#I have never wanted to burn the word implied or canon more in my life ☠️

[kavehater]

Pffttt imagine getting triggered if someone calls you girl LMFAO

[drivinmeinsane]

Witness in the Dark

※ Sierra Six x Claire's Older Sister!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { requested fic }

※ Summary: Don't we all just want to feel the companionable reassurance of another human being?

It only takes a single tragedy to tear your life to shreds and make it to where you're unable to sleep through the night. You tell yourself that you will never trust a bodyguard again, but things don't go according to plan when a man with a number for a name is assigned to the Fitzroy household while your uncle is away

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes and canon typical violence.

※ Content/Tags: Slow burn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Night terrors, Pining, Unspecified age gap, Movie based - Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Obsessive behaviors from both parties, Descriptions of injuries, Mentions of parental death, Mentions of past kidnapping, Mentions of past torture, Implied death of minor character(s)

※ Word count: 12,637

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: I don't know what came over me. This really got uncontrollably out of hand and ended up being wildly self indulgent. Huge thanks for @danime25 for proofreading this. I owe you my life.

"Ladies!" Your sister's nurse calls as she walks into the room. "I want to introduce you to Six. He'll be looking after the house while Mister Donald is away."

You look up from your position next to Claire on her bed only to meet the eyes of the man following the nurse. They're startlingly blue. His face is impassive as he turns away and surveys the room. He carries himself with an easy grace that hints at the violence that his body could produce. He reeks of danger. You instantly don't appreciate his presence. You had fought with Uncle Fitz tooth and nail over hiring a bodyguard for the duration of his trip away from the home. This man’s presence here means you have clearly lost that argument.

"Only the two exits?" He questions, moving past the bed to stand at the ceiling to floor windows. 

"Yeah." Your tone is hard, biting. The nurse gives a small gasp at your rudeness and says your name disapprovingly.

The man, Six, turns away from the window to look at you with a raised eyebrow. You stare at each other silently, sizing the other up. There’s a flicker of some emotion that you might label as respect in his eyes before Claire, picking up on your hostility, throws her hat in the ring.

"We don't chew gum in this house." You've never loved your little sister's faux-snob act more than in this moment. She snaps a photo of him with her Polaroid, staged records forgotten. He doesn't look particularly pleased about it. It’s more exasperated acceptance than anger though.

He's silent for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry. I wasn't briefed." 

There’s a trace of a smile on his face. It’s irritating and you have to look away from him. You stare at a record sleeve like your life depends on it. He asks for the photo and picks it up. You see a flash of a tattoo on his hand as he plucks the Polaroid off of the bedspread. Poorly done and worn with age. He’s definitely one of Uncle Fitz’s prison recruits then. One of the most morally dubious options he could have saddled you with in his absence. Perfect.

He says his goodbyes to you and Claire before leaving the room. Your heart is beating irrationally rapidly and your mouth is dry. The man with a number for a name is stirring up nothing but bad memories. You know you won’t sleep well tonight. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

“What kind of name is Six anyway?” Claire asks first thing in the morning after she tosses herself into a chair at the kitchen table. The man in question gives her a long look. 

"007 was already taken so…" He says with a relaxed shrug, coffee mug in hand. He's leaning against the kitchen counter in the same suit as yesterday.

You choke back a laugh at the sight of your sister's expression. You accidentally meet Six's eyes over her head. There's warmth in them that douses your amusement immediately. You sober up and turn back to your breakfast. Softness in someone doing his line of work felt… wrong. He isn't trustworthy, you decide, no matter how kind he acts. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up with a start. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the dry powder of concrete lingers in your subconscious. It takes several heaving breaths to clear your airway and bring you back to the present. You shakily sit up. You press your palms into your eyes. You try to forget the sensation of a knife in your skin. You're here. You're safe . You're one of the last people your sister has. You're the stable one.

You get to your feet in the dark bedroom and open your door to step out into the hall. You trail unsteady fingertips down the plaster and paint as you make your way to the kitchen and living area. 

There's a barely audible scuffle and you peer through the gloom to see Six stalking you. You catch the barest glimpse of his face in a strip of moonlight. It's intent. Predatory. There's no hint of recognition, not while you move through the darkest parts of the room.

You feel cold. Your pulse starts to hammer in your veins. Your throat works uselessly. Words won't come out of your mouth. You forge along to the kitchen and fumble for the light. The kitchen is awash in a blinding glow right as you feel heat against your back. It immediately withdraws as the bodyguard removes himself from your personal space. You don't turn to face him while you get a glass from the cupboard and fill it with ice and water at the fridge's dispenser. You stare blankly at the burnished steel while you take sip after sip.

You refill your glass. You blink. You take a drink. You pretend like your mind isn't shattered. You pretend like the man your uncle hired hadn't been about to…

"Are you alright?" Six's voice cuts through the fog in your mind. It's like a lantern has been lit to guide you back into the waking world.

You find yourself then and turn to look at him. You study him. He looks slightly rumpled and tired. There's tension around his eyes and his mouth is set in an almost apologetic frown. 

"Just another nightmare. Sorry for disturbing you."

The frown deepens. "You didn't. I was caught by surprise, that's all."

"Fair warning, me out here like this is probably going to be a regular occurrence." You smile wanly. "I know you want us in bed, but I don't do the whole staying put thing so well most nights."

He just nods. He's accepted your words without protest. The frown fades away.

You gesture with your glass in the vague direction of your bedroom. "I'm going to go ahead and excuse myself. Goodnight, Six."

"Goodnight." 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Weeks go by. The household falls into a comfortable enough routine. Claire ribs him good-naturedly every chance she gets. He's always got a faint aura of amusement every time she takes a shot at him. You hadn't yet seen him get angry. Pretending to be annoyed? Yes, but never actually expressing any negative emotion beyond mild exasperation. Not yet, anyway. 

He sends the both of you to bed every night after Claire's nurse takes her leave. You inevitably get up in the middle of the night after another vivid nightmare. Six is always either watching the camera footage or doing his rounds. He's stopped being surprised by your presence after the night he hunted you. You linger in the kitchen doorway night after night, watching him keep vigil. He's got a soft face, you've decided. There's tension there, likely from worry and lack of sleep, but not cruelty. You've begun to wonder if he has the capability for it. You know he must. Uncle Fitz has kept you in the dark about a lot of the work he does, but you know a kind man wouldn’t have been a candidate for whatever program your uncle runs. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You're woken up a few nights later by the sound of hands scrabbling on your door. Your eyes snap open and you remain frozen for a second before you hear Claire's muffled voice. You're immediately out of bed so fast you stumble and twist your ankle painfully. You fling the door open and next thing you know, your little sister falls wheezing into your arms. "Something's… Something's wrong." She gasps out.

She can't breathe and is clutching at her chest with weak hands. Horror races down your back and you're pulling her into your arms in a clumsy embrace, desperately trying to keep her upright.

"Six!" The name is torn from you in a shout. You never thought you would be screaming for a man you'd told yourself you couldn't trust.

He's there in an instant. He puts a steadying hand on your back before he gently pulls Claire away and lifts her up into his arms. She wheezes again and both you and Six freeze.

"I'm okay." she whispers. She looks so small and breakable in the bodyguard's thick arms. Like a bird plucked from the sky, held the mercy of a giant's hands.

"Can you get the keys for the car and unlock it?" His voice washes over you. Its steadiness anchors you to reality. You manage a "Yeah." and take off through the house to the garage, making a pit-stop to snag the keys from their bowl. Your ankle is throbbing. Six is close behind, his brisk stride and long legs keeping time with your hurried scrambling. You mash the unlock button on the fob and throw yourself into the backseat. Claire is gently deposited in after you. Her head is resting on your lap. You comb through her brown hair with shaky hands. 

"Mount St. Mary's." You tell Six the moment he's halfway into the driver's seat. "They're the ones who put her pacemaker in."

He grunts in response, backing out of the garage. You don't remember when you handed him the keys or when the garage door was opened. You don't think about anything other than your little sister. You can't lose her too. You've already lost so much of your family and of yourself. The ride passes in a blur. You're only fleetingly aware of the passing lights. Your heart is hammering in your chest like it's beating for Claire and you both. You whisper pleas and promises to her, stroking her forehead with shaking hands.

You're pulled out of your trance by Six yanking the passenger door open, and you help guide your sister into his capable arms. The medical team whisks Claire into the back immediately the moment he has her on the stretcher. You're left in a stiff, vinyl chair in the waiting room. Bodies haven't been in it long enough to soften the material. You're filling out intake paperwork on your sister's behalf. Six stands next to you, hands clasped in front of himself. You glance over, checking his watch every few seconds, your leg bouncing in place. Nervousness and fear wash over you in all-consuming waves. 

He catches your glance as your eyes dart over yet again.

"You holding up alright?'' His questions surprise you. He rarely is the one to initiate conversations. His gaze is steady, grounding, blue eyes watching you intently.

"Not really." You admit, inhaling and exhaling jaggedly. He nods. There's tension around his eyes. Is he worried too? You have to look away from his face and instead talk to his watch. "She's my sister. I need to keep her safe. I can't lose her too."

You hear him make a noise in response. You watch the seconds tick by one by one on his watch. The two of you are silent for approximately thirty-seven of them before Six breaks the moment by undoing the metal clasp. He pulls the watch away from his skin, revealing a bar of ink across the underside of his surprisingly delicate wrist before he's handing it to you.

"Here."

You stare at the dangling watch blankly before looking up at his face. "What?"

"Keep it safe for me for a while." His tone leaves no room for argument. You reach out with hesitant fingers and take it from his grasp. The steel is warm in your hand. You swallow thickly and drape the watch over your wrist, waiting for the sickening feeling of having your hands bound to hit you. It doesn't. You clumsily latch the buckle. It's sized perfectly for the man diligently standing at your side, no possibility of tightening it without it being resized altogether. It hangs off your wrist like a loose bracelet and you realize then just how big Six is. 

He hides his mass well. His muscles are concealed discretely enough underneath blazers and tailored trousers. He simply doesn't take up space in whatever room he's in, always the expert at being unremarkable, unobtrusive, and not worth remembering. But this… this is a dead giveaway. You cast a sideways glance at his hands and, for a dizzying moment, you wonder how your hand would look pressed palm to palm with one of his.

"Miss Fitzroy. Your sister is cleared for visitors now if you would like to see her." A nurse's voice cuts into your illogical musings.

You stand up so abruptly that the chair you were just sitting on screeches agonizingly loud on the polished vinyl flooring before it thuds into the wall. The nurse flinches slightly, but Six is steady at your side. He falls into step behind you as you follow the man through the winding hallways to Claire.

The doctor stops you at the door, arm barring you for a moment before letting it drop. "She's stabilized. Tell your uncle there was a programming glitch. We were able to repair it. Non-invasive." She pauses for a moment, giving the man hovering behind you a hard look before continuing. "The remote system flagged it ten minutes before he pulled up."

"You're able to monitor from that distance?" You interrupt. 

"We can keep track of her pacemaker from just about anywhere. You may see her. She can be released later tonight after we have her under observation for a while longer.” The doctor catches your pinched expression and adds. “Just to be safe.”

You nod, gaze bypassing her to focus on Claire. She’s been watching the exchange and, at your attention, she pulls a weak smile under her oxygen mask while raising a pale hand to flash the rocker sign. The doctor finally steps aside but not before blocking Six as he makes to follow you into the room. “Only family allowed.”

You look at her incredulously and open your mouth to protest before Six cuts you off. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” His tone is bland, unemotional. He arranges himself to stand with his back to the inside of the open door. He’s obnoxiously in the way of anyone that would need to come or go. He spends the passing minutes as they bleed into hours standing there like a steadfast sentinel. Back straight, hand clasped over his right wrist, left wrist startlingly bare, head lowered in waiting supplication; he’s the very image of patient servitude.

You sit at your sister's side in your own vigil. The three of you wait in tired silence until a nurse finally announces Claire is free to be discharged. 

She fusses as she's helped into a wheelchair. You and Six stand aside, letting the staff fight the battle. They win, but as soon as everyone spills out of the automatic doors, she's pulling herself out of the mobility aid. She gently slaps away yours and Six's reaching hands when the two of you try to steady her. "Don't you dare."

"But-" you start to protest before you're immediately shut down. "I can walk to the car. I'm not that much of an invalid."

Six doesn't even try to say anything, just forges ahead through the parking lot like nothing happened. He's learned by now that there's no arguing with your little sister. The traitor. You and Claire make it to the vehicle after him and you move to slide into the back seat with her but she pulls a face.

"You're smothering meeeee." she exaggeratedly whines. You give her a flat look. "Smothered." she insists. She dramatically points at the front of the car and raises insistent eyebrows.

You end up buckling yourself into the front passenger seat with an exasperated sigh. You look over at Six. The tension has bled away from his face. He looks more relaxed, relieved even. He notices your stare and the two of you make eye contact. You roll your eyes pointedly at your sister’s antics. Six maintains a serious expression until it cracks and you’re rewarded with the bodyguard's smile.

Six's arm brushes ever so slightly against yours when he puts the vehicle into reverse and then into drive. The feeling of his warmth lingers like a brand on your skin. His watch hangs heavily around your wrist. You fight the urge to gently touch the gleaming metal and instead interlink your own fingers together hard enough to hurt.  

You spend the car ride sagged against the leather of the passenger seat, desperately trying to focus on the passing scenery and not the man seated next to you. Not his kindness, not the way he had kept you grounded. You tell yourself he was just doing his job. Any bodyguard would have been tender and careful with your sister…  and with you. You try to not read into what Six offering his watch to you for "safe keeping" might possibly mean.

Soon you're back at the house, waiting in the garage with your little sister while the hired man does a sweep of the building to make sure no one has breached the perimeter while it lay vacant. Claire is tucked against your side. She's bleary eyed with exhaustion. 

"Clear." Six's voice cuts into the silence of the garage.

You tow Claire along with you and sit her down at the table. She slumps with her cheek resting in her hand. You busy yourself with getting a bowl of ice cream set in front of her.

She gulps it down in huge mouthfuls. Six sits to your right at the head of the table while she eats. His eyes are focused on the screen of his laptop. You're sitting across from your sister, half curled up in the dining chair. The adrenaline has long since left your body, leaving you feeling heavy with exhaustion.

"You feeling better?" Six directs at Claire.

"Just another Thursday." She says with a shrug. "Uncle Donald and my sister say this is the best medicine. Ice cream. I tend to agree."

"They're smart people."

"Only family I got." 

Six’s response is instant, like he’ll choke on the words if he doesn’t get them out of his mouth fast enough. “Fitz’s the closest thing to family I’ve had in a long while.”

"Maybe that kind of makes us family." 

You catch the way that he smiles. He ducks his head to hide it, but you see the hopeless spread of it across his face. There’s something so tender and vulnerable in his eyes that you get stung by a pang in your chest. Your heart aches for the people sitting at the table with you. Claire for carrying the loss of your parents and Six for whose closest hint of a familial tie is his boss. You get pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by Claire yawning. 

"You should go to bed." His voice is soft.

You haul yourself to your feet, exhausting hanging on you like a blanket. You whisk Claire’s empty bowl away and gently touch her shoulder. “C’mon, you heard the man.” 

She grumbles a little and stands up with you. You’re about to guide her to her bedroom but she pauses and turns. “‘Night, Robot.”

“Goodnight, Claire.” He sounds exasperated with an undercurrent of amusement.

He doesn’t look away from the screen as you and your younger sister retire for the night. You fall into bed, wrung out from the hospital trip. It’s not until you’re firmly under the covers and settled into bed that you realize you’re still wearing Six’s watch. You stare at it, warring with yourself on if you should scrape yourself off of the mattress to go give it to the bodyguard keeping vigil at the table or to just set it aside to give to him in the morning. You do neither of those things. You fall asleep watching the silver metal reflect the moonlight peering through the shivering curtains. You do not dream of your past captors and their leering smiles that night. Instead, you dream of a comforting hand on your wrist, the gentle hum of a deep voice. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

The three of you settle back into routine following Claire’s hospital visit, but things have shifted slightly following that night. You gave Six his watch back the following morning before your sister got out of bed and before her nurse arrived for the day. He took it from your hesitantly offered hand. His thick fingers gently brushed your palm as he lifted the piece from it. Your wrist has felt desolate, too light ever since you took it off. You try to ignore it all, try to regain the distance you had before. You don’t succeed. Something about Uncle Fitz’s hired man keeps eroding the walls built from mistrust and agony. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You snap awake, soaked through with rapidly cooling sweat. You’re certain you didn’t scream out. Your throat isn’t sore, but your face is wet, moisture clinging to your lashes. You must have been silently sobbing through your nightmare. You uncurl yourself from your tensed position and drag yourself out of bed. You walk through the darkened hallway to the kitchen. You make sure to roughly trail your hand along the wall and clear your throat. It won’t do anyone any favors to startle Six. 

You get your glass of water and make your way into the main sprawl of rooms. The bodyguard is sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, as he is most nights. You pull out a chair and sit down with your glass. You look at it hollowly, trying to ignore the lingering terror from your nightmares. You can't but notice Six’s eyes flickering over to you now and again. There’s a concerned crease between his eyebrows.

“Rough night?”

“The usual. As Claire says, it’s just another Thursday.” Your voice comes out more bitter than you intend. You tighten your grip on your cup until it feels like it might shatter in your hand. You force yourself to loosen your clenched fingers. 

The man seated at the table with you gives an acknowledging hum, sedately chewing his gum. He doesn’t press, doesn’t try to force any explanations out of you. You relax a little in your seat. Having another human being awake and nearby is a comfort. You rest your cheek on your hand and observe him. He looks tired. The light coming from the screen serves only to highlight the weariness weighing down his face and stooping his usually rigid shoulders. Looking at him like this reminds you of the night you watched this man and your sister interact after he drove you both home from Mount St. Mary’s. 

“She’s happier with you around, you know.”

There's such a long silence following your unprompted comment that you don't think he'll respond but he finally does. "She's a good kid."

"Yeah. Yeah she is." You don’t think you could have clung to life in the wake of the incident without her there to be strong for. Most weeks, she was the only reason you bothered to try to function.

You drain the rest of your glass and stand up. The ice clinks. You dump it in the sink and put the cup in the top rack of the dishwasher. You felt wrung out enough to attempt sleep again. You pause in the doorway and look back at the man at the table. "Six."

He looks up, eyebrow raised. His lips are slightly parted. 

"'Night."

"Goodnight." You can’t decipher his tone.

Your nightmares don’t return that night. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

About a month later, you’re screaming and thrashing in your bed. You’re choking under your captor’s hands, the sensation of soaked cloth over your face. You feel the pressure of those cruel fingers on your throat, over your mouth. Water moistening every ragged inhale. You can’t breathe.

