe… I’ve heard his name before and that’s why I’m having dreams about him as a fox…”

There was something in Keisuke’s eyes when they bored into Yuriko’s. She had never seen him like that, like a wild trapped animal. Yuriko opened her mouth, but no words came out. It slowly started to dawn on her that her dreams… probably weren’t dreams at all.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” Keisuke said. Finally, he started to relax. “We never talked about him. They took him, your mother’s relatives, but I’m going to save him. We are, together.”

“Really?”

“Yes. So, what you need to do is concentrate on studying as always while I… figure things out. And when the time comes, we go together for him.”

“Where?”

“That I need to figure out. I don’t know where her relatives live but we are going to get him out there…”

“Is Mom there too?”

“Don’t ask unnecessary questions. I need to get to work, and you need to get ready for school.”

“School starts in the evening…”

“You know what I mean! Just obey me and don’t ask anything! This is something adults should take care of.”

And by that Keisuke left Yuriko in the kitchen, her mind whirling as she cleaned the mess up. So, her father thought that Yuuto was a monster but wanted to save him. Probably Yuuto truly was a fox…

A fox monster… Hmmm… Vampires, wolves, Founders, Demon World… Demons! Fox demon, not a monster.

Yuriko gasped. Was her brother a kitsune, fox demon? If her father thought Yuuto was a monster, then Keisuke probably was a mere human.

Mom… it must be Mom then. But… I’m just a human, there isn’t anything special in me. Except…

“Oh my gosh!”

Yuriko leaned her palm on the table as her breathing turned into panting. Ruki yearned for her blood, Yuuto has said it was addictive for vampires. Maybe Yuuto hadn’t talked about human blood.

“...kitsune…”

By the midday, Yuriko had searched everything she could find about the kitsune on the internet. Of course, she had no way of knowing if the information was accurate at all since all she found out was folklore and old tales. She would have wanted to search for more, but it was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open, and finally, she slid down on the couch in the living room and dozed off phone still in her hand.

It was hours later Yuriko woke up again. The sun had already set, and the darkness covered the city once more. Yuriko’s head felt light when she crawled up from the couch and headed to the bathroom, getting ready for school. There was a slight hint of red on her cheeks when she peeked into the mirror, but she didn’t want to stare at herself for too long because her eyes instantly wandered to her neck which was covered with several bite marks: some of them rather faint, some fresher, and reddish.

The school night went as always but Yuriko had trouble concentrating on anything. Her cheeks felt hot, and thoughts were running in circles even though she did her best to push them away. When the lunch break arrived, she realized that she had no idea what had been talked about during the classes.

Ruki was suddenly next to Yuriko’s desk with a lunch box ready for her as it was every day these days. But just then the teacher called him, and he was forced to leave the classroom.

“You are to eat your lunch, all of it, is that clear?” Ruki said before following the teacher, and Yuriko could only nod to his words.

Yet the lunch break took another turn. When Yuriko was about to open the lunch box a girl appeared in their classroom and approached her. She recognized the ebony dark hair and sparkling blue eyes instantly. What was Elizabeth doing here?

“Um… Yuriko?” Elizabeth started when she stopped in front of Yuriko’s desk. “Come on… can we have lunch together? I would like to get to know you better. So, can we do it?”

Elizabeth was looking at Yuriko with glimmering eyes, almost pleading. Yuriko blinked as warmth washed over her. She still remembered how she had talked nonsense about the supernatural, yet Elizabeth had come to meet her, asking her to eat together.

“Oh… Of course, we can, Elizabeth!” Yuriko answered without a doubt… or maybe there was a tiny, but she decided to ignore it. Instead, she took the lunch box Ruki had given her and rose from her chair. “Did you know that you are a very kind person, Elizabeth? I’m glad to have lunch with you. Let’s go.”

“For a moment I was afraid you were going to have lunch with your friends…” Elizabeth said, averting her gaze for a moment. “Shall we go to the roof? As long as it's not too cold, I'd like to be out in the fresh air.”

“It’s alright, Elizabeth. I was free,” Yuriko mumbled. As if she had any friends when she spent almost all her time with Ruki at school between the classes. Moments like this were rather rare.

But Elizabeth probably knew nothing about that. She smiled as Yuriko followed her out of the classroom, and the girls headed towards the staircase leading to the rooftop.

“Where do you usually eat lunch? At the school cafeteria?” Elizabeth asked. Now Yuriko was sure she didn’t know anything about her situation.

“I… I usually eat homemade lunch either in the classroom or in the library,” Yuriko told her. That was the truth, pretty much at least.

The girls arrived at the rooftop. Yuriko’s gaze wandered over the city that was bathing in the electric lights. Even though it was spring, the night breeze was still cool as it brushed her hair.

“I always eat here,” Elizabeth revealed. “And I want to show you something: my hiding place.”

Elizabeth walked a little way across the roof and led Yuriko to a corner. There was a black fluffy and slightly thick plaid spread out there. Elizabeth crouched down on it, and then patted her palm beside her, looking at Yuriko.

“Since there are very few people on the roof, this place is always free. Now it's become my little nook. Thanks to the felt inside the plaid, it will keep you warm when you sit on it. Now... you know about this place, too.”

The girls sat down, making themselves comfortable and opening their lunch boxes. Yuriko swallowed as she saw fried scrimps with salad and rice. Ruki had once again made her an excelled lunch for a reason she still couldn’t quite comprehend. On the other hand, Elizabeth’s lunch seemed to be rather full of… meat, but Yuriko decided not to pry about it.

“You aren’t from Japan, are you?” Yuriko asked instead but was surprised as Elizabeth averted her gaze. The other girl was silent for a while before looking at her again.

“I... I've been traveling here all my life. I've lived in many countries... Peru, Canada, Russia, Italy…” Elizabeth said and paused for a moment. “But originally, I came... from the world of the dead.”

Yuriko’s chopsticks stopped halfway to her mouth as the words reached her ears. Dead? Like the vampires? She glanced at Elizabeth more carefully. The girl's skin was rather pale, but Yuriko didn’t remember seeing fangs.

“The... the world of the... dead? Umh... Does that mean that... you are a vampire too?” Yuriko asked.

“A vampire... too...?” Elizabeth repeated and took a big breath. “I see, you've also met some vampires here... But I'm not a vampire. I am... the living dead, so to speak... A zombie. B-but that doesn't mean I eat brains or anything... I only eat animal meat... And I'm certainly not going to eat you, so don't be afraid…”

Elizabeth sighed and looked away as Yuriko blinked and swallowed.

A zombie?

Yuriko tried to think quickly about what to say. She didn’t know that much about zombies and Elizabeth didn’t meet the picture in her mind... But she didn’t even think to not believe what Elizabeth was saying.

“Umh... A zombie?” Yuriko asked while still gathering her thoughts. It hit her that she maybe should have been worried for her own safety... but to be honest, Elizabeth seemed safer than some other people in this school. "Okay... then... So, a zombie. That’s new to me. I’ve only seen zombies in the movies and books, but I know those are fiction. I have met some vampires, and they are nothing like their fictional versions... erhh... There are parts that fiction gets right but…"

Yuriko started to eat her lunch again. Swallowing felt difficult; her head was full of thoughts yet feeling light. After a while, she looked at Elizabeth again.

"I do not know much about zombies, but you are a nice person, Elizabeth. I just recently found out odd things about myself... so... I think we all are weird in our own ways. Is there anything, in particular, I should know about you?"

There was a faint hint of red on Elizabeth’s face when their eyes met. Yuriko lifted the corners of her mouth a little.

"You... I'll understand if you're scared when I tell you," Elizabeth said and sighed. "Zombies are dead people with a certain bacterium in their bodies. This bacterium does not affect the life of a living person... It affects a dead person. The person comes to life and strange things happen to them. He becomes physically stronger, but his wounds take a very, very long time to regenerate... Now he can feel other people's blood and flesh... The worst part is when the man realizes he wants to eat meat... And for a zombie, it's important. If you don't eat meat, you become the kind of zombie you see in the movies... I think you know what I mean…"

Yet another sigh left Elizabeth’s lips. Yuriko didn’t know what to say; it was like everyone and their cousins around her were suddenly supernatural beings… including her brother she hadn’t known anything until recently.

"And I was already born a zombie. My parents died in the human world, and then when they became zombies, I came along. And... You must have gotten scared that I might go crazy…" Elizabeth ended her story.

"Ummh... That sounds complicated, Elizabeth... That bacteria thing and all. I’m not sure if I understand all of it, but I guess it’s the same thing as having some other…" Yuriko grew quiet. It probably wasn’t okay to compare Elizabeth to a person who had some kind of illness. It was so hard to find the right words! Yuriko didn’t want to make Elizabeth feel bad about herself since she was already clearly unsure about... everything. "Being a zombie must be difficult. It certainly sounds like that... But the way you tell me about it... It seems that you have control over your situation. And it’s hard to be afraid of you because you have been nothing but nice to me."

Yuriko shook her head. "I don’t have the right words, Elizabeth. I don’t know what I should say. But so far, I’ve enjoyed your company... and I would still... like to be... your friend."

"Thank you... But... Do you really want that?"

Silence spread between the girls as they glanced at each other. There was something in Elizabeth’s eyes, but Yuriko couldn’t quite put her finger on it. And it could be something very personal that Elizabeth wasn’t ready to share yet. Yuriko didn’t want to pry and ruin their relationship that was just about to begin to bloom, so she just smiled and decided not to ask too many questions now.

A breeze wiped through the rooftop, and Yuriko wrapped her cardigan better around her before tasting her lunch again.

"You don’t have to be so worried... I don’t want to judge people. Of course, I want to be your friend... if that’s okay with you?"

Yuriko glanced at Elizabeth sideways through her bangs. Sometimes it would have been easier if she could just peek into the minds of others... but since she couldn’t, she could only hope that Elizabeth would feel the same.

Elizabeth lowered her head and tugged the hem of her skirt.

"Yuriko... Just…" Elizabeth took a deep breath. She bit her lower lip slightly and frowned before gazing at Yuriko again. "You see... In a little while, I'll leave Japan... just like any other country I've been to and will be in... And I will never come back here again. Then we... can't be friends anymore... And you'll be sad... You're too good and kind, Yuriko, I don't want to make you sad later. I want to be friends with you... But my life consists of eternal escapes…"

"You… Why?"

