#I couldn’t figure out how to make the cloud puffs of him panting look good :p

[rubixcuby]

Sometimes like this / also like that 🤞🥱😏🥴

[imjusttpeachy]

the early bird gets the panini (c.h.)

well this is quite the change of pace isn’t it. lmao i figured u guys needed a break from the crying so here’s... whatever this is

thank u all new followers!! u jus made a big mistake💞🦋

u guys should search up “my very real collab with 50 cent” by corpse if you haven’t heard it yet, i ascended the first time i listened lmaoooo

playlist

the wombats - greek tragedy

aminé - heebiejeebies

free nationals - beauty and essex

the marías- let my baby stay

summary: Corpse interrupts the reader’s morning livestream after she left him alone in bed that morning. Fluff and fuckery ensues.

word count: 2, 326

WARNINGS: she/her pronouns, coarse language

>>>

“Okay, Tom Nook is the most bitch-ass motherfucker I’ve ever met. I could fold him like a panini with a slap I swear to god.”

Mornings were definitely one of your favourite times to stream. Of course, you loved staying up into the early hours of the morning only kept awake by the energy drinks running through your veins and the screaming of your friends over your headset, but nothing could beat the sweet simplicity of waking up with your watchers. It was always so calm, your anxiety levels at a low with the small audience building up slowly as more of them woke up. Reading those good morning messages saying that you helped to start their day off on a good foot— nothing would beat that.

The only downside to these scheduled morning streams was having to tear yourself away from the cozy warmth of your bed, especially if there was a certain someone blanketed over you silently persuading you to stay there forever. It was always a rare sight, bruised eyes sealed shut, long eyelashes kissing pale cheeks as small snores escaped from slightly parted lips. Glancing down at the messy black mop that rested on top of your chest, you sighed softly. You knew he’d only been asleep for a few hours, if that, thinking back to the night before where you crawled into bed alone after kissing him goodnight before leaving him to finish editing for his latest video. He worked too hard, but despite you reminding him this every single time he stayed up into the dark hours of the night to finish his work, he always never seemed to be satisfied. Most of the time you were able to coax him from the stuffy confines of his gaming office, bribing him with sweet kisses and promises of cuddles; when he was in the zone, though, nothing could steer his sore eyes away from the monitor. So with a sweet kiss goodnight, you’d make your way to the bedroom, falling asleep to the faint click-clacks of his keyboard.

It was funny how different you were in that aspect. You always loved mornings, the sun shining through the blinds always brought a smile to your face holding the promise of a bright day ahead. It felt good to never be in a rush, to enjoy the still air, and watch the world around you wake up as people settled into their daily routines. The day’s chaos always seemed to leak through into the dark of the night, but in the morning everything felt new and refreshed; the perfect new beginning to another chapter in the story of your life. Though, allowing yourself the guilty pleasure of staying in bed tangled together with your favourite person every so often wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Okay, maybe it was almost every day.

But who could say no when those strong arms encased you so perfectly, holding you so close you couldn’t figure out where you ended and where he started? Who could say no to his warm skin pressed against your own, the weight of his body grounding you as you pulled yourself from the darkness of sleep? Who could say no to being able to study his face up close, running your fingertip ever so lightly along the curve of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the apples of his cheekbones, watching his eyelids flutter as he stirred softly in his sleep? Who could say no to the pillow talk you shared once those pretty eyes opened, the deep grumble of his morning voice that prickled goosebumps over your skin as he muttered those 3 sweet little words?

Definitely not you.

Well, not often anyway.

Reluctantly pulling your gaze away from the sweet face resting on your chest, you glanced over to the alarm clock on the nightstand. Red numbers reading 9:37 AM that seemed to be glaring back at you pushed any thought of indulging in your morning pleasures straight from your mind. You’d need to be live in 20 minutes. Puffing another sigh from your lips you slowly worked your way out from underneath your personal weighted blanket, trying your best to maneuver him softly onto the pillows to not wake him. Of course, you’d never be that lucky. Hissing through your teeth as your feet hit the icy top of the hardwood floor, you whipped your head around as a warm hand encased your wrist in a loose grip. Beneath messy bed head that could barely be seen from underneath the comforter that you had pulled back on top of him, you see the glimpse of tired eyes clouded with confusion peering out from underneath.

“Angel?” The deep grumble muttered underneath his breath almost made you throw all your plans to the wind and crawl right back into the fluffy clouds you longed to once again get lost in. Huffing out a sigh you slowly turned around, pulling your hand from his grasp only to bury it in the dark locks buried among the pillows. You leaned down softly, pushing your hands through his hair to reveal soft pleading eyes staring back at you, doing nothing but making your heart ache for having to leave so soon. Trancing your thumb along his eyebrow to try and smooth the small furrow that had made its home between them, you sighed softly.

“It’s Thursday, gotta stream puppy.” You watched as a small flash of recognition passed across his bleary eyes, a puff escaping his lips from under the comforter as you watched his chest fall slightly. Pulling his head up from the comforter, you smiled as you felt chapped lips press a small kiss to the inside of your wrist in understanding. Allowing yourself a bit of fun you leaned down pressing your lips to his briefly, giggling softly as a whine escaped his mouth as you pulled away. “Promise I won’t be long, I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me.”

“Too late for that.”

>>>

Smiling as you glanced up at your monitor that held your live chat, you watched as your viewers lost it with your threat to an animated shopkeeper. Times like this are what remind you of how grateful you are to your subscribers, they were practically family at this point and you felt you couldn’t be luckier to have such genuine, warm-hearted people that wanted to watch; even when you were cussing out characters that did nothing to you. You were laughing as you read some of the chat replies out loud when you saw your phone light up with a text from where it was sitting on your desk. Excusing yourself for a moment from the stream you grabbed your phone seeing a message from Corpse. 

Corpsie💞💞: did you order coffee? someone knocked on the door and there’s a paper bag on the step

Cursing to yourself quietly for forgetting, you answered him quickly saying that you just needed to cut to a break on stream and you’d be out in a minute to grab it. He was wary of even opening the front door these days, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him. The last time you had driven out to pick up whatever was sent into his P.O. Box, there were people waiting outside the building. When you went inside to grab everything, you asked the teller what exactly they were waiting for, to which he told you that they were hoping to catch a glimpse of this faceless internet star as this is where he’d go to get his mail. You don’t think you’ve ever walked faster to your car— trying your best to not grab their attention though your body was shaking with adrenaline, knowing they might’ve seen him while he was waiting there for you. Practically throwing open the driver's door, you tossed everything haphazardly into the back seat, telling Corpse to pull up his hood and mask as you started the car and peeled out of there. That was the last time he left the house.

You sighed, dropping your phone back on your desk as well as the switch that had been sitting in your lap, beginning to explain that you needed a quick break to get your coffee and starting to click through the settings to set up your break screen when you saw your phone light up again.

Corpsie💞💞: nah don’t worry i got it

You barely had time to sit back in your chair as you stared at your phone in disbelief before there was a soft knocking on your office door. 

“Just kidding guys, apparently we have a kind guest who’s bringing it to me instead.”

Corpse hearing your voice from behind the door, it swung open to reveal your mop-headed lover sporting his cute plaid pyjama pants and yesterday’s hoodie as he held your coffees and bag in his hand. You grinned to yourself, moving out of the frame of the webcam as you reached out to grab everything, placing it on your desk before turning back to him with a wide smile. Reaching back for his hand, you pulled it down toward you, his body following as your other hand reached up to bury itself in his bedhead. You leaned forward and pressed a small peck onto his lips, mumbling a soft thank you against them as you kissed him once more. While this may have looked like the most simple gesture you knew how difficult it must have been for him, almost wanting to cry at how sweet he was to go to those lengths to do something a little special for you. As you pulled away, you smiled as his face mirrored yours, those soft rosy lips pulled into the sweetest grin you’d ever seen. Resting his forehead against yours, he mumbled back a small “anything for you princess,” the deep rumble of his morning voice sending a chill up your spine as you leaned forward again to steal another sweet kiss. Finally pulling away from you he stood up to his full height, a yawn escaping his mouth; though as he looked back toward the door you could sense his hesitation and grinned widely up at him.

“Do you wanna sit with me for a bit? I can just turn off the camera.” Giggling softly, you watched his head practically whip back toward you nodding a yes as he squeezed your hand, still intertwined with his. Reluctantly pulling it from his grasp, you pulled yourself back toward your monitors as you began to click through your stream settings. 

“Well, your favourite guest has decided to grace us with his presence for a little so I’m gonna have to turn off face-cam, but I don’t think you guys will have a problem with that.” You laughed out, watching as your chat began to surge with messages about him. Making sure there was no way you could accidentally turn on the webcam again, you gestured him over to you starting to stand from your chair to grab the other one sitting in the corner of the office when a hand grasped yours, a strong tug pulling you completely off it with; a small yelp escaped your lips as you fell clumsily into your boyfriend's chest. You could hear his laugh from above you as he maneuvered you around in his arms before falling back onto your chair and pulling you into his lap, his face burying itself into the crook of your neck where you could feel that smug grin that was surely painted on his face. With his arms wrapped around you completely, holding you securely to his chest you knew you weren’t going anywhere. Looking up at the chat a laugh was pulled from your lips as your watchers conspired against you, message after message accusing you of doing something unspeakable behind the camera as being the reason you turned it off.

“Guys, literally nothing is happening.” You laughed out, watching as the chat passed so fast you couldn’t even read a full sentence. “Corpse just decided he wanted to share a chair instead of getting his own.”

“Yeah, my bad.” With no trace of any remorse in his monotone answer, another laugh escaped from your lips. Leaning forward to grab your switch and actually start playing again, you settled back into Corpse’s lap knowing this is exactly where you wanted to be. You were only a few minutes back into the game, Corpse and you occasionally reading out some live chat comments excited about his surprise appearance as viewers slowly climbed— his own watchers joining to watch the stream, when he inevitably started to fuck with you. A chill snaked up your spine as you began to feel small kisses trailing up your neck, you should’ve known this was one of the reasons he wanted to have you in his lap— it was easier to get your attention this way. You could feel that smug little smile drift back onto his face as he heard your voice start to shake slightly; at those moments he’d pull away and start replying to messages before turning back and starting all over again. It was the fourth time he began to press those soft lips to the base of your throat when you shrugged him off and shoved the breakfast sandwich you were snacking on into his face.

“Okay, if you want to share a chair you’re gonna have to behave.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry baby, sorry.” Corpse laughed out, voice muffled from behind the sandwich; taking a bite of it and placing it back in front of you, his chest still shaking with laughter. Deciding to hook his chin over your shoulder instead, he went back to watching the live chat, chatting and answering questions— that is before he came across a certain comment that had him furrowing his brows in confusion.

“What’s this about you folding Tom Nook like a panini?”

>>>

[afriendlyblackhottie]

P*$$Y Fairy

Summary: you and Chris just like to enjoy each other’s company away from LA sometimes. Part 2 of Risk.

Pairings: Chris Evans x black!popstar!reader

Warnings: Smut, fluff, daddy kink, oral sex (female receiving), weed use

Ask 1: um i just found out that chris evans used to smoke weed 😳 but like the sex tho?? 😩😩😩

Ask 2:  how are black!popstar!reader and Chris Evans doing because I loved that one

(A/N: this is like four WIPs combined into one because that second ask really helped me figure out what direction to take the first one in because for some reason I was str.ugg.ling. Apparently all the ideas I had were meant for Chris and black!popstar. Based on P*$$Y Fairy by Jhené Aiko and Positions by Ariana Grande. I also listened to the whole Confessions album while writing this because I don’t care that it came out when I was 11 it’s still so good. Anyway, reblog always 💜 ✌🏾)

Tagging: @titty-teetee​ @iam-laiya​ @zaddychris​ @hqneyyincc​ @mariahthelioness29​ @olyvoyl​ @liquorlaughslove​ @harrysthiccthighss @donutloverxo​ @queenoftheworldisdead @whiskey-cokenfanfic​ @night-of-the-living-shred​ @buckyownsmylife @blackmissfrizzle @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression​ (Just tagging people I know that read the last one)

——————————————————————————-

Things were hectic for sure. You had your career and he had his. Yet the romance was still enough to where you got swept up in. You felt like you were living in an old movie. He was always sending you flowers. When you couldn’t see each other he’d send you cute texts like they were love notes.

No one knew about what was going on, though. Sure everyone had fun on Twitter for a few days, but it quickly became yesterday’s news when everyone thought that was it. You’d sworn to secrecy to the point where your friends had no clue who your mystery man was. When anyone would ask you who sent the flowers you’d just shrug. Even on the card he’d sign with his middle name instead of his first.

He wanted to keep you to himself and vice versa. Like you were each other’s dirty little secret. It didn’t matter that everyone saw the chemistry between you. You like sneaking around with him when the both of you were in town. Sometimes even escaping the craziness of LA to just be together.

Like right now. It was stupid maybe. Everyone was bound to be worried because this was last minute and you’d left your phone at home and yet it still sounded like the best idea ever. You’d been so stressed about your newest album when he’d asked you to go away with him. You weren’t going to turn spending the weekend with him down over stressing and arguing with your producers.

As you laid in bed tangled in the sheets beside him it felt so worth it. The polaroid camera you’d picked up flashed as he took another picture of you as you let out another puff of smoke, you giggled throwing your head back making him do another one. “I think this one is my favorite,” he said, looking down at it with a smile on his face.

You raised up letting the sheet fall from around your breasts so you could look at it. “I love it,” you said, resting your chin on his bicep. He kissed your forehead before moving his lips to yours. He pushed you onto your back getting on top of you, tickling you at the same time until you were giggling again.

“Stop!” You tried to push his hands away still laughing as he took the blunt from your hand flipping over so he was beside you.

You rolled over so you were nestled into him. He was letting his hair grow out for a movie. He looked so damn good with that beard and that hair. You kissed his shoulder needing to feel him against your lips. He shivered looking at you before turning his head so you could kiss him.

He grabbed your hips so he could pull you on top of him. The way he was touching you, made your skin prickle. Your breathing heavy from how intense it felt to have him this close. Your head felt overwhelmed from all the sensations yet somehow it was like it wasn’t enough.

You laid on top of him. Enjoying the feeling of his chest moving up and down against yours. You bit your bottom lip feeling like you could fall asleep like this. He kissed your forehead again before peering up at him through heavy lidded eyes.

You don’t know you let out another giggle before kissing him. Were his lips always this soft. Yet his beard scratched against your skin. It felt so warm and inviting. Probably why you deepened it.

He wrapped his arms around your waist as you got better situated to straddled against his abs. He traced patterns into your skin with his fingertips. The soft lightening of the room only making you feel deeper into this haze you were in.

“I love you,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?” You asked him with a lazy smile spreading across your face.

He nodded, sitting up making you sit with your ass against his suddenly growing dick. “Yeah,” he breathed, looking down at your lips before nuzzling your face.

“I love you, too,” you replied, you put your head on his shoulder needing to feel him as close as possible. It never felt like it was enough.

All the flirting you’d done at that interview and this is how you’d ended up a few months later. Heads in the cloud in love. You never wanted to come down. When it was like this, it felt like nothing else even existed.

“Fuck that sounds so pretty,” he said, he smiled against your temple. “You’re so goddamn pretty, Baby. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

You started kissing again except this time he sank you down on his dick. Making you feel so full you thought you might actually explode. He still had the blunt in his hand even as he helped you ride him, through no longer lit.

Your nipples were aching for his lips, but you were too lost to ask him to pay attention of them. His deep breaths tickling your neck yet making you feel more tingly. It was like you couldn’t think anymore. Just feel. Feel how good he always did you.

Combing his soft hair with your fingers. Tugging on the ends every time he went a little too deep. He was already stretching you out so good. It didn’t make sense how deep he got inside of you.

“Daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s my girl,” he panted. “Yeah you like Daddy’s dick, huh, Y/N?”

You nodded. “Uh huh.”

“You love me?” He asked bouncing you up and down on top of him.

You nodded this whimper coming out of your mouth. Fuck you were getting so close. He was making you feel so good. You don’t think you ever felt like this before.

“Say it,” he demanded, moving you so you had to look in his eyes.

“I love you.” As your pussy clamped around him he forced you up and down his cock. “Fuck,” you cried, “I love you.”

“That’s my girl,” he said grabbing you so he could put you down on your back. He fully put out the blunt in the astray on the nightstand. He climbed back on top of you, spreading your legs out so wide as he started licking your pussy.

You gasped running your hands through his hair. “Fuck,” you repeated quivering as he tongue fucked you. The grip on the back of your thighs so strong as he had them in the air. His beard burning into your thighs.

“Oh, my god- Daddy!” You gasped as another orgasm creeped onto you. He was quick to move up so he could use that time to push into you. Moving his hips so he was deliberately brushing into your spot.

It was already too much. Why did he have to be doing this to you. “So good for me,” he whispered in your ear. “My girl, huh. No one else’s.”

“Never.” You tilted your head back and be took advantage, kissing prepping your throat with kisses. Then wrapping his hand around your throat gently.

“Love you so much,” he said, before finally bathing your tits in attention as if he was reading your mind. His mouth hitting this spot you’d desperately needed to be touched.

“I’m gonna,” you squeaked out like a warning, “I’m gonna cum.”

“That’s okay, Baby,” he panted. “Cum for me. Don’t you ever not cum for me.”

You started to nod when you felt it. Starting deep in your abdomen before spreading with this warmth over your lower half at the same time that this tingle sparked all over. It felt like you could turn inside out. Or like if he wasn’t on top of you, you might float away.

“That’s it.” He smiled lazily taking in how pretty you looked, your mouth open all wide as you squirted just for him. “Fuck,” he hissed as he began to reach that point soon after.

He’d fucked it into you until he couldn’t anymore before slumping on top of you. Drawing his hands around your waist so your back was arched, head buried in the valley between your breasts. You were pretty sure you could stay like this forever.

—————

At some point you had to get back to life. Inspiration seemed to hit you out of nowhere. Everyone thought you were crazy when you’d told them you wanted to scrape the album, but you couldn’t let the feeling go. You needed to capture those thoughts in your lyrics.

You didn’t want to admit that a huge chunk of the album was about him. About the things you did together. How he’d hold you down and fuck you just the way you liked. How no one else has ever been able to do you like he does.

He’d left to Boston to film another movie. It was kind of lonely in LA without him. It was crazy. You barely got to spend time with him as is even when you lived in the same city. Yet when he was away you missed him. Even the calls every night weren’t enough.

Which led to you sneaking off to Boston. You could try to keep a low profile. At least until you got to the safety of his home.

He picked you up in his Audi also you guess trying to keep a low profile in his baseball cap and sunglasses. Taking your bags after giving you a quick hug and a kiss hoping no one would notice the two of you. It was getting harder and harder for you to sneak away from everyone, but somehow you managed.

Dodger greeted you as you walked through the door. You got down to pet him while Chris went to set your things in his room. When he came back he pulled you into another hug, savoring this one.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said kissing you all sweetly. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” you sighed into him.

After washing the flight off of you and changing into something comfortable. The two of you enjoyed glasses of wine over the pad thai you’d ordered since neither one of you felt like cooking. You talked about finally maybe going public soon. About not wanting to hide it anymore.

You poured another glass of wine as he started kissing down your neck, pressing your stomach into the kitchen counter. He was so hard against you. He’d made you take him right there. First from behind and then turning you around so he could fuck you while you were sitting on top of it.

You scratched at his back as he carried you to the living room, bending you over again over the back of the couch. Somehow that led to you riding him on the stairs. Each time he’d made you cum so good yet still held on.

Finally he’d led you to his bedroom where he fucked you all night. Made you call him Daddy while he was deep in your stomach. Alternating between the intensity of his thrusts or pulling out to put you in all these positions so he could hold out longer.

When it was time for him to finally fill you he didn’t hold back. Cumming into you so deep that if you weren’t on birth control you were sure he would have just gotten you pregnant right then. The thought of it only made it so much more intense.

You’d finally fallen asleep all curled into him. Not being able to keep going any longer. He’d left you worn out barely even able to think. He whispered I love you against your skin.

When you woke up the next morning all wrapped up in him, both of your phones were loud going off. The buzzing noises against the wood of the nightstand made you jump. “What the fuck,” you groaned sleepily as you reached behind you to grab your iPhone. “Hello?” You asked with your voice feeling like it was all worn out.

“Y/N, where the hell are you?” Your agent asked. “And do not lie to me.”

“What?” You asked looking over to see Chris looking at his phone.

“Oh shit...”

“What?” You asked him.

“You’re with him right now?” Your agent asked and you groaned.

You wrinkled your nose as she kept talking because your brain kind of wasn’t turned on yet. “I’ll call you back.”

“Do not ha-“

But it was too late. Chris held out his phone showing you whatever was on his screen. “I’m not gonna lie I have no idea what’s going on right now,” you said putting your face into shoulder.

“Babe, they fucking got a picture of us,” he finally said.

“What?”

“Mhm. At the airport yesterday. Even got a good one of us kissing.”

You groaned. “Wow, we suck at disguising ourselves.”

He laughed bringing you close to him so you could lay on his chest. “I know.” He kissed the side of your head. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good.” You yawned into him. Your phone was still going off, but you just wanted to sleep.

“So I take it your team isn’t really happy that you’re here with me?” He asked.

You shrugged. “To be honest I don’t know if I actually care to even find out.”

He chuckled. “Good. Maybe this was a good thing?”

“Mhm. Now we don’t have to sneak around anymore.” You sighed contently. “I bet Twitter is having fun.”

“Oh definitely.” He laughed.

“I think you broke me,” you told him. Your legs felt all stiff and sore. Liked you’d just come back from a workout.

He placed more kisses on your face. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

“Why so you can break me some more.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Who do you think is going to be the most mad at us for this?”

“Hating ass people on Twitter,” you said with a chuckle. “Who will also be the happiest. I can imagine all the comments now.”

He laughed. “Oh, we’re definitely going to be reading them over breakfast.” He started rubbing your back trying to soothe you back to sleep even as you whispered to each other. You could worry about the outside world later. For right now you wanted to enjoy the cloud the two of you were alone on.

As he laid there, he promised himself that things would be different with you. That no matter what happened he’d stick beside you. Because as Chris looked down at you, your eyes closed all nestled into him he realized he didn’t want anyone else. You were it for him. And it didn’t matter what Twitter or your teams had to say. He didn’t care how crazy life got or how busy the both of you were. Now that he had you, he wasn’t letting go.

[isthemedia]

Wait…PokémonHitmanHacker Cyrus WATCHES security footage of Giovanni? Does he get off on it?

I wanted to write something for this PokeHitman!AU...might as well start it off with a bang.

(Cut for content-NO UNDER 18)

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

It was sick. He knew it was. Watching this again and again-on loop. But he couldn’t help it. For as much as he teased and mocked the older man-seeing him work in the “field” was truly mesmerizing. That smirk, and that glint in his eyes. Even though there was no audio, he could tell when his tone darkened...when he was deathly serious.

Cyrus was certain if there was audio captured, he’d be watching this even more. Letting the words burn into his memory—

Maybe it was a good thing. He doubts he’d ever be able to have a normal conversation with the other without remembering this.

His specialty is hacking and deleting security; be it footage or codes to disarm locks-he could do it all. It was how the future was going to be. Everything technological-machine based. There was no need to stick to the “old ways”.

He couldn’t stifle the gasp he made as the footage showed the other man being able to deal a blow so hard to one of his would-be captures’ face, that he could see the small trickle of blood oozing out. And that smirk turned a bit darker.

“Gio...vanni,” Cyrus’ voice came out as a hushed whisper as he watched.

It was a small mistake on the older man’s part. Getting caught. Or maybe he wanted to be caught? It was hard to tell. But that was what this footage was. The arrest of Giovanni Sakaki. Several officers surrounded him, trying to apprehend him.

Secretly, it was Cyrus’ favorite footage. He saved every delete bit of footage or code. There would be a use for it in the future. Possibly.

However, he never considered this as a use. What was it about Giovanni that made him-feel- like this? Certainly Lysandre or even Maxie would have been more suitable. Lysandre and him shared many ideologies and both had troubled family issues...so naturally it would have made sense?

But, ugh, the Kalosian was far too haughty. His ego was massive. Sure he had a very controlled flair to his own methods-Cyrus couldn’t believe he was ACTUALLY going say it-they were almost, beautiful really.

As for Maxie...he did have to admit his intelligence was quite impressive. Too bad his anger would cloud his usual razor sharp judgement. Really, Archie was always going to be the better fit for Maxie.

There was a flash on the screen, and Cyrus found himself needing to shift in his seat. Heat pooling in the pit of his stomach as he continued watching. Giovanni had just let out his Persian, things were just going to keep escalating.

His breath was coming out in short pants as he felt his face heat up. “Giovanni,” he murmured as he watched. When it cut out, he rewound it, and watched it again. He already couldn’t recall what number viewing it was for this session. Third? Maybe the fourth? Either way, he knew he was going to watch it again. And then maybe once more after that-no maybe twice-or maybe the rest of the night.

Eyes focus on how Giovanni’s upper lip curled back into a sneer as several men approached him. Trying to corner the older man. To trap him. Oh, they had no idea how dangerous Giovanni could be if he was trapped.

Cyrus couldn’t help but lick his lips slightly. Giovanni’s face was surprisingly expressive. Despite his cool and collected demeanor, his face was always a clear giveaway as to how he truly felt.

Cuffs were pulled out. Though Cyrus knew they weren’t going to be used. He wondered, what would Giovanni look like if he was cuffed?

A sight that he could only fantasize about.

He made another small sound as he shifted in his seat. The heat was getting to be a bit too much. It was embarrassing when this would happen. But, there was something about Giovanni that made this feel, almost natural.

Those dull blue eyes focused on the screen, one of his hands trailed down…covering the slight bulge straining against the zipper of his slacks. Biting back a soft moan as he rubbed in just small circles.

The footage showed Giovanni seizing one of the officers by their wrist. Forcing the drawn gun and pointing it away from him, and down at the ground. The older man knew how to disarm a person with the barest amount of force. However, that wasn’t the goal this time.