Six’s response is all but instantaneous from the moment he hears your first scream. He pushes your door open, one hand on the knob and the other wrapped around his drawn gun. He’s sweeping his eyes across the dark room, There’s no attacker to find, there’s only you writhing on your bed, plagued by your own mind. He holsters his weapon and goes to your side. He tries calling your name, but there’s no acknowledgement, only your panicked wheezing. He puts one knee on the mattress for stability and grabs your upper arms. He tries to shake you awake. That gets a reaction. You start fighting him. Your hands claw and hit at him. He ignores it and repeats your name, asking you to wake up with an edge of desperation to his voice. He’s wildly unprepared for this. A physical enemy he can handle, but this…

You come out of it, going limp in his hold. Your chest is heaving. You blink away the lingering horrors of your dream and look up at him, horrified. For a split second your panic flares anew until you focus on his face. You remind yourself that you know this man, that you trust him with your sister’s life. He releases his grip on you and leans to turn on your bedside lamp. You wince against the explosion of light before bolting upright to reach towards his face. He’s scratched and you wonder if he’s going to be sporting a black eye. He lets your fingertips rest on his cheek for a heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes before he’s withdrawing his knee from the mattress and standing at the side of your bed. He’s the picture of composure.

“I’m so sorry.” Guilt is suffocating you almost as much as the man in your nightmare. 

"You don't need to apologize. I should. I wasn't briefed about how to handle it." He sounds genuinely sorry, a touch of distress bleeding into his tone. It twists the knife of guilt deeper. You feel your eyes start to well. 

"No, no it's not your fault.. I don't want to be like this, I'm sorry." The tears spill over. You turn your face away and scrub your hands over your cheeks.

He hesitates and sits down on the bed next to you. There's a yawning span of distance between the two of you. There's not a hint of anger or frustration coming from him, not even pity. just.... sorrow. Understanding.

"Fitz briefed me on your history." It's blunt. matter of fact.

"Then you know about the...." You hesitate. 

"Yeah.” He answers before continuing. “Does he know how bad it gets?"

"No… I never told him all the details. I didn't want to burden him. He's got enough to worry about." You shrink into yourself. Your eyes focused on the items cluttering your nightstand.

"Your wellbeing isn't a burden." There it is. There’s a taste of the anger you’d been waiting for in his tone. You squeeze your eyes shut.

"I'm the stable one, Six. I can't let everyone down again ." You laugh a little, self-deprecating. You press your palms against your eyes. Baring down until stars explode behind your closed eyelids. 

He hums, and you feel the shift of the mattress as he stands up. You think he’s leaving, disgusted with you and your emotions, but the heat of his presence doesn’t go away. The warmth of him bleeds through your sleep clothes. You can feel him looking down at you. You nearly jump out of your skin when he nudges your arm. You look up at him, startled. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Come on.” He says, offering his hand to you. You take it. He easily guides you up onto shaky legs.

He has you follow him down the hallway and to the dining table. A path as familiar as an old friend by now. He motions for you to sit at the table, and you mutely follow his direction. You hear him move around in the kitchen. He returns with a bowl of ice cream and a full glass of water. He sits both in front of you.

"I have it on expert authority that this should help. All the smartest people I know support it." He's so serious sounding. You look at him flatly. He holds his grave expression for a beat before he winks. You crack a teary smile and lay into the ice cream like it personally insulted you.

He settles into a chair across from you while you eat. He occasionally glances over at the open laptop’s screen to check the security footage, but his main focus is on you. You feel a little self conscious under his gaze. You scour your mind for something to say, anything to lessen the intensity he’s directing towards you.

"Do you ever sleep? Like… go to bed sleep?" The question comes out of nowhere. a flash of surprise crosses his face. You'd seen him cross his arms in his chair and tip his head back. Caught him leaning  against the wall, hands in his pockets, hip cocked for stability. But the thought of him actually dressing down into pajamas and tucking himself under the blankets  seems.... implausible. too soft for this man who is alert and buttoned up into his crisp slacks and fitted shirts no matter the hour of the day. You half supposed he showered in the damn things.

"Not as often as I should. I don't sleep easy either." The honesty surprises you. 

"Why?" It's probing but you're too exhausted and raw to care.

"Too many memories. My line of work isn't exactly conducive to pleasant dreams." You wonder if he would have been willing to be so open this entire time or if something changed between the two of you. When would it have changed? Were the moments you found significant also important to him? Was he starting to crave your company in the inexplicable way as you’ve begun to crave his?

You almost apologize to him for prying, but you stop yourself. You nod instead. You understand how it is to have a beast pacing the maze of your sleeping mind, pulling out the threads of your worst memories like entrails for you to witness over and over again. 

"I still think about it… About them." You admit. Your eyes skitter across the table like a frightened mouse, focusing on Six's watch face before darting away. You can’t tell the time from this distance. There is a pressure welling up in your throat. Something is clawing its way out into the open.

“Talk to me.” His request is firm, paving the way for your words. He takes his watch off, a mirror of the other night. It slips free of his arm in the same way, inky black revealed on the underside of his wrist, tendons shifting, the movements delicate. He sets the watch on the table in front of you. The metal links clatter on the polished wood surface. You glance up at his face, shadowed in the dim light. “For safekeeping.” He remarks.

You reach out and lift it from the worn surface, running your fingers over the band. The weight is soothing in your grasp. The seconds tick by and it feels as though your heart is trying to race them. You finally open your mouth and release your burden.

“Claire had her birthday party that day. It was the last good day we had with our parents. It was hard to keep the security straight since there were so many people in the house. I didn’t think anything was wrong when two men came up to me and introduced them as part of the security detail. I still didn’t think it was weird when they asked me to come with them. How could I have been so stupid ?” Your breath catches, anger palpable in your voice. Six twitches like he might reach out, but he stills and you continue.

“They got me out of the house. I wasn’t strong enough to fight them off when they put me in the back of the SUV. They… they kept me for days asking questions I didn’t know the answers to. They didn’t like that I didn’t know anything. They tried to be more persuasive… so I started making up things. I just wanted them to stop but they wouldn’t. The wrong answer or the right answer, it didn’t matter. They offered me in exchange for a ransom and eventually they pulled me out of the basement. My parents were there to do the handoff. The guys wouldn’t let anyone else do it. We made it about three miles down the highway before they caught up with us and shot out the front tires. I don’t think they expected anyone to live after we went through the guardrail, so they just.. drove off. Left. I don’t know how long I was in the car staring at my parents. Claire was too young to understand that I ruined her life. I’ve been waiting for her to realize what I did. She hasn’t yet but she will.”

“How did you ruin it?” Quiet, disbelieving.

“I got our parents killed. I shouldn’t have gone with those men. I should’ve known better.” You hear a noise like a wounded animal. A creature left for roadkill, great heaving breaths rattling in that damaged chest. It’s you, you realize dully, you’re the animal. There’s a large hand enveloping your wrist. It’s Six and he’s holding onto you. 

“How could you know?” He asks. You shake your head, a sob escapes you. You feel shame. Grief. Six’s hand squeezes almost tight enough to hurt. It grounds you, you can’t escape into your own mind. Not with that insistent pressure to stay . You feel the metal of his watch biting into the skin of your palm. It’s a good kind of ache.

“It wasn’t your fault. You trusted people you were meant to trust. Who could blame you for that?” he insists. His eyes are too soft, too kind.

“Uncle Fitz.” It slips out, involuntary. You would bite your own tongue off if it could take back the betrayal. You don’t dare to look at the man seated across from you. You had all but swung a bat at the person who he said was the closest thing he had to family. 

His hand withdraws from your arm, and for a moment you’re certain that he’s going to walk off and leave you sitting here by yourself. He doesn’t, he surprises you once again. He simply leans further over the table, capturing your hands with his before plucking his watch from your ironclad grasp. He lays it over your much smaller wrist. He handles you with so much gentleness it almost hurts. He secures the clasp and simply… holds your hands. He says your name and you look up 

“Your family loves you.” He states simply. He says it like it’s an indisputable fact. Like it’s something as true and honest as the rotation of the Earth. You nod mutely. You can’t argue, not when he says it with so much assurance. He gives your hands a final, comforting squeeze and stands up. He gathers up your dishes, bowl, spoon, and glass. The bodyguard makes a soothing gesture to stay seated when you make a motion to rise and help him. You listen to the domestic sounds of him running the sink and loading your used dishes into the dishwasher. Your eyes start to drift shut. There’s a weight off your lungs, your burden has been dispersed, even just for a little while.

There’s a soft touch to your shoulder. It’s Six and he wants you back in bed. You get to your feet and let him escort you to your bedroom door. You feel oddly nervous, fidgeting with your fingers and avoiding meeting the hired man’s eyes. It feels like the awkward end of a weird date where everyone was too uncomfortably honest.. No matter how delusional that sounds even to yourself.

“Goodnight.” he’s the one who breaks the silence first. You feel relieved. 

“‘Night, Six.” is your response as you put your hand on the doorknob and slip into the room, away from his unreadable gaze. When you fall asleep for the second time that night, you dream of steady hands marked with prison tattoos.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The morning dawns without preamble. It feels like you have barely laid your head on the pillow. You check the time on the watch hanging loosely around your wrist. Less than four hours have passed since your night terror and subsequent comforting via the household bodyguard. Your morning routine feels more laborious than usual. Every movement feels like crawling through tilled soil. 

You’re dressed for the day and walking into the kitchen when you hear your little sister badgering Six. 

“What happened to you, Robot?” she asks.

You pop your head around the corner to take a look at the man she’s addressing. You stop cold. It’s a mess. He’s a mess. The skin around his left eye is puffy and bruised. There's clear nail marks on his cheeks and down to his neck. Any exposed skin had taken the brunt of your panic. You can even see some redness through his facial hair. You feel sick, betrayed again by your body. Your own hands had tried to tear him apart. 

"Well..." he starts and shrugs his jacket off. He folds it and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs.

He's about to go on his outdoor rounds, which you and Claire have secretly dubbed ‘enrichment time’, and continue wearing a trail into the yard. If he’s feeling particularly comfortable, he might sneak a nap in one of the lawn chairs now that the sun is up. Provided that he’s sure the two of you are secure and can survive without him awake for an hour or so. 

"Your sister beat me in a fight. I'll have to hand in my championship belt." It's relaxed and easy. He gives you a conspiratorial wink when Claire rolls her eyes with a scoff.

You match his earnest tone with your own. "You should have seen it, I was about to get the folding chair and everything."

“Ooh-kay, I’ll just assume it was a weird sex thing,” she comments, turning back to her breakfast. “Looks like you already won his watch though. Congrats.” 

Silence follows. Claire smugly scrapes her spoon around in her bowl, capturing every last shred of cereal. There’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. Neither of you protest. Either you let it go and hope she loses interest in the bit, or you launch into a defense that will only get her to double down. No matter what, you’ll be the losers. 

Six pushes a heavy exhale through his nose and walks out of the room. You follow him right out the back door and onto the deck. The two of you stand there for a moment in companionable silence. It’s beautiful out here. The sun is a sedate creature in the sky. She's lazily casting her rays over the yard. The water in the pool is sparkling in it, lapping playfully at the concrete walls. Six’s shoulders are still tense in your field of view. He looks as though he’s holding himself up through sheer force of will.

“I’m sorry again about last night.” You say to his back.

“Please don’t be. Things happen.” He says with a sigh. You falter. He sounds as exhausted as you feel.  You don't want to push the issue. 

He gestures for you to sit in one of the deck chairs by the pool. You don’t, instead choosing to trail him as he does his rounds. He’s lit by the sun. You’re in his shadow. His hair looks like a field of golden wheat. You almost want to run your hands though it in order to feel the softness for yourself. You instead soothe the urge by toying with the band of his watch still loosely encircling your wrist. He looks back at you every once in a while, eyes dazzlingly blue in the bright sunlight. You had never noticed the angles of his face before, the curves of his nose with its distinctive bump, the set of his cheekbones, how his facial hair is darker than the hair on his head. You hate that you're noticing these details now. After the events of last night, any tentative bond feels tainted.

The morning grows warmer as you drift behind him like a ghost. Eventually he rolls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. You start to understand why people in bygone eras got so flustered at the sight of a lady's ankle. His wrists are bodice ripping enough, you suppose, but the space from his fingertips to the crook of his elbow? That is home to so much previously unseen skin. Had he been rolling up his sleeves every morning? If you had simply looked out one of the windows, would you have seen the sight that you’re witnessing now?  Would you have seen the distinct veins trailing up the insides of his muscular arms? What about the tattoos whose mere existence beg to have a finger trace along his skin? You avert your eyes, not wanting him to notice you staring. You tell yourself that it’s just the novelty of it all, that the surprise at seeing him less buttoned up will wear off.

With the rounds done, the two of you are back at your starting point. The bodyguard settles onto one of the deck chairs. He lets out a borderline obscene groan as he lets his body relax against the wood. His eyes flutter closed. He shifts slightly, another noise escapes his throat as he does. You make your way to the chair next to him on shaky legs, and drop into it. He doesn’t stir. You debate on standing up, you don’t, the thought of leaving his side makes you anxious. You make yourself comfortable in your seat. 

Through the open window, you can hear Claire’s record player. You hear the notes of Feel the Warm. She’s playing Mark Lindsay again. You let it wash over you. The sunlight is dappled across this part of the patio. You cast a glance over at your companion. His arms are crossed and he looks dead to the world. Your own eyelids are drooping, He’s the last thing you see before you drift off.

You wake up gradually, it’s an easy kind of waking. No wild jerk of consciousness, just the soft trickle of awareness. You’ve managed to curl on your side in the deck chair. You squirm upright and feel cloth slide down into your lap. It’s the hired man’s jacket. He must have gone back inside to get it. You touch it with hesitant fingers and look up, scanning for him. He’s currently out of sight, but you do see Claire in the hammock chair across the way. She’s engrossed in her phone and frantically tapping at the screen. You check the time on the watch in your possession before you catch a glimpse of Six coming up the patio steps from the lower yard. He’s got a sandwich in one hand and his own phone in the other. He’s intent on the device. He glances up and accidentally meets your eyes. He jumps slightly as if startled you’re awake. He recovers and gives you a nod.

“‘Morning.” His mouth is full. You know Claire will give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime if she notices.

"It's after twelve." You playfully retort, watching unimpressed as he fights to swallow the bread in his mouth. He’s really struggling for a second before he gets it down, his throat working roughly. You get to your feet, carefully folding his jacket over your arm. You approach him with it. 

"Good afternoon then." He says quietly. You swear you catch the ghost of a smile on his face as he looks at you. 

“Thanks for the blanket.” You say, offering it to him. He takes it with his unoccupied hand before shrugging it on, doing a quick change of hands with his lunch. 

You move to take off the watch and return that as well, but he stops you with a disapproving noise. “You’re keeping that safe for me, remember?”

You pause for a moment, mind racing wildly with the effort to make sense of his words. To find meaning in them. Your hand falls away from the metal and you surrender with a mute nod. If he wanted you to keep it for him for a while longer, who were you to protest? It’s a strange kind of comfort to have it. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Things come to another disastrous head some weeks later. It happens after the nurse sees Claire tucked into bed before heading home for the evening. It happens after you give your sister your own goodnight wishes. You had gently brushed her hair from her face and gave her a kiss on the forehead even if she scrunches her face in mock disgust each time you do. There’s no telling which moment between the two of you will be the last. You hadn’t had the luxury of knowing that your mom’s wet pleas for help would be the last gift from her in that twisted hunk of metal. You wanted your little sister to have a happy memory of you if a goodnight ever turned into a goodbye. Less nightmares that way.

You had stood up from your seat on the edge of the bed, made sure to smooth her blanket out. “Sweet dreams, Claire.” you said before you extinguished the slow glow cast by the lamp on her nightstand. 

“‘Night,” she had said to you before yelling. “‘Night, Robot!” in the direction of the door. 

You heard a weary sounding response from the ‘robot’ in question. Six was hovering in the hallway, patiently waiting to escort you to your bedroom door. He’s been diligent in performing the action every single night without fail since your impromptu wrestling session with him. He also hasn’t let you return his watch to him yet. You closed the bedroom door behind you, stepped into the hall and nearly brushed against the tall man. He moved back only enough to give you the barest clearance to get past him so he could trail after you for the scant few steps to your own door. It seems lately that he’s been standing closer to you. It also seems like his eyes have been lingering more on your face than the surveillance feeds at night when you emerge from your room, wide eyed and shaken from whatever terror that had gripped you. Your exchanged goodnights haven’t been anything out of the ordinary though, even if his voice was lower… more intimate than it used to be.

The bubble officially bursts for you when you abruptly jerk awake. You assume it was a nightmare you can’t remember, though you don’t feel any of the usual symptoms. There’s no tremors or wild breathing. You’re just… awake. You think about laying in bed and trying to drift off, but there’s a sense of unease you can’t shake. You make up your mind and shuffle over to the door. Like any other night, you turn the knob and walk out into the hall.

Like a snare snatching a rabbit, rough hands seize you. Your mouth is covered, fingers digging in harshly. And with a sudden drop of your stomach, you register the sensation of a gun pressing into your side. The metal’s coldness burrows though the thin layer of your sleep shirt. You’re frozen in shock, mind racing. Where's Six? Where's the bodyguard uncle Fitz had hired? He was supposed to protect you and your sister. Keep you safe. Why wasn't he doing his job? Why was this man in the house? 

Tears start running down your face without your permission. Your sobs are broken off against the inside of your mouth. They can’t escape the crushing pressure. A scream you can’t release is building in your throat. What if this man did something to Claire?

The gun digs in deeper, grinding against your ribs. He drags you down the hall and into the living room. It’s dark and you flinch as you feel something sharp dig into one of your feet. You whimper. The floor is littered with broken glass. The sound of it shattering must have been what woke you up. 

“Shut up.” the man holding you hisses, giving you a tooth rattling shake while he leans over your shoulder to see where he’s steering you. His breath is sour. “Where is he?”  He must mean Six. 

The bodyguard must still be able to present a problem if this man is asking about him. You’re not completely alone in this. It’s enough to sharpen your mind. To direct your focus. Your eyes are straining to make out anything in the darkness. It’s a mess of shapes that are so familiar in the daylight, but they look like strangers in the darkness. You manage to recognize the coffee table before the attacker does and you pull your leg out of the way. He slams into it and stumbles. He curses loudly through the pain of hitting his shin on the corner. You see your opportunity and savagely bite the hand covering your mouth. The saltiness of blood washes over your tongue but you bury your teeth in deeper. The tendons and nerves give way beneath your teeth. You go until you hit bone and hang on. Even if you don’t make out of this alive, you’re going to make damn sure this fucker doesn’t get to keep full use of his fingers.

He’s groaning, blinded by the shock of pain. You dare to release your hold on him in order to slam the back of your head into his face as hard as you can, throwing yourself into a backwards jump to do so. He lets out a wounded noise and clutches his face. He’s completely let go of you to do so. The gun is on the floor now, dropped in the surprise of your retaliation. You skate awkwardly on the glass as you make a run for it. The floor feels wet under your feet as you sprint for the hall. You’re leaving a trail of bloody footprints in your wake. The scream you’ve felt building weakly escapes. It’s a too quiet utterance of Six’s name. You can’t find the ability to yell as loud as you need to. You’re nearly sightless from a lack of light and terrified tears. You’re battering against the walls and furniture like a moth around a lightbulb. You make it halfway down the hall to Claire’s bedroom when you feel it. A brush of the assailant’s hand against your back. He shouts when he misses you, and you jitter to the side, making contact with the wall right as he slams into the floor. You put your back to it and look down, eyes wide enough in terror to make out the shapes of two struggling men. 

