#I hope it's not too weird to say but the moment i saw red barrel's announcement I IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT OF YOU...

[crystallakec]

I miss you (im sorry for not being active much ive been busy so i havent find the time to draw your trials oc 😭😭😭 i really wanted to thoo aaaah)

gyaaaaooh!!! Hi krim hihi hi!!!! I'm SO sorry for taking so long to get to this and OF COURSE I MISSED YOU TOO o(-( ouggh I think I was dealing with a lot of personal stuff during that time so I didn't check here!!

now it's really the perfect time for me to answer this because we finally get an exact date for full launch!!! plus I've been wanting to draw your trials oc for so long....pls accept this doodle of them!! I think they are like. the type of character who panic easily facing danger but somehow always manage to survive everything. scream and cry really loud but pro at escaping actually. lucky100%

[yeyinde]

Hi! Hope you're doing well. I just have to say that you're my favorite writer and a huge inspiration to me. Everything you write, even the small little snippets, just make me so happy.

Are you by chance still doing the WIP snippets? Cause I go feral for Jacob Seed, and when I saw you had a WIP for him I can honestly say I almost fell out of my chair.

Hiya! This is so sweet!! Thank you so much 🖤😭

Jacob Seed is one of those characters who I'd very much like to chisel open. He's so intriguing. His ideologies are so unfounded but his conviction and his reasons for them are what I find really appealing.

This is quite a deviation from what I normally do—third person, technically no reader-insert (I kindaaaaa made an OC? Oops) a bit darker (dragging me back to my slasher roots), and pulls a lot from a pseudo-religious upbringing. It is really fun to write, in theory, but is one of those fics that is mentally taxing in the sense that every piece is part of a bigger picture. Despite that, though, I could probably talk about this fic more than any others because of all the weird influences it draws from—Siken (it was originally gonna be titled war of the foxes but I felt that was a little too on the nose so I changed it to wishbone which is even more on the nose), bible mythology (in particular, the warring interpretations of Abaddon, iyjyk but also??? Abaddon and Michael, though???? 👀), and um. Cult shenanigans.

Here is a little bit about it!

He's in her head now, a sickness polluting her grey matter until it's shaded the same colour as the burning auburn around his wicked mouth. The one that splits wide, and croons about her failures, her destiny, until the rasping slur of his words are skeined tight around her gyri. Festering like a cancer she can't clove. One that sounds more like a truism each time she hears it.

Jacob has his finger on the trigger of a loaded gun with the barrel pressed tight to her cerebellum. A tool, he said. One without a master. Until now. Until him.

She can't fight him. Can't get rid of him. 

She wonders if she ever even tried.

And for some Rook x Jacob (kinda sorta but in a weird and twisted way):

Jacob doesn't give an inch even with the barrel of her Whitetailer pointed at his heart. A beat, then, where the world around her seems to shiver at the smirk he sends her way, his own hand fixed, deadly and calm, on the butt of his garish rifle. Red. 

(Of course. Of course.)

He stands on his tower, a castle of rock in the middle of the Whitetail Mountains, surrounded by unfathomable wilderness, and the broken remnants of his wolf beacons, his fallen men. His Judges. 

They lay by her feet, discarded offerings to the man who vultured her sense of self, her agency, until the person she was before all of this was lost, collateral to a war she never agreed to. She feels it sometimes, the putrefying remains of idealism and hope clawing at her skull until the tissue shreds and bleeds. Feels it like a second degree burn, a scab she can't stop picking at, and then pushes it back into its sarcophagus. It's an effigial prison in which she's both a warden and cellmate. 

It rears, now, as her patent yellow boots sink into the ribcage of a man torn to shreds by her bullets, her fists, mourning the loss of who it once was—a person of empathy and compassion. Someone who would have recoiled at the sight of viscera staining her laces, bone crunching under the soles of her feet. 

But it's gone. All she feels is annoyance. Disgust. 

They rendered it out of her. All of them pulling and tugging until bits of herself ripped apart, left behind in their regions, in their hands. Faith holds her belief. John, her compassion. Joseph, her fear. And Jacob—

Well. 

She tries not to think about what she lost in his cages. The gaping hole where her humanity once sat is heavier now that it's empty. 

It doesn't matter. Not anymore. 

Everything has been culminating to this point. To this moment. She feels the weight of it, the truth, in her bones. Unlike John, unlike Faith, only one of them will walk away from this still breathing. Her fingers tense. A proxysm. 

She finds, as the sky fades back to an endless blue and the mournful call of a loon breaks through the coppice, that she isn't entirely sure she wants it to be her. 

"Everything, all of it, has been leading up to this moment," he calls down to her, answering the unspoken assertions that bounce around the bruised fibres of her head. Hunt. Kill. Sacrifice. She gets it. She hates that she does. Hates him, she thinks, even more for making her see, for turning her into his executioner so easily. "So, Deputy, what will you do?"

If it were Faith, there'd be something about the path. About choices. About submission and surrender. Giving up agency and self in the single-minded pursuit of devotion to the Father. John, maybe a taunt. A sotto voce about atonement and true self. Of life admit the torture. A baptism in pain. 

But Jacob is neither of them. 

"Are you gonna kill me, angel?" 

She thinks about it. Really does. Lets it grind down into her synapses as she imagines a world without him. A place in Hope County where they celebrate his death and burn his body on an altar, unwilling to let the cult take him back until he's charred bones and ashes. Sure, then, that he's gone. Forever. Always. No more. 

Jacob will burn. 

She thinks about it, and she shudders. 

It feels anticlimactic despite the effort he put into setting it all up. Moving beacons and men and cages and wolves. Tracking her down through the forest until she led them to the Wolf's Den, and put a bullet in the head of the only man who made her feel some sense of footing amid a crumbling world. A place that wasn't quite home but it was something. Purpose, maybe. 

It stands in sharp contrast to the dogfight between them. Jacob and his soldiers. A commander playing a game of war from the comfort of his sanctuary. They're gone, now, and she hates that she isn't, too. That no matter what she does, how open she leaves herself, he still lets her sneak up the side of his perch until she's crouched behind a log, until she can hear the weight of his footfalls as he searches for her across the blood smeared landscape. 

It's a fallacy. He knows where she is despite the engineered confusion in his tone. What was that? He asks. Come out and fight me, Deputy. You know I'll find you—

The red dot follows her, always just a few inches from where she's hiding. A farce. She hates it. Hates that he isn't really fighting her. A marksman, he said (hoorah), but the only bruises he gave her are in her mind. Mental scars. Stupid. She hates him. Despises him. 

(Hates herself even more.)

It feels like muscle memory when she peers over the ledge, her bloodied knuckles leaving smears of her fingerprints behind. He's there. Waiting. 

Killing Eli, killing phantoms. Killing men. Killing him. It all congeals in her marrow. Effortless. Easy. She's killed him so many times already that she's sure, now, she could close her eyes and find her mark. 

Over and over again, he turned to a nebula of dust when she jumped on his back, wrapping nimble fingers around his neck. Mocking words haunting her as he dissolved into the aether. The Father will protect me. You need me. Don't fight it. Just let go. You've served your purpose. Let's say you get out of this. What's next? You go back to running errands for a teenager and a housewife? You are nothin' without Eli. 

"Come out, come out wherever you are, honey," his crooning taunt makes her hackles raise. A part of her hindbrain prickles with unease. Jacob brings a certain terror out of those dormant depths—an atavistic fear coils around her jugular. "Let's finish this." 

She wants to end him. To kill and maim and bend and break until nothing is left but bones and tissue. She wants to ruin him. Wants him to ruin her. To end this conflict at the top of a precipice she never wanted to climb. 

She says nothing—not to him, to them—but scuffs her feet against the gravel for no reason other than to make him look. He whips around, hand steady on his rifle. 

"Finally done hiding, Deputy?" 

The red dot hasn't left her vicinity since she prowled after him, unleashing hell and gunfire on the men—his Chosen, his best—that tried to keep her away from him. Hiding, she thinks, and wonders if those words are a projection. 

The Whitetailer—the only anchor she's had since she found it laying behind in an abandoned cabin—hums under her fingers. Pulses with the blood rushing through her veins. It's always been heavy. An SA50 isn't easy to carry across a landscape she mostly ventured on foot (as the near constant ache between her shoulders can attest to), but it feels both heavier and lighter than before. Another contradiction of many since she walked out of the Den and into a world on fire. Since she slit his throat and watched him turn into cosmic dust. 

It's steady, though. Unwavering. There's a gash on her arm from one of his Chosen. A bullet in her thigh. The unhealed wounds—bliss bullets and arrows—twinge with pain when she tenses her muscles, breathes in deep. Her broken ribs scream. She feels like more like a throbbing contusion than she does an actual person, still caught in the tendrils of her conditioning where his voice echoes in her head, the last notes of a song that turned her world into ashes. Only youuu… he'd crooned.