That smirk. He said something to the officer. Cyrus couldn’t figure it out-he wishes he could read lips-but whatever it was seemed to have enraged the officer. They struggled against Giovanni’s hold. Cyrus’ eyes trained on how Giovanni’s hand nimbly shifted it’s hold. How one finger managed to position itself just right-

Then the sudden look of complete and utter pain replaced the irate look. The footage played as the officer fell over…his own gun shooting him in the foot.

Though the gun itself was now in Giovanni’s hand. Another shot, and two more officers had their own guns drawn. Yet Giovanni didn’t seem unnerved at all. In fact, that smirk just stayed on his face.

His eyes slipped shut for only a moment as he rubbed a bit at the bulge. Giovanni always knew how to turn any odds in his favor. It didn't make any logical sense as to how-but Cyrus saw it enough times to no longer question it. Perhaps Giovanni was never meant to be figured out.

His fingers finally working the button and zipper-undoing them. He shuddered slightly, a wet spot was forming on his briefs that was straining against his now erect cock.

The video ended...and once again Cyrus replayed it.

Biting his lip to stifle any sound as he continued watching. His hand stroking up and down...up and down. Breathe coming out in hot little puffs.

He got back to the part of Giovanni letting out his Persian. He didn't even need to give a command, just a snap of his fingers, and the classy cat Pokemon pounced.

A flurry of gunshots, blood spraying about. Leaving behind one last officer. Down on the ground, holding his bleeding leg as the Persian drew near.

The look of fear on his face was captured so clearly on the video. Watching those eyes grow wider-the skin going paler as Giovanni knelt in front of them. Again he said something, but Cyrus was beyond the point of caring what it was.

His mind was buzzing pleasantly as he continued to work his hand over his leaking cock. A moan slipping out through his pressed lips. It was building even faster now. Eyes barely opened, but he still watched.

Giovanni called back his Persian, as he still stood over the officer. He said something, and ended the offier's suffer--

Cyrus moaned as his hips bucked up sharply as he came.

How did he never notice it before?

How clear Giovanni spoke for that one moment. Making sure that even with his inability to read lips, Cyrus would know what he said.

'This is for you, amore.'

He was still panting as the video ended. Screen fully black. Letting his mind come back down to Earth from wherever it went off too in it’s orgasmic haze.

Those last few moments replayed in his mind. Cyrus couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him. That bastard. He knew about this habit of his, didn’t he? Of course he did.

“Giovanni…” Cyrus mumbled softly to himself with another chuckle. His heart rate was slowly back down. His body suddenly felt so much colder than it had just moments ago. He also felt so very tired-but on instinct he just hit ‘replay’.

Maybe it was sick. Twisted. Definitely something wrong with him. But he didn’t care. Not anymore. Not when he could just keep watching Giovanni.

[hufflepuffhollander]

off limits: tom holland one-shot

a/n | this is my submission for @chloecreatesfictions’ 1k writing challenge! i’ve never done the “brother’s best friend” trope and i def got a little too excited and carried away! real talk, this might be the cutest thing i’ve ever written

summary | as harrison osterfield’s younger sister, you’d always just seen his best friend tom as an annoying older brother. until, one day, you didn’t.

cw | tom x osterfield!reader. contains language, alcohol, recreational use of weeeed, teenage angst, sexual tension, fluff n’ stuff. 5k words.

For as long as you could remember, Tom Holland had been a stitch in your side that you could never get rid of.

Growing up as your older brother’s best friend, he was always at your house when you were children— and his favorite pastime when Harrison was boring him was to break into your room and mess with you, stealing your toys or running his hands across the piano keys when you were trying to practice in peace. No matter how many locks you put on your door just to keep Tom out, he was always able to pick them.

As you all got older, he grew to annoy you in a different way, blasting loud, grungy music through Harrison’s bedroom walls late at night or eating things out of the fridge that clearly had your name on them. Once he’d started to garner some attention as an actor, his ego skyrocketed, and somehow he became an even bigger nuisance. He dragged Harrison away from you and took him all over the world while you had to sit idly by and love your brother from a distance.

When Tom would come over now, he would talk of nothing but hollywood parties and getting drunk with the biggest a-listers when he knew you were listening. He would ignore you when he breezed past you in the hallway, and even had the audacity to go into your bedroom when you were out and smoke a blunt on your bed so your whole room smelled like a music festival when you got home; and worst of all, it was your weed.

It was sufficient to say you were Tom Holland’s least enthusiastic fan. And it was rather unfortunate, because you were a big stan of the MCU—and secretly loved getting high and watching and re-watching the spider-man movies the most. Okay, don’t make that face. They have a good storyline.

It was a regular Friday night, you were aimlessly scrolling through your phone while Harrison and Tom were getting ready to go pub hopping. Harrison always invited you, but you never took him up on his offer because you knew how flirty you got with alcohol in your system and wouldn’t dare feel that way around Tom. He was notorious for taking anything nice you said about him and rubbing it in your face for at least a week after. 

“You know you secretly love me, babe.”

You hated when he called you babe, and he knew it. But since you’d both grown up, time had done you both a favor, and there was always an air of something you couldn’t quite place your finger on whenever you interacted...the pet name just made it more interesting.

“Hey, y/n, are you sure you don’t want to come out with us?” Harrison yelled from outside your bedroom door, and you peeked your head out to respond.

“Nah, it’s fine, Haz, go have fun. I have enough uni work to keep me busy.”

“It’s a Friday night, nerd.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and smiled. “Sorry I’m not a budding alcoholic like you, big bro.”

He laughed, blew you a kiss, and he and Tom were off.

Only about an hour later, you decided to take a break from studying and light up a joint, turning on your go-to movie for background noise- but were snapped out of your vibey trance when you heard the front door swing open, and your brother’s loud, drunk voice.

“W-why are we h-home, you div,” he slurred, as his heavy footsteps start to climb the stairs. After a long moment, you heard him collapse on his bed through your thin walls, still stammering out his words. “Thomas, I promise you, I am fineeee...”

“Mate, you’re sloshed. Go to bed.”

You decided to leave them be. This was a typical occurrence- one of the boys went too hard too early, and the other had to babysit until they made it home to pass out cold, usually on the bed, or the couch, or on a good day, the floor.

A few minutes passed while you hotboxed your room, feeling amazingly relaxed, until you saw your doorknob wriggling out of the corner of your eye. Your door was locked, so you ignored it. But the knob kept twisting and falling back in place, making the whole frame shake. After a long while of witnessing a ghost try to make its way into your room, you watched your lock turn slowly and click out of place, the door creaking opened to reveal Tom, swatting at the air when a cloud of smoke greeted him.

You snapped your laptop closed before he could hear his own voice flowing out of your speakers. “Tom, for the last time, stop picking my fucking lock!” You beamed your nearest pillow at him—which he caught before it struck him—and he threw it back, hitting you square in the face. Of course.

He flashed a cocky smile. “Why? It’s so easy.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious! I could’ve been naked or something!”

He just stood in the doorframe, giving you a once-over in your thin cotton t-shirt and yoga pants, and kept that smug expression locked on his face. 

“Ew, Tom, you’re disgusting. Get out.”

He decidedly did not get out, instead closing the door behind him and hopping up next to you on your bed, the divot in your mattress leaving your bodies pressed much too close together. You were met with a strong whiff of his cologne and the gin he must’ve been drinking earlier. “I’ll take that,” he muttered as he lifted your joint out of your fingers and took a puff, sucking his breath in as his lungs filled. 

Your stomach filled with a dull fire and you narrowed your eyes. “Do you mind?”

He turned to face you and blew a big puff of smoke directly into your face, the notorious smirk making its reappearance. “Not at all, thanks for asking though.”

You groaned aloud. “What are you doing in here?” he took another draw and handed you back what was rightfully yours, smoke dissipating from his mouth as he spoke.

“Haz is pissed and I’m bored.”

You relit the bud and inhaled for a long while, figuring you’d need to be pretty intoxicated to not smack him in the face if he tried to talk again. “Well, go be bored somewhere else. I was busy.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you and reached across your lap for your computer. “Doing what?” 

Oh shit. “Dude, can you not-?!” you yelped, but he had swiped it too quickly out of your grasp, and opened it up to find himself paused on your screen. You laid back on your bed so he couldn’t see your cheeks now flushed with embarrassment and grabbed your lighter from your nightstand. It was going to be a long evening.

He leaned himself over to catch your eye and had the stupidest, most prideful look plastered across his face. “Gotcha.”

You punched him in the arm as he erupted into laughter—but the anger inside you had been dulled by the weed and replaced with a childlike silliness—and you started to giggle, too. You looked up into his eyes, pupils now wildly dilated and tinted red around the edges.

“Shut up, Tom, you’re high,” you said in between chuckles.

“Yeah? Well so are you!”

You poked fun at each other for a while, suddenly in a mutually fantastic mood. You knew in the back of your mind that none of this would be happening if you hadn’t gotten stoned together, but you enjoyed the warm company anyway. 

“Well, you gotta finish it, don’t you?” he said, settling back down and fixating the computer on his lap so you could both see it.

“You really want to watch your own movie?”

“Doll, it’s my favorite thing to do.” he smiled at you.

“God, you’re the worst.” you felt some butterflies make an entrance in your chest that had never been there before.

He pressed play and cozied up on your bed, lying back against the wall with his arm lazily draped behind you. You pulled a blanket up onto your lap and had really no choice but to lean on him for support, neither of you admitting out loud that you were full on cuddling and not angry about it.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna share?” he whined, pulling at the corner of your blanket.

“Get your own,” you responded, internally high-fiving yourself for finally getting the chance to sass him back. Sure, you had your head comfortably resting on his shoulder, but that didn’t mean you were suddenly friends.

You let the movie play, the two of you blowing through the joint until it was a dwindling nub. The scene where Peter has his big kiss with MJ started, and you stifled a snigger as their lips met on the screen.

Tom had clear offense laced through his words. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged.

He sat up to look at you, eyebrows knit together in an angry pout. “Tell me.”

“I just...feel bad for Zendaya, that’s all.” you covered your mouth to keep from laughing, and his eyes rolled so far back into his head you were sure they’d be stuck that way forever.

“You’re such a brat,” he started, his ego finding its old place back in his voice. “I’m an amazing kisser. She told me herself.”

You looked away from him, taking a heavy exhale. “Yeah, whatever, dude.”

He sat even more upright and paused the movie, taking hold of your shoulder to make you turn to him. “What, you don’t believe me?”

You realized then how physically close you had gotten, as you could feel the syllables of his words in his breath hitting your face. He was doing that thing boys do, when they’re thinking about kissing you but don’t- their stares going back and forth between your lips and your eyes in a not so subtle way. It freaked you out to see him that close and personal, and you whispered back exactly what you knew would irk him the most.

“Nope.”

He moved his face impossibly closer to yours, and you felt his soft lips lightly brush over your own. You weren’t sure if this was real, or just a high hallucination, but you didn’t move away. This was entirely uncharted territory.

“Tooommmm!” you heard Harrison yell out from the other side of the wall. “Where are yooouuu?! I’m so thirsty!” Tom immediately jerked his head away from you and shook himself out of the moment. You brought your hand up to your cheek and shuddered at how hot it had become- your own body was betraying you.

“God, he’s gonna be the death of me,” Tom said, shoving himself off the bed and walking out of your room, glancing back at you for a moment and then closing the door behind him. Just like that, he was gone, and you were left trapped in your own psyche wondering what the hell had just happened.

Over the course of the next week, things has become exponentially weirder between you and Tom. He seemed to be spending much more time at your house than he normally did, even sleeping a few nights there instead of driving the five minutes back to be in his own bed. One unsuspecting morning, you knocked on your bathroom door, annoyed that it had been shut for such a long time. 

“Haz, if you use up all the hot water again, I’m gonna kill you,” you said in between knocks. You were taken by surprise when it swung open, steam billowing out into the cool air.

“Whoops,” you heard a voice say, immediately realizing it wasn’t your brother. You took a step backward to see Tom emerge, wearing nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp and clinging to his forehead, and he looked like some glowing magazine model. 

“Uh, sorry,” you stammered, accidentally inhaling the yummy smell of his soap and shampoo emanating off of his skin.

He noticed you eyeing him and a sly grin appeared as he rolled his bottom lip under his teeth. “Shower’s all yours, babe,” he said, bumping your shoulder with his own as he walked away. You were stuck in place and didn’t see him glancing back at you as he wandered down the hallway. 

Another day after that, Tom and Harrison were looking for a certain record to play, but it was nowhere to be found. “It might be in y/n’s room,” Harrison said, sitting back in his lounge chair. “Wanna go grab it?”

Tom coughed. “Why do I have to get it?”

“Because I’m comfortable.”

Tom felt a mix of annoyance and nerves in his chest as he walked the short distance down the hallway to your room where the door was already cracked open. He invited himself in—excitement faltering a little when he saw you weren’t in your usual spot on your bed—and started to sift through your bookshelves.

You had been in the bathroom getting dressed after your shower, but realized you left your shirt in your closet- and seeing that Harrison’s bedroom door was still shut, you figured it was safe to run across the landing into your room without anyone seeing you. In just a bra and spandex shorts that left little to the imagination, you swiftly made your way across the hall and walked through your door that was still open a crack to see Tom kneeled down as he shuffled through your record collection.

He heard your small gasp when you entered to find him, and swiveled around to you standing only a few feet away from him in the least amount of clothing he’d ever seen on you. He abruptly stood up but didn’t move, eyes sparkling as they rolled down your body.

“What the fuck! Why are you always in my room?!” You were too shocked to think about finding something to cover yourself with, and put your hands over your face, trying not to die of embarrassment. Tom remained glued to his place on your carpet, clearly at a loss for words.

“Tom, can you leave please-”

“Right, yeah, okay, uh, bye-” he hurried out of your room, swinging the door almost shut but leaving just a crack so he could speak into it.

“...I like your shorts.”

“TOM!”

He chuckled and closed the door, and you slumped against the wall, still holding your head in your hands. What was this sudden hold he had over you? And why did you love the way that he was staring at you?

That night, you had a big paper to complete, and you were perched in your bed typing away as it got dark. In between two songs on your playlist, you heard the familiar jiggle of a doorknob. Looking up over your screen, you watched as the metal turned in its socket, and heard a soft “crushed it” as the lock undid itself. Your door opened steadily and slowly, a familiar face peeking in at you.

“Hi.”

“Oh sweet jesus,” you mumbled.

“You busy?”

“Clearly.”

“Cool.” Tom let himself into your room, shutting the door behind him and sauntering over to your bed, sitting down next to you, bouncing like a little kid and singing his words. “Whatcha doooin’?”

“Homework,” you said, continuing to type and trying your best to ignore the way the sound of his voice was waking up something electric inside of you. He leaned into your body to peer at your computer screen, pretending to be interested in whatever you were writing about. His elbow got in the way of your hands, and you had to stop typing.

“Thomas, is there something I can help you with?”

“Haz is asleep,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder like it hadn’t been a week since your almost-kiss and you hadn’t been actively avoiding bringing it up.

You felt jittery. “And?”

He gently pushed your hands away from the keyboard and closed your laptop shut, giving you a sheepish smile. “Wanna get high?”

Honestly, you did.

You turned on your lamp and turned off the overhead light, put on that record he finally found, lighting a candle and then another hand-rolled blunt. This time, Tom sat upright with you perpendicular to him, your legs swung over his lap. When he made a joke, he’d give your leg a little squeeze- and whether it was purposeful or not, you were filled with schoolgirl nerves every time it happened.

All the angsty barriers built up over years of a sibling-like rivalry had come down between the two of you as you smoked together; you suddenly found all of his bad jokes funny, and he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the cute way you scrunched your nose when you laughed. Every time you exchanged the blunt, you couldn’t help but think about how his lips had just been on it a moment before yours. The night came and went, and you ended up falling asleep wrapped in his arms as he dozed off with his chin pressed to your forehead.

You both woke up at the same time in the dead of night, unsure of how late it had gotten. Still nestled into each other, you exchanged sleepy glances and no words, taking a moment to realize the position you had put yourselves in. 

Tom grazed your jawline with the back of his hand and lifted up your chin with his thumb. You let your eyes flutter shut and he kissed you in the dark for one long, everlasting moment. He pulled back from you hesitantly, leaving you breathless. Did that really just happen?

“We...we can’t,” he whispered, his words tinged with sadness.

Your heart broke for him just hearing his voice. “Why not?”

“You’re my best friend’s little sister, y/n.”

“And you’re my brother’s best friend. So what?” you were almost upset with yourself for being so vulnerable; so visibly pining after him.

“So, you’re off limits,” he said, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Says who?” 

That prompted Tom to meet your gaze again, and this time you took initiative, moving your face to his and taking his bottom lip in between yours. He took a sharp inhale as you kissed him and seemed to let all inhibition go as he put his arms around your back and pressed you into him hard, all of his pent up feelings for you suddenly flowing out of him. He kissed you in a needy, desperate kind of way, and you loved every second of it. You ran your fingers through his hair, traced his jawline, using your hands to feel every bit of him that you couldn’t before. The strangest part of it all was how natural it felt- like you had been practicing for this very moment all your lives. 

Your record had stopped spinning a while ago, the room now filled with just the breathy noises of your kisses, your contented hums and his tiny mews when you bit his lips. You were both still barely lucid, and after countless minutes of nothing but innocent kisses, you were on the brink of falling asleep again, serotonin whisking you away into dreams. Tom sighed into you, and clasped his hand around yours.

“I have to go.”

“What? Why?” you felt your heart preeminently sink in your chest; like you should’ve known this was too good to last.

“I don’t want him to wake up and find us here,” he trailed off, staring down at your intertwined fingers fiddling together.

“So that’s it?” you tried to swallow back the sudden upwell of feelings inside you.

“No, no...” his eyes filled with some type of emotional strain you’d never seen. “I- I don’t want this to be it. But I don’t want things to get...messy.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t blame him, because you understood.

“Can you come back tomorrow night?” you whispered, very not ready to let his spot next to you grow cold.

“I don’t know...”

You looked up at him doe-eyed, cooing. “Please?”

He nodded, looking away from you before he completely caved and stayed there forever. “I’ll come back.”

He pressed one last kiss onto your lips and slowly got up, reluctantly letting go of your hand as he left your room. “Goodnight, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe, finally free of demeaning sarcasm, made your heart soar. 

“Goodnight, Tom.”

The door shut and you were left alone, the stillness of your room sticking out in sharp contrast with how quickly your heart was racing.

For the next few nights, Tom spent the evenings at your house with Harrison, waiting until he fell asleep to make his way next door to you. You’d smoke together, watch his movies—and in heated moments got a little handsy—but you never went past kissing, though you both desperately wanted to. It was too risky having your brother right next door; and you knew all too well how paper thin your walls were. But in those secretive hours after solar midnight, just being able to exist next to Tom and letting him hold you, you were the happiest you could ever remember being. The second night he left your room to let you sleep, he placed a light kiss on your forehead after he stood up that made the whole thing feel a little too...real.

The next day, you walked into the kitchen and found Harrison at the fridge. You were in a great mood for obvious reasons but couldn’t let it show. “Hey, got any fun plans today?”

He turned around after shoving a handful of grapes in his mouth. “Nope, got some admin stuff to do and gonna turn in early.”

“Oh, Tom isn’t coming over?”

“No, I told him to take a night off. He’s been smothering me, y’know?” he laughed and ate a few more grapes, but then turned to you, confused. “Since when do you care if he’s coming over?”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say. “Just want to know if I need to stay out of the way,” you faked a laugh and blinked hard, hoping he wasn’t paying too much attention to your facial expressions.

“Uh, alright then. You two are always so fuckin’ weird around each other.” He seemed to feel that was a good way to end your exchange and walked out of the kitchen, throwing a grape at you.

You rolled your eyes at your brother, but then felt the sadness bubble up upon registering that you weren’t going to see Tom tonight. But really, how long did you think you could keep this up? The feelings you were developing for him scared you, you didn’t know what to make of them; all you knew was that your days suddenly seemed much grayer without him.

Nighttime came around, and you couldn’t sleep, so you did the unthinkable and sent Tom a text. Your thumb shook as you hit send, knowing that there was now tangible evidence of the connection you’d developed, that it wasn’t just some invention of your mind.

hey, are you awake?

T: yeah, can’t sleep. you?

obviously, i just texted you.

T: shut it.

A minute passed...

T: got room for one more over there?

You smiled like an idiot at your phone.

maybe.

Less than 10 minutes later, you heard the familiar wriggle of your doorknob. You don’t know why you even bothered locking it anymore.

“Hey you,” he whispered, carefully shutting the door behind him.

“Tom, you know you could’ve just knocked and I would’ve let you in- you don’t have to keep picking the lock.”

“Old habits die hard.”

You chuckled and stood up to greet him at your door as he unexpectedly wrapped you in an amazingly tight hug. He rested his chin on top of your head and started to sway your bodies back and forth. You laid your head on his chest and said hello to his heartbeat.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it was almost hard to fall asleep without you,” he murmured, placing another one of those domestic kisses on your scalp.

“Well, now you don’t have to.” you smiled. He waddled you backwards to your bed and you sat down as your legs hit the bedframe, prompting Tom to fall onto you as you giggled into his body that was now covering your face.

“Okay, goodniiight,” he said, refusing to move. You poked at his sides making him jump, and he grabbed your waist and rolled you on top of him. You instinctively leaned down so your lips could clash together in the way you were so used to, trying hard to not confess that you’d completely fallen in love with him when you finally had the breath to speak. He pushed your hair to cascade to one side of his face, and nuzzled your nose with his own, closing his eyes and humming with a smile. “Mmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Just happy.”

You rested your sleepy head on his warm chest, and fell into a deep sleep, letting the steady drumming in his chest be a metronome to breathe to.

~

“Oh, shit. Shit shit shit.”

You woke up abruptly, the bright light of day blinding you as you tried to open your eyes to the string of expletives you’d just heard come from a familiar voice. Once you’d opened them, though, you wish you had kept them shut so you hadn’t seen who had spoken.

“Harrison?!”

He was standing in your room, peering at you with hands half covering his eyes when you realized that there was a sleeping Tom underneath you.

Your brother paced in a circle and exhaled loudly. “Tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.”

You nudged Tom awake with your elbow and immediately rolled off of him, trying to hide the very obvious fact that you had slept together all night. You never let him stay the full night for this exact reason, but he had been so ridiculously happy holding you in his arms that he forgot to set an alarm to wake him at the crack of dawn and leave. You sat up straight in your bed, twisting your hair in your hands, bracing yourself for the inevitable tirade.

Tom picked his head up to see Harrison standing there with his arms crossed, and flopped his head back on the pillow. “Fuck. Hey, mate.” He tried to play it off like this was the most normal thing that could happen on a Thursday morning.

“Is this why you’re always such bumbling fools around one another? You’ve been, what, fucking each other when I’m not around?” Harrison looked like he wanted to throw up at the thought.

“Haz, no, it’s not like that,” you said, but he didn’t seem convinced. “It’s just been smoking together and cuddling, really, that’s it,” you were torn between wanting to console your brother and admitting to both him and Tom that this was more to you than that. But Tom already knew that, because it was for him, too.

Tom looked like a deer in headlights. “I’m so sorry, dude-”

Harrison walked out of the room, and the two of you were left sitting in your bed, worry filling your eyes. Only a moment later, your brother reappeared in the doorway.

“Look, you idiots, I don’t care that you’re snuggling off the clock—you’re my two favorite people in the world, and to see you together, honestly, it’s about damn time,” he started, making both your and Tom’s jaws fall slightly agape. You exchanged a knowing look. Wait, is he not mad? Wait, about damn time??

“But I wish you would’ve told me so we could all hang out together. I don’t appreciate the sneaking around.” 

You cocked your head at him, sending him a loving gaze for always just wanting what’s best for you. 

“I’m just mad you aren’t including me in your hotbox sessions, really.” He laughed and ran his hands through his hair, pulling his face back to make a wild expression.

All three of you started to chuckle out of sheer awkwardness and relief.

“Come here.” Harrison held his hands out and you both gave a mutual aww as you ran into your brother’s arms, squeezing him tight.

“I love you, big bro.”

“I know. Now I’m gonna get out of here before you start kissing in front of me, or worse,” he moaned, swiftly exiting your room. “This is gonna be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen...” you heard him say to himself as he left.

You turned to Tom, still shocked at how well that had gone considering what he was assuming would happen. You swallowed the butterflies that you’d welcomed as friends and stepped back to him still sitting on the bed, putting your arms around his neck.

“And you,” you started, swinging your legs over his lap to straddle him. “I have to confess something.”

Tom placed his hands back on your hips where they rightfully belonged and smiled at you. “I’m listening.”

“I don’t mind you calling me babe anymore.” you grinned at his face drop, obviously assuming that you were going to say something else.

“Oh, and why’s that?” he prodded.

You looked up and off to the side as you squeezed his shoulders. “Maybe because I’m just a tad bit in love with you,” you trailed off, stiff as a board at what he could possibly say next.

“Well, babe,” he put emphasis on the pet name, “That’s a relief, because I was worried I might be the only one falling here.”

You grabbed his face and kissed him, kneading his soft cheeks under your thumbs, whispering exactly what you knew would get him the most.

“Nope.”

[sirensmojo]

"KINDRED", 4 - Thomas Shelby x Reader.

Warnings: Swearing, romance, violence, guns, drama, slight smut(“slight”?)

Word Count: 5k+

AN: When it’s a reader and Tommy scene, it’s Tommy POV.

❰ ​Previous Chapter

Tommy leaned backwards on his desk chair, a cigarette stuck in between his index and middle fingers. He was looking at the ceiling as if its colour brought to him answers to the multiple questions that had been clouding his mind lately.

Since the day he and Y/N kissed, he noticed she had been avoiding him. She didn’t even send him the weekly book she usually dropped at the office.

He didn’t understand her, and each time he tried to put back together the pieces to get a clear view of her character, the memories of the smell of her hair brought him somewhere else. And whenever he would dare to close his eyes too long, he would taste her lips again.

Even if she chose to stay away from him, he entered her world once and appreciated it so greatly it had printed into his spirits, like a hand in wet cement.