Six is on top of the man who had grabbed you. His silhouette is identifiable even in the murky dark. Relief turns your legs into jelly. He’s come for you after all. You allow yourself to go limp and slide down the wall, curling up on the floor. You squeeze your eyes closed so you don’t have to put a visual to the violence you’re hearing. It’s wet, crunchy. Eventually you only hear the heaving breathing of one man. You don’t know how long you sit there shaking. 

You’re coaxed into opening your eyes by Six’s voice saying your name. Your bedroom door is ajar and the light is on, illuminating the hallway enough to comfortably see, but not enough to where you can’t pretend the dark smears and streaks are shadows. The attacker isn’t in the hall any more. Six is kneeling in front of you. He’s got a cut on his cheek but otherwise looks unharmed.

“Are you with me?” It’s said with aching concern.

"Yeah… Yeah I'm here." You’re all too aware of your stinging feet, the ache of your muscles, the pain in the back of your head. 

Relief floods his face at your words. He reaches out but stops himself before making contact with you. You notice that his knuckles are split open and already bruising. His hand hovers in the space between your bodies, trembling slightly like he can’t bear to touch you but withdrawing is equally torturous. You rock onto your knees and shove yourself into his arms instead. They’re instantly around you. He holds you to himself. It’s all you can do to cling to him in kind. If you could nestle alongside the lungs in his chest, you would make a home in his rib cage. 

"You did well. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep him from you. His pals kept me busy." His voice is full of bitter frustration. 

You shake your head and speak against his collarbone. “Is Claire okay?”

"She slept right through it. She's still asleep. I just checked on her." He soothes, running a hand up and down your back.

“Good…” you respond, unspeakably thankful. You could cry.

“Do I have your permission to pick you and take you to your bed? I don’t want you walking with your feet like this.” 

“Yeah, but I’m too heavy?” You’re surprised and uncertain. Sure, he had slammed around a grown man like a rag doll, but what if….

“Believe me, you’re not.” He sounds almost amused.

He eases you up onto your knees and over his lap. He encourages you to put your arms over his shoulders. It’s startlingly intimate. You can easily see the fine lines around his eyes at this distance. His breath is warm and against your face, smelling faintly of the watermelon gum he chews. You have just a second to try and process it before he’s gaining a foothold. He stabilizes you with one thick arm under your thighs and his hand on your back. You reflexively gasp and clench the back of his jacket in your hands. Each of his steps is steady. There’s no sign of strain even as he navigates your bedroom doorway. He carefully lowers you to the edge of your mattress and withdraws his arm. Your thighs release their death grip against his hips and you settle into place, feet off the ground. You avoid looking at his face, you know yours feels like it’s on fire. 

You notice that he had already moved your trashcan to your bedside and collected the first aid kit and a roll of paper towels. He must have known you’d cooperate with him. He drags your desk chair over and takes a seat. He pats his thigh encouragingly, and you place your heel right above his knee. He steadies you with a firm hand around your ankle. He removes the shards of glass. He doesn't let you jerk away, not with the grip he has on you, even when the tweezers catch on a particularly deep piece. He works in silence and you eventually allow yourself to lay flat on the bed while he does his task. You don't ask what happened to the man in the hallway. You don't ask how Six got detained in the first place. He doesn’t volunteer the information. The time passes and you’re halfway asleep by the time he’s tying off the wrap securing the bandages on your other foot and carefully easing your leg back down from its elevated position on his thigh. 

"Please stay." You ask the ceiling. You feel more than see Six freeze in response to your question.

“I shouldn’t.” He sounds conflicted. You prop yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him.

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that. It’s anything but that.”

You bite your lip and decide to throw all your cards on the table. “I sleep better when I'm around you. You keep the nightmares away.”

He looks surprised, devastated even. His demeanor couldn’t have been any different than if you had asked him to bare his neck and slit his own throat. Resigned, but he would still pick up the knife for you.

"Give me a minute," is his response. 

He gathers up the supplies and turns off the light on his way out of the room, plunging you into the familiar dark of your room. You're not sure what exactly he does while he’s away, but he comes back sans jacket and with his sleeves rolled up. He carries the acidic tang of cleaning chemicals. He settles back into your chair after tossing the laptop on the desk. The two of you watch each other for a moment 

"Are you okay?"

"Emotionally? I've been better. Physically? I'm fine. Just a few scratches and a bruised ego. " He's soft. You nod, reassured.  

You keep your eyes on his face. It’s lit by the soft glow of the screen. It’s become an unhealthy habit, observing this man. You drift off to sleep facing in his direction. He's there when you wake up. He's clearly gotten up at some point to shower, but he did come back to resume his sentence at your side. You greet each other and he excuses himself back to the common areas of the home.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It becomes a thing, you spending time in his presence outside of what follows your nightmares. Something changed in you after the attack. It has culminated in a strong desire to be near him, to be within the frame of his reassuring gaze. Most of the time but not always, you go with him on his surveillance rounds. You walk with him through the yard. It always feels a little like you’re two society members having a chaperoned walk, but it’s soothing. Routine. You’ve also begun sitting with him in the hours before bed. At the table or on the couch while he watches the TV. The two of you simply exist together. 

You rarely return to your room most nights, choosing instead to make your bed in the living room. If you lay just right on the couch, you can spot the bodyguard keeping watch throughout the night. His presence in the room eases your mind enough to allow you to peacefully sleep. You wish that he hasn’t become so essential. You don’t want to think about what your uncle’s return will mean.

He accepts your new routine without question. You notice that he always has the throw pillow moved from the armchair to the couch on the nights you don’t tell him you’re going to bed. There’s no blanket in the living room, but you usually wake up with his jacket of the day draped over you in lieu of one. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

One night, you and Claire manage to bully him into a game of monopoly after the nurse leaves. You’ve been made the banker because Six doesn’t trust your sister and she doesn’t trust him enough either. 

“You just landed on my boardwalk. That’s fourteen hundred bucks.” Claire announces.

Six takes his hand off the game piece and gives her a look . “I thought you owned the brown properties, not the blue ones.” 

She picks up the deeds for Boardwalk and Park Place and waves them pointedly in his direction. “Nope, fourteen hundred. Fork it over.”

Six lets out a genuinely flustered growl. You have to smother your laugh. He counts out the remainder of his money and tosses it in front of your sister. He’s woefully short and out of assets. You and Claire had run him ragged the course of the game until she managed to bankrupt you with some suspiciously underhand tactics. Looks like she got to Six as well. 

“I’m out.” He says, resigned. 

Claire stretches her arms over her head and lets out a satisfied sigh. She then slumps back into her chair in smug victory as the bodyguard extracts himself from his seat at the table to do his nightly check of the doors and windows. She leans over and taps the watch on your wrist. 

“He hasn’t won this back yet?”

“Oh… uh. No.” Your answer sounds flustered, even to you. 

Your little sister raises her eyebrows. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes and she opens her mouth to say something before pausing. She instead gets up and gives you a squeeze around the shoulders. You return it with a one armed hug. “‘Night, sis.” 

“‘Night. I’ll see you in the morning.” You return affectionately, letting her go. 

“‘Night, Robot!” She cheerily shouts. There’s a responding grumble from the direction of the garage. Claire flashes you a grin and a thumbs up. 

She’s in her room by the time Six finishes his checks. You’re in the middle of putting up the game when you feel the weight of his eyes on you. It’s just the two of you alone.  He sits back down at the table to help you with it. He’s like a fire against your left side. You’re surprised he didn’t sit in his usual spot at the head of the table.

He lets out a yawn that he can’t suppress. He’s more undone tonight than you’ve seen him yet. He’s wearing a t-shirt tucked into slacks today. No blazer. His hair is tousled, not smoothed into place with product like usual. You think he looks more approachable like this. Your hands touch when you both go to scrape the same pile of deeds off the table. You both freeze. You hear your heart pounding in your ears and with it muffling every other sound, you trail your fingers over the top of his. He shudders when you brush over his knuckles and skim over the dots tattooed into the meat of his thumb. He doesn’t move, staying perfectly still for your exploration. You reach the horse on his forearm and you think his breath hitches in response. You linger on the horse, using your pointer finger to trace its outline. You follow the swoop of its tail, down the outstretched hind leg. 

A soft groan from the man you’re touching makes you remember yourself. You withdraw your hand like you’ve been burnt. He twitches and jerks his own hand towards you like he’s about to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. You can still feel the sensation of his skin under your fingertips even as you glue your eyes to the remaining monopoly money and sort it into the tray with unsteady hands. You finish putting up the game in silence. You sleep in your own bed that night. He escorted you to your room. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up weeping the next night. You lay on the couch staring at the living room ceiling while tears involuntarily run down the sides of your face. The imprint of spider webbing glass still swirling around in your mind. You must have made some kind of noise, because Six is making his way across the room. 

You sit up and take a swipe at your face. “I’m sorry.”

"You have to let it out somehow. May I?” He asks, gesturing to the space next at your side. You nod and scoot over to give him slightly more space.

He puts the ever present laptop with its surveillance feed on the coffee table before sitting down. You feel your cushion dip. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. He’s solid. He relaxes underneath the pressure of your body. You instantly feel better. You watch the cameras with him for a while, sighing along with him as the local monkeys throw the lid off the trashcan at the curb in search of a meal. You’ll have to clean up after them after the sun rises. It’s one of the downsides to living in Hong Kong. 

You stay leaning against him for a while, but a stiffness in your neck gets you to change position. Moving slowly so he’s fully aware of your movements, you carefully lay down. He’s taken the place of your improvised throw pillow cushion. Your head is resting on his thigh. He puts his hand on your upper arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He leaves it resting there, heavy and warm. 

You wake up a few hours later. The sun is cascading through the living room, throwing rainbow hues on the floor thanks to the decorative glassware. You’re comfortable, too comfortable you realize. Your eyes widen in horrified surprise. You’re still using the bodyguard as a pillow. He's shifted slightly through the night, more slumped and relaxed. He's slid down further, and your face is firmly pressed against his hip now instead of his thigh. You know that you’re going to have the imprint of one of his belt loops on your cheek. His arm is loosely draped over you with his hand tucked underneath your side, a bastardized attempt at spooning. You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of his face. He’s sound asleep. 

You try to sit up without disturbing him, but his arm tightens around you and applies pressure. You’re locked into place. Your mind races. If the nurse or, worse, Claire comes into the room and sees you and Six like this… You have to get up. You put a hand on his thigh and use it as a support to push yourself up. He’s instantly awake from the overt movement. He lifts his arm off your body and lets you sit up. You turn to say something, but find him already staring. His blue eyes are focused on you, they’re sleepy and confused but quickly sharpen to alertness. He looks vaguely distressed. All you can do is offer him a smile and squeeze his leg. You stand up and he follows. Your day goes as usual.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Your nights are largely the same, except that Six seems more distant. He doesn't linger as closely or as comfortably as he did before. Your interactions with the man are more professional. It’s as though weeks, months , of getting to know each other have been erased and you’re back at the beginning. Strangers again. It hurts. You miss him like hell even though he’s right there. Your sleep is worse. It’s almost as bad as in the weeks following the incident that started them in the first place, but they’re different. Amongst the disjointed scenes, there’s a broad shouldered man with dirty blond hair walking away from you in your nightmares now. You scream for him but no sound ever escapes you, just noiseless air. You never see his face. 

You finally have enough when he escorts you to your room one night. You haven’t slept on the couch for over a week, and he’s taken that as his cue to resume seeing you to your bedroom door. You turn to face him as always in the doorway. Instead of saying goodnight like you do every night, you confront him. It even catches you by surprise.

"You're avoiding me.” He doesn’t deny it and you think that hurts more than the newfound distance itself. 

“Why?” You ask only to get more silence. He won’t look at you. 

”What did I do wrong?” Your voice trembles and you hate it. You fumble to take off his watch, to return that final tie between the two of you. He reflexively clamps down on your wrist before you can undo the clasp, pinning your hand to your own wrist. He releases his near crushing grip almost immediately, but the ghost of it lingers. Point taken. You let your arms fall to your side in a clear display of frustration, willing him to talk.

“It wasn’t you. I  overstepped. Your uncle hired me to do a job and I've stepped beyond my purview. " The confession is rough. Torn out of him. The corner of his mouth pulls down in a grimace.

You stare at him blankly. "What?"

"I allowed myself to be too close with you. I apologize. I was unprofessional." He explains, but he won't quite meet your eyes. He hasn't for a while. Not since the morning following the night you fell asleep on him.

"You were... unprofessional?” You question, absolutely lost.

"Yes. I let my feelings about you affect me and my work.. I’ve become… compromised." It's matter of fact. It’s said like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

You reach out and grab his jacket lapels. He looks at you like a beaten dog might, as though you might strike him. He makes no motion to pull himself from your grasp. You swallow hard and let out a breath.

"What about my feelings for you?" You ask. His breath catches and he shakes his head, disbelieving. 

“It would be better if you didn’t feel anything for me.” There’s heartbreak in his blue eyes even as he looks at you like there’s nothing else in the world he would rather be seeing. 

“Better for who?” Your mouth is unbearably dry as you ask the question.

“You. I’ll only jeopardize you.”

”Six…” 

You pull him down and you press your mouth against his. He's rigid and unmoving for a moment before he's kissing you like a dying man who has just been offered immortality. His hands come to rest on your back. He grips your clothing like it’s a lifeline keeping him from going under. You gently nip at his bottom lip and he gasps against your mouth, a broken little noise. He tastes like watermelon gum.

 You pull away. “Jeopardize me then.

That forces a quietly helpless laugh from him. "Now that was unprofessional." His voice is hoarse.

"I had to give you a proper example." 

"Good job. I feel exampled.”

" Good ." You say and kiss him again. He's ready for it this time. He keeps it slow. His hands gently trace your body. He's slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth against your side. You step back, walking him into your room. His breathing is ragged and he's gripping you with a desperation you can’t put your mind around. You stand there, intertwined in each other. His facial hair is rough against your skin but the burn feels good. Your hands make their way around his neck and you gently card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He makes a wounded sounding noise in response before he pulls away. His hand is cradling the side of your face to keep you in place while his eyes roam across your face. It's as though he’smemorizing you, imprinting the fine details of this moment into his mind. As though he’s preparing to say goodbye. He trails his fingers gently down your jaw before he lets his hand drop.

"Will you stay? Can we sleep?" You ask before he can make up a way to excuse himself.

There’s a dizzying moment of silence before his face softens. “Okay. Yeah.”

The two of you are left to navigate the awkwardness of getting ready for bed. You spin your finger around in a circle and Six immediately gets the idea. He puts his back to you while you change into your sleepwear as quickly as you can. You turn around after giving him the verbal ‘all good’ in time to see him pull off his jacket and toss it onto the desk chair he had occupied when you first realized how addicted you were becoming to him. He pulls his belt off, coils it around his hand before setting it aside. You watch him unbutton his dress shirt. His fingers work deftly to slip the buttons through the holes. He shrugs the shirt off and lays it over the jacket. He’s in his undershirt and slacks. He bends down to untie his shoes and sets them aside. He straightens up and there’s nervousness on his face. You’ve never seen him nervous before. Worried? Yes, but not nervous. 

You slide into the bed and fold down the other side of the blanket for him. You gesture for him to come lay down beside you. He approaches warily and settles in stiffly at your side. His head is on the pillow, hands overlapping on his stomach. He looks like a body in a coffin. You gently touch his hands. He jolts.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, letting your hand rest on top of his.

“I haven’t slept in the same bed as someone since I was a child,” he admits.

“Oh… and that was…?”

“Over twenty-five years ago.”

You allow yourself a moment to grieve for this man before you pull away to shut off the bedside lamp.. You roll onto your back and flop your arms to the side. “Come here then. I’ve used you as a pillow. It’s time for me to return the favor.”

You feel the mattress shift under his weight and he hesitates, hovering over you with arms braced on either side of your body. It’s intimate, having him over you in this way. It’s enough to make you want to kiss him again.You hear him draw breath to raise some kind of concern so you just wrap your arms around him and pull him down on top of you. The weight of him pins you into the mattress. It’s comforting. He’s heavy and warm, akin to a weighted blanket. Granted, a weighted blanket wouldn’t have a muscular thigh wedged between your legs or be breathing against your neck in a way that makes you want to shiver. You fight to ignore your body’s response to him and work on easing the tension that’s holding him rigid against you. 

He gradually relaxes as you trace your hands over his back. You feel more than hear him groan when you pass over a particularly sensitive spot. The rumble feels almost like a purr against your chest. You narrow in on that location, working your fingers into the tight muscle. He allows himself to go limp on top of you, no longer stiffly trying to spare you the brunt of his mass. You run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as a reward for letting himself relax. It earns you a low moan and an involuntary shift of his hips. You’ll have to keep that reaction in mind for later. 

Six’s breathing soon evens out. Years of exhaustion and sleep deprivation have him rapidly sinking into the oblivion of sleep when offered such a precious comfort. You fall asleep with your hand still in his hair. You have the most peaceful rest of your adult life. There’s no night terrors, no pain, no fear, no longing, you just sleep .

The bodyguard is still asleep on top of you when you wake. His breath is whistling slightly through his nose. Not quite a snore, but it’s a sound that gets a fond smile out of you. You wish you could wake up like this every morning. Just this once has given you an insatiable longing for more. You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of the future. Uncle Fitz is due to return from his trip soon, which means the dismissal of Six from the Fitzroy home to complete whatever assignment is next on his task board. You don’t figure him for the abandoning type though. That way of thinking about him doesn’t fit in with the loyalty and thoughtfulness you’ve seen him exercise in his time spent with you and your sister. You’re sure that he’ll find a way to stay in contact after this job ends. 

You gently smooth down his hair. He shifts and buries his face against the hollow of your throat more firmly. You pause, hoping you didn’t wake him, but then you hear a sleep roughened voice say, “Don’t stop on my account.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[itadore-you]

pairing: nanami kento x fem!reader c/w: implied smut, not canon events but it should be w/c: only 600 words today sorry <3

The way how Nanami tears off his clothes when he gets home: his tie already loosened the second he gets in the car; the dents at the back of his stiff, expensive oxford shoes because he can't be bothered to take them off properly; the trail of clothes left along the hallway as he finally reaches you. You've been waiting for so long for him to come back home, to be in your arms again. All those hours spent in a dull trance, wary and anxious that he's been badly injured from this mission.

The second that the hallway lights spill from underneath the door, you stand up giddily, knowing that he's back.

'My love...' Nanami says breathlessly, the chill from outside still burning on his cheeks. You rush into his arms, relaxing at his touch.

'Thank god you're back, Kento, I missed you so much.'

'I know, honey. I missed you too.'