Elizabeth had just arrived! Yuriko bit her lower lip; she had no right to be sad about this, this wasn’t about her… and yet she couldn’t help but think how people always ended up leaving her. Haruko… her friends… her mother… It was a wonder that her father hadn’t thrown her out after how badly she had failed in her studies. Everybody left until there would be no one. Probably even Ruki would eventually go away… though Yuriko wasn’t exactly sure if she wanted him around.

But none of this was Elizabeth’s fault. Yuriko couldn’t say anything about those things because then she would only burden Elizabeth even more.

"Why do you need to escape? I’m sorry if I’m prying… I just… would… like to know." Yuriko let her gaze wander over the city view. Maybe she should enjoy these moments as long as they would last. "I’m okay. I can handle that much… and it would be sad if you haven’t any friends while staying here. And can’t we just text each other or even write letters when you must go?" Yuriko continued.  Maybe she was asking too much. She knew perfectly well that it wasn’t her right to ask anything for herself, but…

"Yuriko…"

Elizabeth looked at Yuriko and then gently touched her shoulder. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Please... don't be sad. You know, I've always been alone for more than two years... I had no one to talk to, no one to walk with... or eat at school, for example... I'm glad I could meet my first friends here…"

Elizabeth dropped her gaze, the smile gone from her face. She stroked Yuriko on the shoulder and took her hand away. The touch made Yuriko flinch. Before Ruki and Elizabeth, nobody hadn’t touched her for a long time.

"You know... I mentioned before that I came from the world of the dead...I'm wandering the world here because there's a war going on in my homeland right now... Yes, it's quiet and peaceful here in the human world, but in fact, there are always military men who are looking for zombies that have escaped here. People are afraid of us, so they attack... The war has been going on for a long time... and the conflict doesn't seem to be going away."

Elizabeth frowned as she grew silent again. Yuriko concentrated on eating her lunch, but she didn’t truly taste it. Everything today made her just more confused. Other than that, she had an odd feeling in her throat but maybe it was just because of all the shocking news.

"You know, Yuriko... I don't want to run away anymore. I don't want to live like a chipmunk in the ground. But I don't want to die either."

As Yuriko put away her chopsticks Elizabeth peeked at her. A reassuring smile appeared on her face.

"But… that’s sad, Elizabeth. Nobody should be always alone. I’m also glad that you have found friends here…"

Elizabeth's story sounded like it was straight from a book or something. A war? People looking for zombies, so that they could kill them? But Yuriko believed every word of it; she just knew she could trust Elizabeth. Though now she felt rather selfish because of her foolish thoughts. She had been worried about her own loneliness when she knew nothing about the horrors Elizabeth had witnessed in her life. It wasn’t Yuriko’s place to want something from her.

"This city is very nice. Sometimes it's scary, though... it's full of vampires... It's also where I first met my friends. And I don't want to leave here,” Elizabeth said. “I'm... I'm gonna do everything I can to stay here. I've lived long enough, so I'm sure I can do something about it. So... don't be sad, okay? I'll try to do something... both for me... and for you, Yuriko."

"Are… are you sure? That sounded serious. You shouldn’t do anything rash just because of me, you should think about yourself first."

"No, I'll do it. I understand that it can be difficult and dangerous... But you must admit, this is not life. I'm not living, I'm just running away. I'm sick of it too…" Elizabeth paused. She looked at Yuriko for a while, then smiled. "Besides, Yuriko... you're lonely, too. I don't know why, but I can feel it. That's what we're like... I understand. That's why I want to do something."

Elizabeth looked into Yuriko's eyes. She frowned resolutely and then nodded in confirmation of her words.

"I-it's strange... Things got so sad at some point," she said.

"You are right. Things got sad, but let’s try and push that behind us. You asked me here to eat with you, so let’s eat while we still have time," Yuriko answered, making them both smile genuinely.

The lunch was the first peaceful break Yuriko had had ever since she had started at Ryoutei Academy. When they later parted in a silent hallway her heart felt warm. She turned around, getting ready to return to her classroom, and at that very moment, a hand slammed onto the wall right next to her head. "My, my, my, Mukami's little bitch is running free, nfu~"

Beta read by @ruki-mukami-dl

[lux-scriptum]

Success depends on the person's pov in this but thats ok thats the best kind

~~

They had expected some kind of dramatic reveal. All of them, Lalia included. But the entrance to the cave was silent, dark. “Edan?” Lalia called, forgetting the hybrids for now. She let go of the elf-hybrid, and the slender girl collapsed. Her legs were shaking so hard they simply couldn't hold her weight. As Lalia stalked past, Aryleigh scrambled to help the other girl. “Edan!” The phoenix called again in a demanding tone.

Fira could feel Aryleigh’s skin heating as rage coursed through the woman. She shook her head at Aryleigh, trying to tell her to calm down before she combusted. Lalia had no concern for any of them now that she had what she wanted. Ari had reached for Fira, but the elf-hybrid shied away out of instinct, flinched so violently that Ari paused. Fira watched anger flash through those burning eyes as they settled on the handprint on Fira’s pale skin where Lalia had held onto her arm. 

There was still no answer from inside the cave. Lalia whirled to face them, moving so fast that Aryleigh didn't have time to stop the phoenix from knocking her away. Fira cowered on the ground, silent tears rolling down her cheeks as Lalia demanded, “What did you do? You ruined the spell somehow. What did you do?”

“I don’t know. I don't know!”

“Lalia, she did the spell correctly, you watched her!” Ari spat, scrambling to her feet hastily. Lalia had grabbed Fira by the front of her shirt, trying to drag the elf-hybrid to her feet. 

“Please stop,” Fira pleaded in a whisper. Ari jerked into motion, only to get knocked back by a wall of white flame. She threw up her own to protect her, but she couldn’t keep herself from stumbling further away.

Lalia had let go of Fira to direct the flames that had swatted away the dragon hybrid, and now she looked back down at the girl who was crying before her. A look of disgust crossed her face, and her hand raised as if to strike the prone figure on the ground. Fira braced herself, whispering another plea, coupled with an apology, desperately. Her heart froze in her throat. Hadn't she left those days of beatings behind?

A hand grabbed Lalia’s wrist from behind, jerking the phoenix back. “Lalia.” The voice was smooth, soft as a kitten's purr. The man barely topped her, so that all Fira could see was brown hair and his broad shoulders, but he was strong. Strong enough to spin Lalia around and propel her away from Fira.

“Edan,” Lalia breathed, all violence gone from her voice. Fira shuddered on the ground, and her head drooped in relief. “Edan, I freed you.” There was an edge to her tone mingled with wild expectancy. “You know the laws of the spell that bound you.”

“Yes,” the man murmured. He crouched in front of Fira. She flinched as she felt his calloused fingers brush her chin. He was firm, however, and insistently tipped her head up so he could see her. Blue eyes clashed with blue. His were the opposite of her own odd eyes; dark, deep royal blue, edged on the outside of the iris with the purest, whitest blue she'd ever seen. She couldn't tear her own tear filled gaze away from them.

“Edan. You were bound by that spell, and you are bound to your savior. I spent centuries searching for a way to free you.” Fira finally jerked her head down, cringing away from the angry voice. Edan let her. She heard the rustle of leaves as he shifted, probably to look at the phoenix. 

“You're right, Lalia. I'm bound to the one that freed me, for better or for worse, until she sees fit to release me on her own.” Another rustling noise, and then his warm, broad hands cupped Fira’s face and tipped it up. “My blade is yours. My flame is yours. My will, is yours. Anything you demand of me, I will do. By the powers the humans harnessed all those centuries ago, I am tied to you, linked mind and soul, until you release me, milady. Use me as you see fit.”

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[miryum]

Fire, Sword Fights, and Secrets (Peter Pan x Reader)

Based off of this request: Peter Pan x reader and reader comes and they eventually fall for each other (not without some banter ofc)

Use of my OC: Ayden (he’s your best friend!)

Warnings: Daggers and a sword fight. Hostage situation. Pls tell me if I missed anything

“Where the hell am I?” You yell, “Who are you?”

“I’m Peter.” The boy in front of you grins, “Peter Pan. Welcome to Neverland.”

“N-Neverland?” You stutter, backing away from the boy, “Why am I here?”

“So many questions.” Peter tsks, “But I guess I can answer you that.” He spread his arms to the surrounding forest and camp, “You’re a Lost Girl, so I brought you here. Where all who are Lost come.” 

“But- But I’m not lost.” You argue, slowly backing away from him even more. Your back hits a tree, “And Peter Pan? Aren’t you just a children’s story?” 

Peter laughs, “That’s what everyone thinks. But I promise you I’m not just a children’s tale. I’m very real.” Peter winks at you.

“No.” You mutter, “I’m not Lost. I wanna go back home.” 

“I’m sorry, darling,” Pan chuckles, shaking his head, “But there is no escaping Neverland.” 

You shake your head, not wanting to believe him. 

Turning, you sprint away from the boy who took you from your home and family. You run through the trees, your feet thumping along dirt and grass. Your breathing is labored, but you can’t give up. 

You finally burst from the trees, but skid to a stop atop a tall cliff. “What?” For miles around, all you can see is clear water, shimmering under the setting sun.

“Are you done?” A voice asks and you whirl around to see Peter smirking at you, “I told you darling, you can’t leave Neverland.”

“I’m not coming with you!” You shout.

“Alright.” He shrugs, “Then I’m going to have to make you stay.”

Peter snaps his finger and the cliff disappears. You materialize in his camp with rope tied around your arms, legs, and torso, strapping you to a tree.

Pan appears next to you, leaning against the tree, “I’m sorry love, but this is for your own good.” 

You growl, lunging towards him, but the rope holds you back.

Still struggling against your binds, you take a look around you and see the place that Peter calls home. 

There’s a fire pit in the center of the camp with tents, supplies, and Lost Boys scattered around. There’s some treehouses in the branches of the neighboring trees and a table set up a little farther away. 

Some boys gather around, mumbling to each other.

“Boys!” Peter calls, “Let’s welcome our newest and only Lost Girl! Y/n L/n!” The boys muttered and some cheered and clapped.

“How do you know my name?” You fumble with your bonds but to no avail. 