Only you. 

Only ever you. 

She gets it now. 

Or, she wishes that were true. It isn't. It isn't because maybe she's known all along. Since the bunker. Since Pratt. One, two, three. One, two, three. And then he's got you. Since she blinked into cognisance surrounded by the fallen bodies of the militia who didn't survive the training, who had bullet wounds that matched the shots she took in Jacob's trial. 

Since she went back to the Grand View and walked through the rows of cages in the parking lot. 

She gets it. 

She knows what she has to do. 

Her grip doesn't falter when she aims up. Up. His stomach. His lungs. His heart. 

"You can't. You're done. You've served your purpose, and now it's time to accept your place, Deputy. Where you belong." 

She thinks of Tammy. Of Wheaty. There's nothing left for her. Not anymore. 

Nothing except—

She wonders if there's a flash of panic in his cerulean eyes. A brief flicker of fear. But all she sees is contempt. 

"If I die, you'll be lost forever—"

She pulls the trigger. 

[milkytheholy1]

Warming Up To You: Part 1

A/N: Okay, so I got a few responses saying to keep it as parts instead of one big thing, and surprise I've decided to turn this into a small, small series. So expect a few more chapters to come out soon. Hope you enjoy!

Boom!Shadow x GNRreader

Ultimate masterlist

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When you thought about the small town, known to locals as Hedgehog Village, you never thought of speed and violence as a daily occurrence. So it made it all the more amusing to see tourists swept away in utter fear whenever Eggman attacked the town hall for the seventh time that week.

Yes, although the village looked like any other, it in fact held one of the weirdest rivalries in all of Bygone Island. Pretty much everyone in town knew who Sonic the Hedgehog was, his friends included. They'd be seen stomping on Eggman's doomsday parties and hanging out at Meh Burger. For whatever reason you were unsure, why frequent a place that specialises in paper straws?

You weren't too familiar with the entire group, only introducing yourself to a few whenever you crossed paths. You were friendly enough with Sonic and Tails, and you had once bumped into Amy while shopping for fresh fruit. You had heard stories of the missing members: Knuckles and Sticks. 

Though you had never met them in person, they sounded like a barrel of fun. But after an unworldly experience last week, you were hoping to run into the blue blur again and hammer him with your questions.

Last week saw another Eggman attack, nothing surprising or new. However, what really spiced the game up was another addition to Team Eggman. Instead of his usual lackeys, he was joined by a black and red hedgehog. To say he piqued your interest was an understatement.

You were enamoured by him, so much so that you grew embarrassed when even thinking about it; for heaven's sake, you didn't even know his name. You tried to ask around, be completely incognito about the whole thing but you couldn't get any answers from the brain dead villagers.

So low and behold, you hoped to stumble across Sonic and discretely ask questions about the mysterious ebony hog. After all, it was Sonic who was fighting him and even from the distance you were at, you could see there was some sort of relationship there.

You were hanging around Meh Burger, just perched against a tree waiting for the key moment when the Sonic team arrived. This felt weird, was it considered stalking? Well, it's not like you wanted information on Sonic himself, just another speedy hedgehog that kinda looked a little like him.

Were they related? That thought had crossed your mind at some point, but you soon dismissed it; you like to think you'd know if Sonic had a brother. 

Aha, right on cue Team Sonic rock up to Meh Burger and rush to their usual table...perfect. Using that acting degree to the best of your ability, you stepped away from the tree and pretended that you hadn't just spent close to an hour hiding under it. 

You swiftly walked over to the group, watching with disgust as they began piling in what they considered food, "Oh, hey (Y/N)!" Sonic beamed. 

I'm in, you thought to yourself with a smile. You gave them a brief wave, "Hey guys, I see you're eating at Meh Burger...Finally, right?" you awkwardly laughed. Tails shrugged his shoulders, inspecting a fry, "Yeah, it's nice to go to the only food joint in town. And they rebuilt this place pretty quickly, I still feel bad about partially destroying it."

Tails glared across the table to Knuckles, the red echidna was about to eat his burger but placed it back down to defend himself, "Hey, it's not my fault Meh Burger was in the way of me falling!"

"Hehe...riiiight..." you rubbed the back of your head, knees weak and palms sweaty. You looked around the table, seeing the others staring at you with confusion in their eyes, "Segway!" you shouted out, finger pointing up to the sky.

"Speaking of last week, that was some fight, huh? A-and who by chance was that other hedgehog you were up against? A friend oooor family?" you drew out. Sonic shook his head with disgust, "Nah, that's just Shadow. He's sort'ova loner type, doesn't work well with others."

"Oh," you whispered out, so his name was Shadow, you like that. Now all to do was ask for a location, but why on Earth would they tell you, let alone know, where he live-

"Oh yeah sure, we can tell you where he lives." Tails spoke, smiling and flicking up his fancy-lookin' wristwatch. A holographic map shot into the air, sending your skin a rich blue, "He lives out in the jungle, I'm not exactly certain whereabouts, but I know he lives in a cave around this sort of area."

Tails pointed to a small area of the map, it seemed to be near some cliffs. You nodded your head, trying to form the map into your mind to remember later when you'd get inevitably lost. With all the information you needed, which wasn't a lot, you set off to find this elusive hedgehog.

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

It had felt like hours since you had left the comfort of Hedgehog Village, all you could see for miles were thick green bushes and long logs of brown. 

Sweat was beginning to form along your forehead, maybe hacking at leaves for countless hours at a time would wear you out; mad. But you continued on your tireless track, who knows, perhaps you'd find Shadow and then-

And then...and then, what? Oh god, you didn't think this out enough. What would you do when you actually met Shadow the Hedgehog? Have a nice chat about...being...evil? Maybe a conversation will strike up when you actually meet him, could be very natural ooooor completely awkward.

Another cut here, a simple slash there and you had finally made it into a clearing. There, along the dirt horizon, stood a small cave. You couldn't make out the inside, too shrouded in darkness for anything to be seen. Stepping forward you were swept off of your feet and pinned to the nearest tree.

Deadweight pushed against you, breathing becoming a little harder to control when you could feel your feet dangling off of the ground. Blinking your eyes open you were caught in a stare-off, ruby eyes glared back at you, a low growling sound filling your eyes.

"What are you doing here?" his voice was deep, much deeper than you had originally expected. And if it were any other situation you might have swooned. You struggled against his grasp, Shadow's grip only tightening the more you twisted and turned.

"I'll ask again, what the hell are you doing here?" you felt like your lungs were going to explode if you didn't get some air. Your face began to turn purple, you repeatedly began tapping on his arm that held you up, wordlessly begging to be released.

He complied, for now, allowing you to drop to the ground, coughing and spluttering while you regain your natural complexion. It took a few moments for you to rescue your composure, but when you did you could only stare at him wide-eyed.

"Well, I'm waiting?" he huffed out, standing above you with his arms folded across his chest. You stuttered to stand up, dusting off your clothes before responding, "A-are you Shadow the Hedgehog?"

"Who wants to know?" he growled out, you wheezed but went along with this tough guy schtick, "I do."

"And who are you? Actually, don't tell me. I've lost the need to care, just crawl back to whatever dirt hole you came from and never come back." he panted, turning to leave you. He had only made it a few paces ahead before he heard you pipe up, "And what happens if I come back?"

He flicked his head to you in an instant, "You don't want to know," you stepped forward, slowly approaching him like you would a cornered cat. With a fake smirk on your lips, you once again prayed on that drama degree, "Oh, but what if I do?"

You think for a split second you saw him smirk, but with the frown that seemed permanently stuck to his face, you were beginning to think it was a trick of the eyes. He, like you, took steps closer until there was only a hair of space between you, "Then you deal with me."

He pulled away walking back to his cave and disappearing into the inky darkness. You took his warning, albeit lightly, and made your way back to Hedgehog Village; knowing you'd return here sooner than later.

[genshinboys]

Thigh job with Genshin Boys - Xiao

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Fem reader x Xiao

When you enter your flat, a handsome but grumpy Yaksha is sitting cross-legged on your bed resting his chin in the palm of his small hand. He grimaces and shoots something that can be referred to as a death stare in your direction. 

Here we go again. You think to yourself as you close the door behind you.

„You are late.” He basically growls at you fixing you with another menacing glare.

„It’s nice to see you too, Baby.” You approach the sulking adeptus and lean in to kiss his forehead but, alas, he backs away and frowns in turn.

„Oh, no kisses then?” A smile on your face but a sneer in your voice makes his blood boil.

It is like a match in a powder barrel.

„Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N!” He warns. „I know all of your cheap tricks.”

You let out an annoyed huff. Arms crossed on your chest.