You help him to unbutton his shirt, knowing how much he hates being in his work clothes. Nanami is eager to kiss you the moment it drops to the ground, hands circling your waist to bring you in closely.

'I quit today. It's all over now,' He pants between your kisses. 'You don't need to worry anymore.'

'What? What's over?" You're praying hard between each second you hold your breath, the day has finally come -

'I quit the job. No more fighting, and no more curses. Today was the last day.'

With his words, you can almost feel how each and every fibre of muscle in his body finally relaxes, how something comes back to life in his eyes again when he looks at you. Something about loving someone so deeply has imprinted on your soul, to a point where you start to think that maybe you become your other half somewhere along the way. Maybe emotions aren't all for one to bear - when one's away, you can still feel the other's suffering.

'When Nanami's happy, you're happy' is an understatement. The two of you are euphoric as you hold each other; Kento sweeps you off your feet as he's unable to contain his joy.

"I might have to burn these clothes forever. I never want to see them again," He sighs after eventually setting you down.

"I know it'd remind you of the past, but Ken," You watch as he kicks the shirt, tie and harness to the side - "I do always love seeing you in a nice suit and tie."

He raises an eyebrow in response, making you giggle. "I'll just have to find a new signature colour for you, won't I?"

"I'd love that, Kento..."

"Come, let me show you how much I love you."

With one swift motion, he's got you in the closest room possible, making sure that the surface he pins you against isn't too uncomfortable - it's a little indecent that he could barely keep his hands off of you in the hallway, but with the way how you look tonight (it's simply the radiance that happiness gives you), he can't help himself. Kento Nanami is a lost man until you give him purpose.

Just as he nips at your neck, he pulls away, blond hair falling into his eyes. "I apologise for coming on so quickly, I just-"

"No need to ask Kento, I want you right now."

He nods, pressing a fervent kiss to your lips, almost shaking when he eventually pulls away. "Mhm?"

"And I'd want you again. And again. It can all be tonight or tomorrow, whenever," You pant between kisses. "We have all the time in the world."

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

Death comes to many too often, and even the life of a regular person can be cut short in an instant. Smaller threats outside of jujutsu sorcery still exist. But what's the point in thinking about that? In comparison to Nanami's previous daily life, it feels like nothing can harm him now.

Maybe, just maybe, both of you can grow old together, like this.

[lovemadethemdoit]

Hangster FIC RECS (complete fics only!) 🤠💘🐓

There are some high-quality long fics in this fandom and I’m sharing my faves with you because I’m nice (and selfish and want these authors to write more fics, duh.). Promise me one thing though? If you read a fic off my list and love it? Leave a comment for the author. They’ll be PSYCHED and write more. Possibly.

Okay, let’s go. More than 30 hangster fics for you to read. 😍😍😍

Under the cut. Feel free to reblog this post far and wide to energize this fandom, too!

********* wanting (18641 words) by bottledyarn

Additional Tags: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Internalized Homophobia, Pining, Banter, Slow Burn, Getting Together, First Kiss, Suicidal Thoughts, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Canon Timeline, Canon Compliant, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Emotionally Repressed, 5+1 Things, Sort Of, 6+2 things, Jake can't emote and I can't count, Character Study

Summary:

Six times Jake Seresin assumes Bradley Bradshaw is something he can want but can't have, and how he learns the truth.

--

Jake Seresin is very good at a few things. Flying, obviously. Pissing people off. Wanting things he can't have.

But he's never been very good at dealing with Bradley Bradshaw.

During the mission, Jake is just trying his best to be better.

***

hold me through the shakes (7477 words) by spiritsontheroof

Additional Tags: Hurt Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Mentally, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Canon, Pining Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Exes, Getting Back Together, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Nightmares, Canon-Typical Violence, it's like. lightly discussed, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary:

Bradley spills hot coffee on his hand three days into their post-mission leave.

It’s not until he can’t get the bandage over the blister that he realizes his hands are shaking.

***

I Long For You (To Hold Me Ardently) (10265 words) by perishablealex

Additional Tags: POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Canon Compliant, Light Angst, Pining, Kinda?, Smut, Getting Together

Summary:

“We don't have to talk about it.” His eyes dart away from Bradley’s face, afraid that they will betray just how much he wants to talk about it, that they will reveal the vulnerability Jake feels in that moment, caught in a momentary suspension of time. The moment feels unreal with the golden light pouring over piano tiles long forgotten in his childhood, the man at his side that feels close enough to reach but not quite hold, the way that time stretches like molasses, sweet yet torturously slow and thick.

“I think we should, don’t you?”

Or: Rooster and Hangman sleep together after the mission without realizing that it may not have been meaningless for either of them.

***

No One Can Find The Rewind Button (71073 words) by FabuMazX

Additional Tags: Mpreg, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Slow Burn, Accidental Pregnancy, Mentions of miscarriage, IceMav are the best granddads

Summary:

It was only one night. But that's all it takes, isn't it?

Bradley and Jake are on good terms since the mission. Friends even. But they're not together, not like that. So why the universe decided to force them together with an unexpected surprise is anybody's guess.

***

something to be sheltered (19075 words) by MayWilder

Additional Tags: Found Family, Post-Mission, Meet the Family, Beau "Cyclone" Simpson is a Softie, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Daddy Issues, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Temporary, no beta we die like goose, Father-Son Relationship, Light Angst

Series: Part 2 of Feels Like Home

Summary:

“My wife has asked that you join us for dinner tomorrow night,” Beau says carefully.

“Your wife, sir?” Jake’s brow furrows. “Why would she like to meet me?”

“She thinks its important that my mentee sees a healthy work-life balance.”

“I’m your mentee?” Jake teases, smirking lightly. “And you talk about me enough that your wife wants to meet me?”

“You can continue to be a pain in my ass,” Beau sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Or, you can take the offer of a free dinner with a beautiful and intellectually stimulating woman.”

“Oh, I definitely want to see this side of Cyclone,” Jake grins. “Domesticated.”

“You’re bordering on impertinence.”

“Me? Never.”

“Let’s go back to when you respected me and my position.”

Jake appears to settle down, but only slightly. He clears his throat and squares his shoulders. “I’d be honored to attend dinner with your family, Admiral. Just tell me a date and time.”

*** or, Beau Simpson didn't mean to adopt a fully grown naval aviator, but, you know; shit happens.

***

flames look beautiful (if you forget what they can do) (8359 words) by Ravens_Words

Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Protective Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Protective Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Protective Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Idiots in Love, Getting Back Together, Background Relationships, Hints at IceMav, Hints at BobNix

Summary:

Bradley Bradshaw returns to consciousness with a gasp, hand going to his side, where a searing pain makes itself known.

  "-ster, hey," Jake snaps, holds his face in both hands and forces him to look his way, "breathe."

  Bradley does as he's told, as painful as it is, and his vision clears somewhat. Jake's crouched beside him, concern etched on his face, and what happened comes back to him in flashes.

  The mission going sideways at every possible turn, seeing Jake's plane get shot down in the sky, the less than smooth emergency landing in the woods that followed.

***

Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away? (48614 words) by LoveMadeThemDoIt

Additional Tags: Jake Seresin Has Daddy Issues, Homophobia, Emotional Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Found Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jake POV, Bradley POV, Protective Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, Protective Javy “Coyote” Machado, Protective Natasha “Phoenix” Trace, Self-Denial, Jake “Hangman” Seresin Needs A Hug, Threats of Violence, Blackmail, Homophobic Slurs, Dissociation, Training Accidents, Jake is in the hospital at some point but he’ll be fine, Bradley makes sure Jake gets sleep, navy inaccuracies, Closeted Character, a dusting of IceMav, Beau „Cyclone“ Simpson is a softie, First Time, Anal Sex, Bottom Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, Post-Canon, Gay Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Bisexual Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Bad Parents, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Self-Worth Issues, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, the movie plot is maybe three paragraphs at the beginning but this is POST-CANON

Summary:

Jake has no illusions he’ll come back from this mission. He’s the best fighter pilot the Navy has got on staff and this is not his ego talking. He’ll fly the mission, and it’ll be a shit show, because none of them have even managed to fly the simulation in the way they need to.

In his weaker moments, Jake wonders if his father is how he’s gotten this gig.

***

baby, I'm howlin' for you (87473 words) by hangmanbradshaw

Additional Tags: Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Supernatural Elements, Full Shift Werewolves, think teen wolf meets twilight meets vampire diaries, Vampires, Witches, Werewolf Hunters, it's got all the things, they can shift but any romance stuff happens as humans fyi, Slow Burn, POV Alternating, Protective Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Possessive Behavior, also there's alphas and stuff but it's not abo, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Arranged Marriage, kind of, Also this takes place in like a medieval setting a la game of thrones, rut but not the sexy kind more the cuddly kind, Hand Jobs, Smut, Mating Bites, Accidental Voyeurism, Kinda, Top Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Bottom Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary:

His smirk widened. He may not have been happy about this, but he could appreciate that Bradley gave as good as he got. “I am good, Rooster. I’m very good.”

Bradley stared at him, expression battling between annoyance and what appeared to be a slight amount of amusement and intrigue. Jake continued, “Say, how does a werewolf get the nickname Rooster anyhow?”

Bradley raised an eyebrow. “That’s none of your business.”

Or

The Wolves & Foxes AU

***

When you're ready (45445 words) by The_Splendid_Wren

Additional Tags: I know you all saw it too, Idiots in Love, Hangman is actually not a dick, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rooster POV, Father-Son Relationship, Maverick is just trying to make Goose proud, Phoenix is a bro, Lots of staring into the scenery, Eventual Smut, Finally I have a reason to obsess over Top Gun again, References to Canon, Post-Canon, did i mention Hangman is a momma's boy?, not beta read we die like men, Slow Burn, Homophobic Language, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Therapy is good for everyone

Summary:

After the suicide-mission-that-wasn't the pilots of TOP GUN go their separate ways to enjoy a much earned week of leave. Rooster is set to spend his time with Maverick in an attempt to rekindle their familial relationship but it gets complicated when unresolved trauma from nearly dying keeps him from truly opening up. With a host of other issues like his unknown next assignment and his feelings for a rival paralyzing him, he truly has no idea how he ends up at the Seresin ranch house in Austin, Texas with the object of his desires right in front of him.

Or, Rooster is suffering PTSD and his friends and family try to help him. Whether that's getting therapy or confessing his very deeply buried feelings remains to be seen.

***

I will love you, dear, forever (17574 words) by FlowersOnMyMind

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Alpha Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Explicit Sexual Content, Jake loves Bradley so much, Dagger Squad, Found Family, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Pining, mentioned icemav - Freeform, brief bobnix, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Pining Jake

Summary:

"Do you have someone to take care of you?" Jake asks.

"Are you offering, Seresin?"

"Are you asking, Bradshaw?"

or

Jake and Bradley help each other through their ruts and heats.

Jake pines.

***

You Love Him, and No One Else (50269 words) by Sceld

Additional Tags: Pining, LIKE TOO MUCH, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, just a collection of tropes because I Am Cringe, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mostly Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, oh yeah and lots of it, very gay, derogatorily, Family Issues, Idiots in Love, idiots in general honestly, i hate it too don't worry, First Dates, but unofficially, Bad Cooking, Meeting the Parents, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Past Child Abuse, not graphic though, Slow Burn, First Kiss, Baking, Hopeful Ending

Summary:

“I’ve got it,” Jake offers, holding his hand out, but Rooster only tuts disappointedly.

“What kind of host would I be if I made you carry your own bag?”

Jake blanks on a response, his mouth twisting into a smile without his permission. Rooster turns to where Jake can now see the Bronco. Its engine is still running, and it’s warm inside when Jake closes the door behind him, clicking on his seatbelt by feeling along while he stares intently at the glove compartment in front of him, waiting while Rooster puts his bag in the boot. He doesn’t feel as weird as he thought he would, as he probably should. Every conflicting feeling from the F-14 is returning in waves. He’s helpless to resist the pull of the tide. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

 or;

Jake's apartment floods and his only other option is to stay with the last person in the world he wants to spend time with. Shenanigans ensue.

***

there's money for the taking (and the happiness we all deserve) (64769 words) by thegeckbros

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Age Difference, it's 10ish years, Past Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Power Dynamics, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Casual Sex, author built a very elaborate world for like no reason, Tags May Change, Humor, or at least i like to hope, Explicit Sexual Content, Daddy Kink, like it’s a sugar DADDY au so it comes w the territory but still it’s there and it’s heavy

Summary:

“So, what, one of the richest dudes in New York wants to be your sugar daddy?”

“Kinda?” Jake sits back up, straightening up and turning his body towards Javy. “He doesn’t want like sex or anything. He just needs someone to pretend to date so his uncle and PR team get off his back about his reputation.”

or

a sugar daddy au in which jake is a struggling law student, bradley's a billionaire, and they weave a tangled web

***

Speak Softly, Love (67000 words) by Renai_chan

Additional Tags: Mafia AU, Iceman is a Mob Boss, Bradley is his heir, Icemav adore Jake, goose and carole are alive because i said so, Violence, Blood and Injury, tags to be updated as I go, Tattoos, Suit Kink, Lingerie, Rimming, Polyglot Bradley, Gun Violence, Revenge

Summary:

Jake leaves behind his crappy life in Texas and moves to California. There, he meets Bradley, a gorgeous man who works at a charity helping the homeless. They fall in love, and everything is sunshine and rainbows until he learns that Bradley is, in fact, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, heir to the empire of his godfather, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, who rules the underbelly of Los Angeles with ice-cold ruthlessness. Suddenly, Jake find himself embroiled in the dangers of the LA Mafia

***

Forever your begonia (17576 words) by MerielTLA

Additional Tags: Idiots in Love, Enemies to Lovers, Secret Crush, Secret Admirer, Flowers, Language of Flowers, Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a Little Shit, Texan Jake "Hangman" Seresin, no beta we die like goose, Jake needs some romance in his life, Rooster is bad at feelings, unrequired required love, Emotional Constipation, This came out of nowhere, don´t blame me, Ice is alive, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives

Summary:

“This is not for me.” Mickey grinned like a fucking maniac as he held out a small envelope for everyone to see, pointing at the signature in it.

Jake.

The blond felt his world tilt as he frowned at the offending four letters of his name. What. The. Fuck. He pulled the card away from the other´s hand as he looked at the fancy lettering in horrified amazement.

“Oh my GOD! Bagman has an admirer?!” Paybay yelled

or

Jake Hangman Seresin had never gotten flowers...until he did.

***

hanging on to ambiguity

(34033 words) by

haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Lifeguard Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Surfer Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, First Aid, Head Injury, Mutual Pining, Protective Javy "Coyote" Machado, Protective Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Miscommunication, they're bad at talking again, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV Multiple, Breaking Up & Making Up, Implied/Referenced Sex, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Drunkenness, drunk Jake is a mess, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace is So Done, Hurt Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Daddy Issues, Parental Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Unhealthy Relationships, you might not like Bradley in this one (but you can still love him), Hospitalization, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, everyone gets therapy

Summary:

an accident on the beach, a lifeguard to the rescue, and the repercussions of an unexpected reunion

***

it seemed so natural, darling, that you and I are here (20181 words) by haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Pilot Bradley Bradshaw, Las Vegas Wedding, Accidental Marriage, Drunken Shenanigans, Memory Loss, the inherent awkwardness of having a crush on the guy you're married to, Javy "Coyote" Machado is a Good Friend, Bradley gets his own Javy to hang out with, Sexual Content, Jealous Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, POV Alternating

Summary:

“Did we really do this?” Bradley asked. It was the first thing he had said since Jake’s brainwave and Jake was not a fan of how upset he sounded. “Are we- did we get married?”

or: what happens in Vegas...

***

you were almost too much for me (9648 words) by haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Bodyguard Bradley, Past Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw/Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Returning Home, Post-Break Up, Love Confessions, Jealous Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Wealthy Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Arguing, Reconciliation, Hopeful Ending

Summary:

Jake’s ex works for his father and that complicates things when he heads back home after The Mission ***

Men Like Us (41265 words) by DancingDisaster

Additional Tags: Breaking Up & Making Up, Getting Back Together, All aboard the Bradshaw-Seresin Shitshow Extravaganza, Idiots in Love, Ice Lives By Popular Demand, A romantic dramedy about two Idiot Flyboys

Summary:

Seresin men love with reckless abandon. It’s put every man before him in the ground.

Jake refuses to be buried.

He flies like he has nothing left to lose (he doesn’t), a one man army (he is), leaving everyone else in the dust (so they don’t leave him). Admiral Kazansky claps him on the shoulder, says he expects great things from him, and Jake’s smile is feral as the rest of his flight school cohort looks on in disbelief.

Hangman, they all say, like Jake’s entire personality was a long con, and he ranks first in class.

Rooster doesn’t look at all.

(They've got history spanning the better part of a decade and they are absolutely, positively not over it.)

***

like shooting stars (12737 words) by bottledyarn

Additional Tags: Fluff, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Anxious Jake "Hangman" Seresin, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Texas, Texan Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Getting Together, Soft Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Post-Canon, Just a little pretend relationship, as a treat, Only One Bed

Summary:

“Well," the gate agent said. "Only uniformed military members and their spouses can board priority, but—”

“That works out,” Bradshaw said, his voice tinny and distant in Jake's ringing ears. “Because this is my fiancé.”

If Jake hadn’t been able to choke down a piece of toast this morning, he thought he might be light-headed enough to just pass out right then and there.

--

Jake is trying to fly home for Thanksgiving and not have a panic attack on the airplane. Bradley is trying to skip town and spend the holiday in a mountain cabin to distract from another Thanksgiving alone. Between the two of them, they might both get where they need to go.

***

learning steps (20530 words) by vannral

Additional Tags: Friendship, Getting Together, Oblivious Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Idiots in Love, Pining, POV Outsider, Instructor!Bradley, Teaching, Protective Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Students, Reunions, Eventual Sex, Happy Ending

Summary:

”So, an instructor?”

A straight hit. Bradley shifts uncomfortably on the leather seat and clears his throat. ”… Yeah.”

In which Bradley becomes an instructor after the mission, Jake keeps showing up to his classes and his students are very curious about their dynamic.

***

unsportsmanlike conduct (16871 words) by ginnydear

Additional Tags: alternative universe, NFL, Enemies to Lovers, Bickering, Minor Injuries, Sexual Content, tweets as a plot device, everyone's alive because I say so

Summary:

He didn’t expect there to be highlight reels of him and Jake Seresin arguing and jawing at each other after their first game against each other. His Uncle Mav’s recorded it, saying it’s the beginning of his long, successful career - to have a rival.

 Bradley thinks it’s a pain in the ass.

 or - the hangster nfl au

***

one foot left, and then we're going down swinging (15944 words) by SaintClaire

Additional Tags: Dagger Squad, I put Hangman through the washing machine, but he's fine he comes back out, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, this is my sand pit, Found Family, life affirming kissing but everyone's pants stay on, for now, attempted abuse of barnyard poultry (not by Hangman), the horse lives, uhhh I don't think this is whump because I kiss it better, but if not let me know, damn good piloting skills, everyone has emotions

Summary:

“I’m still here.” he says, because it helps Bradley to be reminded sometimes. For all he’ll mouth off about Jake never shutting up, the sound of Jake’s voice can get him to drop the rigid set of his shoulders and relax, sit a little easier in the cockpit. “Still on your wing, Roo, just a little further away than normal.”