“Love, I know everything about you.” He said, letting the Lost Boys get back to what they were doing. “You’ve always felt as if you didn’t belong- even though you had family and friends. You want to make people proud, but once you do, you don’t like yourself. You like being alone, but not being lonely.”

You stay silent, realizing he had you figured out perfectly. 

“You really are a Lost Girl.” Pan whispers, “You’ll learn to love Neverland.”

“No I won’t!” You argue, “I will never love Neverland! And I’ll never come close to even liking you.”

Peter smiles, “We’ll see about that.”

***

It’s been a little over a month since you arrived on the island and you still hate Peter. True, he had released you from your ropes soon after you had arrived, and he even gave you a treehouse that was right next to his. But you still hate him!

“Y/n, are you coming to the fire tonight?” Ayden, one of your only friends on the island, pops his head into your treehouse. 

“No.” You mumble, sitting on your bed. 

“Why not?” Ayden climbs in, sitting next to you, “You haven’t gone to one the entire time you’ve been here!”

“And I don’t ever intend to.” 

“Why not?” Ayden bumps your shoulder with his. 

“The music.” You shake your head, “Peter’s pipe. It means I belong here and I don’t wanna belong here.” 

“Have you ever realized that you’re the only one he allows to call him Peter? Everyone else has to call him Pan.” 

“Really?” You say, glancing at him,“I’ve never really noticed.” 

“I think he likes you more than most.” Your friend says.

“Eh.” You lift one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, “I don’t think so. He doesn’t like me.” 

“Or do you not like him?” 

You pause, looking at Ayden, “I- no. He doesn’t like me. He took me away from my friends and family against my will! If you like someone, you wouldn’t do that to them.” 

Ayden gives you a look that says are-you-stupid, “He took you away because you’re a Lost Girl. He takes everyone away from someone in their life- but it’s for their own good. A lot of us didn’t like it at first, but then we made a home here on Neverland- we made a new family. And plus, he didn’t know he was gonna like you when he took you away.” 

You groan, plopping your head into your hands, “I hate it when you’re right.”

He chuckles, “You better get used to that.” Ayden throws an arm over you and pulls you to his side at his attempt at a hug, “So are you coming to the fire?” 

You hesitate, “Fine.” Ayden cheers before you interrupt him, “But I’m not gonna like it.”

“Fine by me!”

“Do you realize how rude you are?” 

“Yep!” 

***

“You finally came.” You look over your shoulder to see Peter standing over you and you scoff, turning back to face the fire. 

“What’s it to you?” 

Peter sits down next to you, “Just wanna make sure my Lost Girl is doing okay. I’m glad Ayden got you to come down and join us.”

You shake off a confused feeling, “Ayden said something weird today.” 

“Oh yeah?” Peter smirks, “And what’s that?” 

“You only let me call you Peter. And that you like me more than practically anyone else here.”

Peter hums, “Well, he’s right. I never realized he was so observant. I could use that to my advantage.” He muses, not noticing your surprise. 

“Wait,” You interrupt his thought process, “So, you do like me? This hatred is one-sided?” 

“Love, it was always one-sided.” Peter’s face is illuminated in the fire, the flames dancing across him, making him look ethereal, “I never hated you. Would you really think I would keep someone here if I hated them?” 

“No.” You mumbled, looking anywhere but him.

“Exactly.” 

You both sit in silence for a while before Pan gets out his pipe and starts playing it. Unlike previous music which was fun and lively, this time the melody is a sadder… almost bittersweet. 

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to comfort yourself in a hug, listening to the haunting music float through the air. 

Peter looks over at you and stops playing when he notices a tear running its way down your cheek. 

“Darling,” He whispers, wiping it from your face, “Why are you so unhappy?”

“Because I’m happy.” You reply, “I like it here- but I don’t wanna like it. I feel as if I’m supposed to want to go home to my family and want to be with them but I don’t. I want to stay here. But I feel like I’m betraying my family because I feel like that. I’m so conflicted and confused. Nothing makes sense.” 

“Well,” Peter leans back on his hands, “You know you want to stay here, right?” You nod, and he continues, “So that makes sense. And I know I want you to stay. So that makes sense.” 

“Can I have a hug?” You ask meekly after a few seconds have gone by. 

Pan chuckles and raises an eyebrow, “I thought you hated me.” 

“Shut up.” 

He grins and pulls you close to him, wrapping an arm around you and letting your arms wrap around his torso. Peter sighs, resting his cheek on your hair.

 Lost Boys stare, never having seen their leader this intimate and open with anyone before. 

“I’m sorry.” You break the hug, shuffling back away from him. 

“What for?” 

“For being this clingy and weird.” 

“It’s alright.” He faintly smiles, “It’s normal for people to not like Neverland when they first come. I’m just glad that you ended up liking it.” 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

***

You stab at Pan, your dagger barely missing its mark. Peter blocks the move with his own dagger, the metals clinking against each other. 

You two whirl and dodge through the trees, your hits getting closer and closer every single time. 

Peter’s face is furrowed with concentration and your teeth grit from irritation. 

“Dammit, just die already, will ya?” You huff, taking another lunge at him, Peter barely ducking out of the way. 

“It’ll take more than that to kill me, darling.” Peter grins his annoying grin before taking another jab at you. 

You counter his attack and force him up against a tree, your knife to his throat, “I finally won, didn’t I?” You let out a laugh. 

“Did you though, darling?” You feel Peter’s dagger pressed against your back and you intensively arch away from it.

Rolling your eyes you mutter, “Seems we’re at an impasse.”

“Do you forfeit?” 

“Never.” 

The dagger presses harder against you and in turn, you press your own blade harder against Pan. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You warn. 

“Then admit that you lost.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, but you don’t say anything. 

Peter sighs, looking a bit bored, “Love, I could do this all day.” 

“So could I.” You counter. You then become painstakingly aware of how close your bodies are. You’re pressed up against Peter, hardly any room between the two of you. 

Peter, noticing your discomfort, smirks, “Could you do this all day?” He asks teasingly, “Or did you say that just for show?” 

“I hate you.” You push away from Pan, forfeiting the training session he was currently giving you. 

“You love me.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“I’ll get you to say it sometime, darling.” 

After the night at the bonfire, two months ago, your relationship with Peter was much more teasing than it had been. 

You frequently had sword and dagger fights and with those fights came a lot of close bodily contact. You attended all of the bonfires now, and Pan seemed to always seek you out during those nights. He was getting much more protective of you, letting only a few Lost Boys talk to you.

And even though you didn’t want to admit it, you had begun to develop feelings for Peter. It had started soon after that night when he opened up to you and let you hug him- something that everyone agreed was very unusual. 

“Maybe I wanna say that I love you.” You mumble quietly. 

And maybe it was just your imagination, but you thought that Peter might like you back. He was always his overconfident self, but you would be oblivious if you pretended you couldn’t see the way he looked at you- with kindness and love in his eyes. The small smiles that appeared on his lips whenever you talked. How he hovered near you whenever you talked to another Lost Boy. His winks across the fire. How he looked at you like you were his whole world. 

“What was that, darling?” Pan said cockily. 

“I’m sure you heard me.” You counter, “You are the King of Neverland after all.” 

“That I am.” Peter said, “But why don’t you say it once more just so I can be certain?” 

“I love you.” You admit, sighing, “I wasn’t supposed to say anything because it might mess up our entire relationship and you might not even like me back, let alone love me, but these months have been fantastic and spending time with you has been wonder-”

Peter cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. 

He backs you up against a tree, his hands going to your waist as your arms wrap around his neck, deepening the kiss. Your lips move in sync, and you feel as if everything has come together. 

“I love you too.” Peter says after you break apart, “Thought you might wanna know.” 

You laugh before reaching up and kissing him again.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

I Miss You Like It Was The Very First Night

Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader Summary - Your friends say they know what you're going through, they know you miss him. They weren't there, they didn't read the note on the Polaroid picture, they weren't riding in the car when you both fell, they don't know you miss him like that very first night.

"I don't know why you agreed to that in the first place," Sam grumbles. "It's grunt work. Stupid grunt work. Grunt work that the grunts make gruntier grunts-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. It doesn't matter, I agreed to it over a year ago. I was still trying to figure out my place here."

Sam shrugs. "I guess. How'd she take it?"

"Who?" Bucky asks, though he knows exactly who Sam's talking about.

"Don't play dumb with me," Sam retorts, elbowing Bucky in the ribs. "Seriously, I can't imagine she'd be okay with it."

"Why not? You don't think she'd be happy for me finding a purpose here?"

"Am I chopped liver to you? All the missions we've gone on - nothing, really?" Sam quips. "And I'm sure she would...or she'd try to be happy for you. But that girl has severe abandonment and attachment issues, which brings me back to how she took it."

Bucky remains silent, ruminating on the very good points Sam just brought up.

"Oh no," Sam gasps.

"What?"

"Tell me you told her - that you talked to her about this." Bucky sighs, grabbing another beer for himself.  Sam shakes his head at the idiot in front of him. "You mean to tell me you didn't tell your- for all intents and purposes- your girlfriend that you're leaving for 15 months?"

"You're leaving for 15 months?" you whisper from behind Bucky.

"Doll," he gasps, cursing your light as a feather footsteps. He whirls around just in time to see your smile slowly drop into a frown. He's never seen you look this upset before, and it breaks his heart.

"I should let the two of you talk," Sam awkwardly excuses himself, before bolting out of the very tense room.

"You're leaving?" you whisper, feeling a strange tugging sensation at your heart and your throat.

"Yeah," Bucky ruefully sighs, grasping the back of his neck. "I'm going on a mission."

"What kind of mission?" you whisper, feeling your jaw tighten.

"Undercover."

"That's- that's cool," you quietly offer, an unbearable sadness growing in your chest. "Going undercover- that'll be fun."

"I'm not going undercover. I'll be the contact point for the people actually going undercover."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

When you finally find your voice, you can't keep the words from spilling on your mouth- all the fear, all the sadness. It pours out of you. "Wait, you don't have to go right now? You can stay for a little bit, right?"

Once you see the apologetic look on his face, you have your answer. "Or you can take me with you- and I can cheer you on from the sidelines. Or just sit in the background, right? You don't have to leave me." You pause for a moment, tears welling in your eyes. "You don't have to leave me."

He sighs, not able to look at you. "Doll..."