He allowed himself to shift his thoughts to Mosley from time to time, the d-day was approaching and with it, the time he’ll take the lead of the British fascist party.

(...)

The only way Lizzie found to see her husband these days was to come back in business as Tommy’s secretary. He told her she wouldn’t have to work when they got their daughter, Ruby, but he was rarely home, and when he was, his mind was elsewhere.

Even after promising to let her in sometimes, she struggled the most to read him, but despite all, she was deeply in love with him. She had to make the effort and reach for him.

He didn’t agree with her taking back her job at first and she knew exactly why, as being responsible for her having a baby, he had to take care of her, at least he felt like he did. He was undeniably a murderer, cut-throat gangster, but he had convictions and rules to stick to.

This morning began as normal as any other for the Shelby company limited, Lizzie was occupied with papers as Tommy locked himself in his office.

The door opened, Lizzie’s gaze instantly got up, searching for who might that be. When her gaze met the figure, her jaw dropped. ‘Not again’ she thought. This scene reminds her of the time May Carleton came in here only to entice her Tommy.

She knew he didn’t owe her anything, but he could’ve waited at least a day or two before calling another woman. Not even twenty-four hours earlier Tommy was fucking her in some alley in the cold, probably thinking about a woman he knew before France. But he said he was fucking her, Lizzie, and not his lost teenage lover, even if she knew better.

Tommy and his cock.

That May Carleton was walking so confidently in front of Lizzie, she probably thought she was the one to own Tommy’s cock. If only she knew. She glared at her so strongly that May avoided looking at her at all costs.

The woman that just passed the door didn’t look her way, too occupied walking straight to the doors of Tommy’s office with the arrogance of an army.

Lizzie’s eyes went from her seemingly very expensive shoes, up her green pants suit in which pockets she kept a hand, to her suit jacket that fell perfectly on her waist as the end of which was drawing the woman’s hips. Her leather belt marked, even more, her waist and its golden details matched the imposing blue pearls necklace along with the large same looking earrings.

As soon as the woman entered the room, the atmosphere switched, her figure called the eyes, not only due to her ostentatious jewellery collection but also by the woman’s charismatic aura. Even the clicking sound her heels made on the hard ground was full of power. Anyone could hear the confidence in each of her steps, which made Lizzie gasp.

As a moth attracted to light, Tommy got out of his office, a cigarette hanging on his lips. He pressed a shoulder on the door frame, his eyes fixed on the woman walking towards him.

He was indeed waiting for her.

His deep blue eyes weren’t examining the woman’s form in an enticed way, he was solely looking at her face, a thing that made Lizzie’s heart ached because she understood there might be more than sexual attraction between them.

Lizzie knew her husband. From the way he dawdled on the woman’s face to the little waving of his shoulders, she just knew.

The atmosphere again had changed, Lizzie was now oppressed by their two presences, the warm and powerful one of the stranger and the usual cold and disconcerting one of her husband, one completing the other.

As her heart didn’t want to admit it yet, a burning look was exchanged by the two pairs of eyes, and confirmed the obvious her brain already knew, Thomas had found his match, and it wasn’t her.

(...)

Tommy took off his shoulder from the door frame and stood straight as he humidified his lips. The librarian walked to him with her usual unreadable face and when she was close enough, she grabbed his cigarette off his fingers taking her time to make their skin touch as much as she could. Her eyes were still deeply in Tommy’s as millions of sparks animated the tips of his fingers.

The man coughed and turned to Lizzie, motioning his hand to the woman behind the desk, in an attempt to ignore the sparks. “Mrs Y/L/N, meet my wife, Lizzie. Lizzie, it’s Mrs Y/L/N, the librarian I work with at the House Of Commons.” He had sensed the intense look of his wife since Y/N came closer to him.

“Mrs Shelby! I am so honoured to meet you, I heard about your typewriting skills, writing eyes closed, eh? I could never.” Y/N gave a warm smile to Lizzie that squinted her eyes in anticipation. His wife didn’t believe in what the librarian just told and he was sure Y/N knew it too.

“Yeah? Well, I never heard of you.” Lizzie spitted.

“It’s because you don’t keep company with my people.” She had the audacity to take a puff on the cigarette she stole earlier from Tommy looking his wife straight in the eyes.

Even if Y/N’s voice was calm and solemn, it was clear it was an attack. The implication made Lizzie gritted her teeth as she got up and joined them. Tommy rubbed a hand on his own face knowing exactly what she was going to do.

She stood behind the librarian. “And what business do you have here in Birmingham if you work in London?”

“You’re husband,” Y/n responded, not even turning to her. She bypassed Tommy and opened the door’s office before disappearing behind them.

Lizzie followed her with her eyes before looking up at her husband. “The fuck is she doing here? Are you going to fuck her, Thomas?”

“No, Lizzie. Am not going to fuck her.” He responded exhaling deeply.

“Yeah, take me for an fucking idiot.” She walked to the desk to grab her hat & coat. “That’s all you’re good for anyway. You fucked all Birmingham and now London, huh?” She sneered before shaking her head walking to the exit.

“Lizzie.” He called, but the woman had already closed the door.

Tommy raised his brows and sighed before turning to the office where he marked a pause. It was another type of storm he had to face now. He finally opened the door and got in, only to find Y/N seated behind his desk, in his chair.

“Tommy Shelby, OBE, what a pleasure to meet your family.”

“It was quite a show you put out there.” He closed behind him.

When he turned back at the room, she was walking toward him, but she already was pretty near.

“So you fucked all Birmingham already, hum? Trying to expand your activities in London?” Y/N leaned on him, she was so close he could smell her breath and he wondered what was her fucking problem. She ignored him for days after they kissed and here she was again, pushing him to the edges. It was almost as if it was a game for her. And if it was, she was winning all the damn rounds.

“And you? What’s with the attitude?”

“What are you talking about.” She took a step back.

“You have been busy this week, eh?” Tommy walked to the counter and poured whiskey in two glasses.

“Well, the man you have your little brother watching, he talks.” She loosely let out. “The bookmaker Billy Grade, the one that conducts the football betting business” She paused looking at Tommy’s surprised expression. “He doesn’t like Arthur.”

“To who?” Was the simple question he needed an answer to.

“I made moves with Mosley so, yes, it had been a busy week, Thomas.”

At the revelation, Tommy’s eyes squinted. If there was one thing he learnt with Grace was to make sure his feelings weren’t a shackle to business.

“I’m not betraying you, no need for these wrinkles at the corner of your eyes. But you gotta know he’s offered me the South.” She went to the counter and took the glasses before sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, one cup in her hand, the other she put on one of the numerous files covering the desk.

Tommy went sitting in his armchair. He lit a cigarette and held one to the woman that declined.

“Only like to take yours.” She gave as an explanation.

“How come he offered you the south?” He ignored her comment.

“North’s Mc Cavern’s, Middle’s yours, South’s vacant. But I have another plan for the South, and you might agree with me as well.” A rictus took place at the corner of her lips, as Tommy looked at her, curious. “Mr Solomons. I know he wrote you that he’s still alive.”

Tommy’s lids fluttered a couple times, he didn’t say anything. How could she know so much all the time? Was she listening to him or something? He for a second thought it might be her spying on him on the phone but this idea went away almost immediately.

She wasn’t Grace.

“He and I are great friends. Not as if he really has any, but do I?” She muttered utterly to herself.

Tommy coughed and leaned back on his chair, making himself comfortable.

“What’s with you, Tommy?” Asked the librarian, and he himself couldn’t put a finger on what was going on. It was always that way when she was around, but everything intensified when they leaned their breath as one and connected together.

His mind was so full of thoughts that had nothing to do with business that it was hard for him to concentrate. But for some reason, he just couldn’t push those thoughts aside.

He wanted her, he yearned for her to touch him the way she did that night, to intertwine their fingers together again and forget about Mosley for an instant, just one. Tommy humidified his lips again as raising his eyebrows, it was like his lips were always dry or incomplete. Her lips belonged on his. He raised his gaze to her in distress.

“You want to come to me house, Tommy? Again?” Her voice resonated in his head, her words taking him by surprise.

“Huh?”

“Have a drink or two, meet my cat...” She went on, looking intently at his soul hiding behind his icy blue iris.

He didn’t recognize her, but did he even know her? It seems not. Every time they meet, she puts another mask on. Somewhere in his soul, he believed it wasn’t a good idea, that thing they shared. But he knew he couldn’t turn away and break the partnership. Not now. Not only could she be hard to beat if they turned to enemies, but he also needed her, she was part of his business now. She was too precious an ally for him to withdraw from the deal.

As he didn’t respond, she drank from her cup, finishing its countenance in one go. “I’ll ask Arthur then...replace his Linda.” She added looking up to the ceiling innocently.

“The fuck did you say?” He hustled to spit as watching her without blinking.

Her gaze went back on Tommy, a playful gleam animating her pupils.

“What do you say?” She sent him back the ball. It was indeed a game for her, and he knew once again she would be the winner because he wouldn’t say no.

He tried to escape her game by coughing it away and smoked his cigarette. “How are you going to bring up Alfie Solomons with Mosley?” He went back on business, but the woman didn’t seem ready yet to give up.

She got up and grabbed the phone with one hand as the other was dialling a number. She sat at the corner of the desk, turning toward the Shelby brother and the phone. Tommy watched her movements closely, curious about how she was going to handle him dismissing her offer.

He couldn’t even hide the fact her stubbornness did something to him, even if he repressed any desire for her. It was as if they were the principal characters in the regency era drama he ended up devouring as it was the book Y/N was reading on their first meeting.

He was so deep in thought he didn’t hear the librarian asking the cable woman to put her in connection with the individual she intended to reach.

“Yeah, Arthur, it’s me. I wonder if you would wa--” Tommy had heard enough. He hung up the line and fixed the phone for what feels like centuries, slowly realizing what his reaction meant.

The Y/E/C eyes woman remained silent, a silence that felt heavy on Tommy’s conscience. He straightened back and leaned on the back of his chair, glancing at the ceiling.

He was done with those games. He couldn’t believe he dove into her crude farce head first, and now he had to face her because she had been staring at him the last minute.

“You’re a devil.” He let the words lazily slip between his lips.

“Call me Lilith.” She spiritedly exclaimed. Tommy’s eyes went to her face at that exact moment.

“So you’re jew, eh? That explains why you know Alfie, but contradicts the fact you and Mosley are close.” Tommy thought out loud. According to his memories, Lilith was a demon of the jew tradition, which led him to his conclusion.

The woman instantly smiled, seemingly very content about the Shelby head struggling to catch her.

“Fair enough.”

“You come to my house?”

“I was talking about the comparison.” He paused, looking at her blankly.

She sighed.

No doubt she was annoyed by Tommy’s behaviour, but she won way too much at their little game. It was about time Tommy won. It was unusual of him to be that shallow but it was their intimate space, so he didn’t care.

(...)

Gina couldn’t see anything when the abductors took her out of the car to lead her down some stairs into what she surmised to be a cellar, she already had a piece of cloth hiding her vision and one in her mouth, preventing her from screaming.

She was petrified and the fact the individuals didn’t say a word, neither during the ride nor once in the room didn’t help her. She could feel heavy drops of sweat rolling down her forehead as dried tears itched the corners of her eyes.

The place was colder than what she remembered a cellar to be. Flashes of her childhood coming back to her from time to time.

“THREE… TWO… ONE… ZERO. I’M COMING GINA!” Her cousin shouted from the kitchen where they last saw each other. The little girl used to come down in the cellar to hide when playing hide and seek with any member of her family, from her cousins to her father.

As her mother was severely ill, she couldn’t play with Gina, but her father always did. When not leading the believers to sing the praises of the Almighty at the local church, he was both a father and a mother to her.

Although her mother & herself loved each other more than anything, she soon stopped seeing her. When at first her father let Gina visit the room of her mother once a day, it decreased from once a week, to once a month to simply never.

Despite the child doggedly asking for her mother, he remained unyielding and managed to keep his daughter away from her mother for her own sake.

It was only when growing older and after the death of her mother that Gina understood her father’s demeanour. He was desperate not to let his daughter watch her mother die.

This time, the cellar didn’t feel familiar and it’s not a joyful feeling that resides in her. Her body reacting to the cold, she was shivering as goosebumps appeared at the same time as she heard footsteps coming her way. Her blood boiling like hot water, she struggled to breathe.

“Call her father.” Gina heard a female voice she had never heard before. She listened to footsteps receding before a whimper escaped her throat.

“Well, you heard the woman, let her talk.” The voice ordered. And just like that, her mouth got freed. “Go on.” The female voice seemed to address her directly.

“What do you want with my father?” She managed to say after she moved her jaws to get rid of the piece of cloth’s taste.

“He’s an old friend.”

“Can’t you just call like normal people instead of abducting his child?” Gina murmured, not totally relieved from the fear. She wanted to appear unmoved and plucked all the courage left in her to get an untroubled voice.

“I know you, Gina.” The voice started, getting closer. “You alright? You’re trembling.” Well, it seems like all the effort she put in wasn’t enough, her true emotions were discovered.

“You know me, huh? So you know as soon as you detach me I’ll assault you and spit right in your face, right?” She angrily let out, she didn’t accept to be defeated nor seen while being vulnerable and defenceless.

But it seems like the individual challenged her, because she heard someone pass behind her and loosen the cords holding back her hands. At the same moment, the piece of cloth blinding her fell on her collarbones.

Before her, stood straight a woman with a closed face, her facial traits weren’t aggressive, but in her eyes, Gina could swear she saw in there an untamed fire. Her brown eyes slid to a sitting white dog near the stranger, it looked like a wolf, even its huge size reminded her of the fierce beast she read about as a teenager.

It was ridiculous to see this situation unleashed the least probable memories of her youth into her mind as vividly as yesterday.

“Who are you? What do you want?” The woman before Gina mimicked her voice, a smile drawing on her lips. “They always ask the same questions.” She shrugged her shoulders seeing Gina’s surprised expression. The freshly Gray woman closed her mouth that was slightly open in an “o” shape and clenched her jaw.

“Well, I need your father to come here, in England. And you,” she tapped Gina’s end of nose, “you’re the thing that’ll make him travel the world all the way to Birmingham. To my greatest pleasure,” She patted her own chest before motioning to Gina, “and much to your displeasure.”

Gina didn’t even know what to say, she used the time the woman spent talking to massage her wrists as the cords were tied very tight. Her gaze dawdled on the woman in front of her, she was wearing a very long purple coat to which two buttons situated at the waist of its owner were closed. She also wore black lace gloves with ostentatious golden rings above the fabric. The diamonds of her rings were blue, matching her earrings. When the woman turned to the side to pat her dog’s head, Gina noticed she had braided her hair in a single braid that fell on her back.

The woman crouched down for her eyes to be at the same level as the dog’s ones, one of her hands scratching its head. “One single word and it attacks you, so you better behave.” She turned her head to Gina, warning her. The blonde woman glared at the other before glancing toward the dog in anticipation.

Y/N got back up and turned her back to Gina as she started to walk toward the stairs. “Get comfortable, it’s your new home for a few days.”

“What, you’re leaving me in this? With the dog?” She screamed at the Y/H/C haired woman.

“If I were you, I’d avoid screaming, Gina doesn’t like too loud noises.” She waved goodbye as answering without even glancing toward Gray.

“What?” Gina asked, confusion in her voice.

Y/N chuckled a bit before turning around, her index went from the dog to Gina, “Yeah, meet your twin.” She walked backwards a couple of seconds before turning back to the stairs and climbing them.

(...)

House Of Commons, London.

The door of Tommy’s office abruptly opened on an angry Michael.

The Shelby brother that was pouring himself some whisky glanced at his cousin. “Michael.” He welcomed.

“Where the fuck is my wife, Tommy?” Gray asked, frowning.

“What?” He squinted his eyes.

“Where. The. Fuck. Is. My. Wife.” Michael spitted each word, looking straight into his older cousin’s eyes.

Tom blinked a couple times, not understanding the request.

“Days ago when coming back from the fucking restaurant some fucking people took her.” The younger Gray calmed a bit, seeing that Tommy truly didn’t know what he was talking about.

“How did they look?” Tom asked, concerned. Even if Michael might have betrayed him, he was family still and anyone jeopardizing the life of a member of the Shelby clan or someone related to them should taste the sweet fondles of death’s fingers.

“Men in fucking black.” Michael started to pace up and down, both his hands passing over his face. “I’m getting mad, Tom, me head fucking all over the place...” He continued.

“Men, no women?” Tommy brows raised, he had to ask. He remembered the conversation he had with that librarian when she was telling him she thought Gina was the weakness and force of his cousin and that she might do something about it.

“No.” Michael stated firmly. Tommy’s tensed shoulders relaxed. “Or..” Tommy raised his brows. “I don’t know, Tom. Fuck.”

“We’re going to find her, Michael. Stay in your hotel room, stay put, near the phone, right?” The Shelbys' head tapped his cousin’s shoulder before leaving the office.

(...)

He stopped the car near the portals and got out, a cigarette hanging on his lips. Tommy walked the pointlessly long alley, by-passing a ton of fountains and trimmed bushes of different forms and shapes.

The fair distance gave him time to rethink everything that concerned Y/N and his relationship with her. If she truly was behind the disappearance of his cousin’s wife, he would have to deal with her, meaning going to war, which was far from the plan since he entered politics.

He knocked on the door without waiting any further once he joined the principal door. He was looking intently at the windows trying to see a silhouette through it or an ignited light of some sort, but nothing.

The door abruptly opened, making a loud noise and the figure of the librarian was to be seen. Tommy raised his hand to her face, pointing his gun at her, but when her body was fully visible thanks to the moon shining, he blinked, bewildered.

His eyes dropped on a Y/N only dressed with an emeraude lace nightgown. The top was all see-through, but it didn’t stop him from cocking the gun and hold it steady in between her eyebrows. Even though he was here because he suspected her to have turned her back to him, his body reacted a whole different way to the view. His heart started to pounder in his chest as a warmth suddenly took prisoner his upper body. He swallowed in an attempt to dismiss the feeling ready to burst out.

“Missing our start?” She let out, not even pretending to be scared or shook by the situation. As a matter of fact, in their second meeting, Tom indeed pulled a gun at her, how could he forget that. Nobody ever had the nerve to threaten him on his own doorsteps, but of course, she did.

“Where’s Gina?” He ignored she was half-naked along with her remark.

“What the fuck, Thomas?” One of her eyebrows raised in confusion. “What’s happened?”

Tommy switched the position of his fingers, putting his index right on top of the trigger to make known he knew she was lying.

As she felt the danger, the woman banged the door on Tom’s face and not even a second later, he heard bullets being fired as he saw holes drawing through the door. The time stopped, or at least everything appeared as slower.

He instinctively put his arms over his head and kneeled as other bullets were being fired, he managed his way to the wall of the mansion, staying down.

“Fucking hell, Y/N!” He shouted his lungs out, his ears whistling due to the bullets’ noise.

“Remember when I warned you, Thomas. You pull a gun, I shoot!” She accentuated the last part, her tone underlined by anger.

“Why did you take her?” He kept his head close to the wall as shaking it, trying to totally recover his hearing.

“You should’ve asked that when you could, Sergent Major.” She calmly stated.

Tommy could hear she was re-loading her gun.

He looked at the gravels under him and recognized the bullet belonging to a rifle. He frowned, wondering how come she got a rifle.

“No. Put down the rifle, I'm throwing me gun.” He said loudly before dropping his gun in the grass far away from him, his weapon made a muffled noise while encountering the ground.

He didn’t hear anything for a minute that seems to last hours. The night breeze came fondling his face, helping him to ease his breath as the silence made him fully recover his hearing.

The front door opened, and Y/N peeked through. Only one of her Y/E/C eyes was to be seen, and even if her pupil was dilated due to the adrenaline, her look seemed concerned. “Are you hurt?” She solemnly asked, she, as well, being out of breath.

Tommy shook his head on both sides before he managed to stand, helped by the wall.

“You mad woman.” He closed his eyes as taking a deep breath in, knowing she wouldn't try to kill him tonight. When he opened his eyes again, she was in front of him, barefoot on the gravel.

“Sorry… I tend to lose my shit when I’m in danger.” She placed the rifle hanging around her neck to her side, a hand holding it still.

“You weren’t. I wasn’t gonna fucking shot, just trying to scare you.”

“...Well you angered me.” She hesitated in even giving him an answer. She finally decided she didn't need the rifle anymore and went placing it against the wall.

“Not fear, eh?” He teased, and she shook her head as a response.

“Why the fuck did you take Gina away? Michael’s all over the place, he even came to me. The boy’s fucking losing it.”

“Well, firstly, he deserved a little reminding he was still a boy as you correctly underlined,” she raised her brows looking at him, “secondly, after further research, I found it I know her father. Long story short, he’s the only one to be able to deal with her uncle if we don’t want any blood spilt.”

“Fucking was about to spill me gut on your doorstep, the fuck you care about spilt blood, Y/N?” He furrowed his brows as agitating one of his hands, motioning to the ground beneath their feet.

“Yeah,” she acquiesced, “not me that cares about fucking family. It’s you.”

That’s when he realized how serious she took their partnership. When he thought she was solely doing what fitted her best, she indeed took into consideration Tommy's convictions. She took seriously the fact he didn't want the family to be hurt. And although he ranged on her side regarding scaring Michael a bit to make him realize something, he never thought of Y/N to be tough enough to act with as much strategy as ruthlessness. She definitely outdid him in this case.

This sudden realisation aroused something in him. She cared. Even if the care she gave was nonetheless peculiar and typical to her character, she did what she could with what she had right? And right now she was working with him with as much resilience and fierceness as she would do with her own organisation.

“If it was up to me, fucking bullets to the head for both of ‘em and we done.” She dismissively worded as looking afar. “Where’s your gun?” She lazily looked back at him.

Tommy hesitated a short period of time before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her against himself. She didn’t push him away as he neared his face near her, she was the one sealing their lips together. This time, none of them were eager for the other, their kiss was light, soft and pure, contrasting with the chaotic situation they put themselves in.

The blue-eyed man slipped a hand on her back, fondling her skin above the piece of cloth covering her body while she reached for the button of his pants under his coat.

The atmosphere switched, not even seconds earlier it was love talking, now it was a whole another emotion ruling them.

Tom started to walk toward the door, forcing her to walk backwards. When she understood what he intended to do she murmured a soft “No.” and he opened his eyes darkened by desire and urge, looking into hers that were screaming for sex.

A smile grew on her lips as she went sticking her back to the nearest wall, her fingers strongly gripping on the man’s tie. He didn’t break the eye contact and joined her, flattening one of his hands on the cold wall. The warmth of his longing for the woman added to the coldness of the night were mixing together so well he felt a little dizzy.

He couldn’t think about how often he imagined them during their first time or how often he tried to picture Y/N’s curves in his head but his body somehow knew how much he wanted this. His hands were dawdling on any portion of her figure he could find, gulping each piece that was giving to him as if she was the first woman he’d ever touched.

Each kiss enticed him a bit more and whenever he closed his eyes he could literally see fireworks exploding everywhere in him. And whenever he would open them, he would find Y/N looking intently at him, her expression revealing everything she could never tell him, her feelings for him as well as her deepest fear, frustrations & beyond, her eyes being the messenger of the immensity of a soul, to another.

She quickly got to his bum she previously teased with one knee before reaching for his length.

Her cold fingers struck it a few times before she came aligning him with the distress for feeling him inside.

Once he was perfectly aligned, she released him and reunited her lips to his, where they belonged, giving him the green light. He thrust slowly at first, letting her some time to get used to his size. She murmured a low “Tommy...”, her legs encircling his hips as he grabbed one of them firmly. He was keeping her as close to him as possible, making sure their bodies were as connected as their souls were. He ultimately began to come and go, increasing his pace as time passed by.

Her high pitched moans came directly to his ears, the best sounds he’s heard out of his entire life without a doubt.

Following Chapter ❱

[the-crows-typist]

May I ask for a ficlet between Leona and female reader with the word "jewelry" please? Thank you!

Such a lovely flower, care to have tea with me? Oh, why not a few yummy cakes from Trey’s family bakery?? It is your special day, after all! Join me, dear blossom. Let us celebrate!

Again, a few days late to your birthday but I hope you enjoy this Leona fic. I made extra just for you.

And context to this is that MC is Leona's helper but they are closer than what most people think.

The Possibilities are Endless

"Be careful, I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

The sun beat dowb against the palace of the Afterglow Savanna’s royal family. A single person, a helper, tended to the garden with a pair of sheers and a sunhat protecting her head. With each precise snip, a blooming flower was picked out and set in the basket next to her. A small working song helped her keep busy until the basket was full of vibrant colored flowers; one was purple and blue, the other red, a dash of white and some orange and yellow.

“This should do.”

Carefully and slowly, the basket was pulled to her waist and she stood up, heading for the baths to shower the filled tub with lovely aromatic flowers that floated around the cool water.

A figure watched her at work not too far away.

 “Working hard?”

Leona Kingscholar leaned against the door frame, his body only covered by a robe and a pair of loose pants. A trained eye could already tell that the heat was getting to him. “As always, Prince Leona.” She gave him a smile before moving away from the tub. “I knew you would want to cool off right now so I took the necessary preparations to make sure you feel relaxed.”

His ears twitched as he listened to her explanation then sauntered over to the tub, bending down to take a small blossom from the cool water. He twirled the stem in his fingers, eyes narrowing “This is…”

“From the garden,” said the helper, holding the basket close to her chest. “I had permission beforehand, of course. I thought it would be nice to use.”

“Cape plumbago.”  The helper’s eyes shined as she blinked. “Yes, it is!”

“I’ve seen it around the garden a few times. Read a few books about it too. Good choice.”

The prince turned, his hand reaching out. She did not blink nor did she flinch as the stem sat on her ear, the blue blossom resting against her hair. “Next time, I want you to call me just Leona when we’re alone.” He tucked the stray hair behind her ear and the helper felt her cheeks fluster at how close they were suddenly. “Understood?”

“Understood…Leona.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Now get out of here before someone gets the wrong idea.”

“Huh?”

Her eyes look to the robe, then to the flower bath, then the room. Oh.