Jake gets shot down on a mission, tracker blown to smithereens and on his own in enemy territory. The thing about Hangman is that he might be a damn good pilot but that means he comes with the bloody-mindedness to see his shit through. He's got a family to get back to.

***

all my roads lead back to you (17094 words) by liadan14

Additional Tags: Secret Relationship, Secret Marriage, nonchronological storytelling, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Needs A Hug, Jake Seresin Needs A Hug, Communication via interior design, Accidental Marriage, the inherent romanticism of joint financial decisions, Alternate Universe: they weren't exes during the movie, they were just very bad at being a couple, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Size Kink, Jake pavlovs Bradley into having a size kink, just trust me on that last one, outsider pov, Relationship Reveal, Polyamory Negotiations, implied threesome, Implied past Icemav, Current Mav/Penny, Maverick about extremely unhealthy relationships: it was acceptable in the 80s, Penny and Bob are vying for the only braincell in the team championship

Summary:

“Where does this leave us?” Bradley asks eventually.

Jake snorts. “In what way?”

Bradley shrugs. “I don’t know. Emotionally, physically. Legally.”

Jake thinks he might be dizzy. He hasn’t drunk that much tonight, but he has been wondering about the answers to that question for a long time. Finally talking about it…it barely even feels real. “Let’s start with the last one,” he says. “That sounds like the easiest part.”

“Well,” Bradley says gamely. “Legally speaking, I think we’re, like, one piece of paper away from being married.”

***

never had a heart to mend (3735 words) by un_familiar

Additional Tags: Miscommunication, Cheating, (but not really i swear), Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, sorry this took a month to write thats embarrassing, Post-Canon, what do you call pining when youre already dating them, sorry about this (lying)

Summary:

Bradley won’t stop looking at him with concern, laying kisses on his bare back and asking softly, “Are you okay,” until Jake wants to scream You know what you’re fucking doing to me, but he can’t or he won’t and he’s never felt this helpless in his life. The best he can manage is a soft, “Just tired,” turning back into Bradley’s embrace and thinking God, just let me keep this.

***

of a feather (2501 words) by lilgreyarea

Additional Tags: Kid Fic, Halloween, Trick or Treating, Fluff, Post-Canon, Getting Together, (kinda), idk it’s just cute fluffy nonsense

Summary:

jake and his three-year-old daughter, sophie, run into bradley while trick-or-treating

***

The death of piece of mind (27595 words) by MerielTLA

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, Rooster is bad at feelings, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Amnesia, I blame the title song, Protective Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Injured Rooster, no beta we die like goose, Miscommunication, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, It was supposed to be heavier but it evolved on its own, Hangster, sereshaw, IceMav, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon

Summary:

Last time he had seen Jake, had been fourteen months ago. More than a year since Bradley had escaped, like a coward, and had completely lost contact with the man his body missed with a strength that terrified him. The man that had been there for him as he had woken up, disoriented and scared. The man that had taken care of him, as he fought against his ruined leg and a fucked-up mind.

The one he had abandoned, at the first chance he got.

The man that was his husband, the one he didn’t remember.

 Or Bradley left after losing his memory and forgetting his relationship with Jake, but now he has begun to remember and it's time to get his hubby back. ***

How do you like your coffee? (23355 words) by WaffleToaster

Additional Tags: Memory Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Accidents, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Smut, Sex, Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Injury Recovery, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Summary:

Javy receives the first call after Jake makes an emergency landing on the tarmac and Bradley has to deal with the complications that arise.

“Do we get along now?”

“We do, yes. We’re.. good friends.”

“That’s good. Cause you seem like a nice guy, Rooster.” ***

lover be good to me (18920 words) by haridwar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Baker Bradley, Long-Distance Relationship, Birthday Fluff, like literally so much of it, this one is super birthday centric, Strangers to Lovers, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, as per usual, Parental Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Soft Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Sex Toys, Relationship Reveal

Summary:

Jake picks a random coffee shop to go be pensive in when he receives a birthday card he doesn't want and things turn out better than he ever could have imagined

***

you hang me up, unfinished (with the better part of me no longer mine)

(13140 words) by un_familiar

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Getting Together, Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Character Study, javy is the best friend ever, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Jealousy, eventually, complete and total abuse of italics, Pining, the absolute minimum research went into this, do not look too closely at it!, Jake Is A Menace All Of The Time, javy and natasha are sick of them!, Miscommunication, Eventual Fluff

Summary:

There are a million things standing between Jake Seresin and his soulmate–gender, Jake’s tendency to overthink and run his mouth, the fact that his soulmark is high up on his ribs, hidden, the bruises his dad leaves, but the biggest one is probably the simple fact that he has no idea how to love. ***

Got to Make It on My Own (14196 words) by Renai_chan

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Bradley, Omega Jake, Alpha Javy, Accidental Bonding, Drunk Sex, Ex-Somethings, One Night Stands, The Inherent Dubiousness of ABO, Platonic Sex, Javy is the BEST Bro, Marking, Biting, Bonding, Being an asshole as a coping mechanism, Jealous Bradley, Knotting, Idiot Men who Don't Communicate, Angst, Happy Ending

Summary:

Jake and Bradley spend one night together under the heavy, heavy influence of alcohol. It does not go well. But it goes worse for Jake than it does for Bradley because he wakes up with a bonding bite and his new alpha nowhere to be found.

When they're recalled for a special training detachment eight years later, Jake finds out that Bradley doesn't remember giving him the bite at all and Bradley finds out about it for the first time.

It still does not go well. ***

the long way home (5982 words) by nocturnelight

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Canon, Parental Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Parental Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky & Pete "Maverick" Mitchell Raise Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, Tom "Iceman" Kazansky Lives, Married Tom "Iceman" Kazansky/Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Healing, Therapy, And love communicated through scrambled eggs

Summary:

Jake and Bradley had come in late last night and settled into the guest room of Maverick and Iceman’s beach house. Jake had driven them both up at Pete and Tom’s insistence after Mav’s voice on the phone and Jake’s hand running up and down his back hadn’t been enough to get Bradley to stop shaking when he’d woken up screaming from a nightmare.

He's hoping being there will be good for Bradley, maybe finally get him to talk about how he's been feeling. Because Bradley's the one who's bottling everything up.

And Jake is perfectly fine. He swears.

ENJOY READING! LEAVE COMMENTS FOR THE WRITERS. WOHOO!!

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Overview and Masterlist

(moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

*cross-posted on AO3*

*Series In Progress*

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

About Lydia: A couple of years ago she'd have told you her life was over. Now, at 41, Lydia has realised the future is hers to make - even if that means never opening her heart up again.

She's an art historian and European - though this should not be taken to imply a specific appearance or ethnicity! Her family and other aspects of her background are established.

You'll notice that the physical descriptors for Lydia are deliberately loose, other than: her age, that she's fem/AFAB, her hair is starting to grey, and she's got stretch marks and a whole metric ton of issues with her own body. In other words: she can look whatever way you want her to look in your own imagination, bearing these aspects in mind, and be from wherever you want her to come from.

Rating: Explicit (18+) - individual chapters will have their own ratings (there's a lot of fluff and angst ahead) but smut will be very clearly signalled. Expect bad language throughout. If you read beyond the warnings on each chapter, you are agreeing you're 18 years or older.

Content: Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (she is 41 and Ben 47 when the story begins); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; explicit smut (eventually); discussion of infidelity and emotional abuse; discussion of self-esteem issues; references to body issues; strong language; alcohol; I'll update if I need to as the fic continues

A/N: My love for Mr Ben is well-known but I couldn't stop thinking about him as a literature professor and, well, here we are. This is my first fic, and it's written as an AU with nary a sprinkling of canon about a character who existed for five minutes in a sketch. Make it make sense, Rose.

This is going to be a multi-chapter series (I have a plan and an outline document and everything). I plan to add some headcanons for Professor Benjamin at some point, and will pop some little drabbles in amongst the full chapters.

There will be smut - but this is a slow-burner. You have been warned.

Main Series:

Chapter 1 - The Visitor

Chapter 2 - Bright in the Sea

Chapter 3 - Ghosts

Chapter 4 - Save Me

Chapter 5 - This Must Be The Place

Chapter 6 - If You'd Accept Surrender

Chapter 7 - Forget Who We Are

Chapter 8 - Sister Winter

Chapter 9 - Open Your Eyes

Chapter 10 - Something About You

Chapter 11 - My Favourite Work of Art

Chapter 12 - If I Must Have A Future

Chapter 13 - Coming Soon!

One-Shots and Drabbles:

An Inspecteur Calls: A Pedrotober One-Shot

Books: A Merry Fic-Mas One-Shot

Christmas Tree: A Merry Fic-Mas One-Shot

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Thanks: to the people who made me feel less bonkers for developing an entire world around Ben and Lydia - @cutesyscreenname, headcanon collaborator, moodboard creator, and Prof Benjamin E. Morales enabler supreme; the incredibly encouraging, kind, and heroic fic writers whose understanding of how to embrace the sensitive and emotional hidden side of 'canonical' characters is an inspiration - @lunapascal, @imaswellkid, @julesonrecord

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

[shibaraki]

❄︎ ─ END OF YEAR REC REPORT: THE SHIP AND GEN EDITION

hi lovelies. as the year is coming to an end I wanted to work with my followers to compile a rec list of fics that have stuck with us as one massive thank you to all of the writers in our corner of tumblr/ao3. below you will find ship and gen fic from multiple different fandoms, and everything is in alphabetical order. I am grateful to all of you for the amazing work you do, and to those who participated!

fics: 37 fandoms: 9 total word count: 2.3m...

❄︎ HQ

ampersand by infantblue [ONESHOT] [37K] #: miya atsumu x hinata shoyo - post timeskip - pretend relationship - hurt/comfort - anxiety - falling in love

Atsumu confesses to Hinata on a dare and everything falls apart.

atsu101: how to fall in love with your fake boyfriend by solyn [MULTI-CHAP] [110K] #: sakusa kiyoomi x miya atsumu - university au - pretend relationship - slow burn - fluff - growing comfortable with intimacy

Atsumu needs a fake date. Sakusa needs a fake boyfriend. What could possibly go wrong?

channel: jackal by aka_aka_aka [MULTI-CHAP] [340K] #: multi - social media au - timeskip arc - humour - fluff - romance

MSBY Black Jackals' Jacksuke-kun!! ☑ @.MSBYJacksuke Jacksuke here with an announcement!! 🥁🥁🥁 We've started a YouTube channel!! Trailer's already up and on Friday next week at 8p.m. JST, we'll tell you who you'll be seeing most often (not everyone wants to be on camera after all). See you all then!! 🖤🖤 897🗨 • 16.4K⟲ • 33.3K♡

don’t talk to me or any of my fourteen children ever again by meregalaxiesandgods [MULTI-CHAP] [39K] #: gen - ukai keishin x takeda ittetsu - families of choice - hurt/comfort - team dynamics - implied child abuse - fluff - angst

Ukai Keishin was not—and had no interest in becoming—a father. He’d somehow become responsible for fourteen children regardless.

how to not fall in love with your flatmates twin by ionica01 [MULTI-CHAP] [46K] #: sakusa kiyoomi x miya atsumu - university student sakusa - pro volleyball player atsumu - coming of age - fluff - falling in love - canon compliant

Kiyoomi and Osamu are flatmates, the student life is not rose-colored, and Atsumu shows up at the most unexpected times in the most expected places. Kiyoomi is... dealing with it.

getting it right by akaashism [MULTI-CHAP] [46K] #: kageyama tobio x hinata shoyo - best friends to lovers - pretend relationship - mutual pining - idiots in love - light angst - eventual sexual content

“I just—” he swallowed, bracing himself. “I need you to pretend to be my partner for a few days.” Hinata’s eyes grew wide and something like hurt flashed over his face. “Pretend? I thought we were partners! At least on the National Team. Aren’t we?” Tobio restrained the urge to smack him upside the head. “Not like that, idiot! I mean, partner in life! Like a boyfriend!” Hinata’s mouth snapped shut.

new horizons by popplino [ONESHOT] [10K] #: iwaizumi hajime x oikawa tooru - growing up together - animal crossing - friends to lovers - mutual pining - hurt/comfort - fluff

Oikawa always figured he'd end up falling in love with Iwaizumi, but he didn't expect for it to happen through a video game. Or: Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and the Animal Crossing franchise, through the years.

never stood a chance by litalana [ONESHOT] [9K] #: kuroo tetsuro x kozume kenma - fluff - jealousy - feelings realisation - coming out - love confessions - getting together

When the entirety of Nekoma finds out Kenma is gay (which was never meant to be a secret), Kenma becomes the focus of many of his male classmates. He could really live without all these love confessions though. So could Kuroo, for that matter.

no thoughts required by tawaki [ONESHOT] [9K] #: miya atsumu x hinata shoyo - friends with benefits - sexual content - heavy pining - introspection

It's the same shit, just on a different day: Atsumu is sleeping with Hinata. Atsumu wants to do more than sleep with Hinata. And Atsumu is—regrettably, completely, pathetically—whipped.

other boys in other ports by buttonstuck [MULTI-CHAP] [26K] #: sakusa kiyoomi x miya atsumu - science fantasy au - space sailor miya atsumu - bartender sakusa kiyoomi - fluff - sexual content

It’s stupid, waiting a year and a half for three meager days. Three days is all Kiyoomi gets, because he’s in love with a sailor who only makes port every few months. A sailor who has other lovers in other ports across the galaxy. But Kiyoomi can be happy being a warm bed, if it means he gets those three days every few months with Miya Atsumu.

that should be me by dillpicklechipsenthusiast [ONESHOT] [10K] #: iwaizumi hajime x oikawa tooru - love confessions - fluff - crack treated seriously - pining - first loves

After a disastrous night, Iwaizumi only has one solution for dealing with his drunken confession to his best friend: enlisting an unlikely group of friends to help him run away.

vren by icandigelvis [MULTI-CHAP] [100K] #: kageyama tobio x hinata shoyo - mythical beings and creatures au - historical fantasy - slow burn - fluff and angst - protectiveness - creature kageyama tobio

It was the boots that caught Shoyo's attention. They looked new and expensive sticking up from the tall grass, visible from the small trail he was walking on. He cautiously trudged closer, almost against his will. What Shoyo didn't notice, however, was the creature watching him; blue eyes following the oblivious human.

❄︎ BNHA

accidental (problem) child acquisition by shadecrawler [SERIES] [209K] #: gen - canon divergence - foster parenting - social services - child neglect - emotional hurt/comfort

After Aizawa Shouta's famous Quirk Assessment Test where he chews out his newest Problem Child for lack of Quirk Control and tells him blatantly that he can't become a Hero, he finds out two things. That Midoriya Izuku's Quirk came in on the date of Yuuei's Entrance Exam and that he is now in need of a foster parent. And it just so happens that Aizawa Shouta is in the best situation to raise a kid with such a self-destructive Quirk.

as small as an elephant by feelingstabby [MULTI-CHAP] [43K] #: gen - quirk accidents - animal transformation - fluff - angst - platonic cuddling - parental aizawa shouta - hurt/comfort - trauma

The one where Izuku and his sensei are turned into cats and have to learn to trust each other while struggling to find their way back home.

cardiac arrest by amournfulhowlinthenight [MULTI-CHAP] [190K] #: gen - psychological thriller - canon typical violence - kidnapping - character studies - character death - metafiction - revivals

All of the dead at Kamino Ward had been accounted for, sans one. One body had been pulled from the rubble, lifeless and limp, and taken away.

candy canes and christmas crackers by bigdorkenergy [MULTI-CHAP] [103K] #: bakugo katsuki x todoroki shouto - fake dating - christmas - fluff - romantic comedy - mutual pining

“So….your huge family somehow all think that you have a long term boyfriend and are insisting that you bring him to your week long Christmas family reunion?” Despite his efforts the end of his question raised in pitch as Kirishma swallowed down a giggle.“How does that even happen?” Kaminari added popping some of the hashbrowns Bakugou made into his mouth. OR Your classic holiday romcom where Bakugou needs a fake boyfriend to bring home for Christmas and Todoroki is willing to take that bullet

conversations with a cryptid by amournfulhowlinthenight [SERIES] [187K] #: gen - canon divergence - metafiction - midoriya izuku centric

The man was over a century old. There had to be more to it. In hindsight, it hadn’t been one of Izuku’s better ideas.

ground walker by kinguo [TWOSHOT] [42K] #: bakugo katsuki x todoroki shouto - slow burn - canon compliant - pining - fluff - angst

Tired of the way Bakugou Katsuki is treated unfairly, Todoroki takes matters into his own hands (though with careful scrutiny) to solve what he thinks is an issue. He doesn't expect to see new sides of one Bakugou Katsuki though, and he doesn't expect to become maybe a little more curious than he previously let on.

he calls you kacchan by bdugo [MULTI-CHAP] [50K] #: bakugo katsuki x midoriya izuku - introspection - friendship - pining midoriya izuku - oblivious bakugo katsuki - fluff - physical affection

After Katsuki apologized to Deku, they hadn't really gotten the chance to just exist with each other without some sort of life-threatening, world-saving shit going on. So Katsuki is picking up where he left off by extending his hand to Deku in an offer to rekindle their friendship, if that’s what Deku wants. Of course, Deku very much wants that, but the degree which Deku wants Katsuki in his life comes as a bigger surprise to Katsuki than anyone thought it would.

(phone) call for help by rejectscanon [MULTI-CHAP: ONGOING] [96K] #: gen - todoroki family centric - canon divergence - child abuse - angst - hurt/comfort - escaping abuse - sibling relationships

Touya wants nothing more than to get him and his siblings out of their house and away from their father. To do this, he makes a last-ditch attempt and calls into Present Mic's radio station.

message delivered by dekusneakers [MULTI-CHAP] [20K] #: bakugo katsuki x midoriya izuku - manga spoilers - pining - hurt/comfort - texting

Kacchan: i miss you [2:03am] Kacchan: that was a typo [8:16am] Kacchan: go fuck yourself [8:17am] In which Katsuki grieves in the only way he knows how. With rage and double texting.

🔒 my (favourite) person by deviance [ONESHOT] [6K] #: bakugo katsuki x kirishima eijirou - established queerplatonic relationship - mild aphobic behaviour - asexual bakugo katsuki - hurt/comfort - alcohol consumption

Kirishima squeezed his hand, leaning into Bakugou’s other hand in his hair. “Have I told you lately that you’re my Favorite Person?” Bakugou huffed a quiet laugh, nose scrunching a little like it did when he was hiding embarrassment. “Only every day, hair for brains.”

no, I’m not afraid of hard work by froggenbie [ONESHOT] [12K] #: bakugo katuski x midoriya izuku - manga spoilers - friends to lovers - PTSD - fluff - shared trauma - literal sleeping together - hurt/comfort - getting together

Around the anniversary of the war’s end—of Izuku’s vigilante phase, of All For One’s return, of Katsuki’s death—Izuku gets clingy. Katsuki deals.

reconcile by whatagoodegg [MULTICHAP] [150K] #: gen - canon typical violence - imprisonment - slow build - hurt/comfort - platonic intimacy - forced proximity - angst with a happy ending

Midoriya and Shigaraki get hit with a Quirk that basically locks the both of them in an indestructible box and makes them unable to physically harm each other. The only way for them to get out? They have to reconcile their differences. Obviously, this is easier said than done.