„Why would you even ask when I saw you following me all the damn time, hmm?” You accuse your boyfriend, gazing right into Xiao's averting eyes.

„I wasn’t follow-,” and then he goes silent knowing fully well that lying isn’t an option with you.

„So?” You nag, hoping for any kind of response. „No need to be this jealous, Xiao.”

„Don’t get weird ideas in your head.” The boy deadpans. „I’m not jealous!” He defends himself but it doesn’t sound convincing enough even for his own ears. He blushes and turns his head away.

You let out a sigh and smile warmly at your boyfriend’s pettiness.

Does he even realise how cute he is? You briefly wonder and then you reach for his silky hair and ruffle it affectionately.

It’s been a taxing, full of ups and downs journey since you met the haunted by karmic debt Yaksha. At first, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. You were just another bothersome individual and he could not care less about your existence. It was unnerving. He was snarky, seething with rage for no reason, hiding his feelings for so long that it seemed to you that they were going to explode inside of him one day leading to his utter despair and demise. You got to know about his past and the weight of his karmic debt from Zhongli. You took pity. Somehow you felt compelled to help the boy, regardless of his repulsive demeanour. The golden-eyed Yaksha was of a different opinion, though. 

Xiao didn’t want you to get close to him. He couldn’t make any sense of your stubbornness. Why would you even want to have anything to do with him? Him? 

A barbaric monster, eaten up alive by remorse and regret. 

A blood-thirsty fiend whose sole purpose of breathing is to slaughter and spread fear wherever he shows his face. 

These were the thoughts so deeply engraved in his unfortunate soul that he couldn’t allow anyone to come near him.

He perceived himself as a hollow, barren of any human emotions vessel. The only feelings he was familiar with were pain and the burden of his legacy that he is forced to carry up to this day.

Bizarrely, as time had passed he was taken aback by some unfamiliar sensation of tightness in his chest. It wasn’t painful. Nothing that would come close to the distress caused by the divine will. It wasn’t permanent, either. It only happened in your presence, as Yaksha would hesitantly observe. Sometimes it got even worse. It would be accompanied by this fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

„Why are you this close? Huh? Do you have a death wish?”

„Move, I don’t have time to sit around and be idle like you do.”

„You have no respect for the adepti. Stop fooling around.” 

The more he pushed you away the more you were determined to lure him in. You couldn’t stop laughing when one day Zhongli informed you that the troubled Yaksha came to him to seek advice regarding this weird tightness in his chest and an upset stomach when you were around. 

And so, you smile fondly at your boyfriend as he yanks your hand away not liking the way you tousle the emerald green strands.

„I’m sorry XIao. I didn’t mean to be late. Just wanted to buy some jewellery.” You point to your thigh to get the adeptus’ attention back where it should be, which is you, not the wall.

Xiao glances at your thigh doing his best to remain impassive and uninterested. Unfortunately, his eyes widen a little and his mouth is somehow stuck hanging open as if he were to say something but the words never come out.

„You saw me bargaining with the shopkeeper, nothing wrong about that, right?” You explain to the adeptus currently captivated by the glimmering golden chain adorning your thigh.

Xiao has a lot to learn when it comes to dealing with his own emotions. You are acutely aware of that. He doesn’t know how to react, how to show that he cares or process what he feels. He doesn’t also entirely understand the purpose of half of the things that you insist on doing to him. Playful bites, tickling, holding his hand in public. He doesn’t question these actions even though it’s all a novelty. He does know for sure that it makes him feel flustered and all hot inside. 

Does he despise it? No. 

Would he like for you to continue? The answer to that question is definitely affirmative but Xiao is not going to admit it out loud. 

He also has no clue how to initiate all of these things. Is he supposed to bite you back as well? What if he hurts you? Everything is so overwhelming as he’s endured years of solitude and sadness. You have to patiently teach him everything from square one. Nevertheless, it’s incredibly rewarding and you find yourself falling for him a bit more with each clumsy kiss, a shy but warm hug and an awkward attempt at complimenting you.

However, despite being not well-versed in sexual encounters, Xiao does pleasantly surprise you by catching up with everything real quick. 

So, as his eyes are fixated on the trinket, you once again run your hand through his lush and long hair.

„Why would you even buy it? Pointless.” The boy retorts grumpily this time showing no signs of objection to your tender gesture. He moves his head up a little, losing himself to the tingling sensation going down his scalp.

„So that you can stare at me like that with those needy eyes?” You answer truthfully, barring the real intent behind your actions.

He snorts and his face turns into that lovely shade of pink and then deep red within seconds.

He would absolutely turn his gaze away if not for the fact that you take his chin in your hand and thrust his face upwards forcing him to look you straight in the eyes.

„If you don’t like it you can take it off.”

„No need.” 

You chuckle softly.

„Let me make amends for my delay.” 

You take a step forward and place your knee on the verge of the bed. Xiao drinks in the view of your thigh-highs squeezing into the meat of your legs. The chain shimmering lightly right above the lacy material.

„You can touch it, Baby.” You encourage the nervous Yaksha.

Visibly tensed, he reaches for the exposed skin and lightly traces the chain with his unsure fingers. It almost tickles but you let him do as he pleases and soon Xiao attempts to fully envelop your thigh with his greedy hand. He does cover half of it at best, but he seems satisfied and proceeds to squeeze it. It feels soft to the touch and he shivers at how warm and inviting your legs are in contrast to his icy-cold and sweaty palms. Bewitched, Xiao aches for more and he selfishly pulls you in so that you are now kneeling in front of him on the bed.

He stops breathing when you swiftly unbutton your shorts and undress for him. You let his eyes roam over your half-naked body for some time enthralled by the way Xiao’s pupils dilate in awe.

You lean into him as Xiao pulls you towards him for a messy kiss. It isn’t gentle as usual but full of passion and urgency. He whines when you bite on his lower lip but then you gently stroke him with your tongue to ease the discomfort.

Slowly, very very slowly, your hands go down his torso only to finally stop at the bulge in Xiao’s loose pants. You tug at the waistband and Xiao lifts his ass a bit to help you strip him naked. His penis, hard and heavy, resting now on his lower belly. He hisses when you palm his hard erection and that simple touch sends jolts of electricity down his spine. It leaves him intoxicated once you start gliding with the heel of your palm up and down the underside of his member. You repeat the movement and Xiao’s body jerks in response.

„Don’t tease.” The adeptus pleads through gritted teeth.

„I’m so sorry, Baby. Gonna make you feel real good.”

Xiao can feel himself growing impossibly harder when you place your feet on either side of his hips. When he looks down he can see your wet folds and the pinkish colour of your tight hole. Lying on your back, you prop yourself on your elbows so that you can look at Xiao’s face in the process. You scoot a bit closer to the confused boy, your bum is right in front of his erected shaft. You take his cock in your hand and guide him in between your thighs. In the beginning, you try to be delicate. You gently rub the tip of his cock, circle his shaft with your fingers and with a fisted hand spread his pre-cum all the way down to his pubic hair so that he is thoroughly lubricated. You wouldn’t like to hurt the boy during the whole ordeal. 

His breath is shallow. Excitedly, you clasp your thighs together and start playing with his dick. You rotate your hips and massage his cock. It slides in and out and Xiao growls feeling ecstatic. You exchange between rubbing him with your thighs or gliding your hand along his cock, starting at the very top and working your way down to the bottom until Xiao can’t stifle his cries anymore. A few more strokes and he is definitely going to beg. 

Xiao is on fire. It feels too good to be true and he wants this moment to last forever. He licks his dry lips and moans wantonly thrusting his hips forward. He meets you mid-way and the friction it creates every time he pushes his dick in between your legs leaves him gasping.

„You’re making me cum, Y/N.” He cries out for the last time before it is too late to warn you.

„Then cum for me, Baby.” 

Obediently, Xiao shoots his thick and heavy load all over your lower body. For a moment the world around him seems out of focus and it makes him dizzy. He pants heavily and can’t catch his breath. He feels as if he was drowning. But then, your loving arms envelop him and he is safe again. You gently stroke his chest hugging him from behind. He melts in your embrace letting his head rest on your shoulder. His erratic heartbeat slowly going back to its usual rhythm.

„I think it looks pretty on you.”

„Hmm?” You want the boy to clarify what he meant.

„The chain... Looks pretty.”

„Oh.” 

Shakily, he reaches out to put your hand into his and he squeezes them together. 

„I’ll never let you lose yourself again, XIao. I love you and I will protect you forever.”

Xiao recognizes the familiar feeling of tightness in his chest. A single tear rolls down his cheek but he hurriedly wipes it before you can notice.

„Shut up.” The boy responds angrily and kisses you breathless. 