“Excuse me.” She says in a sheepish voice as Leona laughs on her way out. She could hear the splash of water and the pleased sigh of an overheated lion.

The next time she comes to Leona’s room was when it was time to collect the soaked flowers from the bath. The lion lounged against the soft bed opposite of the baths, his tail swaying from side to side against the white linen and his ears relaxed. His eyes closed and breathing relaxed. He was sound asleep.

The helper tip toed her way to the baths, moving to pick and pluck the flowers from the now empty tub and placing it into a basket lined with thick cloth. A hum left her lips as she worked, her working song echoing through the room and into the sleeping lion’s quarters.

For a moment, the lion stirred at the soft voice that sang in his quarters.

It was so soft, so sweet.

He turned his head just as the helper moved out of the room with her basket over her arm. “Oh,” She bowed her head to him, one hand behind her back. “Good afternoon, Prince Leona. I hope I didn’t wake you.” The lion pushed himself off the bed and hunched his head over. His hand was drawn out, beckoning her over to him.

“Come here.”

When the space was closed, the prince held her wrist and turned her hand over. “What are these marks on your hands?” Her skin was red and irritated, Leona did not smell blood, nor did he see the split flesh. The helper pulled her hand away from the prince, looking away sheepishly. “I…I killed a fly I wasn’t supposed to.” The lion blinked then his eyes widened in realization.

“Give me your hand.” The helper looked at him, lips pressed together. “The burns from its blood will continue to hurt you if we don’t do anything about it. Now, give it to me before it gets worse.”

His demanding tone made her sigh in defeat and he gave her hand to him and letting him hold it close. Taking the basket full of flowers from her, Leona placed her hand right on top. “Relax.” He said, his voice going lower and his eyes downcast as if in a trance. Her whispers as he closes his eyes, his voice never reaching her ears. The burns on her skin slowly disappearing from her skin and the flowers under her balm losing its color; Leona opened his eyes again and let go of her wrist. “There.”

The helper inspected her skin, the harsh redness no longer there. “Thank you, so much Leona.” She smiled but soon frowned at the blossoms, their colors gone and wilted.

“The flowers were the only source of energy I could use to reverse the effects.”  He explained as he scooted off the bed, leaving the lady alone for a moment. “But knowing that you were injured by that fly means that it may happen again given your penchant to remain in the garden all day.”

He rummaged through a box by the mirror, his green eyes looking over to her then back at the box. He raised his hand just as she was about to speak in retaliation. “I know it’s your job to tend to the garden but you’re not obliged to stay there all day.” He pulled out a ring, inspecting it for a short moment, then turned around.

“What if I want to stay in the gardens?” The helper asked, arms folded over her chest. Leona couldn’t help but smile at her obviously upset expression. “Then you need the necessary protection not to get hurt again.”

The ring he held was a shining gold, decorated with bits of silver and topped with a dull blue gem.

“Give me your hand.”

The helper stared at the ring then to Leona before giving it to him, the other hand on her chest. “What is this, Leona?”

With this ring, may your adventures be riddled with joyous memories.

With this ring, may the troubles of the world not reach you.

With this ring, may the sun and moon protect you

With this ring, your safety is granted.

With this ring…

He breathed out, a puff of smoke leaving his mouth and surrounding the gem in a lilac cloud.  He slipped it onto her finger; the gem shined a brilliant blue, a beautiful sapphire as clear as the blue sea. Magic coursed through and a wave of relief washed over her. Leona held her hand for longer than usual then bringing it to his lips, kissing the gem, sealing the magic.

“That should do it. The ring will protect you while you’re in the garden.” He lets go of her hand and stepping back, moving over to the bed to lie down. What a lazy lion Leona was. “The protection spell is fairly strong so don’t worry about it suddenly disappearing while you work."

She cleared her throat, bringing her hand up to her lips. “Thank you, Leona.” She said, he could hear her voice quivering but he turned over to his side before he could see her flustered face. “I…Greatly appreciate the gesture.” She bows her head to him. “I will keep the ring with me. Always.”

The sound of her footsteps grew softer and softer as she left the room but Leona was still awake. Into his closed fist, he spoke the final words he wanted to say but never wanted her to hear.

With this ring…I ask you to be mine.

[taeyongtime]

silver cufflinks

genre: escape artist!taeyong | circus!au

featuring: NCT’s Taeyong

word count: 7,467 words

a/n: an idea of old that i finally managed to execute after 3 years and a culmination of 14 handwritten pages :) 

“Have you heard? Neon Lights is in town!”

You shake your head, never heard the name before.

“You’ve never heard of the Neon Lights Circus?” Your friend’s jaw drops in awe, unbelieving of such a thing. “It’s only the best circus in all of Asia!

“Surely your father has heard of them? Didn't you say he used to perform with a circus?”

“That was a long time ago,” you ponder, recalling all the wild stories from your father’s travels with a wandering circus. “Isn’t this Neon Lights relatively new?”

“Twenty years is hardly new.”

Urged to ask about Neon Lights, you give in and promise to ask your father once you return home. However, the question goes unasked when you see the circle of family surrounding the door to your parents’ bedroom, the upcoming announcement completely unexpected.

“Your father… he’s gone, dear.”

—

You clutch the locked leather-bound volume in hand, following the person in front closely as the line moves slowly towards the ticket booth of the Neon Lights circus. The hype not to be underestimated, what looked to be fifty people are already lined up once the circus’ nighttime hours had been announced one hour prior. Some were new faces who wanted to get a taste of what the acclaimed circus had to offer, others familiar patrons who couldn’t wait to see what was new in store compared to previous shows. All in all, the anticipation for entry is palpable, tingling excitement dancing in the air while the line inched its way up.

Finally, you make it to the booth, handing over the correct amount of money in exchange for an admissions ticket. Green-and-black striped tents greet you once you pass the iron gates, neon lights fitting of the circus’ name dotting the main path. Elaborate signs boasting of acts and other surprises do little to catch your attention, only one goal in mind today as you pass each tent that isn’t the one you wanted. However, you can’t seem to find the tent in question, opting to pop into the next one you see to ask for directions.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble, bumping paths with the figure dressed in black before the fire breathers’ tent. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No problem,” he dismisses, brushing the sleeves of his black blazer, “You’re good.”

“By the way, do you know where I can find the escape artist?”

He arches an eyebrow. “The escape artist?”

“…Never mind.”

Lifting the curtains, you pass him and enter the tent. Three fire breathers are still in uniform, skipping around the stage with flaming torches in their hands.

“Hey,” you yell at the top of your lungs. “Do any of you know where the escape artist is?”

“Can’t hear you,” hollers the one juggling three torches at once. “Come closer!”

You climb over the rope separating the audience seats from the performers, already halfway up the stage until you feel yourself pulled back down.

“You could’ve died standing so close to the fire breather,” hisses the man you’d bumped into outside, “Follow me.”

“Why should I?”

“I didn’t know you were so desperate to meet me that you’d stick your face into blazing fire to ask my whereabouts.”

“Wait, you’re the escape artist?”

◇

The escape artist’s tent is smaller than expected, a ring of thirty chairs circling the performing space that provides no covers for any sleight of hand. He gestures for you to sit in any of the open chairs and you let out a cry of surprise at hearing the shrill caw overhead.

“My raven won’t bite,” he reassures, reaching a hand to pet the bird that lands on his left arm. “Henry is quite friendly.”

You take a seat and remember the locked journal, extending it to him.

“My father left this for you.”

“Who’s your father?”

“Have you heard of the magician Eriol Kim? That’s my father’s stage name.”

He must know, the downcast glance and dipped head obvious signs that he was familiar with your father.

“Can you open the journal?” you ask, offering the locked volume again. “No one in the family’s been able to open it even though we were left with the key.”

“Let me see.”

He takes the journal and studies the lock, turning the book in his hands before reaching behind his ear and pulling out a bobby pin. Twisting the pin, he sticks the gadget into the lock, fiddling with it a few times before hearing the satisfactory click.

“Old man probably left you guys with a fake key,” he reasons, flipping through the pages. “Had to quench your thirst for answers but still keep his secrets a secret.”

“What kind of secrets?”

The escape artist smiles, placing the lock back in place.

“Secrets.”

Unsatisfied with his answer, you pester him some more but he zips his lips.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must prepare for tonight’s show.”

“Hey, you can’t just kick me out, you weirdo!”

“The name’s Taeyong,” he drawls, waving his fingers in a cheery goodbye. “Maybe we can talk more when you come by again tomorrow.”

—

You end up going back to the circus tomorrow and the day after, each night determined to convince Taeyong to let you see your father’s journal. Not once does the escape artist comply, even giggling playfully when he decides he wants your assistance in a performance. Under the pressure of the audience, you find yourself obliging, soon earning yourself an assistant title to the regulars that stop by every night to watch him perform.

“And now my lovely assistant will set fire to the barrel!”

You get up at hearing the cue and extract the lighter from your pocket, eyeing the barrel warily. The speakers overhead crackle, Taeyong assuring the audience he is unable to push open the barrel’s lid.

“If my assistant can prepare—”

Caught off guard by the utterance, you drop the lighter before he can finish, a quick flame growing at the base of the barrel. The prepared sticks of firewood and gasoline catches almost immediately, fear and excitement mixed into the audience’s response.

“Fire, fire…”

Hushed murmurs of fire echo across the circle, and the only thing on your mind is the fire extinguisher—which you run towards and focus the nozzle on the flaming barrel. Puffs of white envelop the on looking audience, your heart thumping erratically as the flames die out. Timing key in pulling off a successful act, you knew full well one mishap like that can shift the entire performance towards failure and ultimately an untimely death.

Please don’t be in there, please tell me you freed yourself before…before…

“Well, that was a close one.”

Taeyong steps out from the cloud, hair tinged white as he brushes his blazer and pants dry with his hands. Everyone cheers, already forgetting the impending risk of his death from the barrel that had been set aflame earlier than arranged.

“Thank you,” he bows, shooting a quick smirk at the crowd. “It is my honor to perform for you tonight!”

Once tonight’s audience leaves his tent, you run towards him and grab him by the shoulders, checking to see if he is still in one piece.

Taeyong laughs at your antics. “What are you doing?”

“You… You’re not dead.”

He scoffs. “Of course not.”

“…Thank goodness, I...” 

Slumping to the ground, you shake your head as you process the prior events once more. Thankfully nothing had gone awry and Taeyong had made it out before the barrel burned to bits and pieces, your mistake passed off as an added measure of suspense for his escape. 

“I have something for you.”

Looking up, your eyes land on the slip of green paper in his hands, bordered in metallic ebony with emerald lettering at the center.

“What is this?”

“Unlimited access pass,” he explains, “So you don’t have to pay to get in.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll come back after nearly killing you tonight.”

He grins, cheekiness rolling off his shoulders. “You’re not going to leave when you still don’t know what your father wrote in his journal.”

You let out a chuckle. “I don’t care about that anymore.”

Now it is his turn to sit down, crossing his legs as he rocks to and fro. 

“You don’t want to know your father’s secrets?”

“Secrets are called secrets for a reason,” you begin, still holding tight to the unlimited access pass. “These things weren’t mine to begin with and I should respect that.”

Taeyong nods, silver earrings glistening in the lamp light. “I respect you for it, Y/N.”

You startle, staring at him wide-eyed. “How do you know my name?”

“Did some research of my own after you told me Eriol was your father. He said he’ll introduce me to you someday when I first started studying under him.”

“Really? He’s never mentioned you to me before.”

A dry laugh tickles his throat. “Probably didn’t bother anymore after I left without telling him.”

You sense there is a deeper story behind the relationship Taeyong had with your father, but don’t bother to ask.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he concludes, extending a hand to help you up after hopping back on his feet. “Come on, I’ll show you around the rest of the circus.”

You take the offered hand and pull yourself up, scowling. “I don’t need you when I’ve been around the rest of the circus before.”

“Have you seen the white tigers in the Wild Cats tent?”

“There’s a separate tent for tigers?”

The disgusted look on his face says it all. “Clearly you still haven��t been to the best tents around here.”

—

The call at 4pm is unexpected, much less the name that appears on caller ID.

Not sure when Taeyong had inputted his phone number into your device or when he had gotten hold of your contact information, you ignore the ringtone and return to enjoying the fresh cup of oolong tea and just baked sugar cookies for the midday snack. Barely having two sips of tea, you grumble when the phone rings again, this time answering and ready to tell him off for interrupting your teatime.

“What do you want, weirdo?”

“Hello, is this Y/N? Mister Lee Taeyong is currently at the police station; he said this is a good number to reach you, his friend?”

“Excuse me?”

You arrive at the police station thirty minutes later, eyes widened at seeing the limp figure slumped over the table.

“Taeyong?”

Taeyong lifts his head up at hearing his name, the officers standing next to him following closely behind.

“What the…”

He giggles, face flushed as he proudly holds up his hands, an officer cuffed to each wrist.

“Mister Lee claims he misplaced the key,” the office on the right begins calmly, “He gave us your name and contact information when we asked if there is anyone else who may know how to unlock his handcuffs.”

“Um… I can try.”

You kneel to meet Taeyong at eye level, doing your best to not get distracted by the puppy-dog eyes and giggly expression on his face. You smell a faint hint of alcohol; how much had he drank to reach such a wasted state that he had managed to handcuff two well-trained police officers to him?

“Weirdo, how much did you drink? Where is your key?”

“Dunno,” he slurs, letting out a hiccup. “Had one bottle, two?”

“Not even that much,” you mutter, reaching your hands into his jacket pockets and coming up empty. “Lightweight.”

“I cuffed two officers, Y/N. You’re under arrest, officers!”

Ignoring the grumbles and displeasure at being cuffed by a mere civilian, you suddenly remember his bobby pin trick. Reaching by his ear, your fingers grab hold of the pin tucked in his hair, easing it out and fiddling it into each cuff.

The officers wring out their hands once freed, and you quickly help a dizzy Taeyong up.

“Sorry for all the trouble,” you apologize on his behalf, “It won’t happen again.”

◇

Taeyong opens his eyes to find himself in a home that isn’t his tent, the surroundings completely unfamiliar until he sees the photo frame on the nightstand by the bed. 

A family photo. He spots his mentor immediately, as stoic as ever posing tight-lipped before the camera.

“I’m sorry for running away, Teacher.”

Sitting up, he eases off the bed and makes a lap around the apartment, taking note of where your things are placed. Not too shabby for someone raised by a magician, although his mentor had also been one to keep a messy desk once he sees the haphazardly scattered papers and uncapped pens on your work table. He starts to reorganize, but pauses midway when he spots the clipped newspaper article.

Impossible. How could he have not realized that was why you’d suddenly appeared in his life?

“Hey, you’re awake.”

He turns at hearing your voice, staring you down.

“Why didn’t you tell me Eriol is dead?”

You manage a soft smile, taking off your sneakers and easing into a pair of purple slippers. “I thought you already knew the moment I gave you his journal.”

“How could I…”

He slams a hand on the table, ignoring the shrill screech at his fingers crushing the small porcelain cup just below his fist. Blood starts to trickle from the shards embedded in his skin, and you hurriedly sit him down before rushing to grab the first-aid kit.

“Idiot... This might hurt, can you withstand it?”

“It’s fine,” he insists, the wince at the first pluck betraying him already. “Don’t… Don’t bother.”

“You owe me a new tea set,” you mutter, plucking out a second and third shard of porcelain. “I’m going to make you buy me an expensive one to make up for it.”

The ramble about tea sets does its job to distract him from the pain. Soon, his hand is porcelain-free and bandaged all the way around, much to his dismay as he twists his wrist and scowls at seeing the mummified right hand.

“This is my good hand you bandaged up.”

“Then don’t perform tonight,” you point out, “You should be resting if you sustained an injury.”

—

He surprisingly follows your lead, not returning to the circus later in the evening. Social media explodes with posts regarding his no-show, but he is not bothered at all. It is rare for him to have a chance to spend time away from the circus, let alone do things other than perform escape tricks.

Tonight, he can live as Lee Taeyong the regular civilian, not Taeyong the escape artist of the Neon Lights circus.

“What is this?”

“A claw machine,” you explain, pointing at the assortment of plush toys kept contained in the red box. “You’ve never played one before?”

“…No.”

Without another word, you pull him inside the arcade. Bright lights and jingling game music greets your ears, the splash of colors across the perimeters enough to send your head spinning with indecision on which machine to play. Not many people besides you and Taeyong, luckily no one recognizes him as a member of the circus.

“Can you get me that one?” you ask, pointing at a pink bunny tucked in the back corner.

“You actually want a toy from here?” he quips, arching an eyebrow. “And me to get it for you?”

“Please,” you pout, batting your eyelashes. “You’re so good with your hands!”

He holds up the bandaged right hand and you gulp.

“I forgot about that.”

“Hmm,” he grumbles, “Step aside and I’ll see what I can do.”

You insert a coin into the slot and he grabs hold of the joystick, angling the claws directly above the bunny. Pushing the button to lower the claw, the prongs are dropped low, opening and closing into empty air before makings its way up again.

“Another one,” Taeyong mutters, eyes fixed on the toy. “We’re not leaving until I get you that bunny.”

It takes him a good two hours and an entire basket of coins to become familiar with the machine, finally maneuvering the claws deftly to pick up the bunny and drop it out. Your excited squeal brings a rare smile to his face, the first of the night. Refusing to take a stab at a different machine, Taeyong pulls you after him to play a shooting game, proving his skill once again when he secures the most kills in all three rounds of killing zombies. Darts, basketball hoops, even a coin toss is easy.

You raise the white flag after he changes his mind about the claw machine, securing almost five more stuffed plush toys under his belt before calling it quits.

“I didn’t think I’d have so much fun,” he admits after stepping out of the arcade under close watch from arcade staff. “The claw is actually not that hard to operate.”

“They were ready to pull you aside for questioning,” you laugh, swinging your stuffed bunny by its ear. “It took you only twenty minutes to get even their bigger toys out of the machines.”

“I gave all those back,” Taeyong drawls, rolling up the cuffs of his sleeves. “I was only trying hard for the bunny.”

“Thank you,” you grin, waving the bunny’s left paw in thanks. “Bunny is happy to go to her new home.”

“Sure.”

He makes an extra point to escort you home at such a late hour, his mere presence reassuring while you turn the corner and spot your apartment complex amid the single alit streetlight.

“This is it,” you begin, turning to him with a soft smile. “Thank you again for tonight.”

Taeyong returns the smile with an even rarer toothy grin. “I should be thanking you for showing me how fun claw machines are.”

“You must have had a lot on your mind tonight. Drinking and not wanting to perform.”

Your words catch him off guard, hitting a little too close to home. 

“Yeah.”

Conversation quickly slows, neither knowing what to say until he breaks the silence.

“Good night, Y/N. I’d better go before it gets too late.”

“Wait,” you blurt out, “When can I see you again?”

He replies immediately. “Tomorrow morning. You don’t want to miss tomorrow morning’s show.”

The anticipation already has you excited for tomorrow, so much so that you end up taking a quick shower and turning into bed early for the so-called surprise.

—

You wait until the rest of the crowd is gone, running towards Taeyong and cupping his face in your hands.

“Is your mouth okay?”

“Never better,” Taeyong answers, opening and closing his mouth to prove it. “Why?”

“The threaded needles… how did you swallow all of that with just a drink of water?”

His eyes twinkle with a knowing glint that he knew more than he was letting on.

“Practice.”

Not satisfied with his answer, you proceed to snake your hands into his blazer, empty-handed and needle-less once you finish the pat down.

“Where are the needles?”

“I knew you’d search me, so I already put them away.”

The cheeky smile on his face said it all; you punch him lightly in teasing and he pretends to wince from pain. The gesture is feigned, but you stop, concern replacing the playfulness in your eyes.

“Did I hurt you?” you blubber, unable to stop the tremble in your voice. “I… I didn’t mean…”

“I’m fine,” he laughs, tilting his head in confusion. “Just playing with you.”

“O…Oh.”

He picks up on your sudden retreat, taking a step forward and intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Sorry,” he whispers, the soft murmur so unlike the playful and confident persona he possessed on stage. “I won’t do that again.”

Unsure how to react, you quickly look away and wiggle out of his grip. His hand lingers midair before dropping against his sides, equally as awkward after the intimate touch.

“So… amazing show as usual,” you speak up, easing into a new topic. “There’s always something new every night.”

“Thanks.” The response is a heavy one, loaded with more weight than called for. “I appreciate it.”

“You don’t sound happy at the compliment.”  

He sighs, taking a seat on the ground. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I… I’ve been wanting to leave the circus.”

“Leave?” you echo. “And go where?”

“I don’t know. I’ve wanted to leave for a long time now; I feel that there’s more to the world than these green-and-black striped tents.”

“Then go.”

“There’s no way I can leave this circus. There’s a special clause in the contract I signed with the ringmaster:

“Undying loyalty is the price you must pay

“for Death to take a step back on your few remaining days.”

You frown at the cryptic words. “I don’t understand, Taeyong.”

He proceeds to take off his blazer, bare torso and chest decked with scars of multiple lengths. Varying in depth as well, you can see where fatality may have struck if the wound had sunk just a little deeper, been inflicted a few centimeters in one direction or the next. Multiple close calls with Death’s door right in front of your face.

“Don’t cry,” Taeyong groans, tremors underlying the toughness in his tone as he puts the garment back on. “Don’t… Don’t make me feel like shit for making you cry.”

The sniffles and tears are unstoppable. “Did they do that to you? For wanting to leave?”

“No. These were all from natural causes that happened to me after I made clear I wanted to leave.”

He gestures to the left collarbone area, just short of the neck. “I have two here from the knife thrower’s misses, even though their knives never miss.” The guiding finger moves down to the right side of his waist. “Burns from the fire breathers, bites from the wild cats that are usually so docile in front of their trainers, the list goes on.”

You don’t want to hear any more. “I… I can try to put in a good word. Maybe I can use my father’s name to—”

Taeyong shakes his head. “It’s no use. The contract is binding.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“It is what it is.” He reaches a hand forward. “Come on, I’ll show you the tents you haven’t been to yet.”  

You slap his hand away. “Don’t try to shift the conversation.”

Any remaining excuses cease, the morning soiled. Without waiting for a response, you exit his tent and start to inquire about the ringmaster and each performer’s contract with the circus, determined to help him gain his freedom from the circus that kept him bound to its paper chains.

—

The impending mention of Neon Lights’ departure to America brings little to be disappointed about, especially when you hadn’t gotten anywhere in discovering how to nullify Taeyong’s contract with the circus. 

No form of records existed besides old articles praising the astounding performances. The lineup hadn’t changed since the founding of the circus: acrobats, magicians, clowns, wild cat tamers, knife throwers, fire breathers, and the escape artist. Your head spun in circles during those weeks of research, frustrated at the inability to find the link that connected these broken pieces of Taeyong’s vague narrative.

“Have you packed all your things?”

Your turn at the sound of your mother’s voice, shaking your head. “Not quite.”

She steps over the opened suitcase on the floor and takes a seat on the bed.

“Are you sure you want to go with me to Hong Kong?”

“Yup. I just need to decide what remaining clothes I want to bring over.”

Not convinced, she takes your hand and squeezes, the touch simultaneously comforting and freezing you in place. You open your mouth, but fail to form words into a cohesive sentence. How were you supposed to tell her about Taeyong? How were you supposed to tell her the reason you readily accepted to leave was to avoid a man who had somehow snaked his way into your heart without you knowing it? 

“If there’s someone you want to stay here for, you can.”

“Mom, I…”

“You’ve been leafing through your father’s things,” she interjects, “I see the name ‘Taeyong’ in your notes often and found that name in one of your father’s pictures with his students.”

“Do you know him?” you ask curiously. 

“Not well,” she admits with a sigh, “Your father was always very excited whenever he mentioned that boy. Said he had finally found an appropriate successor to his work, but then…”

“But then?”

“Taeyong disappeared one day. No note, just gone. Your father was so shocked he wouldn’t leave his study for an entire month.”

“Oh.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

You nod. “Taeyong’s a member of the Neon Lights circus that’s currently in town.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Biting back a snappy retort, you return to packing and soon fill in the remaining space in your suitcase.

“Do you need to say goodbye?” she asks, getting up from the bed and zipping shut the suitcase. “We won’t be back for quite some time.”

“The circus is leaving for America next,” you mumble, “I haven’t spoken to him since he told me they were leaving.”

She doesn’t pry further, excusing herself and leaving to your own devices. The lingering thought of Taeyong is stifling, plaguing both your head and heart about the indecision between letting him know of your departure or not.

“Damn it, that idiot is getting in my head.”

◇

Taeyong sits before the mirror with a scowl on his face, thoughts muddled on why you haven’t shown up since he told you about tonight’s final show in the city before leaving for America. The grand finale performance already halfway in session, it will not be long before it is his turn to go on.

“Taeyong, you’re up!”

Gritting his teeth, he abandons his spot backstage and makes his way onto the main stage, basking in the spotlight and roaring applause at his entrance. One low bow and he frowns, feigning surprise at his already cuffed hands. Two fire breathers juggle torches around him, eventually escorting the escape artist as planned off to the side and into a large box. He listens for the cue to start once another lock is inserted into the hatch, preventing an escape from a mere push from the inside. The handcuff key already extracted from the secret pocket sewn into his blazer, his thoughts return to you and he begins to ponder on why you haven’t answered any of his calls or messages. Had he offended you the night he told you about his contract with the circus?

“Presenting now, the tank!”

The box suddenly lifts into the air, shifting him off balance at the abrupt movement. His fingers lose hold of the key; it is too narrow of a space to kneel to try and retrieve it.

Fuck, there better not be—

His ears pick up the sound of gushing water, confirming his fears once he is set down on a flat surface, presumably the springboard directly above the open tank. Prior rehearsals hadn’t consisted of a filled water tank, much less being encased in a box when the original execution of the trick only required locks by the feet.

“Can Taeyong escape from the locked box while cuffed and submerged in water?” the announce asks the audience.

“Yes!”

No. No, I can’t.

“Do you believe in him?”

No! This wasn’t in the original trick that I had practiced for!

“Yes!!”