"No, don't. Please don't. Just don't go. Please don't- I know it's selfish to ask. Just...please. I can take a lot...but I don't think I can take this," you frantically admit as your throat continues to tighten. 

"Doll..." he tries again.

"No," you scramble for the words. The right words that'll make him stay. "I'll do better. I'll be better. I promise, just please don't leave me...No one's ever stayed this long before. Please. You can't leave."

"I have to," he trembles, still not able to meet your pleading eyes. "I have to go."

You shake your head, trying to pull yourself back together. This isn't right, the way you feel. Bucky isn't yours- he's not a possession. Let alone one you have any right to hold on to, and yet you still don't want to let him go. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be making this harder for you," you state, wiping the tears away. "This- This is wrong- It's my problem, not yours."

"I, um, I should let you go. I have- I have to go anyway," you stammer, turning on your heels before Bucky can squeeze in a single word.

Instead of going straight after you, he gives himself, and you, a little time to calm down. Then he goes searching for you. It's not long before he finds you in your room. He tries opening the door, but FRIDAY declines entry. "I'm sorry, Mr. Barnes, she's asked to be alone at this time."

"Yeah, well this is an urgent problem, so let me in."

Then he's opening your bedroom door. You're hunched over, sitting on the foot of your bed. Like all the sunshine has drained from the room, for the first time ever, he walks in there and it doesn't feel like home.

"I just want to be left alone right now," you mumble, clutching the photograph that you plucked from your wall. 

"You never want to be alone," he responds, slowly walking closer to you.

You want to tell him that you've never had to pull yourself together like this before. You've never had to fight every instinct of your being to keep yourself upright. You've never felt this burning, aching sensation ruminating in the center of your chest. It feels like more than sadness- it's worse. Something you don't even have the words to describe.

"What do you have there?"

You think back to that very first night:

"You look great. You have that classic beauty thing working for you- you don't want to overstate that," Nat repeats, putting the final touches on your look for tonight.

"It should be you going."

"Steve and Sam both agreed that you're ready for this. Trust yourself. And Bucky will be there with you all night," Nat reminds you.

"But what if they're wrong?"

"They're not. I think you're ready too- and I'm never wrong."

"Really?"

"Really. Now go, Bucky's waiting for you," Nat shoos you out of your own room, staying behind to clean up the mess the two of you made from getting you ready.

You nod, slowly walking out of your room and down the hall where you see Bucky standing there in a tux.

"God damn," Bucky wheezes, seeing you walk down the hall. It’s a different look than your colorful t-shirts and sundresses. You stand there in one of Nat’s dresses, and it feels like all the oxygen has left Bucky’s lungs.

“You look so nice!” you compliment, walking up to a still frazzled Bucky. 

“Thanks,” Bucky chokes out.

"Look at the two of you. It looks like you're going to prom," Nat coos. "I stole this from your room. Just one for your first recon mission?" she asks, holding your Polaroid in her hand.

"What's prom?" you ask.

"Picture first," Nat demands. "Then I'll tell you after your mission."

"Fine," Bucky huffs, standing rigidly a foot away from you.

"Can you two move closer together?"

He shuffles a little closer, but you don't miss a beat, sidling up right next to him. He gently places his hand on the small of your back, shuddering at the feeling of your warm bare skin.

Once the pictures are taken, every fiber of Bucky’s being wants to bolt out of the door hoping that this mission will be over sooner rather than later. Still like the gentleman he was raised to be, he offers you his arm and helps you into the car.

"You're nervous," Bucky states once he’s finally composed himself enough to speak to you. He sees the way you’re fidgeting in the passenger seat and picking at the material of your dress. "Don't be nervous."

"I'm not very good at this- I'm better at field missions."

"This is a field mission," he chuckles.

You roll your eyes, a playful smirk on your face. "You know what I mean. I'm not good at the talking, mingling- people usually can tell there's something wrong with me."

Bucky frowns, his eyebrows furrowed. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"No, I know."

"Do you?"

"I'm just not good at this kind of thing. I don't even know why Steve wanted me for this one, it seems like more of a job for Nat. She's good at talking to people, talking, dressing all fancy, and being incognito. Me? Not so much."

Bucky knew exactly why Steve picked you for this mission. The more innocuous reason was to show you that you were capable of the same things that everyone else was. But as Bucky's meddling best friend, Steve was relentlessly finding ways to push the two of you together. "Well you certainly did great at the dressing up part."

"Really? I feel kind of silly."

"You don't look silly." Then it's silent. And he knows you're back overthinking your role in this mission. Even though he’s never the one to initiate affection with you, he grabs your hand without even thinking. "You know, I don't want you to be like everyone else- you're great the way you are. I like you the way you are."

"Yeah?" you ask, your voice filled with hope. 

"Yeah."

He nudges his head to the polaroid in your hand. "What'd you have there?" 

"Photo," you mumble.

"I remember that night," he tries.

But you interrupt him, not able to take a trip down memory lane with him right now. "I don't really feel like reminiscing with you, Bucky."

"Bucky?" he repeats, hating the way his nickname sounds in your mouth. You've only ever called him James before and while he'd never admit it, he liked that you were the only person that called him by his real name. "You've never called me that before."

"James," you correct. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry," he softly replies, putting his hand on yours. This time you jerk your hand away. "Doll, please talk to me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" you whisper, keeping your eyes down and hands tucked on your lap.

"I forgot- honestly I did. And then, I just- I don't know. I'm sorry I didn't say anything."

"What's going on?" Steve whispers seeing Sam pressed up against your door. 

"They're fighting- it's not good," Sam tells him in a hushed tone.

"They're fighting?"

"Well right now she's yelling at him, but I can't hear because you won't shut up," Sam hisses.

"Should we be listening to this?" Steve says as he joins Sam to listen in on the conversation. "Why are they fighting anyway? They don't fight- correction, she doesn't fight."

"He didn't tell her he's leaving today."

"Oh, boy."

"Yup."

"And I'm mad at you!" you shout at Bucky. Sam narrows his eyes at Steve, realizing he just missed an integral part of the conversation talking to Steve.

"You're mad? You're never mad."

"Well I am! I'm so angry with you," you fumed.

"Because I'm leaving?"

"Because you're leaving- because you didn't tell me. Because-because how am I supposed to be okay without you?" Your chest heaving at the unfamiliar emotions raging at you. "I'm mad because I'm going to miss you!"

"And I know you'll be okay!" you exclaim.

"But I won't- because I'm going to miss you so much that it hurts," you shout. "And I shouldn't be telling you this. It's not fair to you," you begin to finally wind down. "But that's how I feel. And I've never felt like this before and it hurts- it hurts too much."

"Well normal people get angry- they..." then he trails off, realizing the words that just spilled out of his mouth.

"Normal?" you quiver, flinching away from Bucky. 

"I didn't mean it like that," he quickly assures you, reaching for your hand, but you once again reject it. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I swear I didn't mean it like that."

"Man, all our hard work- down the drain," Sam mumbles in defeat, still leaned against the door to eavesdrop.

"You know, I came here for a reason.  She's late for our mission," Steve tells Sam.

"I won't lie to you," Sam whispers. "I came to tell Bucky he's running late too. But I wasn't about to interrupt that."

"So you stayed and decided to listen in?"

"Exactly! You have fun interrupting them though." 

Bucky rips the door open wide, knocking Sam over and leaving Steve frozen in the doorway. "We can hear you, you know!"

You're wiping tears from your eyes, turned away from all three men. "I'll be there in a minute. Sorry, Steve."

"You don't have to-" Steve begins to object, but you turn around, shaking your head.

"It's fine. I'll meet you at the jet," you insist.

"Alright," Steve nods, walking off. 

"Buck, we gotta go," Sam mumbles, feeling the heaviness and sadness permeate the air. 

"Right," Bucky nods.

"You go," you nod, trying to pull a smile on your face. "Be safe. Have fun."

You're about to bolt out of the room, but you don't. You turn around and wrap your arms around Bucky. He doesn't even have a chance to respond before you're scurrying off.

"That was painful to watch."

"Yeah, it was," Bucky sorrowfully whispered, watching you walk away from him.

Your mission was a complete blur. It was successful, you knew that thanks to your debrief, but you couldn't really remember anything except that you'd just said goodbye to your favorite person. Most of the team begged you to stay and have a pizza night with them, but it was to no avail. You kept a smile on your face telling them you were tired and not very hungry. So you dragged your feet back to your room. And as you walk in, your eyebrows furrow in confusion. You left your picture on the bed, not on the desk. And as you move closer there's a new note written at the bottom in Bucky’s handwriting:

'Normal (nor-mal) n. 1. People that are not as extraordinary as you are.'

And it makes your heart ache for him even more.

Then it's Friday night, your designated movie night with Bucky. And it hurts that he's not here. You're sitting in front of a dark screen, debating on whether you even feel like watching anything without him.

"It's movie night, right?" Steve asks, suddenly standing in the doorway.

"Yeah."

"I know what you're going through," Steve offers. "I know you miss him."

"Yeah," you exhale. But you're not sure if they do understand. They weren't there for all those little moments, all those times Bucky's been there, they didn't read the note of the Polaroid picture, you're pretty sure they don't know just how much you miss him. But maybe they did, maybe this was what people felt when their other half was gone. But then you're wondering if other people have another piece of themselves in another person. Was it normal to give someone what felt like the most important part of you?

"But I'll watch with you if you want."

You nod. "Sure."

But even though you're an overly affectionate person, even though you've nestled against the entire team before, this time it doesn't feel the same. Steve's taller and it makes your neck hurt to lean against him. He doesn't make sarcastic remarks about the characters and comment a million ways that their conflicts could be resolved in under 30 minutes. He doesn't sigh when there's a cheesy line or a plot hole that isn't covered.

He just isn't Bucky.

You can't even focus on the movie- all that's glaringly noticeable is Bucky's absence and you feel it everywhere. And you still can't bring yourself to regret becoming so attached to him. 

"I'm going to call it a night," you state, only one episode into your watching session.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thank you for watching with me- I'm just getting tired."

Then it's a week later. Bucky's called three times, and each time you've refused to speak with him, mostly because you can't. You can't listen to his voice because then it all starts to hurt again. Your throat tightens and jaw clenches.