❄︎ JJK

at the end of the world by freckledgeto [ONESHOT] [20K] #: itadori yuuji x fushiguro megumi - post-canon divergent - road trips - emotional hurt/comfort - yearning

Megumi does this routine everyday without difficulty. But he’s already awake when his alarm goes off today, like he was the day before and the day before that one— so he reaches over and turns it off and doesn’t move from his bed for another ten minutes, staring at his blank wall instead. Because it’s the beginning of February, and Itadori Yuuji only has one more of Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers to ingest before he’s set to be executed in the morning.

eternity enshrined by apartment [MULTI-CHAP] [134K] #: ryomen sukuna x fushiguro megumi - canon typical violence - time travel - dubious consent - sexual content

Transported back in time, Megumi must rely on the only familiar face in Heian Japan. Ryoumen Sukuna, a curse to some and deity to others, decides to keep him.

hey son, I killed your daddy by missingnooo [ONESHOT] [5K] #: gen - parental gojo satoru - character study - canon compliant - hurt/comfort

Gojo admits something.

heart on my sleeve by katarasvevo [ONESHOT] [2K] #: itadori yuuji x fushiguro megumi - yearning - injury - intimacy - friends to lovers

Megumi’s throat unsticks. “You can’t—you can’t just say things like that,” he murmurs, quickly averting his gaze. “And I thought you liked girls who look like Jennifer Lawrence.” Itadori gives him an odd look. “Yeah. Girls.” He smiles sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “Never said anything about the guys, though.”

moth light by chuuyasoup [ONESHOT] [1.3K] #: gen - sneaking out - fluff - friendship

Shoko stops in front of the sports drinks, gazing at the wide selection. “What’s so interesting?” They look up, twin grins in place. Shoko squints, then dismisses the possibility that they’re making fun of her. An inside joke, more likely. “The sugar content,” Gojo says, waving a can of sweetened coffee. He snickers. “Yeah, the sugar content,” Geto parrots, and then they both burst out laughing.

❄︎ MP100

out of body by bobmoss [MULTI-CHAP] [50K] #: reigen arataka x serizawa katsuya - slow burn - case fic - mental health issues - hurt/comfort - recovery

Serizawa's recovery seems to be going so well, but then he suddenly develops a habit of accidental out of body experiences during panic attacks.

❄︎ BALDUR'S GATE

all our missing parts by viraaja [MULTI-CHAP: ONGOING] [30K] #: halsin x astarion - smut - touchstarved - ritual sex

Halsin discovers Astarion was turned before his maturity and all the sacred elven rites that come along with it. Including the sex one.

friday nights by sadinasaphrite [MULTI-CHAP] [28K] #: gale x astarion - university au - modern with magic - getting together - blood and violence

Professor Gale Dakarios loses his research, his magic, and his lover Mystra all at once and only has himself to blame. When he goes to drown his sorrows, he meets a pale stranger with mysteries of his own.

❄︎ GOOD OMENS

flowers from hell by entanglednow [MULTI-CHAP] [40K] #: aziraphale x crowley - slow burn - idiots in love - pining - romantic gestures - sentient plants - family bonding

In which Aziraphale makes more of an effort to be involved with Crowley's interests and hobbies.

❄︎ MARVEL UNIVERSE

"the more you say the less i know (wherever you stray, i follow)" by notcaycepollard [ONESHOT] [22K] #: bucky barnes x sam wilson - mature - canon typical violence

It starts in the desert.

my big fat wolf wedding by aggressivewhenstartled, galwednesday, quietnight, silentwalrus, skellerbvvt [ONESHOT] [12K] #: bucky barnes x steve rogers - supernatural elements - wolves and vampires - fluff - accidental marriage

“I can’t just promise him a ring, take him home, drink from him three times in a row and then wake him up the next morning to say oops, just kidding!” Steve casts around, looking at his wreck of an apartment. “I don’t even have any good champagne!”

❄︎ PERSONA 5

the definition of insanity... by twilight_starr [MULTI-CHAP] [183K] #: akechi goro x kurusu akira - time loop - canon divergence - hurt/comfort - suicidal thoughts

...is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. They're disjointed. Confused. And Akechi isn't giving him anything to work with.

❄︎ FINAL FANTASY

the strength of a thousand by toastedcatbrea [MULTI-CHAP] [147K] #: sephiroth x cloud strife - time travel fix-it - romance - comedy - everybody lives

Cloud Strife was older than most of the typical cadets, but his blue eyes burned with the strength of a thousand men. The Firsts (and Zack) find out exactly how strong he really was.

[therisingkings]

The Witness

Auguste was dead, but his spirit lived on, watching over his brother, witnessing.

Read it on Ao3

TW: Heavily implied canon pedophilia.

*****

“Wait.” The word fizzled out into empty space. “Wait, not yet.”

He was watching the scene from outside his body—from somewhere beyond. He watched Damianos of Akielos pull the sword out of his gut, watched himself fall to the earth, watched his men come swarming in.

Auguste of Vere could do nothing but watch as he died. “This isn’t right,” he said. “This isn’t right.”

He was alone, though, nothing more than a whisper of wind, and no one could hear his pleas.

His body was brought to the royal tent and laid beside his father’s, who had fallen mere hours before.

“No,” Auguste said, and if he could have recoiled, he would have.

Laurent was brought into the room.

“There’s been a mistake. Laurent, I’m right here.” Auguste tried to reach for him, but he didn’t have a physical form in this strange in-between realm.

Laurent’s face crumpled, his knobby knees folding beneath him.

“Please,” Auguste begged anyone who could hear him. “Please, he’s just a boy. He doesn’t deserve to lose his brother. He’s just a boy.”

Laurent was alone in that tent, surrounded by the dead. His face was turned towards the ceiling, shoulders back as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

“I don’t want to watch this,” Auguste said and his own heart, if he still had one, was breaking. No one had loved Laurent like Auguste did and no one ever would again.

Look, a voice whispered.

Laurent’s body shook with the force of his grief.

A figure opened the flap of the tent. It was their uncle, who, Auguste knew, would reign as Regent until Laurent was of age. Laurent, who would be king. Laurent, who would be content with a life of horses and books.

Look, the voice said.

Laurent turned on his knees, into his uncle’s embrace.

“It will be alright,” Uncle said, stroking his blond hair.

Something nasty twisted in Auguste, but he wasn’t sure where it came from.

“Please don’t leave me, Uncle,” Laurent begged, all wide blue eyes and puffy cheeks. He was barely growing out of his baby fat and into his new gangly limbs. His voice had not broken yet.

“I’ll never leave you,” Uncle promised.

Auguste tried to reach out, to scream at Laurent that he was still here, that he was not alone. “It’s all just a bad dream,” Auguste insisted to no one and nothing. “I’ll wake up and I’ll be king tomorrow.”

No, said that voice that was at once everything light and everything dark. This is not your story any longer. It is his.

*****

Auguste wished he had a stomach if only so he could vomit.

He’d trailed Laurent like a dog as the days turned into weeks, then into months. The battle was over. Delfeur was lost. Uncle took over as Regent and set up cleaning efforts. The dead were buried. The injured were mended.

Auguste watched his own funeral. His body was wrapped in fine linen, then cast out to sea. An archer—not Huet, who Auguste would have liked to light his pyre— drew back his bow and launched a flaming arrow onto the floating stack of wood and flesh.

Auguste felt none of it. That was not him, burning in the open ocean, that was a vessel.

And now he was adrift.

Laurent was crying again, getting snot all over Uncle’s jacket.

Uncle rubbed his jeweled hand down Laurent’s back. “It is alright, my boy. Come, you do not need to be here any longer.”

Then he led Laurent to the bedroom, and Laurent was only thirteen and achingly naive and didn’t yet have an instinct for wrongness. When Uncle asked, he obediently disrobed, then knelt and did as Uncle said with a confused knit to his brow.

“Get your filthy hands off of him!” Auguste roared, over and over again. “He is a child. He is your blood.”

Uncle couldn’t hear him as he took his sick pleasure from poor, innocent Laurent. Laurent, who didn’t know better. Laurent, who had just lost his brother and would do whatever Uncle, his only remaining family, asked if he promised not to leave too.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” But all Auguste was here was a voice, and not even that could be heard.

Laurent cried once it was finished, then cried each and every time it happened again, even when Uncle poured unwatered wine down his throat. Uncle made him clean up, fetch them water, telling him that he would leave if Laurent kept acting like a child.

So, slowly but surely, Laurent quieted his tears to sniffles, and he grew. His voice began to break, his jaw sharpening, and Auguste felt the first glimpses of hope. Surely, Uncle would not want him now, when he was starting to look like a man.

And he was right.

Uncle got a new pet— a boy named Nicaise with startlingly bright blue eyes.

On the night Laurent found out, he collapsed outside of Uncle’s rooms and begged him to take him back. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he sobbed. “Please, please don’t leave me.”

Inside the room, Uncle fucked Nicaise until that boy cried too.

“Laurent, he’s manipulating you,” Auguste tried to tell him. “No adult should ever ask those things of a child, especially a grieving one. That is wrong. You’re a smart boy. You don’t need him.”

And Laurent didn’t. As it turned out, Laurent didn’t need anyone.

He became as sharp and as beautiful as cut glass. At fifteen, he reformed the broken Prince’s guard and took up the starburst banner. He trained with his guard every evening, out of the prying eyes of the palace.

Auguste wanted to tell him that there was no need, that the war was over, that he’d protect him, but what a foolish hope that was.

As Laurent grew into his shoulders and wit, he also grew into his anger. Auguste could see it festering in him. Anger at Damianos, at Uncle, at the world. Auguste couldn’t blame him for one bit of it.

Gone was the bright, shy boy that Laurent had been. That boy had died at Marlas too. In his place stood a man Auguste did not know, with glaciers for eyes and a tongue as sharp as a knife. All kindness had been brutally stamped out of him by Uncle, by the court, by himself. The only person he spared was the boy, Nicaise. Not even his guards, whom he showed respect to, were beyond his ire.

Laurent was sixteen the first time Auguste watched Nicaise stumble, stiff-limbed and wincing, into the physician’s office. His lip was split, the bruise taking up too much of his small face. His eyes widened when he was Laurent, who had sprained his ankle in training and was desperately trying to hide it.

Auguste watched Nicaise’s spine lock up, his little shoulders lifting. “I-I’ll come back some other time.”

“Nonsense,” said Laurent, waving a hand. “Have a seat.”

Pascal finished wrapping his ankle before gesturing Nicaise forward.

If Auguste could have held his breath, he would have had as Laurent’s cool gaze skimmed over the boy.

“Did my Uncle do that to you?”

Nicaise flinched. “N-no.”

“If you want to stay in court, you’ll need to get better at lying.”

And so it began.

Laurent poured all of his knowledge, all of his newfound wickedness into the boy. Nicaise began to follow him around like a lost puppy, eyes huge, hanging on his every word.

Auguste ached. Laurent used to look at him like that.

But just as surely as Laurent had changed, Nicaise did too. The moment there were other people around, he became a spitfire of a boy, vicious and calculating, a mirror of Laurent in every way.

But when they were alone… Laurent let Nicaise win at chess. Laurent held Nicaise while he cried. Laurent became his brother.

Auguste’s heart hurt in a different way now. Like a scar, rather than a wound.

Then came the Akielon slaves, and with them, their Prince.

[moodymisty]

"No one gets to hear you say their name but me."

I have to say that I like this line a whole lot, not only because hehe hoho scary pretty man but also because you characterised him quite well in it. There’s multiple moments in canon where Konrad states that he doesn’t like the name given to him, preferring Night Haunter instead. And so to have him say that to the reader really tells us a lot about his relationship with them, this little freak loves you so much and you’re the only real source of joy in his life, he craves the acknowledgment of personhood that he lacked in his past, and he wants to have this very intimate human thing all to himself after being denied it for so long. He’s insatiable to the point where a simple recognition of another’s identity makes him feel jealous and possessive.

And the fic calling him “Konrad” kind of implies that you’re the only person who he feels comfortable with using that name, which is kind of sweet in my opinion

You probably knew this already lol but as a fan of your work I just had to reiterate it :)

Thank you for making my day anon, these are such incredibly kind words.

My favorite phrase to describe any Night Lord/Human relationship is has always been they're gonna just eat you up, they're so obsessive and clingy (Konrad the most) to this idea of having a piece of happiness or individuality they've never had. That like you said their demands of you to be only theirs are just insatiable. It's this burning star kind of love where they would do anything for you, but it becomes suffocating.

Konrad knows he wants it, that he likes it, but he's so twisted and confused that it's almost possession more so than devotion. There's no doubt that he loves you, so so so so much, but it's a matter of if he really understands that his love is going to eat you up until there's nothing left.

For some reason whenever I write Lorgar and now Konrad I always think of this one Allie x song

Oh, I know that boy's gonna rip me up, 'Cause he ain't that nice, he won't do right, He'll leave a nasty cut

[bunorous]

— 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬

[masterlist]

gen, henri clément x augustin lambert

tags - canon compliant, character study, vignettes, mental health issues

rated m - 2.7k words

warnings - referenced/implied csa (not explicit but can be interpreted that way)

— snapshots of henri’s life before and during the war.

(Please rb + read on ao3 if possible 🫀)

[banner by reveriesources]

“He’s beautiful,” murmurs a mother, cradling her newborn child in her arms. He’s red and chubby, a light dusting of blonde hair across his crown. She has hair of the same hue, and it falls messily around her shoulders in two disheveled plaits. The child looks more like his mother than like his father, long face and tired eyes like a painting. Thin and lithe and gangly.

“You’re beautiful, aren’t you, my sweet boy?” The mother giggles, overwhelmed with joy. Her name is Cèline, but most call her Cece, for her initials being the same letter. She taps her child once on the nose, who giggles in turn.

“Have you chosen a name?” Speaks a man, the father, voice low and booming. It comforts the baby as if his voice is wrapping him in strong arms and keeping him safe.

“That I have,” Céline replies with a smile. “Hush, now. He needs to sleep, okay?”

—-

The newborn turns into the infant turns into the boy. And the boy doesn’t do well with other children.

Céline has a friend, Claudette, who lives in the countryside with her husband and daughter. They’re in the backyard of her extravagant estate, which is more of a field fenced in with white picket. The land is expansive, though, stretching all the way to a lone oak tree in the corner. The children are sitting under it, playing with toy soldiers of dubious nationality. The boy is curled up under the table on the patio, holding onto Céline’s dress. She affectionately ruffles his short crop of blonde-ish hair and tries to coax him out, but he doesn’t want to leave her.

The boy knows she uttered his name, but he can’t remember what it was. He can only remember a firm command to play with the other children. A firm command to leave her alone, as the boy heard it.

As he walks across the field to the shade under the tree, where some children are already casting him cautious stares, he feels it stretch for miles in front of him. He tries not to cry. He stands at the edge of the shade, in the sunlight, and feels it burn his back. It’s a fine day. The grass is green and lush and the birds are singing. The boy is the only one who notices.

The children murmur and giggle amongst themselves. Looking back and forth between their friends and the boy. They let him play with them, or rather, be in their presence, but he more or less lingers on the outskirts of the group. Picks at grass and wonders for the first time, but certainly not the last: what’s wrong with me?

He was the only one in school who could not only read, but enjoyed it, too. He read books about left out children, cast aside by the world, smiling for the first time when one child would come sit with them even though nobody else would.

That does not happen to the boy. One of the children, Claudette’s daughter, insults his overalls, the ones his mother had sewed, and he runs all the way back to the patio. He never sees Claudette again. Or her bastard daughter.

—-

Gerard, the father, is in over his head with disappointment. His son is five years old and has not made a single friend. Other parents on the lane are asking them when their son is going to be more social, and they are humiliated.

There is a girl they know named Charlotte. She is a daughter of a once-influential family in Paris. One day, her parents took her, left Paris, and never returned. The boy and his family know, though, where they went.

Charlotte lives in a small homestead in the woods. Charlotte told the boy about how her parents thought that, one day, Europe would go to shit and only the people living off the grid would survive. People living in cities would all die in fires, horrible fires. Weapons we have never seen before. Weapons that should not exist. The boy cried in fear, but this time, he wiped away his tears. He didn’t want to disappoint his father.

Charlotte’s backyard didn’t have grass perfectly trimmed to a quarter-inch with ornate fences. Charlottes backyard was a dense brake of trees. Charlotte took the boy by the hand and lead him through it, weaving through thick and thin trunks, bushes and shrubs, and they were spat out beside a little creek. That was its name, Petit Ruisseau. Sunlight dappled the ground in little specks where it peeked through the canopy. Thin streams of water flow over rocks that jut out from the riverbed, and everything glistens and shines.

The boy likes Charlotte. She has dark skin with thick, curly hair bouncing around her shoulders and a gap in her two front teeth. Her parents had made him lunch and told him what a polite guest he was. When they smiled it didn’t feel fake and perfunctory. The boy likes her, so when she pushes him into the creek, which is so shallow he only gets the front of his clothes wet, he laughs and pushes her in too. Damp, they run back home, and suddenly the boy is very afraid. He’s made a mess.

But, somehow, Charlotte’s parents don’t mind. They give him a new set of clothes to wear. It’s a knitted green sweater and brown shorts, and they’re a little bit too big because Charlotte is a year or two older than him, but he doesn’t mind. They smell like her home. Her parents hang up his clothes with clothespins and when they dry he’s sent home. His mother sees him with the widest smile she’s ever seen.

—-

Christmas comes fast and soon there’s snow blanketing every surface of Paris. Lights are lit up in shops and on corners, and everything seems to sing. The boy wants to get a gift for his new friend Charlotte. She’s the only thing he loves. She’s the only person besides his mother and sometimes his father who was nice to him. The boy liked playing with her. He didn’t want her to grow bored or disappointed if he didn’t get her a gift.

Céline asks the boy if he wants to spend Christmas with Charlotte and her little family. He and his father go the morning of Christmas Eve, and his father repairs their roof, damaged by the snow, and reinforces the support beams of their home, and then leaves. Charlotte has a sister, Carina. They’re laughing and the boy remembers when his mother announced he would have a baby sister, and then a few weeks later, she cried for an entire day straight, and he never got to have one.

It makes him sad, seeing them, and thinking about what could have been, and of everything that’s been stolen from him. But he smiles despite. There is so much pain inside of him, but none in this room.

—-

The boy has turned into the man and the man is named Henri Clément, and he looks just like his mother, and he has one best friend, and his name is Augustin Lambert, but Henri has other friends, too.