Other boys:

Albedo

Diluc

Kaeya

Childe

Zhongli

Kazuha

[wizkiddx]

hiii!!! omg please please pleasee do a part two of 3 hearts broken cus it fucking slaps miss girl

part 2 to 3 broken hearts!!! ive been so 🥺 at all the lovely comments+interest pt 1 had so thanku all !

summary: serious serious angst again will tom somehow get it back (unlike looking cos boy is a fool)

warnings: again lots of swearing (im British sorry not sorry) / wayyyy too much tea / slating Dom abit (obvs fictional but idk if I like the guy sorry his opinions are :/) / commitment issues

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read part 1 here!!!!

That was three days ago now. Three days since you'd spoken to your boyfrien- well, Tom. It wasn't evident what the situation was.

The typical British weather brought with it the most ironic pathetic fallacy you could ever see. The clouds were dark and glooming, firing angry pellets of rain out as hard as they could. When you had pulled up on the roadside, it had just been a light drizzle but synchronised with your anxiety levels rising - so did the rain. When you finally opened up the car door, you threw your hoodie open with a sigh before running up the pathway to the front door.

It was the same burgundy red that you knew so well, but this time instead of just letting yourself in - you stood in the rain used the brass knocker thing twice. To be honest, you were hoping that no one was home - but in that house, it was pretty unlikely. After 30 seconds of getting drenched in the downpour, you were about to let yourself in with the spare key before the door swung open.

"Oh! Er Y/n?"

"Yeh um hi." You had to shout a bit over the sound of what must now be classified as a storm.

"Toms not-"

"I know. Can I come in?" As awkward and stunted as this conversation was, if you didn't get out of the rain asap you would literally end up drowned.

“Oh er yeh-yeh yeh come in.”

Harry stammered as he held the door open, gesturing for you to enter into the tiled hallway. Gratefully, you followed, throwing your sopping wet hood back down and wiping your feet on the floor.

"Sorry for just showing up, but I left some scripts here. My management are on my arse to read them and-"

"And you waited till Tom left for mum and dads?" The fluffy-haired boy has caught you red-handed; there was no defence, so you didn't even try.

Because yes, you knew on a Friday afternoon when Tom was home he would always, like clockwork, go to his parents just to kick back and watch gogglebox with both of them. It was only natural then that you chose Friday afternoon to come and pick up your stuff.

"I've been waiting in my car for half an hour till I saw him leave." Harry half laughed at that, still the two of you standing opposite each other in the hallway. "Um, do you… do you hate me Harry?"

Clearly, he hadn't quite been expecting your question going by the way his eyes almost bugged out his head.

"No, I-I, of course, I don't… look, I'm home alone so you fancy a cuppa?" Not being able to help the small chuckle, you nodded appreciatively, following Harry through the house.

"Your answer to everything is tea."

Harry had prepared the two mugs in silence as you sat at the table waiting patiently - if nervously too. You didn't miss how Harry had still used your favourite mug, having had to dig through the cupboard to find the weird square-shaped thing. Once done, he rounded the kitchen island and placed it in front of you, which you instantly cradled in two hands - for the hope of warming you up.

"You cold?" Obviously, it was pretty evident that sitting in your rain-soaked hoodie was not cosy at all. "Hang on a sec."

The boy sprung up again, returning moments later with a hoodie in hand, one he offered out to you with a little smile. The issue was that him and Tom shared clothes, so the hoodie he was kindly offering to you also had been worn by Tom before. Which made it hurt a little bit to wear. It was better than sitting soaked through though.

"How have you been then?"

"Not the best, to be honest, but uh… how about you?"

"Being with Tom while he's fighting with you? Oh, it's a barrel of laughs. You might've escaped it, but I haven't." He was trying to lighten the mood, and you appreciated it, offering him a half-smile that didn't really meet your eyes.

"Yeh sorry about that."

"Don't apologise; it doesn't sound like it's your fault Y/n."

That surprised you. Tom, especially when he was in moods like he was when you argued, wasn't one to admit when he was wrong. It was usually how the world was against him and how he was so hard done by. Accepting responsibility was something he hadn't said to you yet - but at least, small steps.

"He say that?"

"Pretty much… doesn't seem like he's angry at you, but-but he's still angry."

"At the world?" You rolled your eyes; this seemed to be the same old Tom through and through. Still immature. Still not with the right mindset.

"At himself." Harry countered, slightly entertained, when he saw the flash of surprise in your face as he sipped his drink. "And me… if I dare to so much as breathe this week."

This time you properly laughed, and Harry joined in too before the room fell back to silence - except the noise of the rain hitting the garden patio slats. You swirled the tea round in your mug, feeling the brunette's eyes on you. He'd always been your fake little brother too, since you'd met the Hollands way back 3 and a half years ago. Tom and yourself were barely adults, which meant the twins were still proper children. Harry had always been the one that understood you. Hollands, by nature, loved humans - loved to talk, to chat, to gossip. But sometimes, doing all that socialising got too much for you, as it did for Harry. He was the only one that seemed to understand social exhaustion. So when those moments had hit, you'd kept each other company in silence.

He got you, sometimes in ways your own boyfriend didn't.

"You know why he got so worked up, right?" You shook your head, looking up curiously. "Dad got under his skin on his birthday zoom thing."

Ah, now that did seem to coincide with the start of Tom's more petulant phase. To be fair, Tom had been asking to move in together for near enough a year now - but it was only in the past month it seemed to be the only thing you'd talk about and obviously only three days since the flight back. Dom's birthday barely a week ago, whilst you and Tom were both filming - except Tom had managed to get a day off where you hadn't. So you hadn't heard this conversation.

"What'd he say?"

"Was talking about how he and mum were settling down at Toms age, joked about how you rejected him, said maybe you were holding out for something better."

"Something better?" Harry sighed, leaning forward onto his elbows.

"He'd seen an article just off a trashy tabloid… it named you Hollywood's golden girl or something, said you could have the pick of any person on the planet…"

Of all the people in the world, why is Tom affected by shit journalism? He knows how much bullshit people write. He knows how it's all made up, exaggerated nonsense. And what he should know, completely and totally, is how much you love him. And if he didn't, was that your fault? Had you done something wrong, something to make him doubt you?

Harry seemed to notice the internal dialogue going on in your head, adding to the point. "It wasn't the article though, it was the fact dad said it."

Hmmm.

You and Dom got on; it wasn't like you hated the possible future father in law or whatever. Just…. you had very different outlooks. As much as Tom prided himself on how' grounded his family keeps him' -to you at least, they aren't entirely at sea level either. They'd never really had any particular struggles in life. They were the definition of middle class, and that's about it. They lived in a posh suburb of London, had all their family still around. It was the perfect family.

And whilst you were in no illusions about how privileged your life was now. It hadn't always been. You'd never had the 'nuclear' family. Instead, only your dad and a string of dodgy and fleeting stepmothers while struggling to make ends meet. So you were just always wary of Dom, of his opinions that so often his boys took for gospel. They always seemed pretty sheltered and close-minded.

And yet, Tom was a grown man.

"I get that, I just… Tom should know that we know more about our relationship than his dad. I mean,… have I done something wrong? Made him think I'm not in this for the long haul?"

"No nonono Y/n he's just… well he's an idiot, isn't he? I don't think he properly understands why you're cautious about moving and everything. He's just an idio- "

Harry was cut off for lightly insulting his brother by the sound of the front door opening, both of your heads swivelling towards the source. You then met Harry's eyes in a panic, to which he replied relatively simply.

"Just talk to each other. For my sake." You would've argued if it weren't for the fact you were so focused on Tom's shuffling around in the entrance hallway - back early from his parents.

"Baz? Where you at? I thought I saw Y/n's car and-"

"Kitchen!!!" Before Tom could say anything else, possibly landing himself in more trouble, Harry interrupted as his chair screeched while standing up. And then Tom was just there. Standing in the doorway, his arms dropping limply to his side as he noticed you. Everything about that moment seemed to freeze, when you locked eyes with him for the first time in three days. It didn't go unnoticed, the way his Adams apple bobbed, the way his eyes widen. The boy looked plain and simply terrified.

It was Harry who broke the silence, after giving you a stern look that said 'stay'. The younger Holland boy walked up to Tom and spoke.

"Try actually talking and actually listening about your problems with each other." And then he was gone, down the hallway and up the stairs.

For a few moments, Tom stayed absolutely stationary, now staring at where Harry had been when speaking to the both of you (but mainly Tom). Long enough to put your sense of unease at an all-time high, ready to make a break for it.

"If you don't want to talk, then I can leav-"

"NO!" Apparently snapping out of it, Tom exclaimed loud enough to make you flinch from your seat. "Sorry! I-I just… I wasn't expecting to… you know, to see you."

"Yeh I just uh- just came to pick up some scripts… Harry cornered me with a tea, though; otherwise, I'd be…."

"Baz thinks the whole world could be fixed with tea."