It's an ugly feeling, it's so complicated and messy that you don't even know how to unpack any of it. So when Sam silently offers you the phone, you shake your head at Sam, the knot in your throat still as tight as it was the day Bucky left. You've told Sam what to say. That you're busy. Or not here right now. And like everyone else on the team, you tell Sam that you're fine. 

"She's not here. Sorry," Sam mumbles, torn between two of his closest friends.

"Come on. I know she's there. Just let me talk to her," Bucky pleads. Sam turns around to try to force you to talk to him, but you've already rushed out of the room.

"Sam, please. I know she told you not to tell me, but please I need to know- How is she?"

He sighs, finally giving in. "It's not good. She's keeping it together mostly, but she's not herself. She's not sleeping, eating, being her normal sunshine self- but what's a sunshine without her grump, you know? I've known her for a long time and to be honest, I've never seen her like this. She misses you- a lot."

"I miss her too."

"How are you? For real?"

"In hell," Bucky grunts. "I shouldn't have agreed to this. I didn't think it'd be this hard to be away from her, you know?"

"I know. She sneaks her way in, but once she's there, you never want her to leave." He pauses, unsure of what to tell Bucky. "Listen, do you want to be there? Without even thinking about your girl, do you want to be there?"

"No," Bucky replies instantly. "No, I don't."

"So then leave," Sam responds without hesitation. "Leave and come home- while you still have someone to come home to."

Once he's off the phone with Bucky, he goes to check on you. He gently cracks open your door, gently knocking to alert you of his presence. You’re sitting there, staring at the note on the Polaroid picture.

He comes to sit with you on the edge of your bed. “You okay?”

You rest your head on Sam’s shoulder when he sits next to you. "It hurts, Sam. It hurts so much. I feel like I can't breathe, like my throat's actually going to close up."

"You miss him,” Sam simply states.

“Is this because I have attachment issues? Do I get too attached to the wrong people?”

“No. There’s nothing wrong with missing Bucky, it’s only been a week. Give yourself a chance to adjust- it’ll get better. I promise.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The next day, you're in the kitchen, trying to find your footing without Bucky here. After Sam's words last night, you decided you were going to try to adjust like Sam said you would. You decided to try one of your favorite activities- baking. You awkwardly made your way into the kitchen, bumping into things, dropping ingredients on the floor, and just completely off-balance.

You catch your reflection in the reflection of the fridge, flour on your face and in your hair and a frown that rivals Bucky’s infamous stoic expression. Then you see him in the reflection behind you.

"Bucky," you exhale, whirling around to look and also slightly worried that you're hallucinating his return 15 months too early. He takes a few steps forward, and without thinking you reach out and touch his shoulder. And it's him, he’s there.

He's really there. Standing right in front of you.

"What- What are you doing here?" you ask, the corners of your lips already pulling up. 

"I forgot something," he replies, taking another step closer to you.

You try to keep your smile from dropping, turning away from him in hopes that he won't see the disappointment and heartbreak on your face. "Oh." 

He grabs your arm, turning you back around and without wasting a single second, his lips are on yours. His hand moves from your arm to your waist, pulling you even closer to him. The kiss itself is filled with an intense desperate need. And he refuses to let you go until you need to breathe.

"I forgot to do that," he whispers against your lips, gently kissing you over and over again.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Grumpy Sunshine Series Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

[nek0mars]

Prayers to the Stars (just some short Seven angst for angst enjoyers)

He had been sitting there for a while, clacking away on his keyboard. The area surrounding him was messy—empty Honey Buddha Chip bags and cans of Dr. Pepper littered the small and uncomfortable space where he’d chosen to set up his devices.

MC knew that Seven hadn’t eaten in hours. Frown lines began to crease her forehead as she stared at the back of Seven’s head. She was worried. She was so worried that—against his wishes—she found herself entering into what he’d called his “hacking bubble.” Lightly touching his shoulder, she prepared to ask him if he wanted to have dinner with her. Suddenly, she felt him shudder, and she quickly withdrew her hand, regretting her actions.

“What?” he snapped, quickly pulling down his headphones.

He did not turn around to face her.

MC flinched. In the 7 days she’d known him, he’d never once acted this coldly. There’d always been times where he’d distanced himself from her, but he’d never lashed out at her like this before. The quick change of his personality practically pushed her to the brink of tears.

Instead of asking him if he wanted to eat dinner with her, her emotions got the better of her, and the questions began to bubble up on their own.

“Why…why are you doing this? Don’t– don’t you care? About…about...me?” she asked meekly.

Seven finally whirled around, responding only with a stormy glare. She could see his figure begin to shake, but she couldn’t understand why. Was he angry? Or irritated? Trying to dispel the questions running through her mind, she continued speaking to him in a wavering voice…a voice ready to betray her at any moment.

“Seven, please, can’t you answer my ques–”

“I don’t care about your feelings, okay?! Just… stop. Stop caring about me! You don’t even know me…! Just stop…okay?”

MC’s bottom lip began to quaver. Seeing her reaction to his outburst, Seven sighed.

“Just…just let me work, MC. Leave me alone, it’s…” he trailed off, hesitating a bit.

It’s for the best, he thought to himself.

And without finishing his sentence, he turned away from her in order to hide the anguish and pain in his eyes from hers. He slipped his headphones back on, sat back down, and continued from where he’d left off, typing out the code essential for their survival. Staying focused on this task was difficult;  it took all his willpower not to somehow integrate traces of MC into the code before him.

Once again, with a grimace, he silently acknowledged the secrets he’d hidden from this woman. This woman who was strong, kind, funny, beautiful…This woman he’d unwittingly fallen for over the past week.

To his surprise, he began to hear the sounds of quiet sobs muffled by his headphones. MC was crying behind him.

God…why did it have to be like this? he thought, blinking back bitter tears.

Oh, how he wished that God would answer his prayers. Before, there was only one thing in this world he wanted more than anything: for Saeran to be safe. Now, he realized with a start that he’d been subconsciously praying a new prayer along with the old one.

Please, God, I want to tell her everything. If not everything, then at least let me tell her…let me tell her that…that I… love her...

…He knew there was no easy chance for a miracle. He was too deeply convinced that his wishes weren’t meant to be granted by anyone. Not by God, not by V—

—and especially not by MC.

MC… was an angel. An angel sent from heaven to give him hope and light though his depression and darkness. He knew she could see sides of him that no one else would have ever seen, and she was entirely and utterly perfect. But he knew he wouldn’t dare taint her purity with the darkness that followed him.

No, instead, he would forever be Luciel, a man on the brink of darkness. Darkness that he couldn’t let MC fall into. His heart was in complete torment, but he tried to convince himself it would be better this way. He’d never—never—forgive himself if something happened to MC.

He really wished with all his soul that it didn’t have to end like this.

It was then he realized if things continued this way, there would be so many things MC would never know.

She would never know the guilt he felt the moment he began to distance himself from her.

She would never know how his heart broke the moment he raised his voice at her.

She would never know how desperately he wished he could wipe her tears away.

She would never know…how much he’d fallen for her.

This revelation tore his heart apart even more, and he pushed a hand to his chest in an effort to keep together the pieces within him that threatened to crumble away. He knew it would make no difference, but he did it anyway, and took a moment to feel the sad beating of his breaking heart. ------------------------- Thanks for reading!! Lemme know if you’d like more of this type of thing! :) - Kat

[acourtofthought]

Why is this always presented as an Anti Elucien argument:

Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

And:

Lucien was shaking his head, panting, and whirled to us. “Get her back,” he snarled at Tamlin over the ranting of the king.

(the I'M getting her back against the "GET her back)

Without ever including this:

Lucien breathed, “Where is he keeping her?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Rhysand has a hundred places where they could be, but I doubt he’d use any of them to hide Elain, knowing that I’m aware of them.”

“Tell me anyway. List all of them.”

“You’ll DIE the moment you set foot in his territory.”

“I survived well enough when I found you.”

“You couldn’t see that he had me in thrall. You let him take me back.” Lie, lie, lie.

Lucien slowly released his grip. “I need to find her.”

And:

“I’m going with you,” he said again, face splattered with blood as bright as his hair. “I’m getting my mate back.”

Here's the thing. Lucien is not a hardened, battle ready warrior. He's clever, he's a planner, but he's not an aggressor, he's not usually reactive based off his emotions because he's calculated. He's a thinker first and a doer second.

We have this usually level headed male who has spent CENTURIES truly believing his Mate was murdered in front of him. He is shocked beyond all belief, in the absolute worst moment for everyone involved, to discover he was wrong all these years and the absolute undying emotional loyalty he's given to Jesminda makes him suddenly feel like he's betrayed her memory. Not to mention the overwhelming power of the actual bond snapping into place which we know nearly caused Rhys to lose control.

So yeah, I wouldn't be so critical of Lucien in this moment. He's shocked, he's confused, he's overwhelmed. I'd say it's pretty par for the course that the males who we've seen a mating bond snap into place for struggle with how to act right after.

But once Lucien was able to regain control of his senses, he wanted to form a plan. He wanted Feyre to tell him about the Night Court so he could figure out the best course of action.

From what I gather about Elain's character, she'd much prefer someone who gives careful consideration to their actions before jumping right into a fight with someone over someone whose first instinct is to run headfirst into danger without ever really thinking it through at all.

[smashedrose]

Cowboy Like Me (Pt. 2)

Authors Note: The next part is linked at the bottom! This is going to be a new series I will eventually move to Wattpad. I do not condone or support cheating this is purely fiction.

Warnings: Cheating, angst, mentions of sexual situations, mentions of blackmail, and violence. (No smut in this part but stay tuned for part three!)

Summary: Kayce comes to terms with what just happened and Y/N discovers his marriage and is conflicted. Should she continue or should she do what Beth says to prevent her from telling everyone?

———————————————————————

I stare in shock at the man laying over me, confused and ashamed that we got caught. I hadn’t even been there a day and I’m already hooking up with one of the cowboys, or at least I hope he’s just a cowboy and not one of the sons.

He gets off me in an instant and rushes to put on his jeans, throwing me mine and making a silent motion over his mouth with his finger. I nod and slip on my jeans, heart pounding as he goes to creak the door open, his body shielding the woman’s gaze from me.

“What makes you think i’m with Rip’s cousin?” I hear Kayce ask, making the woman laugh. “Well unless we happened to pick up that stripper Rip’s been wanting that would mean you’re either with me or with baby Wheeler. And I may be a mean son of a bitch but incest just ain’t my thing.” She says.