He appreciates violence more than ever for how it brings people together. They’ve got no choice but to be friends, if not just amicable, with one another, and Henri has gotten good at pretending to be human. At knowing what to say when what he wants to say wouldn’t work.

He cannot tell you what is his favorite color, or what is his most cherished memory, he doesn’t know— he cannot envision his own face in his head. It’s all a watercolor blur of shapes and colors. Concepts rather than images. But he knows Augustin. Knows his height, his weight, all his favorite things and all of his fears. He knows what makes him human.

He likes Augustin. And what’s better is Augustin likes him back. Likes him enough to where he’ll prank him, crawl into his bunk with him, laugh with him, kiss him. Henri doesn’t see him doing that with anybody else. He feels special.

Henri respects Augustin, though, and Augustin has a wife, and he has a child with that wife, and Henri is not his wife and he is not bound to him in any way, by no band of metal. They romp because that is all they can do in this manmade hell of theirs. Henri is tormented by his thoughts. If they had met under different circumstance, would Augustin have liked him as much?

—-

Henri has a shoebox he keeps under his bunk, buried under all manner of things.

It’s filled with photos. He makes frequent trips to the darkroom when everybody else is asleep, and develops them. They’re all of Augustin. In most of them, he’s aware the photo is being taken. They’re out on patrol, or they’re having lunch, or they’re playing cards. In others, he isn’t. He’s sleeping with Henri’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. Or he’s across the room, facing away from him, but Henri felt compelled to record the moment anyway.

Photos are all he has. He cannot remember the events of last week, or the week before that. Not his mother’s name, nor fathers, not even that little girl with the curly hair he used to play with. Teasingly did Noyer call him a stalker, but there was sincerity laced in it. Henri can only hope Augustin does not think him the same way. Henri can only hope Augustin does not come to fear him for things he already fears about himself.

—-

Henri loves nobody but himself.

This is his own decision. He cannot love his mother, he doesn’t remember her. He cannot love his father, he cannot remember him either. He cannot love Augustin, for he cannot love someone to whom he is not the first love of. He definitely cannot love himself, in much the same way you cannot love someone you’ve never met.

You can, though, because Henri dreams about it. Dreams about a world where he stayed and met a woman. Camille, maybe, that nurse who worked with his mother. She was always so kind to him. He thinks about a moment that never happened. He thinks about his children. He thinks about how he’d guide them, how he’d tell them never to apologize for being them. And he weeps. He curls into a ball and he weeps. Like he did when he was a boy. He can remember that much.

Someone can love a stranger, Henri realizes, but Henri is not someone. Henri is something else entirely.

—-

He hates Augustin.

He hates him. He wants to kiss his eyelids, and hold him while he sleeps, and he wants to hear Augustin speak to him, hear all the things he hopes he’s keeping in, but he cannot. And he hates him for it. And he knows it is not Augustin’s fault, and he hates him anyway. And for that, he hates himself.

Hate is special like that. It is less infectious than a smile or a yawn but more dangerous because we do not notice until we find ourselves thinking vile things. Vile things like wishing you didn’t exist. Vile things like wishing someone else didn’t exist.

He thinks of things that haven’t happened yet, thinks of possible situations where Augustin shuns him, or pushes him away, and he hates Augustin for those, too, and hates him so much he weeps again, and wonders why he’s like this.

Augustin is just a kid, though. His face retains its baby fat, where Henri’s has been stripped hollow. He’s just a kid. They are both just kids.

They shouldn’t be here. But they are.

—-

Lonely little boys never stop being lonely.

Charlotte had a brother. His name was Aimé and he was a foot taller than Henri. He was tall and broad and wore a comforting smile. He had dinner with him and Charlotte’s family on Christmas. When Henri returned home, though, he never saw Charlotte again, or Aimé, who was strangely ravenous as he ate. He never learned why. He just knew that, for some reason, everything he loved would be taken from him, every last shred until he was bare, and Henri was okay with that.

He took pride in how many times he had to make peace with something he wasn’t truly content with in order to survive.

—-

He had a teacher in grade school. Her name was Professor Beaufort, and she was a demon sent from Hell.

Everybody hated her class. Everybody’s bones ached by the end of them, and yet everybody respected her, because she was a good teacher.

Is that what it is to be good? To make people hurt? And is it any different from the kind of hurt that Henri’s been causing?

Augustin had a teacher, too, who was also a priest, because he grew up in such a small village near the border of Belgium. His name was Father Bernard, and he held food drives at the church for any student who was struggling, but none of them were. They shared everything they had among themselves and they were all happy that way.

Henri smiled quizzically. “Isn’t that the type of person we’re fighting?”

Augustin seems to think for a moment, eyes going unfocused where they rested on Henri. Then, he looks back to face the endless wasteland in front of them. “I suppose it is,” he confirms. “Then, maybe we are not the saints we thought ourselves to be.”

“I never thought myself a saint,” Henri blurts.

The soldiers are all self righteous. It’s why they’ve lived so long. They think they’re serving a higher purpose, but Henri does not, and maybe that makes him worse, to fight without a clear direction.

Augustin looks confused, and intrigued, and maybe a bit proud. “You don’t?”

Henri shakes his head.

Augustin clasps his hand on his shoulder and it’s so novel to make him shudder. “Then you are the best of all of us, mon ami.”

—-

The garrison is gathered in the mess hall, playing poker and drinking. Last night, Henri put human shit in Augustin’s pillowcase. Tonight, he will find it.

The men are crowded around the table, some playing, but most are just talking. About home, about life after the war or about life during. One of them, Delisle, looks at Henri.

“And you, Clément?” He probes. “Have you any regrets?”

Henri snorts. “You speak as though I am already dead, brother.”

The group shares a laugh and Delisle shrugs. “We are all dead men walking. It is good to sort your demons out while you have the chance, yes?”

Henri hums and looks down at his drink, golden liquid swishing in its glass. And thinks. He cannot remember anything. He just knows he feels guilt. He wants to be different, and he regrets that, too. He feels all of the eyes of the world on him. Watching him. Waiting.

Always waiting.

“I have no regrets,” he says with confidence, looking back up at Delisle. “I just wish the world had been a better place.”

Somewhere, distantly, Augustin yells in horror.

There is so much pain in the world. But not in this room.

—-

A strange feeling overcomes Henri in the last stretch of his life. Melancholy. And spiritual. As if he is realizing all at once every realization he will not have the chance to make naturally. Like his life is trying to account for everything he’ll miss out on.

Everything changes, everything ends. He doesn’t feel guilt anymore. He doesn’t try to smile when he doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t stop himself smiling just because he feels like it. He doesn’t feel shame for how his heart feels. Sometimes, he looks into the nothingness for hours and hours and doesn’t think a single thought.

It is a wonderful gift, to have nothing going on inside you.

There is a death rattle. Henri hears it resounding in the universe. He hears it when dice are thrown against a table. He hears it when lightning crashes. He hears it in laughter. He hears it in everything. He sees infinity stretch out before him, wide and inviting. The universe is slowly dying around him.

What a beautiful thing it is, then. To live in spite of, rather than in fear of.

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 11: The Hairy Arachelmet

First of all, Kerubim's cup is in a dangerous ass place. If he spills it, he will have burns.

Truly, if Ecaflip wasn't on his side, he would be long dead.

Second of all, love that he begins looking at Simone when she's on The Ladder That Looks Like It Will Fucking Kill You.

When I first noticed this moment, I assumed it was Kerubim y'know. Ogling her. But now, considering this is the only time in the whole scene he's looking at her, I think he's looking at her because she's on The Ladder That Looks Like It Will Fucking Kill You, and if she began to fall things would be bad.

Btw, the only pictures Keke has in his home, anywhere where it's visible, are of himself, Lou, or some random scenery.

There HAS to be something psychological going on here, considering he is a father and canonically, uh, really normal about it.

Like. Whatever the reason for having Joris call him grampycat is, is the same for not putting up any cute pictures of Joris.

Something-something, his canonical guilt about killing ("""killing""") Julith, perhaps? Perhaps, feeling a bit too old for fatherhood? Maybe both?

On one hand, YESSS RARE SIMONE FAILGIRL MOMENT + i love it when people who are supposed to be good at something are bad at it.

On the other hand... Kerubim, your upbringing single-handedly changed the course of Joris's life so much, that, as an adult huppermage man, he uses a "magic wand" (log) to bash in people's skulls.

Kerubim yells at him to stop, and he just immediately stops and salutes.

It's never explained why Joris does this all the fucking time in the series, (besides the fact that he has ADHD. (To me. In my brain. I decided that he has it.)) but I think Kerubim did some Pikmin-style parenting shit on him.

Except instead of Pikmin it was probably something like "let's pretend I am a commanding officer and you are a member of the Bontarian army."

Okay, so, this is a whole can of worms we'll get in now.

This text is the famous Lorem Ipsum placeholder. The first two words are exactly Lorem Ipsum. Yet, I am mentally ill enough to sit down and translate this all.

So, uh. Yeah. I translated it by hand. It was painful.

The interesting parts are: the first page is the usual Lorem Ipsum placeholder with random edits, spaces, and changes. The second page is the original Lorem Ipsum from Cicero's De finibus bonorum et malorum.

I may be wrong with some of the spaces, because of the way the letters that look like " : :: . " and their weird sizes.

But also... Who give a shit?

Obligatory food moment: he is eating grapes and bird legs. Maybe tofu, or maybe other bird that size.

He is so fucking stupid.

My friend @dullard had pointed out that the way Kerubim's system works is probably by assigning a number to a direction.

I am not good with numbers OR directions, so I hope he makes a post about this. Or sends me an ask.

All I can point out, in regard to this, is the often neglected connection of Ecaflips to scrying and predicting the future and destiny.

So yeah. For all intents and purposes, Kerubim, with his level of luck, maaaay be a bit of an, uh. Oracle.

Though, I think he'd be scandalized by this idea I'm proposing here.

I suppose this episode's story takes place after the story in the episode 38, Dragokart Race, where Kerubim becomes a second place Dragokart champion.

Is this in any way relevant? No. Welcome to my blog, where I talk about literally the most useless Dofus facts. Anyway.

Adding to the list of Implied Adventures We Never See:

Literally everything to do with Atcham.

Kerubim working with Arachnees some more.

To be added.

Culture note: being a hypermage is associated with being smart and being able to predict how situations are going to go.

This blog may seem like it's pointing out the most obvious shit, but keep in mind, besides me wanting to gush about this show and write analysis pieces, this blog is also meant as a bit of a resource for Random Irrelevant Lore. For fic writers.

I may be the fic writers.

...It's interesting to think about how these cultural standards may affect Joris, who, in all honesty, is fucking stupid. There are pebbles where his brain should be.

Anyway.

He really is stupid.

For how cheerful this show is, this moment is a very stark reminder of the fact that Kerubim was fighting and killing people.

I think that the way he was describing this to Joris probably was something like "and then I sliced that guy in half". Which is both... very violent, and also not very detailed.

Your daily reminder that while searching for Ecaflip City, to get rich and be able to propose to Lou, he tried to fuck a pandawa girl, and DEFINITELY fucked these three. Sad! (Edit: that, or he was searching for it long before the proposal thing.)

Better late than never, Keke. Better late than never.

But it would have been cool if you knew that when you were [SPRAYS HIM WITH A WATER BOTTLE] an orphan, as described in the official text The Wheel of Destiny #8: Kerubim Crepin.

This is my legally required once-in-a-few-liveblogs Wheel of Destiny lore mention. You're welcome.

Joris looks like he heard what just happened, and like.... I know that this is just a funny animation moment.

but i want to belive so so badly, that, due to dragon possession, joris can hear whatever the fuck is going on with this hat, by intercepting its ~~psionic waves~~

that he just heard a spider call his father a motherfucker.

Is it not a wonderful vision of the world, that I just described here?

[pjohoo-reclists]

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare Fic Recs

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Paper & Trust by robindrake93 

T | 2.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Future Fic, Romantic Fluff, Falling in Love

Rachel and Percy have always been in love.

A harbor from my storm by dcninja 

G | 2.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Friendship/Love, Slow burn, Percy Jackson Needs a Hug

At some point he realizes it’s something he’s always done, from the first moment he met her at Hoover Dam. He uses Rachel’s mortality and the clarity of her sight as a shield from the world he lives in, from all the gods and monsters and prophesies that try to do him harm.

Lighting Candles by robindrake93

T | 2.1k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Romantic Fluff, Established Relationship, Kissing

Percy goes to Rachel's cave and they make candles together to liven the place up.

It's a Goode Reunion by Kingdom_Melody

T | 2.1k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

High School Reunion, Post The Trials of Apollo, Percy is Old

Percy and Rachel return to Goode High School for their year's 10 year reunion. Where they run into some old "Friends"

send me your location. by LovelyVerisimilitude

T | 2.2k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Established Relationship, Arguing, Long Distance Relationship, Fluff

“I think we need to talk,” Rachel says, unhurried. “About the other day.” Percy’s grip stiffens, and his throat almost closes up when he says, “What’s there to talk about?” “I just feel like―like we’re drifting apart.” She turns to him, her mouth physically frowning, her brows crinkled in concentration. “And I hate that.” (MODERN AU ― Rachel’s been away, Percy’s been stuck at home, and somehow, neither of them seem to get along like they used to.)

Look Out To The Horizon (To Infinity) by ashilrak 

T | 3.0k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Deity Percy Jackson, Established Relationship, Bittersweet

“Apollo’s watching us, me, you,” Rachel said, seemingly out of nowhere. “Keep an eye out on him.” He blinked, confused. “What’s that got to do with anything?” “You’ll see.” Her smile was sad. “But he’ll be with us along the way, and you need to be prepared for that.” Of course he would be. Apollo was close to the Oracle of Delphi. As far as Percy knew, that’d been true for much of history, though the relationship took different forms. Rachel was different though, someone Apollo considered something of a friend. “I love you,” she said. “Don’t ever forget that.” — Or: Percy lives as a new God, never leaving Rachel's side. As the years go by, Rachel grows older and Percy, well, doesn't. Percy deals with what it means to love a mortal and Demigod dreams that never went away. Apollo waits.

[commander-krios]

For the Sake of Kindness

Fandom: Andromeda Six Pairing: Vexx Serif/f!Traveler, f!Traveler & Noa Peg'asi Rating: Teen Summary: Befriending the youngest Peg'asi was easier than Vexx Serif had expected. Sade was a lonely girl who wanted nothing more than a friend. Unfortunately for him, he was in need of a friend as well. Words: 2219 Additional Tags: Human Traveler, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Disfunctional Family, Pre-Canon, Acts of Kindness

Read on AO3

The neon lights of Silta Vie reflected off of puddles as they walked through the crowded streets, dodging pedestrians and guards, Vexx trying to keep his charge from being spotted despite her disguise. Even without the fancy dresses or jewelry of the royal stylists, there was no mistaking Sade as a Peg’asi, those honey-green eyes every bit King Fenris while the rest of her was the spitting image of Queen Lucrezia… minus the coldness the Solar Queen seemed to wield as a weapon. There wasn’t much to be done for her wild curls and even the hat that Vexx had stuck on her head did little to tame them.

He glanced to his left as they ducked beneath one of the low overhangs of a cafe. Her face was turned up towards the lights, a dazzling smile on her pretty lips, eyes wide with the wonder of a young woman who’d never seen anything so awe-inspiring in her entire life.

It’d been almost too easy to gain her friendship. A lonely princess who had no friends, and no one who paid her much attention minus the Crown Princess, but those moments were rare. Nerissa Peg’asi was busy as the heir to the throne, being stuck in a battle of wits against her father’s expectations and her mother’s demands.

But Sade, no matter how much the royal family mistreated her, was somehow kind beneath it all. And it was in moments like this that Vexx was aware of how sheltered she truly was.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” He asked, having to stop himself from tacking on the royal title at the end. While in the city, Sade wasn’t a princess and as much of an exhausting time it was to try to keep her from being caught, they always had fun, their nights ending with their stomachs hurting from laughing too much.

Vexx hadn’t laughed like that since before.

Sade turned those eyes on him, her smile warming him despite the night’s chill. “It’s amazing. You grew up here?”

Vexx rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the warning that tickled his mind. Don’t get invested. “In a different part of the Silver District, but for most of my childhood, I ran these streets.”

Sade sighed wistfully, glancing at the colors and bustle of the people around them, fingers toying with the edge of the too large jacket he’d found for her. “There is so much life here.”

There had been so much life here once, but rule of the Golden King had destroyed that as surely as he’d destroyed so many other things. Gritting his teeth, he forced a light hearted smile on his face, reaching out to brush one of her stray curls behind her ear, enjoying how warm her skin felt against his fingertips in the cool night.

He couldn’t tell if she was blushing in the darkness, but with how her eyes burned when she met his gaze, Vexx knew he had her hooked. His fingers trailed along her jaw before moving down her neck, touch disappearing almost as quickly as it’d appeared. Her eyes fluttered closed and he was struck by how pretty this woman was. She was the most beautiful flower in a garden overrun with vipers.

There was a fire within her that longed to burn, to be set free and to ravage everything around her.

It would be so easy to lean in, to brush his lips against hers, take in the scent of jasmine that clung to her even hours after she left her blooms. Her lips parted, breath warming his skin, the wine she’d drank only twenty minutes before leaving a heady smell of fruit behind. He shifted closer, his chest pressing up against her, his hand gliding across her shoulder and down her arm, only to linger at her hand.

“Lieutenant?” She said, breathless as her eyes opened, watching him with a desire that he was all too willing to explore.

“Yes, Your Highness?” He whispered, low enough that none would hear him but her. It wouldn’t take much to kiss her senseless and lose themselves among the crowd.

Maybe they could stay lost.

Someone shoved into Vexx roughly, nearly knocking him into Sade. He reached out to grab her by the shoulders, keeping the momentum from sending them both to the ground. It didn’t, however, save their assailant. The man tripped over his own feet, hitting the pavement ungracefully. He groaned, but didn’t move, his arms splayed at an uncomfortable angle, his cheek pressed against wet ground.

“What the f-”

Sade gasped, moving to aid the man, kneeling beside him and shifting some of his dark hair out of his face. It was only when Vexx noticed the strong cheekbones and a nose that looked too much like Sade’s that he realized he was looking at one of her brothers. One of the Solar Queen’s sons, to be exact.

“Noa?” She shook him to no avail. His eyes didn’t even flutter open. “Dammit.”

Vexx reached down to pull her to her feet, forcing her around so her gaze met his. “We need to get out of here. Before someone figures out who you are.”

“We need to get him to his apartment.” Sade said instead, shrugging out of his grip before trying to lift her brother from the wet and dirty ground. It was pathetic to watch as the prince slipped from her hands, landing in a puddle, getting water all over his sister in the process.

With a sigh, Vexx reached down to lift the practically comatose man from the ground, wrapping an arm around his waist, slinging one of the prince’s arms over his shoulders. Once he was positive he wouldn’t drop him, Vexx raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Where are we going?”