"that's what I said!" You instinctively responded, forgetting the fact you're supposed to be mad at him, and just for a second falling back into your normal flow.

Tom didn't even try to hide his grin in response, until you quickly corrected your face- then he did too. Turning around to put the kettle on for himself. Because right now, he needed to fix his whole world, and he needed all the help he could get. For a period, the only noise was the sound of the kettle boiling, then the teaspoon clinking against the mug as he stirred - until he padded over, taking the seat across from you.

"So."

"So."

"It's been a while," Tom stated the bloody obvious.

"You never called."

"Didn't think you'd want me to."

You thought that the early signs weren't all that auspicious. His ability to read a situation once again failing.

"I wanted you to say something."

"Say what?"

"What do you think Tom?" He replied to the sarcastic tone by sucking in a sharp breath, holding it for a second, before slowly exhaling. As if trying to compose himself, take time to think of a response - a mature move for him.

"Well, I think you want me to say sorry? For being so moody and not waiting for you and for upsetting those kids. And thanks too, for covering for me?"

You just hummed. Waiting for him to continue. Because yes, you did deserve all those things. But you also deserved more. An apology for, oh I don't know, saying he didn't think you loved him? It was a wait that never ended, he had nothing more to add.

"Going by your face, I take it I missed something?"

The bloody cheek of it.

"Theres nothing else? Nothing else at all? …" You gave him that chance, the opportunity but all he could respond with was a shake of his head. "You thought I was fine about you saying that I don't love you?" You hadn't intended on raising your voice, but really you hadn't realised you did till after the fact. To blinded by rage at his ignorance.

"You want to talk about this now?"

"When else Tom?" You sighed, realising he perhaps wasn't ready for this conversation. Maybe he needed more time to think things through, have sense talked into him by various wiser family members. Or maybe, he never would be. That was the worst-case scenario. But also… you're most likely prediction.

He shuffled in his seat, clearing his voice but not saying anything. Not a peep.

"I have spent three years of my life with you. I've had countless nights of too little sleep because that was the only time you could facetime. I've exposed my relationship to the world and people's opinions because you didn't want to hide. All I've done is love you. How could you even say that?" There might've been tears in your eyes, yet you were determined to keep them at bay. You needed to have this out, one way or another, to be clear and cohesive and logical. No time to cry.

"Y/n I know that, I…" He sighed, instinctively reaching for your hand, but you were quicker to pull it away. There was hurt in his eyes, but so there should be. "It just sometimes feels like that's it for you. That yeh you love me but you just want to standstill. That this is as much as it'll ever be."

Your emotions were suddenly uncontainable. Your voice croaked as you whispered, "Have I done something wrong?"

"No love, nonono if that's how you feel then that's okay. But it's something I'm not… shit this is hard." He took a pause to take a sip of his drink, your glazed eyes never leaving his. "I don't think I can stand still anymore. And yeh I was pissy and childish the other day because my dad got under my skin about the whole moving in thing… But these past few days, it just has got me thinking. Because I love you, so much."

This time when he reached out to grab your hand, you actually leaned into it yourself. Not because you were giving in, but because this hurt. This hurt so fucking much that you needed something to ground you, or else god knows. Because the way he was speaking, it sounded so finite.

"I love you too."

"I do know, which is…is why this is so hard." At the very least, Tom had conceded that.

The conversation ceased to silence yet again. The room felt so cold; even Tom/Harry's hoodie was doing nothing to keep you from the endless empty cold that seemed to be coming from within.

"When I re-registered my health card last month, and I made you my emergency contact on it. I-I made you my next of kin on everything actually. I didn't think about it twice. And-and this-"You pulled your phone out of your back pocket, immediately pulling up the app onto the open page. "This is my Pinterest board for our baby's nursery theme. I know-" You paused, to quickly wipe your cheeks clear of the tear tracks that may or may not have been there. "I know it's probably a long way away, but I just love the Scandinavian theme." You laughed at yourself, suddenly embarrassed at your blabbering and quickly pulled up a different app. "And this… this was from the other week when I was helping Y/bf/n start her vows." Hands trembling as you turned the phone around for Tom to see again. "She was finding it really tricky so she said, what would you say to Tom on your wedding, so-so I made this list." You only dared to look at him when you were sure he'd be reading through that note.

It was bizarre because he looked… well, he looked happy. Here you were feeling traumatised, showing things that you'd barely even deeped how committed they were - and he was pleased? Feeling the fire burn once again inside of your chest, you quickly swiped the phone away and back into your pocket. Only then did he look up, eyes widening - presumably at quite how psychotic you looked.

"So don't you dare say that I don't want a future with you."

You said it with such force, there was a pause. Tom letting those words sink deep into his brain. The way his expression flickered minutely gave you hope. You thought he got it. You thought he really understood now.

"But why don't you want to move in then?"

There it was again. He knew why. But he didn't get it. And, probably, he never would.

You were about to crash completely. So you ran. As fast as your legs could carry you, not even aware of your chair crashing to the floor in your wake. You ran out of that house and away from him. Away from who you had thought was the love of your life.

?give tom a final chance w one last part?

feedback is always v v appreciated <3

tom taglist : @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08

people i think might be interestd in this (sorry if not just let me know and i'll remove the tag!!!): @obiwanownsmyass @wildxwidow @parkersvogue @coffeewithoutcaffeine @tomhollandlol @thefallenbibliophilequote @clumsymandu @hiraethenthusiast @mannien @abrielleholland @evermorehabit @niallberry @greatpizzascissorstaco @runawayolives @annathesillyfriend @letsgotothemoonlight @lovelybarnes

[radiantmists]

Title: and you give yourself away

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing: Jon/Martin

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 4414

Jon is not an idiot. Contrary to what some of the people who love him might believe, he’s not even entirely oblivious to social cues, though he’ll admit they elude him perhaps more often than is standard.

All of this to say that in the week following their escape from the Lonely, as Martin graduates from shy smiling glances and tentative clutching of clammy hands to full-bellied laughter and warm, steady embraces, Jon is fully capable of figuring out where things are going. And, yes, the idea makes him uneasy when he faces it head on, but if there's something more he can do to feed the way Martin is unfolding, blossoming into the man he'd been before— except more sure of himself, somehow, steadier—

Well, there isn't much Jon wouldn't attempt for that, given the option. This is something small, something he's not even actually opposed to, just... less than completely sure of.

So when they’re sitting on the couch together, giggling over some charming thing the grocer had said to Martin, and Jon looks up to find Martin’s blue-green-grey eyes mere inches from his own, a breath caught in each of their throats, he's prepared for what Martin is going to say before the first sound emerges.

“Jon,” he whispers, “can I k—”

“Yes,” he blurts before Martin can finish.

Too loud and too abrupt; they both rear back with the force of it, and for a moment Jon feels like an utter idiot before he notices Martin giggling softly.

“Not eager at all, are you?” he teases, and now Jon hesitates.

The thing is—he’s not oblivious, which means he’s been thinking about it. He’d known how Martin felt since just after he woke up and listened to that awful tape with Elias; perhaps he’d figured it out even before that, somewhere between the fifth cup of perfectly-brewed, perfectly-timed tea in as many days and the third scrambled phone call from an ocean away, picked up on the second ring despite the forgotten time-zones.

But there had been so much going on, at first, that Jon had never had the chance to really think about it. And then after he’d woken, when he’d really had the chance to consider what he and Martin were to each other, it had always been in a sort of abstract sense—I need him to be okay, I need to trust him and I do trust him, and in the most maudlin moments of hopeful fantasy, I want him to still want me.

Only now, when they’d found that against all odds they were okay, and they did trust each other, and even begun to signal that they wanted each other, had Jon begun to consider what exactly ‘wanting’ might look like for Martin.

“I—wait,” he begins, the word tasting bitter. He knows Martin won’t be unkind about this, but that isn’t necessarily the same as understanding. Jon still has to say it. “You can kiss me, but only if you won’t be offended if I don’t like it.”

Martin sits up shock-straight, eyes going wide as he looks at Jon. “I’m not going to do it if you’re not going to like it! If you didn’t want to, why didn’t you just say no?”

Jon sighs, irritated. That hadn’t come out right.

“I didn’t say no because I do want you to kiss me,” he says, trying to be patient. “I mean, if you want to—”

“Of course I want to, Jon, but that doesn’t mean you have to say yes!” Martin replies, frustrated, gesturing sharply with his hands. Jon blinks, leaning back slightly, and Martin sighs, arms coming down and his tone going softer, smaller. “It’s not—this isn’t something you need to give me, Jon. I know you love me. It’s okay to have boundaries.”

Jon hadn’t had to come out to Martin, because the archival gossip chain had done it for him. But he supposes there was enough ambiguity in the terms that it’s worth having the conversation anyway.