They’re related? I think to myself, mind whirling with questions about who I just slept with. And I know Rip would flip but who’s Monica and why would she also have the same reaction?

I shake the thoughts away and make my way to the door, laying a hand on his back letting him know it’s okay that she sees me. She looks me up and down and smiles to herself “Damn. Y’all’s family must’ve won the fucking gene lottery.”

I let out an awkward laugh and shuffle a bit, nervous about what i’m going to ask. “Can you please not tell him? We just met again after years apart and I don’t want him to think of me as some whore. I’ll do anything name your price.”

She seems thoughtful for a moment and I can see her mind brewing with ideas before she widens her eyes and smiles. “I’ll tell ya what, I won’t tell Rip OR Monica.” She glances at Kayce who’s looking at his shoes, wanting to be anywhere but here “But you little lady are going to help me with something. I can use those good looks of yours for a little business venture.”

“What the he’ll do you mean Beth she just got here don’t get her involved with-“ Kayce starts but is cut short when the woman, apparently called Beth, rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Don’t worry, it’s not anything that has to do with the ranch. Just a little favor for good old Daddy.”

“Beth I swear to god if you use her as a pawn for you’re fucking feud with Jenkins i’ll kill ya.” Kayce replies, catching onto whatever she is wanting me to do. I’m left confused and standing to the side, still trying to piece together what just happened.

“So what do you say little lady? Gonna accept or do you wanna be known as the fuck toy for your stay?” She states, wearing a smile as if knowing what i’m about to say. “Fine I’ll do it. But don’t you dare tell rip or whoever the fuck Monica is.”

———————————————————————

Apparently, what I agreed to was far less that what I was expecting. Beth led me to the main house and I stop in my tracks, piecing together the fact that she’s THE Beth Dutton.

I stare at her with my mouth open and quickly close it, before asking the question that I knew the answer to. “So, um Kayce is a Dutton?” I mumbled, looking down at my boots as we step onto the front porch. “You got a lot to learn around here but yes. I’m assuming you know who I am then?”

“Yeah, kinda figured it out considering I was told not to enter this house unless invited.”

“Who the fuck told ya that?”

“Rip.” I state and with that she smirks before turning towards me. “Well you can tell your dear cousin that the same rules apply to him. Never seen him follow that damn rule in my life.”

I nod and make my way inside, taken aback by the decor. Growing up, we never had much money so walking into this place felt like walking into a palace. Glancing around, I follow her down a hall before asking more questions about what she wants from me.

“So i’m just gonna seduce him? Isn’t he married?” I ask, while entering the bedroom door. “Yeah and you obviously don’t got an issue with that considering Kayce.”

“Wait- What?! He’s married?” I am wide eyed and my heart comes to a stop, realizing that Monica is his wife. “He didn’t tell ya? What a shame, I thought I was beginning to like you.”

“You liked me more when you thought I was a home wrecker?”

“Honestly yeah, never liked Monica and had been waiting on my little brother to do this. Hell, him not being able to keep his dick in his pants is what got him married in the first place.”

I’m in a state of shock, alcohol still in my system and I can’t help but laugh. Not out of joy of course but more out of shock that I’m in this situation in the first place. She shakes her head and smiles before heading to a wardrobe, pulling out a silk dress and heels.

“Alright Y/N, put this on and we’ll be on our way.”

I stare at the sage green dress and tan heels, admiring the way it glistened in the light. “Are you sure? If anything happens to this there’s no way that i can aff-“ I’m cut off by her.

“Don’t worry about that, think of it as a welcoming gift for my dear brothers mistress. God knows I’ve been waiting for it.” And my heart drops again at her name for me. Mistress. I just came here for work experience, not to be thrown into a fucking affair. I make a mental note to talk to Kayce after this and figure out what he really wants.

Besides, if Monica doesn’t find out what do I have to lose? I’ll be out of here in a few weeks and back at college, never seeing him again.

———————————————————————

Beth leads me into the hotel bar before coming to a stop near an older man with grey hair. His eyes seem to devour me and I discreetly shift, uncomfortable at the situation I put myself in.

“Well Dan, what a surprise running into you here.” Beth says, coming to sit down next to him. I take that as my cue to sit down next to him and lean over the bar, trying to get this done with as fast as possible.

“You’re not gonna introduce me to your friend?” He says, eyes still on me with a twinkle in his eyes. Fucking disgusting why did I agree to this, hell why did I agree to come to the ranch in the first place. My thoughts are interrupted by beth’s laugh and her words.

“This is Y/N, she’s a wrangler and what I would like to call a family friend.”

If that isn’t the biggest lie i’ve heard all night then I don’t know what is.

“Well Y/N it’s a pleasure to meet you. Tell me, how did the Yellowstone come to find you? I thought y’all only had murderous cowboys and land hungry old men.”

“Like you?” I hear beth say, sending a silent glare at me to not give any information about myself. Jenkins, or Dan as Beth calls him, rolls his eyes and faces her.

“And what do you want? You ruined my fucking marriage. You befriended my wife. What else could you possibly want from me?”

She smirks and grabs his face, running her nails over his skin. “Wanna come home with me and my friend? I can promise you, we’ll make it worth your while.”

She had already told me of her plan so I wasn’t taken aback, but the reality set in when she said those words. Was I really about to lead a man I barely know to his own death because I slept with a married man?

———————————————————————

I step out of the car, shaking. I knew what was coming, someone would come up behind him and drag him off to who knows where to do god knows what to him. Breathing in the cool air, I hear him step out and the sound of feet running towards him.

Closing my eyes, I wrap my arms around my waist and pray for this moment to be over. I hear screams and the sound of horses leading him away, and I shakily look at my feet.

A pair of boots are in front of me and I hesitantly look up, coming face to face with Rip.

“What the hell Beth. She doesn’t wear the brand why the fuck would you get Y/N involved in this?” He angrily asks, storming towards her and grabbing her arms.

“Met her tonight and figured I could use her. Relax, nothing happened to her.”

“Then why the fuck does she have those marks on her neck? Huh? You used my cousin as a fucking prostitute.”

Beth just laughs at this and winks at me, as if to say my secret is safe with her. I almost believe her until I hear “Trust me, Jenkins isn’t the one that marked up that pretty little neck.”

———————————————————————

Part Three…

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Orphan of Shadows Chapter 8

Kaz Brekker x ShadowSummoner!Reader

Word Count: 1507

Summary: Getting into the Little Palace via . . . unconventional ways.

When Kaz explained to you how the lot of them would be sneaking into the fête, you wanted to grab him by the jacket and shake him vigorously while screaming, “Of course the Little Palace is impregnable, you fucking idiot! What did you expect?!” But you didn’t

So they’ll be sneaking in with the entertainers, your mind whirled as it schemed. How am I going to swing it?

The idea that struck you like a lightning bolt sent your heart straight down your body through your boots. “Son of a bitch . . .” you muttered, eyes sliding shut for a moment in your exasperation.

“What?” Kaz asked immediately.

The pair of you were in a small pub clear across Kribirsk from where Jesper and Inej were currently training with the group would be smuggling them in, so you had to keep your voices down due to the public nature of the location. Meaning the pair of you were sitting quite close together to prevent being overheard, and you were all too aware of how close the pair of you were even with the inches of physical separation that Kaz needed.

“I have to go to the gates and tell them I’m grisha.” Your heart was pounding, but whether it was from that thought or being around Kaz, you were uncertain.

His dark eyebrows furrowed. “Is that not exactly what we’re trying to prevent?”

“What other options do we have, Kaz?” you snapped.

To that, he seemingly had no answer since he said nothing. His lips pursed unhappily as his hand tightened on his cane.

“Now that we are across the Fold, they’ll likely take me straight to the General since I’ve managed to avoid joining the Second Army for so long.”

“And then what? He finds out what you are and I-- . . . we never see you again?”

Your pounding heart gave a funny little lurch at what he almost said, but you quickly clamped down on that runaway thought. That was a hope you couldn’t afford yourself to have, especially in the midst of this mess of a job. “I’m recognizable, Kaz,” you argued with a wave at the scars on your face, “and I have his kefta.” You took a deep breath. “I know how to circumvent whatever test they may put me through, keep them from finding out the truth. All I have to do is say I learned how to control it on my own and just came to thank him for saving me.”

“They’ll force you to join the Second Army even if they only know you’re grisha.”

“And that’s how I’ll be in the Palace for the fête.”

“And how are you planning to leave? You’ve run from him once. Do you really expect him to let you go again?”

You shrugged. “I’ve picked up a few things back home that I doubt the good people of East Ravka will expect; I’m sure I can manage. Besides, you’re already stealing the Sun Summoner; a piddly shadow summoner should be easy after that.” Doubt curled in your stomach. “. . . Assuming you’ll come after me, that is.”

“Of course I would,” he swore, eyes burning in intensity. “I will not leave you there.”

“Thank you.”

A harsh breath left his nose. He moved to stand. “Be careful.”

You scoffed. “You’re the one going face-first into a kidnapping. You be careful.”

~

“State your business,” came the bored voice from the booth at the gates of the Little Palace, the gate on the opposite side of Os Alta from where they were letting the entertainers in.

“I’m grisha,” you announced, voice blessedly steady.

A face appeared as the, apparently durast based off their kefta, attendant slid open the service window. “Awful old to be just figuring it out, aren’t ya?”

You clenched your jaw in annoyance. “I ran away.”

“Well . . . prove it, go on.”

“No.”

They barked a laugh. “Then I’m not letting you in.”

Before they could slam the window shut in your face, you called, “I know the general!”

They paused, staring at you.

You pulled the kefta’s sleeve out of your bag just enough to show off the embroidery. Immediately, their eyes widened at the sight. You casually said, “I also have something of his, as you might notice.”

“That’s--”

“Real? Tell me something I don’t know. I’ve gotten shot more than a few times while wearing that.”

“How--”

“Just go tell the general I’m here. Make sure to include the scars in your description of me; they’re from volcra.”

They nodded dumbly before scampering off, leaving you anxiously awaiting your fate.

You took to counting the number of bricks making up the wall around the Little Palace to kill time. You were up to 189 when a pair of guards in black opened the gate. “Follow us,” one ordered coldly, not waiting for your response before marching off.