The box is pushed off the platform, and Taeyong’s mind goes blank upon spotting the water that starts to seep in while his hands are still locked in cuffs.

—

[four months later, Hong Kong]

Fate catches you off guard when you least expect it, the subway ads for the Neon Lights circus a sight for sore eyes. Not even six months into the stay in Hong Kong and the circus is already snaking its way back into your life, bringing along memories of the escape artist who’d had such close ties to you even before your initial meeting. You had ultimately decided not to tell Taeyong about leaving for Hong Kong, flight of departure coincidentally on the same day as the circus’ finale show before leaving for America. Now, upon seeing the ad, you wonder if you should stop to say hello for old time’s sake. 

Of course, that is assuming he is still performing with them and not…

You hand rummage through your bag, taking out the black wallet and the green slip is still inside as expected. One unlimited access pass granting free admission into the Neon Lights circus with no mention of an expiration date.

“Opening night at 6pm… Surprises galore…”

—

The line outside the circus is twists around two entire blocks, popular no matter where it goes. Clutching the access pass in hand, you take a step forward but pause in your tracks. Were you ready to see Taeyong again? Would he be mad at seeing you here when he’d taken extra care to inform you about the last show in your city? 

What was he to you, even? A friend? Or perhaps something more?

“You’re not going in?”

The masked figure tilts his head in confusion, a gesture you recognize immediately upon hearing his voice.

“Isn’t that the unlimited access pass I gave you? Did it expire?”

“No… It still works, Taeyong.”

He quickly grabs your hand and pulls you aside, away from the turning heads that had heard the escape artist’s name.

“I didn’t tell anyone I’m skipping opening night,” he hisses, “Don’t be so loud next time.”

“Me, loud?” you echo, shaking his head away. “You’re the one who snuck out!”

“Why didn’t you show up during the finale show?”

As expected, he gets straight to the point.

“Family emergency,” you answer. “I had a flight to catch.”

He narrows his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“Relative on my mom’s side. She’s getting better, but we're staying longer just to make sure.

“Did America treat you well?”

“I was recuperating during the American portion of our travels.”

Concern flickers in your eyes. “H-How did you get hurt?”

He spits bitterly at recalling the incident. “Unexpected variables during one of my escapes. Nearly drowned to death if one of the clowns hadn’t noticed things were too still up on stage.”  

“But you never slip up, not even during the most pressuring circumstances.”

“I was preoccupied in my thoughts.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“…You.”

His answer is not one you’d predicted; you laugh it off and wave a hand over your face in dismissal.

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

“...Oh.”

“Are you going in?” he asks again. “I can get us to the front of the line in a matter of seconds.”

“Do you… Do you actually have some time to grab dinner?”

“Sure.”

An hour of catching up at a local diner later, you exit the establishment with a cup of hot milk tea in hand, Taeyong holding open the door for you since your hands were full. Outside, the night is still young, streets teeming with people and signs brightly alit from cafes, boutiques, and more.

“Can I escort you home?” he asks, rubbing his hands together in the chilly air. “I don’t want to go back to the circus just yet.”

You take in the thin blazer and ripped jeans adorned on his lithe body. “Care for a coffee at my place to warm up before you go?”

“I’d love that.”

Upon arriving at your apartment, you note the blue slippers by the shoe cabinet, your mother still out as scheduled with her friends.

“Take a seat. Coffee will be ready in a bit.”

He follows you to the kitchen instead and snorts at seeing the stick of instant coffee powder in the black mug.

“What,” you grumble, “We don’t have an espresso machine or anything fancy like that here.”

“Instant coffee is fast,” he smiles, holding back a snicker. “I look forward to it.”

It doesn’t even take two minutes to prepare the coffee, but Taeyong takes his time with the drink, so slow that you wonder if he’s stalling to not leave so early.

“Is the coffee not to your liking?” you speak up. “You barely touched it.”

“Oh, it’s great.” He takes a larger sip, giving you thumbs up. “I just wanted to savor it.”

“There’s two more packs in the pantry if you want it.”

“Yes, please.”

You hear the door open by the time you hand off the second cup of coffee, your mother surprised at seeing Taeyong by the sofa.

“You are…?”

He bows low, careful to not drop the mug. “Hello, Ma’am.”

“Mom, this is Taeyong,” you begin, hurrying over to help her with her bags. “Taeyong, this is my mother.”

He nods again when she greets him and you pick to sit next to him, leaving a space for your mother on the other side.

“Have you had dinner?” she asks, addressing both of you.

“Yes,” he speaks up, beating you to it. “Y/N was kind enough to offer coffee since it’s so cold outside.”

“I wonder why,” you mutter under your breath, eyeing the large rips on his black jeans.

You tune out the small talk between your mother and Taeyong, not once taking your eyes off the latter. He seemingly notices, subtly shifting closer until the gap is closed and your shoulders are touching ever so slightly.

“Have you shown him your father’s things, dear? He’d probably like to see them.”

You stand up, shaking your head. “Want to see?”

Taeyong nods, following closely as you show him the way to your father’s study. Once inside, you step back and he approaches the desk first, leafing through the ample notebooks and eyes shifting to and fro at all the new information. None of it had made sense to you, but maybe it was more appropriate to have the right person see it, notably one who also followed the school of magic tricks and the escape arts.

“This is what I was practicing,” he gushes excitedly, beckoning you over. “I didn’t practice with water, but if I start to practice holding my breath...”

You peek over his shoulder, lips turned to a frown. “That looks dangerous.”

“Not if you have the proper equipment.” He continues to scroll past each page, eyes glowing like a child who’s been told Christmas had come early this year. The excitement palpable to grasp, you find your lips widening to a grin each time he makes a noise of delight on a new page, just as happy as he is about your father’s old notes.

The bubble of joy pops, however, with the sound of rain pitter-pattering against the windows, quickly growing into steady sheets of rainwater that pound hard on the glass.

“Have him stay for the night,” your mother’s voice echoes down the hall. “It’s late and raining too hard.”

“You heard her,” you begin, turning to Taeyong with your hands thrown up in defeat. “You’re staying the night.”

A mischievous smirk dances across his lips, briefly before he turns his back on you. “I’m good in here.”

“Are you sure? It’s more comfortable for you to sleep on the couch outside.”

“Who says I’ll be sleeping tonight?”

—

Thunder roars into the night, startling you awake. The clock on the nightstand reads 3am, hardly an hour for a sane person to be alert. You let out a yawn and shuffle out of bed, heading to the kitchen for a drink of water before turning in again.

On your way, you pass your father’s study and notice the slight crack in the door. Pushing it open, you feel your eyes widening at the sight of the empty desk. All your father’s notes and papers recording his life’s work in the escape arts gone, what hits the nail on the head is the absence of the man who had been so excited to see his teacher’s remaining research, gone without a trace.

“Taeyong?”

No words. The only sounds you hear are the rain and the clink of metal against the floorboards, the fallen handcuffs sending chills down your tired back.

—

You wonder why Taeyong is always on your mind, the man nothing more than one of your father’s former students.

Since his uncanny disappearance that one rainy night, you’d been unconsciously keeping an extra eye out whenever you pass by the circus. Fans of the escape artist were just as worried, not hearing any news of him for almost two full weeks now. Circus staff also had surprisingly nothing to say on the matter, sparking outrage at the supposed negligence for the performer’s health and wellbeing. All this hubbub over a man who had simply gone off the grid entirely… a small part of you had considered the possibility that he had planned this all along to hype up whatever trick he had tucked up his sleeves.

“Any news on Taeyong?”

The staff running the ticket booth shakes her head. “We’re trying our best to get more information from the administrators as well.”

Nodding in thanks, you cast an eye to the crowd waiting anxiously on the side and shake your head. Collective sighs echo across the group, but are soon replaced by curious murmurs at the string of ringtones and vibrations simultaneously emitted from everyone’s mobile devices. Your own included, you open the notification and find yourself automatically redirected to what looked to be a stage. The curtains part, revealing a dark-haired Taeyong in his signature fitted black blazer and ripped jeans.

“It’s Taeyong!”

“He’s alive, that’s really him!”

“Welcome!” the escape artist says warmly to the camera, “Thank you for tuning in to my broadcast!”

Why is this idiot livestreaming when he has an entire stage at the circus?

“Today I have a very special trick prepared,” he continues, “So special that I decided to broadcast my performance for everyone in the world to see!”

You immediately rush towards the ticket booth, the other twenty people thinking the same as bodies clamor to reach the entryway and get in to view the escape in person.

◇

The raven perched atop the wooden barrel lets out a shrill caw at seeing its master lock himself in a pair of handcuffs. Spooked by the abrupt noise, the young clown acting as Taeyong’s assistant shuffles backwards, nearly knocking over the stack of books on the table.

“Why are you so scared, little clown? Henry is a very nice bird.”

“A-Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, checking that the camera isn’t recording before continuing. “I-I don’t want to get in trouble if… if…”

Taeyong lets out a laugh, the raven flapping its wings in unison. “You don’t believe I’ll succeed?”

“It’s not that,” the clown replies hastily, “It’s just—”

“I did not spend all this time preparing away from prying eyes for nothing.” He smiles; it is a dangerous gesture that strikes fear in the youth. “This is my ticket to freedom from the shackles that is this stupid circus, you see.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Plus, you know what to do if you think something’s gone wrong.” 

He casts a glance at the sealed envelope at the center of the notes he took from your father’s study, a trace of longing flickering in his dark eyes. “Make sure you deliver that envelope to who it’s addressed for should anything happen to me.”

◇

Taeyong’s tent is empty once you enter the circus, leaving you stumped on his location when you see the water tank entering the frame. The setup for his trick resembled the diagram in your father’s notes: the stick figure hanging upside down into a tank of water, feet locked while in suspension. Not even your father could perform such a trick to an audience, the skill necessary to pull it off beyond his aptitude at his prime.

You’d always known Taeyong loved to push his performances to the limit, but this time it felt like a direct knock on Death’s door rather than a test of his skill in the art of escape.

Not finding him anywhere in the circus, you take a seat on the bench by the acrobats’ tent and reopen the online broadcast, your only link to Taeyong’s whereabouts. The camera pans out on the water tank placed center stage, filled to the brim and Taeyong already handing upside down above it.

You idiot…

“My assistants will begin to count down the seconds before I start,” he announces, grinning while inverted. “10!”

The two clowns below count down the remaining ten seconds, letting go after lowering him into the filled tank. Air bubbles already start to float to the surface, the footage rendering you immobile while gripping the phone with all your strength.

He’ll succeed. He… He has to succeed.

Handcuffs unlocked at last, he shows his freed hands to the front and the curtains draw together, obscuring the view of the tank. Everything is still and seemingly on the projected track for success—at least it is until your ears pick up the faint sound of a strangled cry behind the curtains.

The two clowns pick up on the mishap, rushing to check in on Taeyong. You scoot forward on the bench, heart in your hands while waiting for something—anything—to happen behind the screen. Comments start pouring in, everyone tuned in demanding to see what had happened and if the escape had been successful.

Finally, the curtains pull back, and you nearly faint from shock at seeing the broken tank. Puddles of water and broken shards of glass litter the stage, the clowns slumped unconscious off the side. They come to in the next thirty seconds, shaking their heads and equally as shocked once they spot the remains of the water tank. None of them knew what had happened, the single black feather in the middle of the stage sending a more ominous warning to the audience than cheers for unprecedented success.

“Taeyong, he… he’s gone.”

—

“Are you Y/N?”

You look up, greeted by the darkened sky and curious gaze of a clown half in makeup, a black raven perched on his left shoulder.

“Y..Yes, that's me.”

“Taeyong said to give this to you if anything happens to him.”

He hands over a sealed envelope, bulky in size. The raven takes off from its perch, briefly circling overhead before flying away into the night. Unsure on the purpose behind the delivery, you thank the clown and he bids a quick goodbye, leaving you on your own within the circus.

Taking a deep breath, you tear through the seal and a pair of handcuffs fall out of the envelope, followed by two slips of paper. The first piece is another unlimited access pass to the circus, while the second is ink-stained with scribbles scrawled messily along the lines. You set the handcuffs aside and pick up the second piece of paper, unable to stop the tears flowing down your face upon reading the handwritten letter from the escape artist himself.

◇

If you’re reading this letter, it means I either succeeded in my water chamber escape or died trying. I’m not going to tell you which because a magician never reveals his secrets.

Please forgive me for disappearing without letting you know what I’ve been doing. I wanted to do something no escape artist has ever done before, and I knew this was the greatest challenge yet when I saw the blueprint in your father’s notes. You’ll understand, right? Even if you don’t, even if you hate me for pushing myself to the limit for an escape trick, I’m content that I could perform and leave behind my name as one of the greatest escape artists in the renowned Neon Lights circus.

Are you angry at me for leaving things so messy like this? Don’t be. It’s not pretty when your eyes darken and lips purse into that familiar scowl of yours. I want you to remember me as someone who was very happy to have met you, even during all the times I annoyed you and used your father’s name to get you to come back to the circus to see me.

Now that I’m free, I’ll even tell you something else you’ll likely hate me for—I think I started to like you when I saw you worry about me after the fire extinguisher incident. I should’ve been mad at you for dropping the lighter early, but I couldn’t find it in me to do that. My apologies for not telling you sooner.

Yours, Taeyong.

◇

“Idiot,” you hiss, biting your lips hard enough to draw blood, “You’re an absolute idiot.”

[nerdypanda3126]

Congrats on the 100 followers! Could you do "my clothes look really good on you" for Lukanette Please?

Thank you for the ask, anon! I didn’t end up getting the exact dialogue in there, but your prompt did give me an excuse to use You Look Good in My Shirt by Keith Urban, which has been sitting in my fic playlist for forever now. Hope you like it!! 

You Look Good in My Shirt

Read on Ao3

Luka had his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the airport seat as he tapped his foot to the music blaring in his headphones. His flight back to Paris from… well, wherever the most recent tour had ended, had been delayed rather indefinitely. He didn’t mind the wait, although the chair underneath him was plastic and hard and small. He shifted to relieve the side of his butt that was asleep.

As he sighed and leaned forward to take his headphones off—the music was good, but he’d been listening to it on a loop for the past hour or so—cool hands slipped over his eyes and a warm, familiar scent wafted around him. Like baked sugar. Marinette.

“Guess who,” she said with a giggle. As if he didn’t know that melody anywhere.

“Jagged, is that you?” He grinned at his own joke.

She imitated a buzzer and moved to his other ear. “Guess again.”

“Uhhh… Penny?”

“Nope.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek underneath her hands. He pulled her hands off his eyes and found her resting her cheek against his shoulder fondly. Her dark hair was longer now—it fell across the back of the seat next to him. He could still see the pink tipped ends from when she’d dyed it. God, that was forever ago. Back when they had first started dating. But her eyes were still the same beautiful, clear blue.

“I’m disappointed, Luka, really.” She pretended to pout. “Those headphones must be ruining your hearing.”

“What are you doing here?” he countered as he rubbed his thumb across hers. “I thought you were in London.”

“This is London, silly.” She kissed his cheek again and slid around him to sit next to him. “I thought you were in America.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, good we cleared that up.” He’d forgotten how devilish her grin could be when she wanted it to be. “I heard your tour went well.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter when her thigh pressed against his. “Yeah, it did.”

“Well, how long are you in London?”

“Just…” He gestured to the flight board. “Just until my flight leaves. For Paris.”

“Oh. Me, too. Going home to see the folks, you know how it is.”

As they watched, the board changed. The flight wasn’t leaving until tomorrow. They shared a sideways glance.

“Coffee?” she asked, pointing over to the pitiful 24/7 kiosk that was set up near the gate.

“Sure.”

He stood and gathered his bag and his guitar case before she grabbed his hand and tugged him across the room.

***

He pressed his hand to his lips to hold his coffee in as he laughed mid-drink to Marinette’s story. Thankfully it didn’t come out his nose, but he still set the cup down as a precaution.

“So I’ve got this model, standing stark naked in the middle of everything, her hair and makeup completely done—like a bird’s nest, what was I even thinking?—and I’m hand sewing this hem like a madwoman, cursing everything in the near vicinity, and who should walk up, but poor, defenseless Adrien.”

“Oh, I bet that went well,” he muttered, grinning down at his cup as he pictured Adrien, the pure ray of sunshine, at the back end of Marinette’s unbridled stage rage. He had a tendency of making jokes when she was stressed, trying to lighten her mood, no doubt, but it almost always backfired on him.

“He chucked a fistful of glitter at me!” She mimed the action and Luka almost lost it again. “Like, stuck his hand in this box full of glitter—Heaven knows why he even had it—pulled it back out, and puff! A cloud just settles all over me. And more importantly, all over the gown.”

“And then he ran like hell?”

“And then he ran like hell.” Marinette agreed, grinning. “I have to admit, as far as defusing my moods goes, the glitter bomb was an unexpected win for him.”

Luka shifted forward and wrapped his hands around his cup, still chuckling. “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”

She paused, and when he glanced up she was watching him curiously. “What about you?” she asked, and there was an intensity behind her voice that he couldn’t place. “Has anything… changed?”

Ah. So that was it. He swirled his coffee in his cup and tried to ignore his hammering heart. “No, nothing’s changed,” he admitted quietly.

There was another pause between them. Luka focused on the steam still dwindling from his cup as he thought back to the last time he’d seen her. With tears in those beautiful blue eyes as she turned to wave at him before she boarded the plane. Nothing had changed for them. Not since they’d decided to break up almost three years ago.

The official reason was they’d gone their separate ways to follow their separate dreams. His took him touring all over the world. Hers had her at the head of a major fashion house in London, traveling to various other fashion capitals and running shows with Adrien following like a lovesick puppy behind her the whole way. She’d called him jealous. He’d called her selfish. Those were words he could never take back.

When the smoke had cleared, they’d taken a long, even look at one another. And walked away.

He still loved her. Of course he did. He'd spent three years trying to get her out of his head unsuccessfully. And now she was in front of him and he was stuck in London for the night.

He glanced up at her again and she was contemplating her own coffee.

"Me, too," she murmured.

***

He didn't quite know how it happened. He'd walked her home, fully intending on finding himself a hotel for the night, and then his back was pushed up against her door and her lips were locked firmly on his as she pressed herself against him.

She broke away, panting. "Do you want to come in?"

As an answer, he leaned down to kiss her again and started stripping off his leather jacket.

***

He woke up the next morning alone in Marinette’s bed, although something from the direction of the kitchen smelled amazing. He tugged his jeans on and ventured out of her bedroom to find her at the stove, flipping an omelet expertly, wearing nothing but his shirt from last night. He drank in the image; the hemline fell just below the round curve of her ass and made her shapely legs look miles long. He’d missed this.

“Since when are you an early riser?” he asked before a yawn overtook him.

She started at his voice, then pouted. “I was hoping it’d be done by the time you got up.”

He dared to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her waist before he kissed her cheek fondly. “Mmm... I wake up faster when a home cooked meal is involved.”

“I thought you’d like some breakfast before our flight.” She giggled as he started to trail kisses down her neck and swatted him away playfully. “None of that, Rockstar. Hot things.” She gestured with her spatula to the stovetop and shooed him away. He laughed before he kissed her one more time behind her ear.

“Speaking of hot things…” he whispered in her ear. A shiver ran through her and he smiled against her skin. “My clothes always did look better on you.”

She turned her head to meet his lips over her shoulder. His hands wandered down her sides and tightened at her hips, pulling her backwards into him. She whined into his kiss before she turned fully around to wrap her arms around his neck. He leaned back against the counter and pulled her in between his legs, still kissing her fiercely. God, he’d missed her.

She broke away from him suddenly with a squeak and turned back to the stove to find her eggs curling at the sides of the pan as they overcooked. She tipped the omelet off onto a plate and shoved it at him, pouting.

“This one’s yours, since you’re responsible.”

“As if your overcooked eggs don’t still blow hotel food out of the water.” He smirked and took the plate and she handed him a fork. He stood behind her, eating quietly, as she worked on a second one for her.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started. He paused to look up at her. She was swirling the eggs around the pan thoughtfully, scrambling them for herself instead of making an omelet. “I mean, I know it’s been a while. But last night…”

“We don’t have to figure everything out, now, Mari,” he said gently.

“Well, it’s not like anything has really changed, has it? I’m still here and you’re still everywhere else.”

Even though she wasn’t facing him, he could practically hear her brow furrowing. He finished his eggs and set his plate down behind him before he crossed his arms. “It’s not impossible.”

“You say that like you’ve thought about it, too.”

He hummed and reached out to caress her hip again. “Maybe I have.”

She half-turned before she remembered herself and scraped her eggs out of the pan and turned the stove off.

“It’s been three years, Mari. I haven’t stopped thinking of you for one second.”

“I’m still working with Adrien.” She stabbed her fork into her eggs with a little more force than necessary and he winced at her bitter tone.

“I wasn’t jealous of him,” he said quietly.  

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, yes, I was, but not for the reason you might think.”  

She paused and reached out to tap her bare foot against his. An old signal they’d used to tell each other they were listening, they were there for the other. He smiled at her acknowledgement and took her hands in his.

“I was jealous of how much time he had with you.” Her eyebrow quirked up in a silent question. He looked down at their joined hands as he continued. “Not that I thought he’d ever take advantage of that, or try anything. But I wanted to be here with you. You know that, right? I wanted to be the one backstage with you, standing by your side while you realized your dream. It hurt to think that someone else had that. Could be that.”

“You had a dream, too, Luka. I couldn’t have stood in the way of that. You would’ve hated me.”

“I could never hate you.”

“Still.” She tipped his chin back up to look in his eyes. “You deserve to have your dream, too.”

“It hasn’t been what I thought it was,” he admitted. “The music, that’s all I ever wanted. The touring, the fans, the hotels, the planes… it gets to be a little too much sometimes.”

“You sound like Adrien, now.” A smile was tugging at her lips. At the irony, he supposed. “That’s why he wanted to be behind the scenes. Out of the public eye, while he recovered from… well, you know.” She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. “Turns out he’s really good at it. Besides throwing glitter and making awful puns… he’s really good at it.”

“I’m glad he’s been there for you.”

“Liar,” she said, her grin becoming devilish again. “You can’t tell me you’re suddenly okay with him being my right hand man.”

“I’ve had three years to think about it, Mari. Three years to wish I could take back everything I said.” He sighed. “Even if it wasn’t me, I’m glad you had someone there for you. And that’s the truth.”  

She hummed and swung their hands between them before she turned to start eating her cooling plate of eggs. He waited, leaned back against her counter, arms crossed across his chest, for her to consider.

“So, if it’s not impossible,” she started in between bites. “What would this look like, do you think?”

“This?”

“Us. You and me. Trying again. You with your touring and me with my shows. You said you’ve thought about it. How do you think it would work?”

His breath left him and he ran his hand through his hair. This was the last thing he’d expected when he booked this flight. “Um, I book every possible tour in London.”

She nodded. “That’s a good start.”

“Video chats whenever I’m away. Every night if we can manage it.”

She tapped her fork against her lips as she hummed in thought. “What about my parents?”

“What about your parents?”

“Well, they’ll want to know, and I’m sure Juleka will, too, if not the Captain, why we should do this again after all the heartbreak from the first time around.”

A shard of glass spiked through his heart thinking of Marinette being heartbroken because of him. She was right, though, Juleka would tear him a new one when she found out he was dumb enough to put himself through this again. And the death glare he would no doubt get from Tom—scratch that, Sabine— was shudder-inducing. An idea struck him and he stepped forward to put his hands on her hips.

“You said you’re going to see them?”

“That’s the plan.”

“How about I come with you?” Her back stiffened before she turned to face him again. He shrugged. “Let’s face it head on, together.”

“If you’re coming to see my parents, there had better be a baby or a ring on my finger before they’ll even consider letting you off the hook.”

“Well, one of those is doable before we get on our flight.” He raised his eyebrows. She shoved his shoulder and blushed. He laughed and corrected himself. “The ring. We can get you a ring.”

Her blush hadn’t faded, but she rolled her eyes and she was giving him that smile that meant she was trying not to be pleased. “You did not just propose to me like that.”

“Technically, you proposed for me.” He smirked and leaned down close enough to kiss her, although he held back, pausing an inch or so away from her lips, waiting for her to meet him. “It was your idea, after all,” he whispered.

He didn’t have to wait long before she pushed up on her toes to press her lips to his. He wrapped his arms around her back to support her, leaning back against the counter to let her fall into him before she broke away and slid down to touch her toes back to the floor.

“This is crazy,” she muttered, grinning. “It’ll never work.”

“Well, maybe it’s a little too soon to know if it’ll work or not.”

He laughed as she trod on his foot a little harder than necessary. “You weren’t supposed to agree with me, you jerk!”

He was still laughing, but he managed to wrangle his expression back to a halfway serious one. “Look, all I know, is you look amazing in my shirt.” He ran his fingers along the hem behind her to prove his point and she flushed a bright crimson. “And I’d love to see you in it every morning from now on.” He raised his eyebrows and the grin she was giving him rivaled his own. “Marry me, Marinette. Make an honest rock star out of me.”

She rolled her eyes at him again. “That’s impossible,” she said. Her grin slid sideways and became that devilish one that turned him into jello in her hands. “But I can certainly try.”

[ragingbookdragon]

Early Christmas Gifts

A Connor Kenway x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1,730 Warnings: None

Author’s Note: I’m in a Connor mood and it’s December. Sue me. Enjoy! -Thorne

She sat beside the old man in the rocking chair, occasionally sipping the tea she’d made. The first snows of December dusted the ground and while it was absolutely freezing, it was too much of a beautiful day to stay in.

           Her eyes drifted over to the old man who quietly flipped through the book he held. “Achilles, should I get you another blanket?”

           He shook his head. “No. I’m going to head inside in a few moments anyway, (Y/N).”

           She nodded and shifted her gaze to the masts of the Aquila. “Is Ratonhnhaké:ton in today?”

           “Should be,” Achilles said. “but you know him. He goes where the wind takes him.”

           (Y/N) hummed. “I think it’s more of he goes where curiosity takes him.”

           The old man snorted and snapped the book shut. “He is curious.” She nodded, thinking it was the end of the conversation—Achilles was a man of few words. “He’s curious about you.”