“Asexual people can and do kiss, you know,” he says. “Some even have and enjoy sex, although I have to be clear that that will not be happening.”

“I—I know that,” Martin says, going red and avoiding Jon’s eyes. “And I know you can kiss, I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, but—you said you wouldn’t like it.”

Jon wrinkles his nose with a sigh. A whole week of turning this over, of deciding how he wanted to address this possibility and even rehearsing what he needed to say, and he’s still made a mess of it.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t like it,” he says slowly. “I asked you to be prepared for the possibility that I might not, because I don’t actually know. I want to try, but only if you’re okay with this maybe being the only one you get.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“Jon,” Martin says slowly. “Have you not—would that have been your first kiss?”

Jon has to bite his tongue on the first, defensively scathing reply, and nods instead.

“But—”

Martin stops, hesitant, and Jon waves permission for him to continue with a sigh. Maybe the next question is going to be indelicate or ignorant, but better to address it than to leave him wondering.

“I mean, I know you’ve been in relationships before,” Martin explains carefully. “I—I’m not as surprised that you haven’t done it, there’s nothing wrong with that, I’m just confused because it seems like if it was something you wanted, you could have?”

Turning that one over in his mind, Jon nods slowly.

“I suppose you’re right,” he allows. “I guess it isn’t something I want in the traditional sense. I don’t look at someone—even someone I love—and want to kiss them, any more than I look at them and want to have sex. But sex at least makes sense,” he grouses. “As… off-putting as I find the idea on a personal level, it’s necessary in an evolutionary sense and obviously it involves biological processes that are designed to be enjoyable. I get why people do it, and those reasons don’t appeal to me.”

At this point, Martin is brick red, but he nods in acknowledgement. “And… kissing is different?”

“Yes!” Jon’s maybe a little excited to get to talk about this. Sue him, he’s been thinking about it enough. “It’s not as awful as sex seems, but it also serves no functional purpose, and yet the whole world is utterly convinced that it’s absolutely wonderful, and I don’t understand it. Another person’s mouth does not seem like an appealing thing to have in your mouth. But then again, objectively neither do pen caps, and you’ve seen me with those.”

Martin snickers. “Apparently they’re irresistible.”

“Yes, well,” Jon says, flapping a hand. He’d made the joke, but somehow he still feels a prickle of embarrassment, so he moves on quickly. “The point is, there’s nothing inherently appealing or especially off-putting about it, in theory. But I’ve never had an especially good reason to try, and none of the people I’ve dated really liked it, so I’ve never bothered. That doesn’t mean I’m not… curious.”

His first two partners had also been ace; Georgie wasn’t, but simply ‘wasn’t a fan’ of kissing, though she’d never been able to explain why, any more than Jon could articulate why the idea of anyone touching him sexually made his stomach flip even though he saw nothing inherently wrong with the act. It didn’t matter why, really; as Martin had said, boundaries are important. But it meant he’d stayed curious.

There was a little more to it, of course. His first boyfriend had asked Jon if he wanted to try kissing once, casually, since he’d never done it before. Jon had declined. Perhaps he hadn’t been quite as secure in his sexuality then, perhaps he did actually feel more of a need to at least try for Martin, who genuinely wanted this. Jon likes to think, though, that his desire to try simply speaks to how comfortable this whole relationship has felt, how safe. There was no reason that kissing had to be any different from that pastry recipe they’d done together the other day, the one they’d thrown out after three bites each with little more than a regretful shrug.

“I… that makes sense,” Martin says finally, and Jon sits up.

“You still want to, then?” he asks.

Martin blinks, an uncertain smile spreading on his face. “You are excited.”

“I’ve been thinking about it!” Jon says defensively, and Martin gives a shocked laugh-gasp. “I mean—I thought you might want to, which meant I had to decide whether I wanted to try, and so now I just… I’ve just ruined the mood, I suppose,” he finishes, deflating.

Martin’s smile doesn’t grow, but it stops twitching and tucks in at the corners like it’s decided that it’s there to stay. “I wouldn’t say that. Unless you’d rather not, of course.”

“No, I’m fine,” Jon replies. “Let’s try it.”

He studies Martin’s face, leaning forward slightly. Jon has considered the mechanics of this before, of course, and he’s seen it in movies, but there’s a difference between knowing how to do something theoretically and having experience, so he’s hoping Martin will take the lead, as it were…

With a frustrated noise, Martin pulls back.

“What?” Jon asks, blinking. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I—I guess I’m just nervous now!” Martin replies, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, I brushed my teeth this morning, but that was hours ago, what if my mouth tastes weird?”

Jon frowns. “Is that usually a problem?”

“Not—really? Not unless you’ve just woken up, or eaten something really strong…”

Would Martin’s mouth even taste that different from his? They’d eaten the same things today, after all, and used the same toothpaste. The memory of the bathroom with their toothbrushes sitting in the same cup, of sitting across from each other over a lunch they’d made with crisp sunlight streaming through the window, makes Jon grin a little even as Martin barrels on.

“Or—I thought, something chaste at least to start, but lots of people like deeper kisses way better, and really I’m not exactly talented, or even all that experienced! What if I put you off kissing forever, but you actually just don’t like kissing me?”

He looks down at his hands as soon as he’s finished; Jon reaches out slowly to take one in his own, contemplating this.

“If I don’t like kissing you,” he says finally, carefully, “then that’s all I need to know, isn’t it?”

Martin makes a cut-off sound that Jon can’t identify, and when he chances a glance at Martin’s face, his eyes are wide.

“I’m never going to want to kiss someone else,” Jon points out. “Best case scenario, you show me a fun new activity we can do together. If we… bump teeth or something, some good reason it’s an abnormally bad kiss, we can try again. And worst case—well, you don’t get to kiss anyone, I suppose, but—”

“It’s not like it’s something I need,” Martin interrupts, but he’s squeezing Jon’s hand. “Yeah, okay, I see your point.”

“There’s no pressure to be perfect from my end,” Jon agrees, but now he can feel himself hesitating. “But—there’s a good chance that I won’t like it, and it won’t be your fault, but if you’d rather not try at all, I won’t be upset.”

“Jon, I can promise you you’re not pressuring me into this,” Martin smiles.

Jon bites his lip. “I don’t want to do it if it’s going to upset you, or make you feel like you’re… inadequate.”

Martin sighs.

“Jon, I feel inadequate all the time,” he says frankly. “As long as you don’t—I don’t know, dump me over it? Make fun of me?—it’s not going to make a noticeable difference.”

“I think that’s worse,” Jon replies, and Martin winces. Jon wonders how much he’s already contributed to Martin’s feelings of inadequacy and decides it’s definitely worse.

“Well— I can promise I won’t be upset with you if you don’t like it,” Martin says finally. “But I think at this point we’re in utter agreement that we don’t have to, so maybe we can just—table this discussion?”

Jon sighs and shifts to rest his head against Martin’s shoulder instead. “Yeah, okay.”

Martin’s soft laughter rumbles in his chest and through Jon’s cheek into his skull. “Wow, you sound more disappointed than I am.”

“I was a bit excited to try,” Jon admits, running his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand in his own. “I’ve been curious about this for decades, Martin.”

“…yeah, that tracks.”

His tone is fond, but Jon still shifts uncomfortably, trying to make himself smaller.

“That’s me,” he says quietly. “Can’t leave any question unasked.”

Martin sighs. “Jon, you know that’s not what I meant.”

Jon does know. He does, except--

“You don’t mean it until it’s what makes me do something idiotic,” he blurts, sitting up. “It’s all just me, Martin, and—”

“Okay, being curious doesn’t require you to be ridiculously self-sacrificing!” Martin argues, letting go of Jon’s hands to gesture in frustration.

“Well, fine,” Jon bites back, crossing his arms. “I’m curious and an idiot. Happy?”

 “No!” Martin snaps. “There’s a difference between being stupid, which you aren’t, and being so convinced that your own safety doesn’t matter that you’ll knowingly throw yourself into danger, or, or let someone maim you for a story!”

Jon opens his mouth. Closes it. Martin is studying him, the tension slowly leeching out of his posture and leaving him just looking tired.

“I… I needed to know those things,” Jon says weakly.

“Most of them, yeah,” Martin agrees. “But—Jon, when you need something, when you’re curious, why is you getting hurt the first option? When did that happen?”

When had it happened?

Long before he’d entered the Lonely, the possibility of his death not even registering if it gave him a chance to retrieve Martin. Surely before Jared, when he’d traded an extra rib for a statement with hardly a moment’s hesitation. One rib for the statement, one for Daisy, as though they were remotely equal, and the obscenity of it had occurred to Jon only later. He’d been glad, in a sick way, that it hadn’t worked.