The room they led you to was grander than any you’d set foot in when not on a job in specific parts of Ketterdam. Of course it was. While little, this was still a Palace, after all, so you weren’t too surprised at the unnecessary grandeur. High ceilings and marble floors were stunning, but none of the room’s details gave hint to what, exactly, the room was used for. Still, the filigree alone would have fetched a fortune back home.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You whipped around to lay eyes on your savior for the first time in years. “It is.” This man may have been your hero once upon a time, but you weren’t foolish enough to think that he was a good man so you kept your tone clipped.

His grey eyes focused on your facial scars for a moment. “So it truly is you . . . I’d wondered what happened after you ran away.”

“Kids are known for doing stupid things.”

“But they often find ways to come home in the end.”

“I thought it was about time I said thank you.”

He nodded regally. “It was no trouble. I always try to help a grisha in need.”

You found yourself returning the nod slightly. “So you did know I was grisha.”

“I knew the moment I touched you. What I didn’t know is what you are capable of, so shall we find out after all these years?”

“I think I’ll pass; I know plenty about my powers already.”

“An introduction then, perhaps? A formal start to our new friendship.”

Years with Ketterdam’s most notorious criminals taught you to look for people’s tells, and the Black General wasn’t particularly good at hiding his because the curious gleam shining in his eyes was a dead giveaway that he was planning something. Still you had to play your part, so you tightened your grip on your powers and offered your hand along with your name.

When he replied with, “Aleksander,” and grasped your hand in return, you felt the same influx in power as you had that day in the Fold, but all that resulted this time was a slight darkening in the color of your shadow when he nicked your palm with his abnormally sharp ring.

An amused smirk formed on his fine features. “Your control is quite impressive.”

“You’ll find I don’t like to share my secrets casually.”

Aleksander chuckled. “I look forward to getting to know you better, then. As it stands, I'm needed in preparation for the fête. My guards will escort you to your new rooms. 

Your eyes narrowed. Though this was the expected outcome, you couldn’t say you liked it.

“And you can keep the kefta . . . At least until we know what colors you belong in.”

You gritted your teeth. “. . . Thank you.”

~

On the way to ‘your rooms’, your little group was stopped by a redhead in a white kefta and a brunette in a blue and yellow kefta.

“What’s going on here?” the brunette asked curiously. There was a lovely smile on her face from whatever conversation they were having before, but the unfamiliar embroidery color made you wary of her.

“New arrival,” Left Guard informed her. “We’re taking her to her rooms.”

“Where are they? Genya and I can take her the rest of the way for you.”

“We’re under orders from the general,” Right Guard argued.

“I’m sure he won’t mind if it’s us. I’m Alina,” she told you.

You hoped no one noticed the excited little wiggle your shadow gave before you managed to wrangle it back into place. You replied to her with your name. “I thank you for your kindness, but these two won’t let me out of their sight until I’m in my room because I wouldn’t tell the general what flavor of grisha I am.”

“Why not?” the gorgeous redhead, Genya you believed, asked.

“I want to see how far he’ll go to figure it out.” You winked. “I’ll see you later, though.”

“See you . . .” Alina said in an understandably confused tone.

Here for such a short time, and you already had a good deal of secrets to tell Kaz when you saw him next . . .

[minsyal]

The Fugitive: Finding Home, Pt. 2

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Warnings: strong language, Resident Evil-esque violence and descriptions of gore, and dark/sexual themes

Summary: A once-in-a-lifetime trip turned dark. You're quickly exposed to the sinister and mysterious world of a cursed village under the control of dark leaders. How long will you last and will you ever return home in one piece?

The Fugitive: Finding Home Masterlist

Part 1 - The Beginning

“Mother Miranda, I’ve been requesting new maids for at least six months to this day.”

“That’s because you keep eating your other ones.”

You were shaken awake.

“I think that my castle would be best suited for her.”

“Oh, so you can bleed ‘er dry? You think that would really be the best use of anyone’s time?” A familiar voice retorted.

“Good morning!” A shrill voice squeaked as what felt like wood kicked at your face. “She’s up! She’s up! She’s up!” It exclaimed excitedly with a bounce, the voice became softer as the skittering of feet scrambled away.

“Ah,” the unfamiliar smooth woman’s voice cooed as your eyes adjusted to your surroundings. There were what looked to be six figures in the room. Miranda stood before you, perched upon a stage-like area that once housed what you could only imagine was a priest or preacher. To the left sat a cloaked woman with a blob of white resting in her lap. Another woman, also adorned in a white garb, sat towering over the rest, the light constant trickle of smoke danced upward from her vintage cigarette holder. On your right sat a familiar face, the man from the village who had saved you only a few hours prior. You’d come to know him as Lord Heisenberg. He maintained the large woman’s gaze, but the look held no love or any remote sense of familial belonging. Instead, his eyes were set ablaze, even behind the shaded rims of his glasses. Lastly, a shorter creature with a large hunched back moved ungracefully around. Its long gangly arms accompanied by its deformed face only aided in the growing unease.

The dull ache of your shoulder only distracted you from the bindings of your wrists for a moment. Your attention was quickly drawn to the rough ropes that dug their thorny threads into the soft skin of your wrists. Everything ached, mentally and physically.

“I do think she would be best suited with me.” The tall woman repeated herself. “There’s no doubt Moreau wouldn’t be able to handle her, and likely not the rest of you either.”

The hunched creature whirled back, throwing a forlornly glare in the woman’s direction. You supposed that was Moreau.

“You think I couldn’t handle her?” Heisenberg shot back, bent forward to rest his weight on his heels. His relationship with the large woman was clearly tumultuous given his outburst and her subsequent reaction.

“You always get them.” The shrill voice called. It was the doll; the fucking doll was talking... not that this should surprise you at this point. “She should come with us! We need more friends.”

“You’re not included in this conversation.” The tall woman mocked with a fierce glare shot violently at the doll as its mouth hung slack.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Thus far, nobody had managed to answer your simple question. The lot turned toward you, the majority with piercing stares. “Guess not.” You muttered, becoming quite fed up with the range of emotions you had been experiencing over the past day. If it kept going in this direction, you’d surely have to be treated for whiplash.

“She’s already proven to be a considerable pain in my neck.” Miranda loudly projected. Her steps were a clear juxtaposition to her tone, falling light on the church floor as she approached. “One villager is unable to walk, another dead.”

“Dead?” The words fell before you could stop yourself. She didn’t answer.

“Please,” Heisenberg leaned back once more, his hand moving to the interior of his jacket, “the dumb thing practically laid down when she was attacked by a lycan.” His fingers fumbled around the darkened paper of a cigar. Yellow, blonde streaks flashed upon his face as the distinguishable clink of a metal lighter was flicked. “I wouldn’t call that too capable.”

“My friend pushed me.” You argued, once again mentally reeling for the outburst.

Heisenberg let out a huff of smoke, intentionally blowing it in the tall woman’s direction, “sounds like a piss poor friend.”

“Enough.” Miranda had taken to her spot at the front near the alter once more. “The girl shall go to Alcina.”

A wicked smile crossed the tall woman’s face. “Thank you, Mother Miranda. It is so good to have you back.”

“Where are you from?” One of the girls ushered you through the depths of the castle. She wore a simple gown with stitches at the bottom, holding together the frail fabric that looked to be decades old.

“America.”

The girl cocked her head to the side like a newborn. “I don’t know of that town.”

Upon arrival you were escorted down to what was described as the maids’ chambers. In a small stone room, you were assigned a cot, given a chest, and told to change into uniform. Your arm ached and spasmed as you lifted the lid of the trunk open. Somewhere between being shot by the villagers and being transported to Castle Dimitrescu, the bullet was removed from your shoulder and replaced with gauze that limited the mobility of your arm. The distinct oily feeling of grease caused friction between the bandages and your clothes; the ache of alcohol still stung, causing a sore numbness.

The Lady insisted all maids conform to the strict code of dress. Long, unflattering dresses, short heels, and sometimes a headscarf if hair wasn’t pulled tautly into a bun at the base of one’s neck were a few things to name the least. You always wore the headscarf, which was a thin piece of grey lace that attached at the peak of your hairline, cascading over your shoulders to land at waist-length.

The rest of the day passed slowly. You learned the ins and outs of the castle, became acquainted with the sparse staff that only consisted of women, and met Alcina’s daughters from a distance. The next two weeks passed the same way.

Wake up, clean the castle, serve Lady and her daughters, go to bed. That was your routine. Though, the sounds that seeped from the halls at night prompted unwavering curiosity. Heisenberg had mentioned the ill-fated maids that had the luxury of serving the Dimitrescu women back in that church. Nothing at this point had you doubting that was the case. But you assured yourself daily that you would not accept the castle’s fate; you would get out of here one way or another.

You had only been at the mercy of Lady Dimitrescu once to this day. A small spat broke out between maids and the arrival of the head of house had the women squealing lies of how you were the one to start it.

“She stole our rations!” The girl with the wide nose accused her chubby finger outstretched in your direction.

“I didn’t steal anything, you dirty fucking liar.”

“She did. We were squabbling over how she should be punished.” The other girl replied, tucking a shaking hand behind her back as she straightened her poor posture.

“A thief,” Alcina regarded you, “that’s a shame.” Knives skid across the thin skin of your forearm. “Another outburst like this and there will be harsher consequences.” Red stained her tongue as she ran the claw through her cherry-red lips.

As she sauntered down the hall and out of sight, you uncurled your arm from your chest, wincing at the large crimson stain it left on your dress.

“Fresh face.” The words ricocheted off the wall in front of you. Footsteps steadfastly approached from behind. He walked with an effortless swagger, legs slightly bowed with each lyrical step. You’d gone for the quiet route after the situation, finding that silence often pleased those that ruled over the castle. “Here I was thinkin’ it would take you a little longer to lose that fight.” He stepped closer; the unmissable smell of tobacco seeped from his lips. “Looks like I was wrong.”

Instead of words, you held his gaze through unimpressed eyes. Hues of yellows, greys, and greens met yours from beneath his rounded glasses. You could see more of him from here. A large scar ran from the right of his face to the left, the lifted skin healing over leaving memories of whatever had happened. In fact, the majority of his face was plagued with scars. One ran from the bottom of his lip down to his chin, disappearing beneath the stubble of his beard. You wondered if his disdain toward Alcina was founded by those wretched claws of hers. His hair was wirey with shades of brown and peppered grey streaking through the ends. Quite honestly, he was an attractive man.