Sade gave him a pained look. It was obvious that she hadn’t expected him to help. He hated that it stung that she thought so little of him. “I… it’s this way.”

She turned back in the direction of the Gold District.

“Why am I not surprised?” Vexx muttered, eyes scanning for threats in the crowded street. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Sade was silent as she weaved between pedestrians, slow enough that he didn’t need to try to hurry while dragging her brother along. Noa was a lot heavier than he looked, but Vexx figured that was because he was practically unconscious, whatever narcotic he’d consumed making him nothing more than a limp doll.

The apartments Noa lived in was close enough to the Guard Quarters that Vexx began to worry they’d be caught. If one of the Guard Commanders saw him with two of the royal children… he didn’t want to think about what they’d do to him. The best thing would be getting removed from his position. The worst probably involved the King and he wasn’t quite ready for that sort of interaction with his Majesty.

The doorman didn’t even blink at the sight of Noa hanging from Vexx’s shoulders, the man only sighing deeply before letting them into the building, stepping out of vomiting range as soon as the door was open. They shuffled past and Vexx wondered how often this happened.

Probably more than he wanted to know.

~~~~ Once Noa was settled on a couch in his apartment, Sade turned the prince on his side, brushing some of his dark curls out of his face. She had acquired some things while Vexx had deposited him on the spot and now, she dipped a washcloth in a bowl of cool water before wiping his forehead and cheeks meticulously. Vexx watched her for a few moments in silence, playing nurse to a brother who probably would’ve thrown her out on her ass if he knew what was happening. “Why do you bother?”

She glanced up in confusion, nose wrinkling adorably. “What?”

Vexx cleared his throat, realizing too late he couldn’t take back the question. Might as well dive in headfirst. “Why help him? We both know he wouldn’t do the same for you.”

Sade stared at him, eyes unblinking as she processed his words. Finally, she sighed, glancing away and dipping the washcloth in the basin. “That’s not why I do it.”

What does that even mean?

“Why then?”

Sade’s gaze landed on her brother and her face softened considerably. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

None of them deserved her. Vexx knew that already by the kind and gentleness within her, and how easy it was for the youngest of her siblings to torment her daily.

“It’s getting late. He looks like he might be fine. Probably won’t die in a pile of his own vomit.” Sade glanced up with wide eyes and Vexx silently cursed his idiocy. Good job, moron. “It’s a joke.”

She didn’t respond, focusing her attention on Noa again. Her hand rested against his shoulder and she closed her eyes, trying to keep her breath from shaking.

“I’m sorry.” He tried instead. They really couldn’t linger here. If any of Noa’s friends came back, if he woke up, there would be too many questions. “But we need to leave, Princess.”

When she didn’t move, he realized what she meant to do.

“No.” He snapped, taking a step closer, finally getting her attention. “What was your plan? To sit here with him all night?”

“If I have to.”

Stupid, self-sacrificing…

“And if he told the King that you were here? That’d be the end of your fun. You might end up in a real cell instead of the gilded cage they put you in.”

Sade winced at his words and Vexx wanted so badly to feel guilty about it, but he couldn’t. The fury at how easily she sacrificed her own happiness for brothers and sisters who couldn’t care less if she even existed.

And why the fuck did he care so much?

The pain on her face was enough to soften him. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, stepping forward and holding his other hand out in a plea. “If I call one of Noa’s friends to come check on him, will you leave with me?”

Sade stared at her brother, her expression vacant but he knew her mind was working overtime to try to find some excuse to stay or to argue her point. But she had none. She was going to get them both in trouble and as much as he didn’t want to care about what happened to her, he realized he did.

And that was going to be a problem.

Sade nodded her head and it took him a moment to recognize the relief he felt. How long had it been since he felt anything close to it?

Contacting the Prince’s supposed friends was easier than he’d expected. A call or two later, Vexx knew that he wouldn’t be alone tonight. Somehow, he managed to pull Sade from her brother’s side, promising to have someone check in on him the next morning to make sure he was alright.

Finally, they stepped outside of the Prince’s apartment, only to find the rain had stopped. Puddles reflected the streetlights as they made their way back towards the palace, the silence strained between them. All he could think about was how easy it was for her to sacrifice her happiness, her safety, everything, for people who wouldn’t bother to even help her should she need it. Vexx wanted to shout, to rail against the stupidity of something like that, but he found the fight leaving him almost as soon as he tried to open his mouth.

Sade was kind, yes, but more so, she was brave and selfless, and goddammit, against his own better judgment, he was starting to like her. Where did that leave him with Zovack’s plan? What could he possibly do now?

He didn’t want to imagine her dead among her useless siblings.

Vexx watched her in the dark, trying to quell the rise of panic as he came to the unfortunate conclusion that there wasn’t anything he could do unless he convinced Zovack that there was no way to take the palace. He might still try, but without the information about the secret passages, it would be more difficult.

“Thank you.”

His steps faltered, for sure that he said something aloud, but she wasn’t watching him with suspicion or anger. Sade only looked sad and he felt his heart tug painfully.

“You didn’t have to help me. I know most of my family aren’t worth the energy or respect.” She paused, wringing her hands together. “But Noa… he needs help. And he’s my brother. I couldn’t just leave him.”

Vexx covered her hands with one of his own, stilling her nervous movements. She glanced up at him, curiosity and hesitation warring in her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me. I was doing my job.”

“Still, I… appreciate it.” Standing on her tiptoes, Sade pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, a subtle brush of lips that managed to leave his heart thudding dangerously in his chest. Then she turned away, continuing on the path to the passages that would get them back to her quarters.

Vexx followed at a distance, unable to do anything but fear for her future.

And for his.

[28-destiel-505]

My ao3 account 28_destiel_505 

I’ll pretend (or not)

Summary :  Everyone knew Miles Kane and Alex Turner hated each other. But when it goes too far, their teams force them to do a collab to save their public images. Nobody understands when their relationship seems to have changed, not the fans, not their friends and not even themselves. Telling people it's just for the public might work for a little while but at some point, their friends question it. Maybe it's because of the time spending together or maybe it's because of the things happening when they're on stage but people start wondering what is really going on between the two.

tags : Enemies to LoversEnemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Eventual Smut, milex smut only, Secret Relationship, being gay on stage, just like enemies do, Denial of Feelings, autistic coded character (nothing more than canon), Coming Out, first time gay, Slow Burn.

Words: 38,471

Now I can’t relax anymore

Summary :  Alex is so jealous it makes him pathetic.

tags : Jealous Alex Turner, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Mostly Smut, Public Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Sub Alex Turner (Musician), Oral Sex, Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Porn with Feelings.

Words: 2,604

No Regard For The Cost

Summary :  When a milex sextape is made and released without their consent and nobody wants to give them justice, Alex and Miles will get it themselves.

tags : Secret Relationship, Sex Tapes, Smut, Manslaughter, implied PTSD, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Blood and Injury, Accidental Death, Investigations, Murder, Blood and Violence, Violence, Established Relationship, Prison, Prison Sex, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, (not happening), Fights.

Words: 16,852

Ain’t i fallen in Love

Summary :  Baby Milex fall in love at first sight.

tags : Fluff, Autistic Alex Turner, Light Angst, Falling In Love, Love at First Sight, Soulmates.

Words: 3,239

Baby make it last

Summary :  Alex messed up real bad and lost the love of his life. Can he fix things up or will he make things worse ?

tags : Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Heartbreaking, Implied Suicide Attempt, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Words: 2,449

By the time i’m done fucking beating myself up there’ll be nothing left to love

Summary :  Miles Kane is looking for a new guitarist for his band.

tags : Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Outing, Eventual Smut, Past Rape/Non-con, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Self-Hatred, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Angst with a Happy Ending

Words : In progress

Never-Ending

Summary : Being stuck in the apocalypse with your enemy...

Aka, Alex and Miles find a way to fight even during the end of the world.

tags : Blood and Gore, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Found Family, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Words : In progress

[coffee-in-veins]

Have you heard of how reynauld goes back to being a farmer after it all in dd2? Apparently if you fully upgrade his altar, a narration says that "he will retire his battered helmet atop a scarecrow, and labour the land beneath its baneful gaze" Any thoughts on that?

hello hello o/

thank you for the ask! ^^ i hope i won't dissapoint you with my answer, but after the last stunt RH pulled, on top of my already sour reception of the butchering changes the game made to characters...

let's just say, don't expect a pure, not salty, unbiased opinion, alright?

short version:

i'd say - i'm getting progressively more and more glad DD2 got cancelled in the making the more info i hear about it :}

long version:

the word choice in that particular snipet is so baffling i don't know where even to begin.

let's start with the simple things. upgrading the altar means nothing to land restoration. you either channel your JRPG and kill a god, or you don't. there's no in-between. you're restoring memories of what once was by grinding the candles and pouring the wax into the altar instead of feedingit to Tardif or something. if it implies living in the memory and denying reality as the only thing worth doing in a ravaged world, well, that is a shitty message to bring along as the only hope your fictional world has.

then again, looking at the real world now, i somewhat get the appeal... but i digress.

secondly, the guy is naively optimistic if he thinks he'll be able to return to farming without some community or an armed force to defend that land and whatever results of his labour bring - especially after such a massive shitshow as the full-world calamity DD2 implies. after DD1, localized and contained in just one county at worst? oh, sure, no issue with that. grab that Dismas' arse and go fulfil your redemption husband dreams in a neighbour country that have never even heard of walking fish. but after the fuckupery of DD2 where the whole world is corpses, burned cities, undead and tentacle fun? ehhhh... not as many places to go to, ain't it? starting community from the scratch? again, see point 1 aka "good luck putting that helmet away instead of sleeping in it if you found some untainted land".

thirdly, "baneful gaze" addition is just... what do you even imply here? that it's his past sins and he's the only one who can't leave the past behind? that there's some higher ups (probably the church who canonically have military here) who will be watching him and controlling his land and its harvests? is it just a throwavay line to make it sound more poetic? is it vague for the purpose of being vague...?

"baneful" is a very strong word. it implies hate, poison, promise of harm. is this a hint that DD3 Electric Boogaloo will be about the crusaders DD2 tried so furiously to scrub out of itself and then just slapped a DLC about them on top of itself without care and thought about the timeline and how none of it makes even a lick of sense if you stop for a moment...?

let's say, i can see Rey wanting a retirement and starting a farm somewhere on the outskirts of some village. but i doubt it will keep him, unless there will be some trauma which would prevent him from asking to work anywhere better - or someone who'd keep him there. Rey is knighted. he's a soldier in a medieval world, with a gear and maybe even a horse. he's worth a small fortune and i doubt he doesn't know that. hell, if we look at his barks:

Eyes down, you cowering sheep!

The faithless have no right to harm anyone...

Fool! Stop getting in the way of the soldiers!

No. And if thou breaks rank again, I will smite thee.

It profanes the Light to visit blessings upon you unworthy dogs!

You are not worthy of aiding me.

does he sound to you like someone who'd settle for a peasant position unless he has some outer reason to...? he doesn't to me. more like a guy who has a pride of a knight - and the life expectations of one. i can see him becoming a borderline knight, with a castle tower of two rooms and a village or two in his grasp, tho. that would fit, imo. a tiny lord with a lot of secrets in his past, battling PTSD and trying to get back into the civil life. that would be interesting to see.

then again, maybe he's a poor little meow meow like the rest of DD2 crew, i honestly have no idea. i tried to play the DLC, but the story was giving me seisures, so i dropped it pretty fast. i got him and Dismas together to the tavern, fed them chocolates, quit the game and never opened it since because that scene with the warlord was making me unreasonably angry.

sorry if you were expecting a better opinion.

[danpuff-ao3]

Petunia Recs

The world needs more Petunia love, yeah? She's so fascinating to think of, to wonder who she is beyond the awful person we know from canon. Imperfect, but human all the same. With that in mind, here are some of my favorite Petunia fics! (Plus an art!)

Under the Stars

ART by A_LoveUnlaced (@a_loveunlaced.) Petunia/Severus. Rated: G. Post-divorce. Angst with a happy ending. Smooching.

Art commissioned for the fic Under the Stars by Charlie9646

which one of us will survive the other

by leftsideisdown (@broomsticks.) Petunia/Lily. Rated: M. Words: 1,292. Mild dub-con. Incest.

Petunia’s wanted magic her whole life. Then again, she’s always wanted what she couldn’t have. What she shouldn’t want. One night, all her dreams come true.

Barking at the Moon

by rinsbane. Petunia/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 10,876.

Okay, this one sounds like a cheap porn cliché.  Sexy workman comes to door, lonely lady of the house succumbs to his, er, charms.  Except, Snape, so not quite.  Takes place the summer after Harry’s 6th year.

I'll Take Less (when I always give so much more)

by RoozetteR. Petunia & Luna. Harry/Severus. Rated: M. Words: 24,294. Illnesses. Established relationship.

Just because you know somebody doesn’t mean you know them. Especially when it comes to family.

Old Money, New Blood (Or, Petunia Malfoy and the New World Order)

by someryn. Petunia/Lucius. Rated: G. Words: 6,860. Political marriage. Crack treated seriously. Enemies to frenemies to lovers.

After an unexpected conversation with her son, a widowed Petunia Dursley meets a newly divorced Lucius Malfoy, who sees an opportunity to benefit both of them. And thus begins the strangest adventure of Petunia's life. Featuring an earnest Dudley Dursley, a horrified Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, an amused Ginny Weasley, an utterly absent Narcissa Malfoy, and Petunia and Lucius' softening hearts.

Self(Deception)

by space_mermaid, art by Anaxandria (@anaxandria-writes) and digthewriter (@digthewriter.) Narcissa/Petunia. Rated: E. Words: 58,096. Rape/Non-con. Postwar. Slow burn. Friends to lovers. Secret identity. Family drama. Past rape. Past abortion. Implied incest. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Minor Drarry. Homophobia. Violence.

Narcissa Malfoy is sentenced to two years of rehabilitation. She and Lucius take on new names and live amongst Muggles, a task made all the more arduous by their prickly handler. Although Narcissa is confident in her ability to fake it til she makes it, she quickly realises her freedom is not guaranteed. And her motives are muddied as she becomes closer to a kind Muggle woman. Petunia Dursley is struggling to find her footing when Dudley leaves for university. She joins the Eardisley Women’s Institute despite Vernon’s grumblings. Her goal of making acquaintances suitable to invite over for tea is overshadowed after a chance encounter with the mysterious newcomer to the village. As she grows closer to Priscilla, everything she thought she knew about herself unravels.

Every Saint is An Accident

by TeddyRadiator. Petunia/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 13,711. MCD.

Petunia Evans saw her sister as the the symbol of perfection she could never attain. Severus Snape saw her as the ultimate woman he could never win. They saw one another as the ultimate revenge for what they could never have.

The Box

by titC (@titconao3.) Petunia POV. Harry/Severus. Rated: T. Words: 6,274. Postwar.

Years after she last saw Harry, Petunia and Vernon move back North. During the move, Petunia finds a mysterious box that she's all but forgotten... it stirs too many memories and emotions back to life.

[lateraniansweets]

take your whiskey neat (and ill take my coffee black)

char aznable/reader

summary: A reunion with a familiar face at a seedy after work.

tags: lovers to exes, alcohol, implying canon events, YOU cannot fix him, love/hate, kind of, making use of chars multiple people

He stands out like a sore thumb in this seedy bar with his blonde hair and tailored suit. It’s laughable really. For a man who spent the majority of his life in hiding he’s never been the subtle type. 

You make your way towards him, heels clicking with every step. You take a seat next to the man without sparing him a glance.

“I’ll have a whiskey,” you tell the bartender—a middle-aged man who has seen better days, “on the rocks.”  It would be rude not to sit at a bar without a drink and— you give the bastard a sideways glance— you doubt you could handle whatever he was gonna say sober.

The drink arrives, and you take the glass in your hands, swirling it to hear the ice cubes clink before taking a sip.

Bitter.

You set the drink down, biting back a frown as a burning settles in your throat. As always it's bitter. 

The whiskey shines like bronze against the warm lights. 

Alcohol has never been your strong suit and you’ve never preferred it unlike the man next to you. 

(But didn’t you learn to tolerate the bitter and burning just to be by his side on long nights? You’re such a fool.)

“So, what brings you here…” you pause trying to find the right name. Quattro was the name most familiar to you, it’s the name you knew and loved him by. It’s better to leave that one in the past. Casval felt too intimate, too vulnerable, two things you’re no longer privy to and Char, Char didn’t fit him, “...Char.” But you settle with that one anyway.

“I had business in the area,” He takes his sunglasses off, revealing the scar on his forehead and his frigid blue eyes,  “I thought I’d drop by.”

“Liar.” Good to know he’s hardly changed, “Von Braun’s strictly Feddie ground they might be incompetent but they wouldn’t have a problem getting rid of you once they know you’re here.” In fact, they probably already do. It’ll only be a matter of time before Londo Bell comes knocking. 

(You should probably expect a visit from Amuro later, maybe tomorrow. He’ll want updates on the new model.)

“So be honest,” You doubt he’ll ever be, having lived in lies for so long, “what are you here for.”

(You already know.)

“I already said so haven’t I?”

You look up at him, cool condensation droplets wetting your palms, anchoring you to reality. “I know but that’s not the full picture.” If he’d wanted to come for a visit he could’ve. He’s had more than enough chances back when you lived on the Sides. The governments there are more sympathetic to his…cause. “You want something from me.”

Calculating eyes hiding underneath a veil of longing meet yours. 

(Did you imagine the unfiltered affection that gaze once held?)

“I do.” He confirms. It kills whatever’s left of the old you.

“So, what is it?” You doubt you’d be much use to him anyway but that’s never been an issue to him. He’s always found a way to squeeze people dry. “I doubt I’d be much help but I’ll do you a favor.” For your own sake not his.

It seems your words have removed an invisible weight on Char’s shoulders at your near-immediate agreement. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe even thank you but you shoot it down with a poisonous look. 

Don’t make me regret this.

(You already do.)

He reaches inside his suit jacket. Tension builds up in your stomach as you brace yourself for the iron fist of a bullet. 

It doesn’t come.

What greets you instead is a black hard drive on his palm held out in front of you like a peace offering.

“What’–”

“It’s what you’ve been looking for,” he answers before you can finish your question.

You could only gape. He’s being genuine.

Why? It goes unsaid. This is too easy isn’t it? Whatever information this hard drive contained would bring him down. It’s what you’ve been looking for for months tirelessly sneaking around for any tidbit of information yet finding nearly nothing. It shouldn’t be this easy. 

Yet, here it is at the palm of your hand given to you by the man himself.

“Make good use of it,” He leans in close, “that’s all I ask.”

I don’t understand.

(You’ve never understood anything in the first place.)

Your lips brush against his, “That’s a tall order Casval…” You steal his breath, kissing him like you used to do. It lacks the sweetness you remember but the passion remains.  Pulling away you smile sardonically, “... but I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

You take your leave soon after, whiskey unfinished, hard drive in your hands and a burning in your heart.

This would be the last time you’ll see each other.