He hadn’t known exactly what would happen, with Melanie, but he hadn’t exactly been surprised to look up from the bullet to see her swinging at him with murder in her eyes. It had been worth it, though, even if she’d hated him afterward.

Jon had expected to die in the Unknowing, deep down. He’d accepted that the circus would kill him at some point during that interminable month with Nikola, though he hadn’t realized it until he’d been accepting Michael’s offer of a cleaner death—a trade in itself, he supposed, his life for an end when he’d had nothing else to bargain with. He’d spent the next few months increasingly exhausted, until putting himself on Trevor and Julia’s shitlist in exchange for some real answers from Gerry had hardly even been difficult.

Did Martin even know about any of those? He hasn’t seen Jon’s rib, hasn’t asked about the new scar on Jon’s shoulder or, in the whirlwind surrounding their departure, what exactly two hunters were doing at the Institute. He must have listened to some of the tapes, in those months that Jon can’t quite remember, but had the one recording Michael’s statement ever made its way to the Institute, or has Jon just automatically included it in the perfectly-accessible archive in his head?

Martin might be thinking about the Unknowing, or perhaps about Jon’s hand, which he’d patiently helped re-wrap on the day Jon had returned to the Institute, when the wound had practically ripped itself open with the strain of holding a shovel and digging.

Maybe he’s thinking about less concrete hurts, the way Jon had thrown himself into the idea of being useful if he couldn’t be human. About how Jon couldn’t give his life anymore, how he’d traded his human death to Oliver in exchange for waking up.

Or maybe it had been earlier, in a moment Martin will remember: that first, frantic rush of Prentiss’ attack, when Jon had grabbed for the tape recorder on the desk through a sea of writhing white flesh without even considering whether there might be a second.

Whatever Martin is thinking about, he must see on Jon’s face that he doesn’t have an answer, that the list is so long and so old that he can’t even begin.

“That isn’t okay, Jon,” he says softly.

“You did it,” Jon finds himself replying, defensive. “With Peter, you knew he was dangerous—”

Martin sighs, cutting him off even though the sound is almost silent. “Yes, I did, Jon, after you’d been in a coma for three months, and Tim and Sasha were dead, and the Institute had been attacked again, and my mother had just died. Do you really think that was a healthy decision?”

No. No, it had been terrifying, listening to the tape they’d found in the Panopticon and hearing Martin’s recorded voice call it a good way to get killed. Even with him bustling around packing in the other room, perfectly safe, Jon had felt the terror rise up cold and choking in his throat.

“You’re not a tool, Jon, and you’re worth more than a statement or a convenient solution to a problem,” Martin says. “It terrifies me that you don’t seem to get that.”

“It—I can see why it would,” Jon allows, throat tight. “But what I am now, whatever it is that Peter thinks Magnus ‘got’ out of their bet—”

“That isn’t your fault, Jon—”

“I hurt people to live, Martin,” Jon replies, exhausted. “Don’t I owe those people—and the people I’ve gotten killed—whatever good I can do, even if it might not be… comfortable?”

Martin leans back, his eyes closed. He looks hurt, and Jon feels abruptly and deeply ashamed of himself. After everything he’s gone through, with everything he’s still struggling with, Martin shouldn’t have to deal with Jon’s baggage as well.

He’s searching for the words to make this go away, to assure Martin that he’ll think about it and that he’s not planning to throw himself into danger any time soon, that he’s happy to stay up here and leave it all behind for as long as it’s safe or until Martin wants to go, when Martin speaks.

“What do I owe you, then?”

Jon blinks. “What?”

“For making you come after me,” Martin explains. “My plan didn’t accomplish much except for giving Magnus something he wanted, after all.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Jon argues. “I—it was my choice to go in, I—”

“It was Tim’s choice to go into the Unknowing,” Martin replies. “And Daisy’s for that matter. They didn’t do it for you, or even really because of you.”

Tim wouldn’t have chosen to go in if Jon hadn’t utterly ruined his life; neither he nor Sasha would have died if Jon hadn’t asked them to be his assistants in the first place. And even in the Unknowing itself, if Jon had just been able to see through it back then the way Elias—Jonah—had predicted he should, the way he’d almost easily found his way out of the Lonely, they could all have gotten out just fine.

Martin glares at him, apparently reading the justifications on his face. “They chose, Jon, with their eyes wide open. Don’t tell me otherwise, because I won’t believe you.”

“Even ignoring that,” Jon says, though the words are bitter, “it’s not—we’re not alike. You hadn’t hurt anyone—”

“I’ve been thinking about that one, actually,” Martin says, and his tone has gained the distant, thoughtful tinge he’d always had in his lonely office on the topmost floor of the Institute. Jon reaches for his hand, worried, and Martin doesn’t move away, but doesn’t close his own fingers, either. “I was enough of an avatar to convince Peter, wasn’t I? He must have been able to feel the Lonely on me, even if some of it was lies. That power had to come from somewhere. From someone, someone afraid.”

“He had control over the whole Institute,” Jon points out. “Maybe the low-level loneliness just sort of… carried over?”

But Martin shakes his head. “Maybe a little,” he says, “but I don’t think so.”

“Why?” Jon demands, frustrated. “There was no one who came in and made a bloody statement about you ruining their lives. Who did you hurt?”

“You, I think,” Martin answers, looking down at their hands. “Most of the Institute, they were afraid of the policy changes that Peter was making, or that he’d fire them or their friends—well, disappear them, but they mostly didn’t know that. And at first I think you were worried about what he’d do to me, too, but…”

“You kept making me leave,” Jon realizes, the words coming out almost before he understands them. “I started to worry that you’d chosen the Lonely, started to be afraid of more than just Peter realizing you were conning him, that you’d decide you really were better off without me.”

Martin stares at him, hands still limp in Jon’s. “That was… God, I’m right, aren’t I? You just Knew it.”

Jon had.

“It—it doesn’t matter,” he insists, squeezing at Martin’s hands almost desperately. “You didn’t even know you were doing it, it—”

“I knew I was signing myself over to an evil fear god, which is more than you did, going in,” Martin objects. “I knew Peter was evil, I knew you weren’t doing well—”

“It wasn’t your job to manage my emotional state, Martin—”

“Well, I’d have liked not to make it worse!” he snaps back. “God, talk about poor self-worth, you saved me after I practically left you to die over Peter Lukas’ theories—”

“About the literal apocalypse,” Jon points out. “It isn’t like I’ll be doing better if the Extinction really does emerge.”

Martin snorts dismissively. “His solution was to take over the world instead and kill the whole Institute in the process, that wouldn’t have been better either. And I might not have known that, but I did figure his plan was to use me for a ritual, and I still played along.”

“Because he’d have thrown you into the Lonely as soon as he realized you’d turned on him,” Jon replies.

“Which he did anyway. I’d have had to stop listening to him at some point.”

“Well, we did find out about the Panopticon, and Magnus,” Jon argues. “And you didn’t know if there was something even bigger he was leading up to, something we could use. You were doing the best you could, Martin, it’s only hindsight that makes the other options seem so much more obvious.”

Martin is blinking at him, gaze steady. Jon looks back. Thinks over his last few words. Makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s really not—”

“You’re genuinely so smart,” Martin interrupts, in a tone of wonder, “and yet so unbelievably stubborn. Yes, Jon, it is the same! You made some mistakes, most of them totally understandable in context, and none of them, even the really awful ones, mean you have to—to keep giving away bits of yourself!”

Martin voice has risen, gotten harsher as he goes, and he’s squeezing Jon’s hands tight enough that he can’t get them free to cross his arms, so all Jon’s frustration goes into his tone.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Fine! Neither of us will blame ourselves for things we couldn’t control, and we’ll both value ourselves more and build healthier self-images and all of that, and everything will be fine. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Jon glares. Martin scowls back, jaw set, still holding Jon’s hands tightly.

“Just like that,” Jon says.

“Absolutely.”

One more second of stubborn frustration passes. Then, helplessly, Jon snorts. Martin’s face twists, confused-irritated-wry, and then he’s snickering too, until they’re both laughing desperately, each leaning forward until Jon’s head is practically tucked under Martin’s chin.

“It’s not going to be that easy, you know,” Jon murmurs when they’ve calmed down, looking up to meet Martin’s eyes properly.

It’s an understatement; it’ll be hard enough just to keep things as good as they are. Martin still starts to drift off if he’s left alone for long enough, and no deal they make with each other is going to change the way Jon’s monstrous appetite is already starting to clamor for a statement.

“Well, at least we’re agreed,” Martin replies, but there’s a dry note in his voice that Jon knows means he understands. “We can remind each other.”

“I suppose.”

Their faces, once again, are very close together, and Jon abruptly realizes that he can feel Martin’s soft, tingling breaths on his cheeks. He pulls back, wrinkling his nose.

“What?”