           Her head shot up and she gaped at him. “Excuse me?”

           Achilles merely offered her a knowing smile before rising to his feet. “I’m going inside for a nap.”

           (Y/N)’s mouth opened and closed. “Wait, Achilles, he’s what about me?”

           “Figure it out yourself. You’re not a fool.” He waved her off, the closing of the backdoor the real signature of the conversation closing.

           Brows furrowing, she bent over, her hands pressed to her cheeks. “Well, I know I’m not a fool, but what am I supposed to do?” Her face pinched and she argued, “I feel for him, but does that mean he’s curious about that? Or is he curious about colonial women in general? And to what end?” (Y/N) groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, this isn’t good. Curse that old man for leaving me with a riddle like this.”

           “Like what?” A voice sounded above her and (Y/N) screeched like a banshee. In her mild hysteria she jerked back, the chair going with her and she tumbled over. She faceplanted onto the back porch and lay there for a moment before letting out a heavy groan.

           “Owwww!” she whined, and hands gripped her upper arms, lifting her up as if she were put a feather. She wiggled when they had her in the air. “Put me down! I am not a sack of potatoes!” They did as she asked, gently setting her down and she spun on them, immediately turning into a flustered mess. “Ratonhnhaké:ton? What? What are you doing here?”

           His dark brows furrowed. “I live here.”

           No? Really? I couldn’t tell. (Y/N) almost rolled her eyes and started picking the chair up, but Connor did it for her. “I thought you’d be out hunting or…whatever it is you do, you know…with your free time.” Nice conversing (Y/N), that’s really going to spur him into fancying you.

           “I was hunting earlier.” He said, folding the blanket that had fallen from her lap.

           “Did you catch anything?” she inquired, taking the blanket when he held it out.

           “I skinned a wolf and an elk.”

           (Y/N) perked up at that. “Did you save the meat?” He nodded. “I can make dinner with that.” She threw the blanket over her shoulder. “Oh! I could make elk jerky too!” She smiled. “You can take it with you to snack on when you leave.”

           His smile sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “I would appreciate that greatly.”

           Her cheeks warmed and she let out a ‘pfft’, hoping it would ease her embarrassment. Instead, she focused on, “So, what are you going to do with the hides?”

           Connor opened the door for her, letting her inside first. “I will most likely make belts with the leather and make blades with the antlers.”

           “I bet those would be nice to have.” She agreed, walking into the kitchen. He followed her, watching as she opened up the wax cloth. (Y/N) grabbed one of the knives from the rack and started slicing the elk meat but stopped when she felt his eyes.

           “…Do you want to help me, Ratonhnhaké:ton?” her question was quiet, as if she were in the middle of a circle of deer.

           “Would you like my help?”

           The response almost made her glare at him, but the look on his face held genuine earnest.

           “There’s some potatoes and onions outside. See if you can harvest any…please.” Connor smiled at her, and her face felt hot.

           “I will be right back.” He spun on his heel and exited the kitchen. The second the door closed, (Y/N) dropped her head on the kitchen counter and let out a groan. She was in way too deep. And somewhere in the manor, she could swear she heard Achilles laughing at her.

***

           The entire week was as chaotic and she had managed to avoid Connor at every turn, but it was getting harder and harder to excuse herself when he found her. Of course, she’d eventually backed herself into a corner, and by backing herself into a corner, she’d actually wandered too far into the surrounding forests of the Homestead and got herself lost. In her defense, she was looking for the hound that had run off.

           She shivered violently, puffs of air coming out in shimmering crystal clouds, as she trudged through the knee-high snow. For the life of her she couldn’t remember what her father had taught her as a child. Do I stay put or keep moving? (Y/N) stopped and looked up, the full moon stared back at her. Keep moving right? Tracks mean someone can follow. Following is good, yes? A lump rose in her throat and the chilly air made the tears sting her eyes, but she kept moving. Fear was definitely not something she did needed right now. She needed to stay focused and most importantly, she needed to stay calm.

           Her fingers felt like they were frozen solid, and she shoved them inside her coat, just under her arms. As long as she could still feel, she was okay. But time was against her, and with every passing second, she lost the feeling in her toes and it kept stretching, until it was at her thighs. (Y/N) took a heavy step and upon hitting a deeper bank than she realized, she stumbled over, rolling down the small hill.

           She lay there in the snow, too tired to move. The cold bit into her cheeks and nose but she didn’t care. This is it. she thought. I’m going to freeze to death in the middle of a forest. Her fingers twitched and she heaved, pulling herself up to her knees, but that was all the energy she could gather. (Y/N) buried her face in her arms and curled as tight as she could, hoping it would preserve heat. It did little compared to how freezing it was.

           Time passed by and her mind became hazy, but most concerningly, she started becoming warm. That’s a bad sign. (Y/N) vaguely remembered. Even I know that. She couldn’t feel her fingers now, nor her toes, and her pants were so soaked she could feel the chill to the bone.

           Through the cloud in her mind, she thought she heard footsteps her way, but wrote it off as possible hallucinations until she heard, “(Y/N)!”

           She picked her head up, brows furrowing as she looked around her. Finally, she caught sight of a familiar coat of blue and white coming her way rather quickly. Okay, now I’m really hallucinating.

           Connor slid to a stop in front of her, his hands coming to cup her cheeks. They were so warm that they burned; a whine left her throat. “(Y/N), I have been looking everywhere for you.”

           (Y/N) nodded weakly. “The dog ran off…was trying to…find it.” her words had started slurring and through her heavy-lidded gaze, she could see panic setting onto Connor’s face.

           He pulled the leather bag off his back and opened it, pulling out a leather coat. Getting to work, he moved (Y/N)’s arms, settling it on her. The sleeves were fur lined and she sighed audibly.

           He stared at her. “Do you think you can you stand?”

           (Y/N) shook her head, or at least that’s what she thought she did. “No…no I don’t…think so.”

           Connor immediately put his arm around her back, the other going under her legs. He picked her up and she found herself pressed up against his chest. (Y/N) rested her head on his shoulder, her face pressed close to his neck. He was so warm compared to her.

           “(Y/N)? Are you awake?”

           She moaned lowly, pressing her face to his skin. He twitched slightly at how chilled her lips were.

           “I need you to try and stay awake. Can you do that?”

           Wanting to laugh, but not capable, she let out a huff. “Keep me…awake.”

           His chest rumbled and she felt it. “I made something with those pelts.”

           “Mhm?” she mumbled.

           “I made this jacket and lined it with the wolf fur.”

           “So that’s why…it’s so warm.”

           Connor nodded. “I made it for you.”

           “For me?”

           “You talked about the presents on…” he went silent.

           “Christ…mas?”

           “Yes, that. You said you exchanged gifts with the ones you love on that day.” His grip tightened. “I was going to give it to you then.”

           (Y/N) felt a smile on her lips. “I guess…I got it…early then.” She hummed. “Any other…gifts?”

           “I made you a knife.”

           That actually cleared up her mind a bit. “…What?”

           Connor snorted. “You said it would be nice to have one a week earlier when I returned with the antlers and hides.”

           “Ratonhnhaké:ton…I meant for you.”

           “Oh…I see.”

           She let out a long sigh. “But I still…want it.”

           “That’s good.” She knew he was smiling again. He shook her gently. “We’re almost back to the homestead, (Y/N). Stay awake a little longer.”

           “‘m cold.” She muttered.

           “I know you are.” He grunted, stepping over a fallen log. “Once we get back, you can curl up in front of the fireplace.”

           “Yours.” (Y/N) mumbled against his neck.

           “…Mine?”

           She nodded. “Wanna be…with you.”

           Connor went silent a moment, then he whispered, “Do you care for me, (Y/N)?”

           She didn’t trust herself to say anything, so she simply nodded and hummed.

           “I…care for you too.”

           A lazy grin worked onto her lips and Connor could feel it. “I’m…glad.” (Y/N) sighed. “Thank you…for finding me, Ratonhnhaké:ton.”

           “Always, (Y/N).”

[gumnut-logic]

Take a Minute

This is another case of me just indulging myself. It took longer than expected and ended up at around 2400 words, none of which really go anywhere.

Many thanks to @i-am-chidorixblossom​ for the read through and cheering.

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

The hatch creaked as the hydraulics let it down to the dry hard packed dirt. A small puff of dust billowed up around the hot cahelium and it caught in his nose, tickling in the heat.

The horizon was flat and the earth iron red as it disappeared into the ominous grey of the cloud blocking the sky.

Virgil’s boots made their own puffs of dust as he stepped off the hatch and emerged from under the shadow of Two. The puffs followed him as he walked the length of his ‘bird. The dirt gritted under his specialised soles as he avoided the heat of her cooling VTOL and the scorch of her now quiet thrusters.

His landing was precautionary. A warning light had come on during the flight home and dumping himself in the middle of the Outback for a mechanical check was preferable to taking a swan dive in the middle of the Tasman.

Outside appearances gave no clue to the issue and unfortunately, he would have to wait for her engines to cool off before attempting to access the thruster that was the problem.

A sigh and he turned back to look at the horizon.

He truly was in the middle of nowhere.

“Thunderbird Two, status report.”

Typical Scott. His brother was hip deep in a rescue on the other side of the planet, but his brother radar still managed the range.

“Status a-okay, Thunderbird One. Just taking a moment to gaze at the scenery.”

“John says you have a mechanical fault.”

“Quite possibly. Fine for the moment. Just need a little cooling time. I’ll keep you updated.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Two.”

And then it was back to the silence.

True silence.

There was no wind.

No water.

No birds.

Just the heat of a dying day leaching out of the sand, the creak of his cooling ‘bird, and the potential energy in the air.

It was going to rain.

The Kansas farm boy could tell that much. Even in another country and an entirely different environment, he could feel it.

He didn’t need fancy instrumentation to predict that.

The impending storm raised the hair on his arms under his uniform. It itched at his skin and spoke of change.

Ants crawled across his boots, winged queens and drones launching to join a cloud of them off to his right.

It was eerie.

He shifted where he stood, unsure of what to do next. He wasn’t one for killing time. Time was a valuable thing and needed to be used to its upmost. But this stop was unplanned and there was little he could do while waiting.

Sure, there were tasks. There were always tasks, nitty gritty maintenance jobs. He was never short of work.

But the air was still. The sense of building atmospheric release buzzed across his senses.

It was tantalising.

He shivered.

There were still a couple of hours before sunset, but the air was dark due to the heavy cloudbank looming over the landscape.

A thought.

A flash of guilt followed by stubborn determination.

He turned and climbed back on to the hatch and retracted it, only to lower it again a few moments later with a folded chair and a box in his hands.

He parked it in the sand.

The silence was a physical presence.

He opened the box to reveal a portable watercolour kit – a neat palette of half pans, a fine brush and a small block of high-quality paper.

It was an indulgence he kept aboard his ‘bird. One he had yet to use, so this was definitely an opportune moment. A tiny amount of time to throw down some colour and capture this red-on-blue-grey intensity.

It didn’t take him long to realise he had forgotten a couple of things. A muttering step back into his ‘bird and he returned with a small table and a cup full of water.

He finally managed to settle himself. Painting while wearing his uniform wasn’t the most comfortable. It was bulky and in the way. He did shed his gloves, which meant he had to take off his wrist controller. Scott would frown enough to dent his nose, but he couldn’t paint with his gloves on.

There was heavy lifting, but there was also sensitive and tactile manipulation. He liked to think he was capable of both.

A dip of his brush into clear water, a dab of cadmium red, and colour spilled onto the paper.

Payne’s grey filled the sky in soft billows with just a hint of ultramarine. He tried to keep his touch gentle. Watercolour was so unforgiving. Fast and delicate, the colours could easily be overdone and unlike acrylic or oils, could not be undone satisfactorily.

It took all his concentration to sketch out the worn landscape.

The parched air dried the colours quickly and it wasn’t long before he was flicking strands of yellow ochre spinifex in the foreground, the little painting almost done.

In the distance, the clouds rumbled warning.

He dabbed in a second layer to bring up the contrast, the greys echoing the thunder on the horizon. Just a touch of green brought out the red of the iron in the sand.

“I really don’t know how you do that.”

Virgil nearly fell out of his chair.

“Scott!” His heart thudded in his ears and he clutched the drying painting in his hands as it tried to slip from his fingers. “What the hell?! How did you…?” He shot to his feet and turned to find his brother standing behind him. Beyond, at a respectable distance, sat Thunderbird One.

Scott held up both hands, taking a step back. “Hey, I saw you were painting, so I parked back a ways. Figured you wouldn’t want VTOL messing with your paints.” But then his brother was smothering a grin. “You were kinda zoned out there, Virg.”

“You were in Prague! How did you get here so fast?” It was a stupid question. He was Scott Tracy. Fast was part of his genome.

But his brother frowned. “It’s been over an hour since I last contacted you. The situation is resolved. I was on my way back and thought I’d check in. John said he hadn’t had an update.”

Virgil stared at his brother. An hour? He brought his wrist up to check the time, but his controller was on the little table beside his chair with his discarded gloves.

Oh.

Scott arched an eyebrow at him.

Virgil grunted before putting the painting down carefully and retrieving his equipment. A moment later, his gloves were on and his wrist controller back in place.

It was indeed over an hour later.

Thunderbird Two would have cooled down enough forty-odd minutes ago.

“You were lost in your painting, weren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. His brother sighed, walked over to the table and picked up the piece of art. Blue eyes scrutinised it. “Nope. I don’t have a clue how you do that. It’s great, Virg.” He handed it over and somewhat numbly, Virgil took it.

He stared at the strokes in which he had been so absorbed earlier. The landscape stretched into the paper, reds bouncing off blues, the stillness captured in pigments.

Okay, so he had to admit, it was working quite well. He had muddied the colour a little in one corner and there was a patch where he’d left more white paper than was probably necessary because he was too worried about over doing the paint, but overall it mostly did what he wanted it to do. Oh, his wash hadn’t quite worked in that bit. Damn.

But…

He could get away with it.

“Earth to Virgil? You okay in there?”

Scott was smirking.

Virgil glared at him before cradling the watercolour block in one hand, picking up the palette with the other and packing it away. He stomped his way back to his ‘bird.

He ignored the laugh behind him.

He was stashing the paints in their locker when Scott joined him in Two, both the table and chair folded up in his hands. “Where do you stash these?”

Virgil gestured in the direction of the utility store and his brother put the equipment away.

Back in the cockpit, Virgil pulled up the suspect control and found the red light still glaring accusingly as Scott entered behind him.

“Give me ten. I need to inspect her starboard thruster.” He grabbed a safety line and threw back the overhead hatch. The gloomy atmosphere crept into the cockpit, but he ignored it and elevated the himself up so he could climb onto the top of his ‘bird.

“Virgil, you do know there is a storm coming in. You’re standing on the highest point for miles.”

“I’ll only be a minute.” Keep your pants on.

But his brother was right. His dawdling with his paints had cost him time and the weather was moving in.

He hurried across the back of his Thunderbird sliding carefully onto her starboard intake, and making his way down to the access hatch. He hooked in his safety line, prodded his controller to release the security, and hauled the hatch open.

Five minutes later, with several profane words that had Scott even more concerned, he yanked an obstruction out of her secondary intake valve.

It was a bright yellow, now somewhat grimy, Thunderbird Four.

No more than four inches long.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Virg? What? Who?”

“Gordon.” He didn’t elaborate. The sky was well and truly rumbling now and he needed to get inside.

Tightening the valve, he gave it a good once over to check for damage. Another poke at his controller and the dash confirmed the issue resolved.

Access secured, he unhooked his line and made a run for the main hatch just as the landscape lit up white with lightning.

He leapt into his ‘bird as if he had that lightning on his tail.

His boots hit deck plates. Virgil reached up and threw the hatch closed and sealed away the angry sky.

Scott was staring at him.

Virgil met that gaze before walking past his brother towards his pilot seat. He casually chucked the little Thunderbird Four to his brother like the grenade it was.

Scott caught it. “What the hell?”

Gordon was dead twice over and he didn’t even know it.

“You better get back to your ‘bird. The sky’s going to open up any minute and we should probably be above it rather than below it.” Virgil poked at the weather read out. It was only a weather front, nothing compared to the cyclone forces the Thunderbirds were capable of tackling. “You might get wet.”

Scott was still glaring at the model in his hand. A distracted grunt.

Gordon was definitely dead.

Possibly more than twice.

“Okay, less imaginary brother murders and more getting back to your ‘bird.”

“Huh?”

Yeah, so now who was zoning out?

Virgil nudged his brother onto the hatch platform and stepped on himself, lowering it onto the red dust again.

He stepped off the deck plates just as the first fat rain drops started to hit the dust.

Damn. “Too late.” And as if he had given the sky permission, it really opened up.

Water hit dry earth in big splats, puffs of red rose only to be taken down by more rain. The stipple of water fast became patches and then the land deepened in colour. The bright iron red darkened almost to a burgundy. The spinifex he had so finely painted not half an hour earlier, shifted from a yellow ochre to a gold that almost glowed in the remnant light.

As Scott stepped up beside him, secure under the protection of Two’s nose, the landscape bleached suddenly and the sky grumbled and cracked. The air smelt of ozone and the sharp evaporation of precipitation in the heat. But there was more water than the air or the earth could take and it puddled in the indents between the rocks.

Some kind of thorny lizard darted out from a tuft of spinifex and hurried under the shelter of Two beside the brothers. At the lack of the rain on its back, it looked up as if surprised. Two reptilian eyes stared at them before darting back out into the rain.

Scott took another step forward and Virgil put a hand on his arm.

“You’re not going to try to run through that.”

“I’ve got to get back to One.”

“Why?”

“Because…” His brother trailed off.

Virgil squeezed his arm gently. “Take a minute. This is a desert storm. It will be short lived. We can wait.”

Blue eyes stared at him.

Okay, so waiting wasn’t part of Scott Tracy’s genome.

“Take a minute. Watch.” Virgil turned back to the storm and revelled in the release of the tension that had been building for the last couple of hours. He watched the rain hit the earth, the patterns, the dance of spinifex leaves. He listened to the roar, the wet splat against cahelium, the sigh as the water disappeared into the grass and the grumbles in the clouds.

Scott eventually turned to look and, for a short while there, they were just a couple of brothers staring out at the storm.

The fact they were sheltering underneath one of the most advanced technological creations on the planet was unimportant.

“This is all your fault, you know.” Scott’s voice was soft.

A grunt. “I think Gordon’s is the more likely culprit.”

“If you hadn’t stopped to paint, we’d be home by now.”

Virgil didn’t answer immediately. He took a breath. “But then we would have missed this.”

At that moment the sun finally hit the horizon and slipped through a gap in the clouds to light up the wet landscape in gold. Rain still fell, but it was as if it was liquid sunlight failing from the sky. Water glistened on everything and the clouds lit up from underneath.

Thunder rumbled in clouds turning pink in the east.

“Yeah, we would.” But the acknowledgement was distracted as Scott stared at the spectacle.

Perhaps they had something for which to thank Gordon. It was a moment that they would never have experienced if Virgil hadn’t had to stop.

He breathed in the freshened air and let it out with a relaxing sigh.

No.

Gordon was still dead.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[serararku]

Dancing in the Sand Finale

The top of Valhaas Barrow boasted one of the best views in all of Thanalan. The clouds had followed the sun to the west, leaving naught but a gorgeous desert sky. The wind was soft and chilly, but steady, flowing across the territory to scrub this place clean of heat. Even though the sun was long gone, the moon and its countless twinkling servants showered Thanalan with a soothing grey light. It was the perfect place and time to reflect on what was, and what will never be. But Era wasn’t up here to think about the what-ifs and have-nots, no -- she was up here to lay a man to rest; everything else could wait.

She cradled Tage’s urn in her hands. He was cremated last year when her heart was still heavy for him before she was close with Zevi, when all she wanted was revenge against the strangers who took him from her. Her numbing confusion had boiled into blistering hatred, but now it had come full circle again; she still wanted revenge, true, but what she wanted most was answers. Killing him just a few days before his rescue meant someone knew she was -- no. She wouldn't go back down that road again.

Era’s gaze fell to his grey ashes when she lifted off the lid. There were no words to be said that weren’t said a hundred times before. She raised the urn out in front of her and waited for the whistling wind to change direction, and then she tipped the ceramic jar over. Tage slipped free from his mortal remains and drifted through the night sky -- ushered to eternity by the wind. She felt nothing for this stranger now, as uncomfortable as that realization came; he was the catalyst for everything that had happened to her in the last half-decade, all starting with that fateful encounter when he defeated her father, and all ending right here. A part of her wished she hadn’t seen Denoh tainting his supper the day before his challenge… but then she would likely be raising his child, confined to a life of breeding; she wouldn’t have left the tribe in search for a defeated Nunh, which means she wouldn’t have rescued Thalen from the brink of death, learned how to use the katana, and meet Zevi. There was a ping of regret for all the suffering she’s both endured and caused… but in the end it was all worth it for nothing else but the Tia in her dreams. Once the urn was empty, Era swung her arm with it for three full rotations before launching it into the air. She was so far up high she didn’t hear it shatter in the desert below, but she didn’t care; Tage was gone for good, and she had shed her final tears for him moons ago.

It was a mess in Valhaas Barrow. Bottles were emptied out and strewn all over the place, with the strong aroma of soap and mint filling every chamber and tunnel. Era descended the great labyrinth to find Mizuna asleep in the corner, her horns adorned in bone jewelry, her face covered in drawings, and halfway buried in a pile of purring kittens. Even in a deep slumber the woman was all smiles -- her fingers occasionally stroking the soft ears of children nuzzling against her palms. Era wanted to wake her up so they could get out of here, eager to reunite with Zevi to hear how his conversation with her mother went, but she couldn’t bring herself to stir Mizuna from her blissful sleep; she would simply have to wait until she woke up on her own.

Then it slowly dawned on her. "Where is Thalen…?" He was supposed to keep watch and help translate for her while she cured the kittens, but he wasn't here. Era briskly walked through the quiet barrow in search of him, but all she found were drowsy tribewives and empty chambers; a twinge of panic bit the back of her neck when her mind raced with the possibilities. "Oh no… did Vahli-?!"

She stumbled into his chambers to find him and her sister Umi entangled beneath their blankets, with a handful of candles clinging to life as they were reduced to puddles along the window. Given the scene and scents in this chamber, it was obvious they enjoyed their fateful evening; but Thalen wasn't here, so away she went.

"Wait." Vahli whispered, moving to pull himself away from his exhausted tribewife. Era froze mid-step and watched him approach, but she kept her eyes above his waist. “I wanted to thank you for doing so much for our tribe. I’ve talked with a few of my wives, and… they seem content with the scaleborn woman's medicines. Without your help… saving our children would be up to Azeyma -- and Azeyma alone. Thank you.”

Era gave him a gentle smile. “I told you I won’t abandon my family. Our tribe is suffering. I know how much you don’t trust outsiders… but if we don’t start trading with foreigners, we’re going to starve to death. You shouldn’t thank me for saving our kittens… and the scaleborn woman has a name. Mizuna Kusakari.”

He thought about trying to pronounce that mouthful of a name, but decided against it. “You’re right. I think with some time I can warm up to the idea of strangers on our lands. Maybe.” He took in a deep breath before glancing back at Umi, who was still sound asleep. “You have been teaching her how to be a better mate. Why?”

“Why?” Era repeated without thinking. “She wants to be the Favored Wife.”

He stared at her for a long moment before he reached up to caress her chin. “You are my favorite.” Era flattened her ears out of reflex and stiffened from his touch, provoking a frown to flash across his lips as he regarded her. “You disapprove?”

“I’ve grown a taste for violence.” She whispered, briefly looking away from him. “I don’t have the temperament to sit around and raise a child all day. The thrill of combat… that rush when I carve my enemies into pieces… it’s the warrior’s way. My place is in battle, not in bed.”

Vahli pursed his lips as he let his hand drop from her. “That’s why you’re so alluring. A wife who can slaughter my enemies by day and pleasure me by night sounds too good to be true.” Slowly he pushed her against the wall, as his hands began to wander. “To fight side by side with a woman like you would be… amazing.”

Era clenched her jaw as she stared at his chest. “We had a deal…” Slapping his hands away from her body would be a terrible idea, but she had nowhere to go; he had her trapped in the corner of his chamber. “You agreed not to touch me…”

A hunger flashed in his gaze when he lifted her chin with one hand. “I agreed not to get you pregnant…” Era closed her eyes when their lips met, her tail twitching rapidly behind her back when he pressed himself against her figure; despite his escapades with Umi he was hardening at an alarming rate -- she had to think of a good enough excuse to leave, but her mind was addled and she ran out of time a while ago. “Come on…” He whispered after breaking their kiss, gently placing his hands on her shoulders to ease her to her knees. “Do that thing I like with your mouth…”

“Stop it…!” Era held her breath and vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Vahli coughing and confused.

He took a step back and blinked at the evanescent cloud. "Era…? What trickery is this…?" He reached out to touch her again, but all he felt was warm air and the stone wall. "An illusion…? Or a dream?" Defeatedly he turned to stir Umi awake to take care of him, but she was already sitting up, with a grim scowl plastered across her face. As soon as they made eye contact she shot up to her feet and stormed toward the exit without a single word.

"Wait! It's not like that-!" He called out, reaching for her arm; with a low hiss she ripped away from his grasp, and through her tears she briefly turned to glare hurtfully at Vahli before disappearing around the corner. He was alone now, with only his thoughts and ruminations keeping him company.

Era was panting by the time she ran to the mouth of the barrow. The last thing she wanted to do was use anything that could be labeled 'magick' to her people, but what choice did she have? She hurt Zevi once by laying with her Nunh, she wasn't about to hurt him again. Not if she could help it. Now all she wanted to do was grab Thalen and Mizuna and put some distance between her and Vahli. "He's still in heat, which means Thalen isn't laying face up in the sand somewhere…" Era thought to herself, looking around for any trace of him. "He's not in the barrow… so he's not risking his life with a tribewife, and he's not dead. That means he has to be with…?"