“I’ve got a name, you know?”

“I don’t think I cared to ask.”

“Then I suppose you aren’t deserving of one either.”

“Well,” he tapped at your chest with a gloved finger, “I think you’ve got a little spunk left in you, sweetheart.”

“Call me Y/n.”

“No last name?” He deadpanned.

“L/n.”

He nodded, but you felt as though your words had passed through him like a ghost.

“Karl.” He gave a lazy bow, tilting the rim of his hat. “But I think you probably already knew that.”

“Gossip and information don’t come easily from the maids here. Sorry,” you pressed your lips together, “I didn’t know.”

Karl gave a shrug.

“Do you know what happened to my friend?” The thought had been playing on your mind for the past few weeks.

He raised an inquisitive brow and turned his head to peer out the shaded window. “The so-called friend that left you to become lycan chow?” A hearty tut left his chest. “I think she’s assimilated into the town.”

“Dumb bitch.” You breathed.

“There’s that spark.” He stood tall with an artificial sense of pride. It had been a long time since somebody in the village was willing to use such crude language in front of any of the Lords, let alone Miranda. It almost astonished him that they’d let you live after the killing of Adelina’s brother. The gun misfired; it wasn’t really your fault.

Another week of growing suspicions and two newly missing maids, you finally attempted to seek out the dungeons that everyone spoke of but warned to stray from. You had to know what was going on here.

“Lost?” Heisenberg’s voice appeared at your right side. His chin almost rested upon your shoulder; the stubble of his beard scratched at your neck. “This isn’t a place I’d get lost in if I were you. In fact, it’s not even a place you should be exploring.”

“Are you going to run to Alcina if I do?” You didn’t face him, why would you? The hallway was cramped, restricting of any sort of movement other than in the direction you were going.

“Me?” He leaned backward to stand at full height. Your body cursed silently, wishing nothing more than to have him close again. How he wasn’t hitting his head on the rafter just inches above floored you. “I hate that bitch. You do what you want, but I won’t bail you out when you get caught.”

“Good thing I don’t plan on being caught then.” You descended the metal ladder, only looking upward for a moment to catch a glimpse of Heisenberg leaning over the opening. An eerie smile was plastered on his lips, it was almost smug.

The dungeons were as you imagined. Cold water trickled down some of the walls, likely due to cracks in the castle’s foundation accompanied by the ever melting of the outside snow. It smelled of mothballs and garlic, something musty was clinging to the air. You noted a few turns here and there, attempting to memorize the path you had taken in case you needed to make a swift escape. What didn’t help was the skid of your maid’s clothes along the rigid floor.

Muffled cries put you further onto the edge. The narrow hall gave way to a large room filled with arched stonework. Metal bars shot from floor to ceiling, hinges creaked as the sound of hands banging against them filled your eardrums. You didn’t want to go further, scared of any repercussions should any of the jailed women recognize and rat you out.

Turning to head to the ladder, you collided with a chest. “Leaving so soon?” Heisenberg again.

“Shh!” You slapped at his chest with a closed fist, only realizing what you had done when the action was completed. He looked rightfully amused. Everything that you had learned of these “Lords” up to now told you to act less casually with him, to put on an air of respect at the very least. But there was something surprisingly human about him. Something that told you it was okay despite it potentially not being so. At this point, you were only prolonging the inevitable.

“What?” He started, swiftly being cut off by approaching footsteps. Firm hands grasped at your arms, pulling your face forward into his chest. “Open your mouth and I’ll feed you to whatever’s coming.” He said through his teeth, trapping your arms between your two bodies.

The room grew dim, the wall behind your back became close even though you had not moved at all. Heisenberg’s grip was strong on your forearms, causing you to inaudibly hiss as his thumb dug into the slash Alcina had left weeks prior. The footsteps were accompanied by the soft cries of a woman, gasping pleas of being let go falling silent on the ears of her assailant. A minute passed; the dungeon fell soundless.

“You can breathe now.” His lips lingered close to your ear, once again sending a rush of chills crawling down your skin. He knew what he was doing.

“I’ve been breathing.” You breathily retorted sounding as if you had just run a marathon.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

The wall behind you gave way, moving on its own. You turned; the materials that had been pressed to your back laid themselves on the ground. Heisenberg’s smile was unmissable. “Go ahead.” His voice was gravely, gruff, a slight melancholy dismay underlying. Heisenberg desired for you to implore what just happened, but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You refused to see him as anything but normal, for if you did give in to the village’s mental games, you’d likely find yourself going mad. He was a man, you told yourself, nothing more.

“I thought you weren’t going to bail me out?”

“I wasn’t.” He tightened his grip on your arms. “But I figured it’d be a shame to lose such a pretty face so soon.”

“I, I’m sure you say that to all the girls here.” You couldn’t hold his gaze at this distance. Perhaps Adelina was right, you were rather frumpy and unexperienced.

A huff came as he exhaled, a thoughtful tug of his lips upward accompanied it. He didn’t answer, a reoccurring event with those who inhabited this town.

Heisenberg had been keeping his trips to and from the castle a secret. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure why he felt so inclined to bother with the outsider woman who appeared in the village one fateful evening. Perhaps he was growing bored of his daily routine with no results to show. Maybe he was enticed by the well of knowledge you held of the outside world. Maybe it was something else, something human. The Lord’s weren’t allowed to stray far from the village. The other three lived delightfully oblivious, completely okay with never exploring the unknown. Heisenberg, on the other hand, was not. Your friend, Jess as he recalled you calling her, was far from interesting to him. It didn’t take a genius to tell how low her I.Q. had to be. She conformed easily to the village and by all accounts had been down talking you to the others she met. She quickly fell into the same brainwashed daze of worship.

It had been another turbulent week of utter chaos around every corner. Nobody knew of your adventure into the depths of Castle Dimitrescu and you had no intentions of spreading any gossip among the maids. They all seemed to have it out for you anyway. You were the “outsider,” as one described it. It was so blatantly evident to them that you were not going to conform to their ways. And that disturbed them.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t your fair share of punishment to this point. In actuality, you had received a significantly greater amount of beratements and surface wounds from Alcina and her daughters. You thought to Heisenberg often, continually wondering how your life would differ had Miranda bestowed you upon him. He was irresistibly charming in his own twisted sense. Every word that escaped his mouth heavily contradicted his actions. You received a good number of swats to the hand stemming from woeful daydreaming of the man you hardly knew.

He could be dangerous, you’d tell yourself before slipping into yet another sequence of fervent and unrelenting thoughts stemming from the mysterious man. He was a Lord, one placed in a top position according to the village’s hierarchy. You just weren’t sure why.

There had been countless times the man had sauntered into the castle, “accidentally” run into you, and held brief conversation.

The other maids were assholes. Though you had concluded this swiftly upon entering the castle, their recent actions only solidified your feelings.

It had been only a day since Heisenberg’s last visit. He strolled into the castle, easing his way past the maids as they hurriedly passed by. They paid him no mind. The evening sun had begun to set in the sky. Lady Dimitrescu had gone out for the night, instructing her girls to hold down the castle while she was away. The three of them had descended into the dungeons, not to be seen again until morning. This left the halls free and roamable for the savvy Lord.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Your voice caught his attention. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Marybeth.”

Shrill voices argued back and forth behind the kitchen doors. The sound of muffled giggles fell on his ears; it was an unusual sound within the castle walls. The girls must be relaxed knowing they’re safe from punishment tonight. At least, that’s what they thought.

In a second, the hinges of the door burst off, sending the heavy frame crashing down to the tiled floor. Shrieks came quickly and died on their lips as soon as the girls realized who was there.

“Lord Heisenberg.” One woman bowed her head, concealing something within her hands as she placed them in her lap, clasped tightly together. “Lady Dimitrescu has left for the evening.”

“I know.” His brow raised at the scene set before him. You stood to the rear of the kitchen, clearly irate at something the woman who regarded him had done. Five other women were huddled with the one who spoke, following her lead and averting their gazes. No aroma of cuisine drifted from the empty cauldron, only the stale scent of curing meats clung to the air.

“What’s going on in here?” He looked directly at you from beneath the lid of his hat.

“We were cleaning the kitchen.” The maid spoke through shaking breaths.

After a pensive moment, he waved his hand. “You’re dismissed. Except,” he held his hand at your chest as you attempted to pass, “you.”

The girls stumbled over the door, making quick work of getting back to their quarters and away from the Lord. You listened as the audience of feet trampled away. None of the girls here knew how to walk in heels causing for a rather elephant-like clomping of shoes wherever they went.

“What really happened?”

“Do you care?”

“Not particularly, but color me curious.”

“Don’t get them in trouble.” You demanded through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to deal with the aftermath.”

He chortled. “You seem more afraid of them than you are of me.”

“You’ve not given me a reason to be scared.”

Your back pressed to the wall, a glass chalice fell, shattering against the floor. The lapels of his jacket and dog tags pushed to your chest were still cold from the frosted night air. “Do I need to give you a reason?”

“I just,” embarrassment rose in your cheeks, “would you stop doing this?” There was no budging the man. His strength far outweighed yours, easily acting as if your pushing against his chest was nothing but a soft breeze.

“Doing what?” A smirk grew on his lips. God, he loved this.

“This!” Your clenched fist banged on his chest, not rattling him in the slightest. Droplets of claret liquid ran from your palm to your elbow. “Dammit, Karl. Move.”

The use of his first name was new. A solid hand closed around your wrist, bringing it up to eye level. He tilted back, adjusting his vision. The raise of his brow signaled that he wanted you to open your hand. Complying, you cringed as the reddened skin screamed for relief.

“They did this?”

“It’s no different from the other injuries I’ve gotten here.”

“It’s deep.” He reached into the pocket of his trench coat. “Don’t let anyone know you’ve got this.” A silver tin slipped from his hand to yours, you pried at its ridges with your nail.

Heisenberg disappeared after that, taking off with a dramatic throw of the castle doors as he disappeared into the dense forest. He had given you a tin of salve and a bandage.

“Lady Dimitrescu has requested your presence.”

The Fugitive: Finding Home Part 3 - Foreign Thoughts

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