Phalo narrowed his eyes when he saw a stranger limping up the path. The boys were fast asleep and sore from today's drills, so he was free to leave them here in his domain if he chose to. He was in no condition to defend the Tia, but he grasped his spear anyway, and descended down the rope ladder to stop this outsider from getting any closer. "What do you want?!" He shouted, hobbling over to stand between the stranger and his clowder of boys.

Thalen noticed a flat boulder nearby and promptly approached it. "To talk. Sit with me, will you? And go easy with the yelling… my head feels ready to burst."

"I have no business with you, outsider!" Phalo snarled, bristling to make himself appear as big as he could; but the aging Miqo'te was a shell of his former self, which wasn't that impressive to begin with.

"Outsider?" Thalen repeated, wincing when he slowly descended onto the rock. "All Tia are outsiders in their tribe's eyes. I'll make you a deal, old man." He lifted his hand to reveal that Black Galleon whiskey -- or what was left of it. "Humor me for a few minutes of your time, and I'll let you finish this off. I promise this stuff is leagues better than the rotting milk you normally drink."

His eyes fixated on that bottle, and he licked his dry lips; he couldn't handle fermented milk like he used to. Every time he wanted to get drunk to take the edge off, it meant his stomach would punish him for days by turning his feces into liquid. It had been ages since he was able to get his hands on alcohol from beyond the borders without the warriors, huntresses, or Nunh taking it all for themselves. Unable to resist the allure of a foreigner's poison, Phalo cautiously sat down beside the stranger. "What do you want…?"

Thalen passed the bottle to him and gazed up at the stars above. "Answers. I've never seen a fellow Miqo'te as old as you. Well, not a male, I mean. How have you lived so long without your Nunh killing you over the years?"

Phalo popped off the weathered cork and took the first swig of many; the potion burned like fire down his throat, and filled him with that old familiar warmth. Yet it was almost as smooth as spring water, and easily the best drink he's ever had -- it certainly loosened him up and put him in the mood for conversation. "I was born with a twisted leg. My mother begged my father to spare my life… told him I could serve the tribe well. I could never become a Nunh myself… everyone knew that." His ears pinned to his head and his gaze fell to the sand. "There are ways to rid oneself of… temptation. Between that and a low death in the wilderness, it was an easy choice."

"Fuck…" Thalen took the bottle from him and took a small swig of his own. This man was dealt a terrible hand right out of the gate, but he played with the cards all the same. It was admirable, of course, to devote a lifetime doing his best to make sure all the Tia that came after him had the best chance they could get at survival, but if Thalen was given the same choice -- he wouldn't even hesitate; without his vices he wouldn't make it.

"The Tia deserve better than short lives filled with fear and misery. I can’t give them much… but a little is still better than nothing." Phalo winced when he took another gulp, the black liquor running down his silver beard. "Is that all you wanted?"

Thalen shifted uncomfortably on the rock, wishing he had a soft warm bed to help cope with this tingling ache. "I'm from the Hipparion Tribe. We uh… don't have someone like you looking out for the boys. No Tia Keeper at all, actually. When we get a new Nunh, all the Tia from the previous one are kicked out into the wilderness. Some are still infants… left to die alone and afraid." Slowly he turned to meet the old man's gaze. "I was in my sixth summer when my father was slain. If it weren't for my older brother taking me under his wing, I wouldn't have lasted till morning."

"Tia are forbidden from working together…" Phalo noted, hardening his gaze.

"All these years sending kids out into the desert wastes and you still don't know much about us, huh?" Thalen couldn't hide his smile; this old man didn't know a damn thing about the world beyond his tribe's territory. "There's strength in numbers. Tia know it's wrong but they don’t care -- they just want to live. Like you. Like us." He didn't know what to say. He simply twisted in his seat to glance up at the makeshift hut that housed seven sleeping Tia. "My brother's name was Nolas. Bravest bastard I've ever known, with a heart as grand as the sun. He… Rarku butchered him right in front of me, in the sands not too far from here. Twenty summers past."

"I'm sorry." Phalo flattened his ragged ears as he stared at him, the bottle now with only a few more gulps left. "He was… cruel.”

“I came here with Era to retrieve his bones and weapons.” The younger man admitted. “I’m told you would have them.”

"Your brother’s bones are gone. I’ve been cremating the remains of fallen Tia for sixty summers so their souls can return to Azeyma. He is with the Warden if he challenged Rarku.” explained Phalo. Thalen wasn't exactly on speaking terms with the Goddess, and hadn't been for many summers; he survived this long without her guidance and favor, what's a few more decades? “But I may have his weapons. What did he carry in his final moments?"

"He used a simple iron sword he found when we were still in the Shroud. It had a red bandana wrapped around the hilt. And a wooden shield, split down the center from that glaive." Just talking about it made Thalen feel nauseous -- one of his only regrets was not returning to this terrible place to kill Rarku himself.

The old Miqo'te rose from the boulder and turned toward his hut. "Wait here." He commanded, hobbling back to his domain to leave Thalen alone with his thoughts.

Only anger and regret swam in circles in his head. Yet the man who took the only family he had left from him was long dead. His only reprieve was knowing that sadistic monster was powerless to stop him when he bent his beloved daughter over every piece of furniture in his apartment, and now he had a taste of his Favored Wife too. "Hope you enjoyed the show, asshole." If only Tage was still alive -- he would buy that man a drink any day of the week for putting the Black Butcher into the ground. Even still, Thalen wished he was the one to finish him for good; he must have spent a few hundred bells replaying that scenario in his head to practice what he would tell Rarku. Before he filled him with holes, of course.

Thalen perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps from behind. His heart skipped a beat when his gaze fell upon his brother's old weapons. The blade was so worn down it would be a wonder if it could even cut butter, and the once crimson bandana had faded to pink from too much exposure to the sun. The shield was smaller than he remembered, but then again, it was a practice shield designed for Hyuran squires; the cleave halfway down the middle had been patched together with some spare lumber and nails, but the integrity of the shield remained compromised. "I used these to train Tia over the years… I hope you don't mind."

"Wasn't planning on using them to fight." He tried to hide it, but his flat ears and trembling voice gave it away; he missed his brother more than anything else in this world.

"You can cry here." Phalo assured him as he offered the shield and sword. "I won’t judge you."

Through sheer willpower alone Thalen managed to swallow back down his sorrow. "I'll cry when I'm dead." He slowly draped the shield over his back and tucked the sword into the leather sheath he brought along with him. "Thank you for keeping his things. I'm K’thalen, by the way."

"S'phalo." The old man bowed as gracefully as he could. "Find peace and happiness. Any Tia that survives as long as you have deserves nothing less."

"I know you're not supposed to do this, but…" Thalen paused before turning his back to the Tia Keeper. "If you want any of the boys to survive long enough to experience true happiness, send them my way. It goes against Her laws, and yaddah yaddah, but you know what awaits them once they're sent out into the wilderness." He didn't bother waiting for a retort -- he already knew what the old man would say. "Keep the bottle. I need to get rid of the evidence anyway." With a slight wave the Tia descended down the path, half-expecting Vahli to be waiting there to cleave him in half for touching one of his wives. Yet when he reached the barrow, neither the brute nor the harlot was around. "Seems a tribewife really can keep her word."

"There you are!" A familiar voice from a familiar woman barked at him. "Where have you… wha-? What happened to you?!"

"Damn you're loud, darlin'." Thalen retorted in Eorzean, and just like that, his thick drawl and accent returned. "Can a feller drink in peace without all this shoutin'?"

Era ushered a half-awake Mizuna onto the wagon and handed her the reins, but she turned back around to judge him. Loudly. "You look like you were attacked. Did you wander too close to the zu nests?"

Thalen ignored her at first to climb up alongside Mizuna. "Decided to spar with a few Tia." He lied as easily as he breathed. "Last time I go easy on some kids… knocked me on my ass, they did."

Satisfied with that answer, she climbed up to sit down beside him. "Did… did you talk to my brothers? How are they doing…?"

"Better than I was at their age." He rubbed the back of his neck before stretching out to drape his arms around their shoulders. Once everyone was settled in, Mizuna flicked the reins and the wagon began its slow return to Ul'dah -- but for the two Miqo'te, 'as soon as possible' would still not be soon enough. "How're your nights goin'? Good I hope?"

"I released S'tage's ashes, argued with Vahli for a few bells because you stepped up to him…" Era looked up at him with a disapproving side glance. "You could have been killed. You know that, right?"

"What was I supposed to do? Tuck my tail between my legs and grovel?" He scoffed, shrugging. "If that big bastard wants to dance, I say we play some music and get this party started."

"Ugh… if I bring you back, that just might happen…"

"Imagine it… S'thalen Nunh." He chortled. "Then you'd be answerin' to me, lass." The thought of sitting around in that sandbox all day was shockingly amusing, or maybe it was from the Black Galleon Whiskey in his system; when he glanced over to see her roll her eyes at him, she was instead staring at him intensely.

"That… would solve a lot of my problems…" Era hummed, drumming her fingers on the guard railing. "With you as my Nunh, I'd be able to come and go as I please…"

Thalen loudly cleared his throat before turning to glance down at Mizuna. "Anyroad… how were the kittens, Doc? Cute?"

"Cute?" She repeated, blinking slowly. "They were so soft, and warm, and cuddly." The brightest smile she's worn in over twenty six summers lit up her face, almost as if she was as tipsy as the Tia. "We sang songs for bells. I got them to dance with me. Then I told them some stories once everyone was tired… they didn't understand a word I said, but I think they just liked watching me talk. Cute? Yes, K'thalen… yes they were very cute."

"Well… glad two of us had a good time." He smiled, kicking his feet up. "Just a few more bells and we can rent some rooms in Lil'Ala Mhigo before we get ba-"

"When are you and R'zevi going to have a child of your own?" Mizuna asked, leaning forward so she could look at her. "You're both young and in love. What is taking so long?"

"D-doctor Kusakari! Nooo…!" Era began turning strawberry red while Thalen threw his head back and belly laughed.

---

Mentions: @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​

[monstrousaffections1]

It’s Alright It’s Ok

I jump out of my bones as my father's angry yell erupts from the house like a slamming door. Instantly my heart feels the frost of fear glaze over the surface of my beating organ. Swallowing thickly I get off my bed and hide my computer under my bedsheets, closing it's lid to hide it's light. Silently slipping out of my bedroom I move into the hallway and walk past the laundry basket, heading into the kitchen where my parents argue, the tension that has been building for two weeks finally bursting open like a damn. I would give it a day, maybe two, before their bedroom door be locked while my father hurt my mother. Then it would take either myself or my sister bursting into tears to get them to stop fighting for another few months. Swallowing thickly, I kept my eyes down as I moved into the battle zone, Shadow, my cat, rubbed around my legs, demanding biscuits. He didn't care about the chaos, he was probably use to it by now. Opening the cabinet under the sink I got his food out as my father and mother screamed at each other.

"Shut up Carol!" The man yelled, his eyes bulging and veins pulsing in his neck. He was in my mother's face, screaming at her. The woman who had for ages from my childhood had mostly cried and screamed at this man to get off her, had began to fight back. She did that often. It only increased the fighting.

"You Shut Up!" She screamed back. I patted Shadow's back as he ate. He was a big black cat. Strong and in his youth. Going to the fridge I took a certain of milk and poured myself a glass, downing it quickly. The sound of the tv came from the lounge room. Going into the room I looked at my little sister who was watching one of my favorite cartoons. Kid vs Kat. Managing a smile, I took my place beside her. I always rooted for the cat. I don't know why, perhaps I just loved cats. Plus I could relate the mischievous chaoticness of the character. Or at least that's how I wanted to be. My mother's form entered the room just as the boy and the alien cat jumped into a cloud of dust meant to depict fighting.

"Ingrid, have you done your homework?" I sighed; couldn't she see I was trying to watch something?

"Yeah." I lied. I should have said I didn't have homework.

"Ok, well, let me have a look?" Although I appreciated my mother's involvement in school, as anyone who was anyone knew that my autistic brain couldn't understand anything the teachers gave me on paper. I also wished she wasn't as involved. I just wanted some space. I was sick of homework.

Begrudgingly I got up and went to my room, dragging my books out of my school bag and dumping them on the desk. I went and got a slice of left over pizza from the fridge and poured myself a cup of coke to try and calm my racing heart.

"Ingrid you have homework. Why did you lie?" I rolled my eyes, why did she think? I wished I had headphones like all the other kids at school. I just wanted to shut her out as she started to lecture me. Casting a blank wall around my brain I sat down at the table and started on the maths homework. My worst subject. Contrary to popular belief depicted in movies, not all autistic people are good at maths. I myself am a better at English than this. I had finished a six inch novel in a week. And I was the best story writer in class. But this doesn't matter much to the adults.

After being left alone to my own devices, I sat and stared at the first math question for about ten minutes before attempting to answer it. I know I am highly likely getting the answer wrong, but I just want to finish this and escape to my room. I wanna do this without my parents coming to help. Before I know it, it's seven in the evening. I've by now attracted the attention of my father who started by trying to help, has now ended up yelling after I have proved once again useless at math.

"Are you stupid!" he screamed at me as I sat with unwavering tenseness, staring at the page and refusing to move my gaze from the sheet. My chest was shaking. There was no other way to describe it. Outwards, I was calm. But inside my chest shook like a autumn leaf. I could feel everything building up inside me. I tried to level myself. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't start crying. I repeated in my head.

"For God's Sake Ingrid! This is easy stuff! A Year 1 could do this!" He hollered and slapped my arm with a ruler. I didn't so much as flinch. I didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

"Do you even go to school!!??" I felt the first hiccup as I clenched my eyes shut and my sobs burst from my chest.

"Oh, great. Now your gonna cry." He muttered seethingly as though my melt down was a inconvenience. Mother was already serving out dinner wordlessly. This was a regular occurrence in our house. Homework that should only take five minutes, took three hours. Trying desperately to numb myself I packed up my homework to continue with tomorrow and wiped my eyes on my sleeve, trying to stop crying so I could eat dinner.

It's four in the morning when I sneak out of the house, dressed in my black hoody and trousers and my school bag on my shoulders as I lock the door behind me, take a breath, and take off running down the street. My runners pound on the side walk as I breath in the cold air of the early spring chill. I need this. Cold air, freshness, darkness just before the sun rises. Cars that pass through the street don't bother with the site of a teen girl running through the streetlights as though she were being chased. Even when my legs ache and I feel like my lungs are about to burst I don't stop. The sun's rays are barely kissing the trees by the time I reach the cultural center of my town. My throat crack a bit as a I swallow, having been dried out from my panting breaths. Rubbing sweat off my forehead I straighten up and stare at the sky. For a moment I want to disappear into the purple abyss above me. That'd be nice. Perhaps it'd be like in my stories. Just.... A life worth living perhaps. That'd be nice.

"Language!!" comes a shrieking yell from across the street. Snapping back to reality I look over to the collection of shops opening for the morning. I smile, feeling a familiar sense of warmness fill my numbed core as Bad is laughed at by his best friend, Skeppy, as the demon boy opens the shop door, peering at me with friendly white eyes. "Marr?" he calls. My smile softens as he uses my preferred name. I approach, shoving my hands into my pockets as a show of nonchalance. "Hey Bad." I raise a brow with amusement. Though he isn't fooled. He never is. I find myself pulled into a hug before I can even protest. Closing my eyes I hug him back, savoring the physical contact. That is until there is a photo snap and the blue haired boy snaps a picture. I frown and pull away.

"Skeppy! Delete that right now." I grumble, folding my arms with a frown.

"Nah. I think I'll add a few heart emojis." He teases as I fluster and puff up my cheeks. The demon beside me frowns, though his smile shows, he can never be mad at his friend. Rolling his white orbs he looks down at me gently.

"Breakfast. On the house." Bad and Skeppy were the only people I trusted. They didn't ask questions. Or offer to call anyone. They just let me hang out with them before work hours if I didn't want to be at home.

Nodding my head, I entered the café and sat down in a booth. Bad squeezed my shoulder and started the coffee brewer as Skeppy set up the tables and chairs for the day. Folding my arms to keep my fingers warm after I had pulled some of my hair out of my hood, I looked up slightly. Trying to think of a good way to start conversation.

"Did you guys sleep ok?" is it alright to ask that to people you don't live with?

Our words went back and forth in friendly small talk. Occasionally Skeppy would swear and get playfully told off by his friend. I would just laugh. Everyone in life is super serious. So it feels nice sometimes to just be around two goofs. I was given an expresso and hot pie. I savored the warm gravy taste, I wasn't even stressed but it was hard to not scoff it. A few people were starting to come in now. People on their way to work, stopping for a coffee and picking up take away. I wondered if it was nice. Living in a steady sense of movement. Where everything was the same and you knew what to do. Instead of struggling to hold together a toothpick structure simply cause nothing makes sense. I've missed opportunities for jobs simply because they've been offered while I was in the middle of a shut down. Same goes for friendships, or dates with boys, because I will just stare at them with a dumb panicked expression for a good five minutes while I try and figure out how to respond. In the end I am mistook for either rude or stupid. I am neither—Well ok I can be rude sometimes. But I'm definitely not stupid.

Feeling my anxiety levels raise I scull the rest of my coffee. Bad's tail stands on end in alarm as steam comes out of my mouth. "Careful you Muffinhead! You'll burn your tongue!" I shrugged with a smirking grin. "Hey look. I'm a dragon." I blow more steam out of my mouth. Skeppy busts up laughing from the kitchen as the demon sighs, rolling his eyes he ruffles my head. "Muffinhead." He mutters with a smirk. I hold up the cup. "Re-fill?" my hoody sleeve falls down slightly and the movement. Bad's smile slips and his eyes widen. "Holy shit what happened to your arm?" Skeppy chokes on a cackle. "Bad!?" finding it hysterical that the normally passive demon actually swore. I blinked and checked over my arm briefly, ah. Right. Pulling my sleeve down to cover the red marks from the ruler I shrugged. "Nothing. I'm fine." The demon stares for a moment before sighing in defeat. "At least let me get you some ice." Seeing the opportunity, I snicker, "But it's freezing!" Bad rolls his eyes, "For your arm, you Muffinhead." I poked out my tongue playfully.

With a cloth full of ice resting on my arm and a fresh cup of steaming coffee in front of me, I watch the pair work. Skeppy's diamonds are starting to sprout out of his arm. I do wonder how that doesn't hurt. But I'm just glad I'm not that kind of hybrid. Not that I'm any kind of hybrid. Considering how much the world changed after the Rifting, it's surprising that I'm not physically different as I am mentally. Even my sister is a Hybrid, despite my parents being human. She's a dog, by the fur coloring I'd say she's a kelpie. A car pulls up in the parking lot. It looks old, but the good kind of old. Kind of vintage, but not fancy. Just old. Through the windscreen three boys fight and seem to be bickering amongst each other. A tired looking man gets out. I recognize him. That's Philza, he shows up at school every now and then whenever Techno gets into a fight, or Tommy's pranks go horribly wrong, or Wilbur sasses out the teacher one to many times. He's a hybrid, either that or an angel. It's hard to tell. But he enters the coffee shop and walks to the counter. Huge black wings folded against his back.

"Bad, morning." He greet cheerfully and tips his weird stripped hat he always wears. I never liked that hat. It made me dizzy. He reads out a bunch of orders from a piece of paper, something about one flat-white, a mocha, a caramel latte, and a decaf frappe for Tommy. Bad nods his head and asks Skeppy to handle the order. I frown and tilt my head a bit. The strangely serious demon comes out from behind the counter and takes Philza by the arm, talking softly with him. I blink in surprise when they both look subtly towards me. I look down at the welt on my arm, pulling down the sleeve I bring my hand to my mouth and start to chew on my thumb knuckle. It seems I have over estimated the level of trust I should have given Bad. Rocking back and forth a bit I pick up my coffee cup to down it in one go. Don't trust grown ups. I'm about to pull my hood up when Philza comes over to my table, smiling down at me softly. I stare up at him with confusion. Fiddling with my fingers nervously.

"Hello, your Marr, right?" He raises a brow, his green eyes glinting with humor. My face heats up, and I avoid his eyes. "Uh.. yeah.. I think so..." he chuckles at this and puts his hand on the chair on the other side of the table. "Can I sit hear?" I blink in surprise, teachers and my parents never asked permission before they did things. Atleast my mum never did when she went through my school bag. Nor my did my dad when he turned down the music on my computer. I nod my head, continuing to rock back and forth. Sitting down he took off his hat, putting it in his lap. I stared at his blond hair that hung down to his shoulders. A crooked smile came upon his face, before it faded slowly. "Are you ok?" I started to scratch my arm. "I'm fine." This was my default response to most questions. He nodded his head as if this was a appropriate answer, he didn't pry. "How do you plan on getting to school, do you take a bus?" I shake my head, shrugging. I normally walk. Which is why I'm always late. He chuckles and takes his hat, putting it back on. "Well mate, if you'd like I can give you a ride, no strings." He winks good-naturedly. I look down, thinking for a bit. I don't trust strangers, even people with kids my age are dangerous. I look at Bad, chewing my lip. The demon smiles warmly and nods. Ok, I guess I'll give it a shot. I nod, "Yeah.. ok."

The hybrid gets to his feet quickly, "Great!" just in time for his order to be declared ready. With crow like laugh he takes the tray. "Welp, come on! The boys'll kill each other otherwise." he chuckles and heads out the door. After a moment of hesitation I follow him. The boys seem surprised when they spot me. Through a open window Philza hands the tray to Techno, a piglin hyrbid. I try not to stare at his tusks, it's rude. "Wilbur scoot over." Philza instructs his eldest son, opening the door for me. Tommy and his brother exchange a look before Wilbur undoes his seatbelt of shuffle over. I feel awkward as I get in, doing up my seatbelt and doing my best to avoid looking at the boys. As Philza turns on the engine there is a awkward, surprised silence. Until there isn't. "Who's the woman!?" Tommy inquires loudly. I wince.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Red Well: (Part 4) Merry Christmas

Here we go yo. Thanks for reading

You really thought you had Herzog pinned. But Herzog knew you too well. Even though he wasn’t sure how you’d escape the well, he had calculated that you would and prepared not a deadly trap, but a non-lethal but extremely strong net. He knew your Soul Skill and he likely attracted you up here intentionally, to get you out of the way.

In fact, he was so prepared that you saw a massive wall of large dump trucks that you figured were full of deadpool. While you were down in the well with Ruri, these trucks were already parked as a barricade for any further escape. 

You smile up at him, completely bound in super strong and extremely sharp nanofiber. It was engineered to tighten as you struggle. If you wanted, you could probably break it but only at severe injury. Already the near invisible threads were cutting off your circulation. If you continued to struggle, you would probably lose limbs as the threads cut through completely.

You smile up at him peacefully. “Ahh… you got me.” You say in a soft voice.

Herzog was wearing a slim-fitting tuxedo with straight suit pants and a bright purple shirt, a white silk bow tie, and black and white brogue shoes. Herzog crouched next to you and stroked your hair. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I hope you can have a bit of a chat!”

“Of course!” You say brightly. Your heart is beating but you feel a weird mix of joy and chagrin. You wanted to kill him but he’d knocked you flat, and you weren’t even angry.

Herzog put away the gun, pulled a knife and neatly cut the fiber. You glanced at the blade but didn’t say anything. Something strong enough and sharp enough to cut these strings wasn’t ordinary. Cutting those threads was a clear threat not to misbehave. You sit up and he helps you up with one hand behind his back like a gentleman.

A table was already set up on the engineering lift platform. There were candlelights on a white table cloth and a bottle of Red Label vodka with two glasses and ice. “For me? You shouldn’t have!”

“My work took me away from the wedding! I had to make it up to you somehow. I had a friend record it for me. It was quite beautiful.” Herzog pulls out a chair and you sit down smoothing what was left of your dress. Herzog sits across from you.

He had a front row seat over the heart of the storm, but the scene below was so calm. A curtain of huge raindrops hit the bloody battlefield and make ripples on the red lake.

Chisei Gen and Ruri Kazama walk slowly around in a circle, as if this is the stage where the actors say their long-written dialogues. Ruri Kazama walks silently, the wind pulling his robes away from him like a frail maiden, while the dragon-type Emperor Gen Chisei makes a heavy sound like an armored warrior.

You take a sip of the vodka and feel its warmth radiate down your throat. Herzog was relaxed, tranquil as a Buddha. Right now, you could ask Herzog anything you wanted and he’d probably answer honestly. He’s won and you were going to die. So you switch to your familiar home Russian language and call him softly, like you used to in Black Swan Bay. “Doctor.”

He turned to you. His face was still covered in the white mask.

“Why… do this? You’re so smart. You could do anything. You could change the world in countless ways. You could stop everything now and … go cure cancer or end world hunger… or something”

He closed his eyes and laughed, speaking to you in that voice from your childhood. “Those are all very high level aspirations… but the world is very basic, my dear. Dragons ruled thousands of thousands of years and, even though they were defeated, they are so enduring that they will rise again eventually. When that end of humanity comes, only those who are on the dragon’s side will endure.” He replied.

“So you … want to endure. Then… When humans win, will you go back to human’s side?”

He picked up a cigar and lit it. “If humans win again. Once the Black King rises, he might do with them what he did with the White King. Or… attempted to do. Now… more to your point about … stopping now.” He breathed in and let out a puff of smoke. “Let me ask you this. If I did stop now. Let’s say, I decide that I don’t want what I’ve pursued all my life. What then? Would you let me live my life peacefully? Just walk away and cure cancer?”

You’re silent for a moment. It was unlikely. Even if you didn’t pursue him and forgot he existed, there was no doubt that Cassell and the Japan Branch wouldn’t forget and pursue him.

“You see, you could pass a merciful judgment, but the people over you.” He pointed up to the sky. “They feel differently, so your judgement has no standing. You do not make the rules or the decisions here because you don’t have the power. Only those with the power can make the rules. So no, I cannot stop until I am over all and no one can challenge me. That is the way of evolution.”

“I disagree with your views on evolution…”

“Go on.” He puffed again.

You’re getting suspicious of his lack of urgency. Wasn’t he watching the clock a minute ago? “You say that Evolution is just the weak against the strong, that it’s just the strong devouring the weak. But even the weak have strategies or else they would die out. If the strong stop adapting to the strategies of the weak, they die out. If the strong become too strong and devour everything, they die out. Evolution is about balance and equal competition. Your theory of evolution has no balance. Your way of thinking, this one way pursuit of greater strength, will not destroy the world or devour the weak. You will just die out once you run out of food. Surely, you’ve considered this.”

He smiled. “It feels good to discuss these topics with you. You’ve always been possessed of great spirit and intelligence.” 

“You’re changing the subject.” You grumble.

“If I die out, then it means I have been unable to change the world, and it will be a fitting end for me. Now, I have a question for you, my dear.” He reached up and took off his mask. 

You gasp. “Bondarev? … w...wait.” Under the mask was not Herzog, like you expected but the face of Tachibana! You tilt your head. “I figured you escaped the fire…” It hits you again, harder this time.

Herzog waits, smiling watching the magic unravel in your mind.

“At Tokyo tower. The other body was a fake. No… it was a real body but a different person. Wearing a mask. You were controlling a body double? To make them pretend to be you? You did that from up here too? You never entered the Red Well yourself.”

“Body doubles are a common spy practice. After I escaped the fire that killed the identity of Tachibana and Bondarev in the mind of Hydra, I was able to suppress Ruri while I completed my preparations.” He said. “I see you weren’t quite fooled. But you still believed Bondarev was alive as an individual. No… I killed Bondarev long ago and assumed his identity.”

“I see. So you were aware of Hydra’s and The Devil Clan’s activities.” You say, sinking into your chair.

“Indeed, I created both organizations to complete my work. Now I need to ask my question. How did you do it? How did you escape Black Swan Bay?”

Your mind was still flipping through your memories. Herzog knew from the beginning, from the moment you arrived in Japan, that you were here, that you were alive. Through his Hydra contacts, he knew your every move. When you met Ruri, he tracked you again through the Devil Clan. No wonder he knew where you were to send Hydra operatives after Chance in the park. He knew ...everything. Everything was his fault. All the pain, all the sorrow and loss and danger and struggle. He was behind all of it. One hundred percent.

You answer his question. “I wish I could tell you how I came here today. But I don’t know. I fell into the ocean.” You said. “Even though the ocean was frozen solid that time of year, there was a gap in the frigid water that I fell through that was created when the Lenin ship arrived to take the dragon specimen away. I must have been encased in ice for those 20 years. But I don’t know how anyone found me and I don’t know how I lived.”

“So there’s someone else out there who knows about the unnamed port?” He looked at you. 

You nod. “He’s been pulling my strings from beginning to end. To this day, I don't know what his aim is.”

Herzog was silent and his face grew serious. “Is he here?”

You answer. “Probably.”

An unnamed piece of the puzzle, another variable!

There’s an explosive boom and you’re suddenly pushed out of your chair and launched back. Pain explodes in your abdomen and you’re surrounded by a cloud of poisonous mercury vapor! Herzog rises again, his mask over his face. He snuffs out the cigar. “I’m going to miss you.”

Herzog is carrying Western Watch, the pistol with a huge muzzle that could fire explosive mercury rounds and is extremely effective against Deadpool.

You stagger to your feet, gasping. You try to summon your abilities through the blood of Ruri Kazama. Your eyes flicker, but that surge of power never comes. Surrounded by mercury gas, you’re weakened. The wound in your stomach is gaping and pouring blood. The skin around it is turning white and the scales are falling off! A cough stings your lungs and splatters your dress with red. 

Ruri’s blood was only a temporary solution. Ruri had warned you. You couldn’t stay apart from him for long without your condition deteriorating. It seemed that while you chatted with Herzog, you were weakening rapidly.

A low chuckle came from the fog of mercury. It seemed to come from left, from right. Like he was moving so fast to keep you guessing where he would appear. But you didn’t need to rely on your ears. Those spiritual tendrils were still in the ground. You could feel the vibration of his steps.

Behind you! You whirl and you’re suddenly gripped in a hug. But this wasn’t a friendly, loving hug of a father. This hug shoved a dagger in your back. It squeezed you so tightly you couldn’t breathe. It squeezed so tightly your bones were starting to strain!

Something hard was pressing against your chest and shoulder. They weren’t the King’s bones, but something under his jacket. Your eyes widen and turn bloodshot and then they turn bright fiery gold! Snakes slither about in your mind and reveal piercing golden eyes!

If you used blood rage now, there would be no turning back. But it was fine since you were going to die anyway. You would die on your terms and take Herzog with you!  Your dragon blood surged rapidly. Your whole body becomes covered in fine scales one by one, your knotted muscles protrude like iron bars. 

Had Chu Zihang been here to help you, he would have told you that Blood Rage comes in degrees.  You’d never be able to ascend to be a pure blooded dragon this way, but you would come very close. He would have told you that, like a very fine grain of sand, your humanity cannot be crushed and, as a result, you will be a Deadpool, not a dragon. He would say you ascended from nothing to the highest level, Third Degree of Rage!

But that was more than you needed to tear through Herzog’s fine suit. Your bones fractured to twice their normal joints and those bones all move independently. Hundreds of barb-like bone spikes penetrate his body all at once!

He pushes you away with a mighty yell and kicks you so you skid across the dirt. He’s bleeding in countless places. The whole front of his suit is stained red. But those wounds rapidly heal and the bleeding stops.

He’s frowning, irritated, and a bit disappointed in you for sacrificing your life so pointlessly.

But you’re laughing as you stagger to your feet. Your heart is gleeful, so gleeful that you shout. “Merrry! Christmas! Merry Christmas, Father Frost!” in Russian.

Herzog scowls but then he smiles brightly, looking like the Herzog he always was. “My, my… you’re quite the powerful deadpool aren’t you! It’s been a pleasure. Now. I must go. Time is short!”

He reached into his jacket and frowns. He pats his jacket and pants and then stares with horror as you stand there holding those two dark colored pieces of wood in your hands.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You’re laughing, your hot dragon breath coming in a fog.  “MERRY GODDAMN CHRISTMAS!”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The trucks that surround you come alive with the sounds of babies crying. But these babies were big and strong enough to rock these 10 ton vehicles off their wheels. Gigantic serrated claws tear through the metal like they were tearing fine linen and hundreds of eyes glow golden in the dark and the rain. Every single truck was filled with deadpool nearly a hundred each! With at least 10 trucks they were about a thousand! These were the last of Herzog’s creations. After today, he wouldn’t need them any more and he had wanted to use them on you. But you had stolen that power.

The deadpool fall over each other in a mad dash, tumbling out of the trucks in a pile and rushing towards the cliff, dragging their heavy snake-like bodies on the ground, driven by the sound of the clapper. You back into the crowd of them as they rush Herzog. Herzog himself doesn’t bother to run. He knows there’s no escape from the trap that he himself set.

He looked at you and smiled one last time. “Perfect. Merry Christmas, MC.”

Then he was engulfed by the seething mass of golden bodies. They shredded his suit, dismantled his bones and ate his flesh. They took the mask and shattered it like it was so much pottery. Herzog could not come back from this. You smile and watch, filling with triumph and a bit of sadness.

Your time was up. You were going to lose your mind any minute. Even now, the strong pull of the blood of Herzog was drawing you to see what it might taste like. But you had a feeling that once you started licking that blood you could never go back. You tapped the woodblocks in a second pattern, one you were familiar with that was used to control the children, and the deadpool were seized with epilepsy, wailing and hissing and screaming until they fell silent, flopped to the ground all at once like empty wooden dolls.

You staggered over to the lift elevator and pressed the button. The mental tendrils of your Soul Skill are telling you that no one was moving in the well. In fact, Chisei and Ruri Kazama were just staring each other down, but you didn’t hear voices other than Ruri’s soft singing.

“Ruri… Herzog is dead. I killed him for real…” You say once you’re at the maintenance platform again.

Ruri is standing there, his smile stretched in horrible joy. Chisei faced him. He didn’t move or speak or acknowledge your presence. You step around them looking between them. Ruri’s eyes were spinning with bright gold mandalas. When you look into Ruri Kazama’s eyes, the Red Well disappears and you’re plunged into darkness.

You feel paralysed. You can’t move. Your eyes roll around in fear and you startle as you see at least 12 women. They were beautiful but they were frozen like statues and dressed in elaborate kabuki costumes. You count twelve of them. You were the thirteenth statue.

You seem to be in some sort of basement. Discarded equipment sat dusty against the wall. And there were old dirty gym mats on the floor. It smelled horrible and that horrible smell was coming from a cast iron tub in the center of the room that was filled with chemicals. And in front of that tub, Chisei sat, looking human again, looking much younger, wearing the black trenchcoat of the Executive board, with his Spider Fang sword in his hand. He was staring at the door of the basement, as though waiting for someone.

[arcadiangalaxywrites]

The Edge of Time

Here is my first ever fic! I posted this a few days ago on Fanfiction.net and I wanted to upload it here as well! It is centered around Lucy, tho many of the rest of Fairy Tail gang will make appearances as well. DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, and this is a work of fiction. I also want to give a quick TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of death and suicide. Without further ado!

Chapter 1

           As dusk continued to fade into the darkness of night, the sound of the birds disappearing until another morning dawned, Lucy dragged herself away from the fantasy novel she had been reading. Blowing out a puff of air, she assessed the dishes that lay in front of her. It wasn’t like her to leave dirty dinner dishes lying about for as long as she had, but there was no way she could ignore the burning desire to continue reading. The book had been about adventures in a foreign land, with mystical creatures who possessed what could only be described as magic. As Lucy gathered and scrubbed at her dishes, the only thing that filled her head was where the book would take her next.

           Once the dishes had been thoroughly washed, rinsed, and dried Lucy moved to her bedroom and set about her nightly routine. First, she brushed the knots from the wind out of her hair, before moving onto her face. Her shoulders began to relax as she removed the dirt and makeup that had built up over the day. After brushing her teeth, she quickly hopped into her pajamas, and turned back her covers, but there was one more thing that had to be done before she could get comfortable.

           Lucy hummed lightly as she went to turn on the motion activated floodlight in her yard, hoping that tonight the only things that would trigger it were wild animals. There had been a lot of activity recently, and she was worried that tonight would be no different. The full moon shone through her window as she raked her eyes over the large expanse of grass outside her house.

           Her house was small, but very charming. The stone kept the elements and animals out, and the fire she had stoked kept the interior warm and cozy. It was all that Lucy needed, but it came with a responsibility she had never anticipated when she purchased the abode. As she watched the nearby forest line, she recalled her first encounter with the nearby cliffs unexpected guests.

           Lucy had finished bringing the rest of the boxes in today and had even made a large dent in the unpacking that needed to be done. She had just moved to a new house outside of the city, and she was LOVING the seclusion so far. It was so peaceful and quiet, and the calm was already starting to seep into her bones allowing her shoulders to become relaxed.

           The first few nights were great; she had gotten excellent rest and was making progress on the novel she had been writing. She had been so immersed in the latest chapter she was working on that she didn’t even notice the darkness growing outside. If her hand hadn’t gotten a cramp, she may have missed the shadow that passed by her window.

           Suddenly wary of why a figure tall enough to be human would be passing by her window late at night, Lucy slowly peeked out of the side of the curtains covering the glass. The person she saw was hunched over and appeared to be crying. They didn’t appear to be a threat to Lucy’s newfound freedom and home, however that didn’t give her any explanation as to why they were nearing the cliff edge under the cover of darkness.

           Worried, Lucy quickly shrugged on some slippers and a light jacket before she quietly made her way outside. As she approached, she made sure to shuffle her feet so that she didn’t spook the person, who had now made it within a foot of the very edge. As she called out to them gently, they crumpled in on themselves, a single sob the only thing Lucy heard before they were out of her line of sight.

           After putting herself back together, she had gone out to purchase the floodlight for her yard, and ever since had kept a cautious eye out her window. She wasn’t always successful, and it tore her to bits that there was nothing she could do for the people who wouldn’t let her close enough to pull them away. It wasn’t often that she would find people out on the cliff, for which she was grateful, but recently there had been an increase. More and more people were showing up at the cliff, to the point that there was one almost every other week.

           Lucy looked to the stars as she sent out a silent plea for a peaceful night. Finished with her tasks before bed, she turned from the window. Slowly, she made her way back to her room where she turned off her light and crawled under the covers.

________________________________________________________________

           Wind was rushing past her face, pushing her hair away from her neck and then pulling it back to snap at her. Clouds were passing by as she covered greater and greater distances. The only way she could track how far she was going was by watching the landscape below her. Before her eyes the scenes kept shifting, first from the house where she lives, then to a lush forest with a cave set into a rock wall in the distance. The trees fell away to water, and then to ice before they circled back to her house. It was beautiful, but so confusing. How was she moving so fast? Why was she looking down at the land? As more questions started to arise, Lucy felt herself losing altitude. Panic began to set in, and suddenly she was free-falling, the wind rushing past her face even harder. Her eyes began to water, whether from the force of the air or fear, she really couldn’t tell.

            Lucy started suddenly; her mind groggy as she gasped for breath. Her body shook like a leaf, adrenaline coursing through her. The dream came back in pieces, and it felt so real. Like she had really been moving through the sky. She shook her head, the notion so silly she couldn’t pay it any more mind than to shudder and be thankful she had woken before she met the ground.

           Lucy sat up slowly, feeling the beads of sweat on her body cooling in the night air. It felt nice and allowed her to shift her focus farther from the dream. As she pushed her hair back, she noticed that her room was illuminated from the light coming from outside, but it was too much. Even a full moon wasn’t this bright, so that couldn’t be the cause. Lucy stiffened: the floodlight. Cautiously, she rolled out of bed and moved lightly to her window. Scanning the area, she realized there was someone at the cliff’s edge. Thanking the stars for waking her up before it was too late, she threw on a nearby jacket and slippers as she hurried out.

           Approaching the person as quietly as possible, Lucy took in the person’s appearance. The man stood around 6 feet tall, his dark hair moving slightly in the breeze. He wore baggy pants, and a tight white tank top (that looked like it could use a good wash) revealed muscular arms. With his height and his build, there was little chance Lucy would be able to pull him back from the edge of the cliff if he decided to go over. Once Lucy was close enough, she shuffled her feet a tad to make her presence known before she spoke up. She didn’t want to startle the man, so she used the quietest calming voice she could.

           “Excuse me, are you okay? Is there any way I can help you?”

           The man remained silent as he stood there, and Lucy started to become worried. Something seemed wrong. Usually, people would yell and scream at her to stay away or choke out sobs while they stood on the cusp. But this man stood there silently, his shoulders pushed back in a confident set. Lucy took a step backwards.

           “Why are you here?” she said coldly, suddenly aware of how close she was to the cliff. Her gut was reeling, her mind racing trying to figure out why someone was here during the middle of the night for any other reason than what had become the norm for her.

           “We’re here to see who keeps stopping people from going over that cliff in front of you.”

           Lucy’s eyes widened as she whirled around to look behind her and found a group of men all standing there. Standing slightly in front of the rest was a man with blue hair who had a strange sideways X tattoo over his right eye. He took a step toward her as he gestured.

           “Grab her,” he said as the man behind her wrapped his arms around Lucy’s arms and torso. Lucy let out a scream as she was lifted from the ground, and struggled wildly to get her arms free, her legs swinging.

           “Now, Miss Life Saver, I want to know exactly why you keep stopping the people who come out here to take a flying leap. You see, they’re kind of a pet project of ours, and you’re really getting in the way of our deadlines.”

           Lucy glared at Bora and struggled more as she screamed at the man holding her to let her go. The man’s grip only tightened as she continued to struggle.

           “Let her stand on her own,” the man let Lucy down, and shifted his grip to her upper arms as Bora continued. “Look, I’m willing to overlook your past transgressions as long as you cease your activities here at night.”

           “Why are you trying to kill people?” Lucy shook as she looked at the group of psychopaths. “And what makes you think I’m just going to let these people kill themselves without trying to intervene?”

           Bora shook his head and let out a sigh as he rubbed his temple. The group behind him all exchanged looks and whispers as they waited for instructions. Taking another step closer to Lucy, Bora looked at her with cold eyes.

           “I was really hoping to get through to you, but I don’t like it when people question my motives. You seem a bit too strong-willed to allow you to stay in the way of our operation. It’s a pity, really. But I think you’re going to have to be finding a change of address, effective immediately.” Looking to the man behind her, Bora jerked his head. “Send her to her new home.”

           Lucy screamed as the man behind her suddenly dug his fingers into her arms and swung her around. With as much force as he could gather, he threw Lucy over the edge of the cliff, her feet scrabbling as she tried to keep her balance before they went over the edge; her body dropping suddenly.

________________________________________________________________

           Lucy screamed as hard as she could, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Still, there wasn’t exactly much she could do as her limbs and hair whipped around in the air flying past her as she hurtled towards whatever lay at the bottom of the cliff. Adrenaline was running through her veins, and memories were flashing before her eyes in a kaleidoscope of colors and feelings. Tears started to stream from her eyes as she gulped down her last breaths, realizing this was what all the people she couldn’t help had experienced in their last moments. More terrified than she had ever been before in her life, she closed her eyes and screamed out the only words she could think of.

           “Someone, please save me!”

           Suddenly a pair of strong, warm arms were wrapped around her body, her head being tucked tightly against a shoulder. Her eyes shot open to gaze through her hair and tears to catch flashes of…pink? That couldn’t be right, none of this could be right! Lucy’s mind swirled; surely this was her brain just trying to protect her in its last moments before she went splat? Or maybe she had already hit the ground, and the last few minutes of brain activity she had left was being used to trick her into thinking she had survived the fall?

           Unable to take the stress any more as her descent slowed, she closed her eyes and let her consciousness fade.

[secretobsessionstuff]

Concussed Shawn

A while back, an anon asked for a concussion fic so here it is! I hope that anon will see this :) 

Warning: description of vomiting, bleeding, head injury, mention of hospital. 

The sky was quite pretty that morning. It was a dull grey, which normally wouldn’t be very exciting, but Shawn found it almost relaxing. Snowflakes drifted down slowly from the infinite expanse of grey and landed on Shawn’s nose. It reminded him of snow days, when he would lie on his back and make angels in the cold blanket of white, looking up at the clouds.

And you want to know why Shawn had so much time to contemplate the beauty of the sky? It’s because he found himself sprawled out on his back against the icy driveway, the breath knocked out of his lungs. One moment he was trying to unlock his car door with his bags in his hand, and the next he was staring upwards at the falling snow.

His feet slid out from under him, almost cartoonishly kicking up in front of him, and he fell onto the ice that caused him to slip. His breath escaped past his lips in harsh puff which he could clearly see in the cold morning air. As he fell on his back, Shawn’s head hit the icy pavement. Pain shot through his neck and head from the whiplash.

A few feet away, Shawn heard laughter coming from Mateo. He would have laughed with his boyfriend if the impact hadn’t hurt so much.

“Oh my gosh,” Mateo said as he chuckled. Despite the laughter, Mateo still made sure to cautiously approach Shawn. As much as it was funny to watch his boyfriend comically slip, he did see Shawn’s head rebound off the driveway, and that didn’t look so funny. Like a child learning to skate, Mateo shuffled over to the spot where Shawn had fallen, and lowered himself to the ground. “Are you okay?”

With a grimace of pain, Shawn rubbed the back of his head, already feeling a bump beginning to rise. Through gritted teeth he said, “Fuck that hurt like hell!”

“Yeah, you really whacked your head.” Mateo stopped laughing because he didn’t like the dazed look in Shawn’s eyes. “That was a nasty fall.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Shawn grumbled. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling a headache coming on strong, He had a class to teach in a few minutes and here he was sitting in the driveway as snow dampened his pants. “I feel sick and my head is pounding.”

“Let me feel,” Mateo said as he touched the back of Shawn’s head. There was a nice bump in the middle of his skull. Under normal circumstances Mateo would have suggested he put ice on it, but that seemed like fighting fire with fire, or the cold version of that. He loved the irony of it all but not enough to let it distract him.

There was something else wrong. Mateo felt wetness on his fingers and when he looked at them, he found spots of red. The ice was jagged in this area, so it made sense that it broke the skin. Before Mateo could warn his boyfriend, Shawn went back to rubbing the bump and soon discovered the same thing.

The blood stood out against the greyness of the morning, and it immediately turned Shawn’s stomach. “Is that…” All at once, the world spun around him, and he felt ten times worse. The pain and nausea doubled.

Shawn leaned to the side as he vomited up his breakfast onto the snow-covered ground. His stomach and his head lurched as he felt a wave of vertigo wash over him. He reached his hand out for no other reason than feeling like he was going to fall off a cliff.

Mateo caught his wrist and held onto him while he heaved and retched up partly digested cereal. “Oh no, Shawny, okay I’ve got you.”

Shawn whimpered from the pain and the waves of nausea invading his body. He swore he could taste metallic blood in his mouth, but it wasn’t real. He just couldn’t get the bright red blood out of his thoughts. When he looked up at Mateo, the grey sky in the background looked like a choppy sea that crashed against rocky clouds.

He spat into the puddle of sick, happy to report that he saw no blood. Even his fingers had been wiped clean. The hammering heart in his chest slowed down while he focused on the gentle circles that Mateo rubbed onto his back. “Well,” Shawn began, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, “that’s not how I expected the morning to go.”

“I don’t think you should go to work like this,” Mateo said. Unfortunately, he didn’t think Shawn would say the same thing. The blood was alarming, but you can’t really put a bandage over hair.

“I’ll be fine…eventually,” Shawn said, more so trying to convince himself. His hands were still shaking as he held onto Mateo. Together they stood up from the ground. He felt like rag doll that had been thrown around, but at least his vision was no longer swimming. He opened the car door and got in on the driver’s side.

“Babe, you just threw up,” Mateo said he stood in the way of the door closing. “I don’t want you driving right now.”

“I have to.” While Shawn really didn’t feel like driving because that required far too much effort, he did need to get to work. Just the thought of concentrating on the road made his head ache, but he ignored that. “I won’t get sick as long as I don’t look at the blood. Lucky for me, it’s on the back on my head.”

Mateo bit his thumb nail. “I don’t like this. I want to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m fine. The pain is already fading.” That was a lie but a necessary one if Shawn was going to get to work on time. “Please let me go. There’s no way I’ll find a substitute in such short time.”

Mateo moved aside. “Fine, but you’ll be leaving AMA.”

“What?”

“Against Mateo’s advice.”

Shawn smirked and kissed Mateo goodbye. He really did hope that the pain would fade because he was in for a long day.

                                                     …

It was indeed a long day full of blurry vision and a constant nausea. While teaching his class, Shawn could hardly focus on the material. The harsh fluorescent lighting felt like daggers in his eyes. What made the day so much worse was that his sour stomach never got better. By now, Shawn was used to the racing heart and the pools of sweat that accompanied any sight of blood, but the nausea usually didn’t last too long. Once the blood was gone and there was something else to focus on, the panic began to subside. But not today it seemed.

The nausea, the dizziness, and the ringing in his ears stuck around for the entire day and followed Shawn home. The drive back was just as bad as the drive there. His vision kept leaping out of focus like a stubborn camera. For probably the first time in years, he didn’t listen to music on the drive home because each beat was another knife in his brain.

As soon as he got home, Mateo bombarded him with questions about his head. Was the bump still there? Did the cut stop bleeding? Did he throw up again? Although Mateo was just being a worried boyfriend and a good EMT, his voice was much too loud for Shawn’s liking.

The boys sat at the kitchen table while they ate dinner. Actually, Mateo ate dinner; Shawn just pushed around the food on his plate. His eyes were half closed, and he had no energy to open them. The kitchen light was too bright and the sound of cutlery scrapping against dishware was maddening.

Mateo looked up from his food and frowned at Shawn. “Why aren’t you eating?”  

Too loud! Shawn clenched his jaw out of frustration, but also because he felt sick to his stomach again.

“Shawn?”

Shut up! Shawn wanted to say that, but he didn’t trust himself to open his mouth. Instead he stood up from the table with a hand over his lips. As he got up, he felt himself sway.

Mateo must have seen the colour drain from Shawn’s face because he got to his feet as well. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

Wow how observant of Mateo, Shawn thought. He deserved a medal! Shawn knew it was the pain and the nausea that drenched his thoughts in sarcasm, but he did nothing to fix it. There were more important things on his mind.

The chair squealed against the floor as Shawn fled from the table. While he ran towards the bathroom, his vision tunneled. He put an arm out to steady himself, but he missed the wall. The hallway flipped upside down and the disoriented Shawn stumbled to his knees.

The retch gurgled up his throat after that. There was no use crawling to the bathroom because Shawn didn’t even know which way was up. All he knew was that his stomach was sick, and his brain felt sick, and God he felt sick.

On his hands and knees, a torrent of puke rushed up from Shawn’s belly. It splattered to the floor between his hands with a sickening squelch. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to be over.

The one steady thing in all of this was Mateo’s touch. It grounded Shawn and allowed him to regain his senses. “I’m here. You’re okay,” Mateo whispered. He whispered. And it sounded heavenly.

Shawn coughed in between heaves. “Something’s wrong,” he mumbled with saliva hanging from his lips. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong, only that this didn’t feel normal. It felt like his brain was leaking out of his ears. “My head is killing me.”

“I’m an idiot,” Mateo mumbled under his breath as he rubbed Shawn’s back. His boyfriend gagged and brought up a thin stream of bile. “Nothing’s wrong babe, but this looks like a concussion.”

Shawn moaned and leaned against the wall once he was sure the vomiting was over. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’ll be fine,” Mateo said before kissing Shawn’s shoulder. He was going to kiss his forehead, but he was afraid he would hurt his boyfriend. Mateo mentally kicked himself for not catching this sooner. “I should have known this morning. You said you felt sick before seeing the blood.”

Shawn started to shake his head but immediately aborted that idea. “No, it’s not your fault. I should have listened to you.”

“Yes, you should have,” Mateo said. “Now you will listen to me when I say we are going to the hospital.”

Shawn raised his arms in the air like a child asking to be lifted. Of course, Mateo didn’t lift his boyfriend into his arms, but he did let Shawn lean on him while they carefully walked to the car.