“Nothing, just—breathing on me,” Jon explains. He’d mentioned his discomfort with that on their first night here, when he’d made sure there was a pillow between him and Martin on the bed.

Martin hums acknowledgement, then cocks his head in thought. Jon feels a curl of unease; this argument has been draining enough already.

“You know,” Martin says, “when you kiss someone, you can definitely feel them breathing on your face.”

“Oh,” Jon replies, utterly thrown. That was what had started this whole conversation. “Well. I probably wouldn’t have liked it much, then.”

“Good. And we figured it out without you actually having to do the uncomfortable thing,” Martin says. Jon sighs, then squints at him.

“And without you feeling like you’ve messed it up,” he replies pointedly, and Martin opens his mouth, then stops and chuckles.

“See? We’re going to be great at this.”

It’s not even remotely true. Jon still wants to know what kissing is like, though not with any real urgency, just as before; he’s still alarmed by Martin apparently feeling inadequate ‘all the time,’ and he doubts this has made a dent in it. Still, it might at least not make it worse.

Jon groans, leaning forward to rest his head on Martin’s chest and bringing his arms up to snake around his torso. “We can just hug instead.”

“Yeah,” Martin replies, folding him in tighter. “Yeah, okay.”

[jikooksgirl19]

My Soulmates 1

Genre:Soulmate AU, fluff,angst, eventual smut

Pairing: Idol Jimin x Lawyer Reader x Idol Jungkook

Warnings: some swearing (Y/N has a trash mouth sometimes)

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you my story. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter.

Please read the teaser and prologue first if you haven’t already.

*********************************************************************

October 7, 2018 4:36pm

The boys had been practicing since 8am that morning with limited breaks, and were tired and hungry. They were all going to dinner and begin making their way to the elevator, laughing and joking with each other. Namjoon was deep in thought when the doors of the elevator opened and a woman came out barreling right into the midst of the group. Her head was down, and she seemed absorbed in something on the iPad she held in her hands when she must have realized what she had done. Namjoon heard her gasp and reach out towards Jimin and Jungkook and thought she might be trying to steady herself as they were reaching out to her as well. He couldn’t believe it when they all began collapsing on the floor, the other boys trying to catch them. He noticed that the three were still grasping onto each other, and a red ring began to encircle their ring fingers and travel up their arms. The other boys were staring at this as well and they looked at each other shaking their heads. All of them mumbled the same thing

...”Oh Shit!”

You felt warm and cocooned for some reason. It was so cozy and you didn’t want to wake up. Wait, when did I go home? Your thoughts were hazy and you were trying to figure out where you were. You tried to stretch and found yourself bumping into something hard. As you started groping around you realized that this was not your pillow at all but felt like a chest. A mans chest. You have never moved so fast as you just did sitting yourself up. “What the hell...!” You look and see you are on a bed with not one but two boys cuddled up around you. Fear immediately sets in as you look around the room and see sleeping figures on another bed and couch.

“What the fuck...!” You said out loud quickly slapping both your hand over your mouth so as not to awaken the men in the room. You are in bed with, and surrounded by BTS. They are the worlds most famous boy band. They are the Nations Treasures. THEY ARE YOUR CLIENTS!!! Your mind explodes right then and there. You think to yourself ’What Tumblr, A03, Wattpad fanfic did I just wake up in.’

‘OH MY GOD IM IN A COMA!!!! That has to be it. There cannot be any other explanation. I’m in a coma and I transported into some sucky ass wannabe Hallmark Movie’.

All you can think of is that you have some sort of brain tumor and have fallen into a life altering, dream fugue-like state and all your teenage and young adult fantasies are blending together therefore you have conjured up some poly bias delusional weirdness in yor muddled brain. This isn’t real...this isn’t real... this isn’t real....... You pinch yourself and...oh shit that hurt. You struggle to get off the bed which isn’t easy by any means when two pairs of arms AND legs keep trying to pull you back down. You debate screaming bloody murder when you hear someone speak.

“You’re awake”. You turned your head and saw someone sitting up rubbing his eyes looking at you. You recognized the leader of said boy band Namjoon from the many many posters around BigHit.

“I am” your voice sounding more calm than you felt. “Can you tell me where I am and why I’m here with all of you like some weird slumber party?” You we’re holding on the the last shreds of professionalism that you could before screaming to the high heavens.

“You don’t remember finding your soulmates” he asked?

“Excuse me, my what now?” You cocked your head like you didn’t hear him right. “What on earth are you going on about? Soulmate, I don’t have a soulmate.”

“Soulmates” he corrected. By now some of the other members were starting to wake up.

“I AM in a COMA”. You were starting to babble incoherently in a mix of Korean and English with some well placed Spanish swear words your mother used to use when you were little and she was mad. You we’re starting to panic and began trying to climb off the bed all the while the two boys on your bed were snoozing away like nothing was happening. You managed to fall off of the bed and skittered backwards like a crab til your back hit the wall. You slapped your cheeks willing yourself to wake up.

Namjoon looked next to him and asked “Jin can you call Yuna? I think she may be able to help out with...” he looked at you realizing he didn’t know your name. Jin got up and walked towards the window to call someone.

“Y/N. Sona Y/N.” I...I..I’m a temporary lawyer working at BigHit on some of your international contracts. I’d like to say nice to meet you but maybe when there’s a less murdery vibe and location.” You were quickly getting your bearings together and began to gather your composure. “Now can you please tell me why I’m here being cuddled to death by those thing one and thing two over there” you point towards the bed. Several giggles and laughs were heard at this. You on the other hand were not sure what was so funny.

A deep voice in the corner answered this time. “Well thing one and two as you called them, or as we like to call them Jimin and Jungkook are your soulmates “ he said matter-of-factly like it was everyday normal. “I’m Taehyung, you can call me Tae or Tae-Tae to piss them off if you want.” His big boxy grin made him look like a mischievous child You couldn’t help but give him a wary smile. Someone else, you think it was J-Hope came towards you and thrust forward a hand. You cautiously took it and he helped you up from the floor. You began dusting off your skirt and straightening your blouse internally thanking the almighty upstairs that you were still clothed while eying all of them suspiciously. “I’m Hoseok, but you can call me Hobi if you want.”

Jin turned around after hanging up and offered you the only chair in the room. You quickly shuffled over sitting down and tried to ask again why you were here. In a bedroom, on a bed with your soulmates and their band mates all in the same room. “ Can someone please just tell me what happened?” Your voice staring to crack as you were close to tears. “This just feels too extrodinary to believe. You keep saying I have soulmates, as in plural. I didn’t even know that was possible.” It was then that you looked at your left hand and saw the red string tatoo. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME....Did I have a stroke? How...what...why...” your words became so jumbled you weren’t making any sense and you were pretty sure a panic attack was just a moment away from tackling your neurotic ass into submission. Jin kneeled in front of you telling you to breathe. “ In through the nose....out through the mouth Y/N. You can do it just breathe in and out, in and out...that’s it, you got it, in...out.” You sat there holding his hands while Tae began rubbing your back in circles as they were trying their best to calm you down. Jin explained to you that he also has a soulmate named Yuna and she is ready to come talk to you about what being attached to an idol can be like.

Across the room you heard a groggy voice “Uugghhhh....get off me Jungkookah. Why are we in bed? What happened” could be heard from the bed you just left. Jimin was sitting up while shoving Jungkook off of him and staring around the room. Jungkook fell off the bed. He jumped up and was getting ready to tackle his hyung who knocked him down when his eyes landed on you. He was confused as to why a woman, a very pretty woman, but a woman nonetheless was sitting in their studio bedroom at BigHit, surrounded by four of his hyungs. “Um, hello” he said quietly making Jimin look in the same direction. Eyes got wide when he also said a quiet hello and then proceeded to ask Namjoon “ What’s going on. Who is she and why are we all in here. I thought we were going to dinner?”

“See, I’m not the only one confused” you exclaimed louder and much squeakier than you meant. “Apparently we are soulmates” you say while gesturing to the both of them and yourself. “Surprise “ you say throwing up jazz hands and beginning to laugh at the outrageous looks on both of their faces.

“Who, who is your soulmate?” They both say at the same time.

Namjoon looks at you knowing you are barely holding on at the moment and answers for you. “All three of you are soulmates”.

They stare at each other then at you then at the group and both start laughing. “Ok ok, good joke hyung, stop playing around. Did you knock us out and this is a mystery mission? “ “Are we on a run BTS episode we didn’t know was being filmed?” They took turns asking like this was a prank or something.

When they see no one other than you are deadly serious they stop and start to freak out as well. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?” They look at each other only to both shout out that they couldn’t be soulmates. Why is it just happening now after knowing each other all these years. Brothers yes, soulmates no. NOPE. NO WAY, WHAT THE FUCK.

You get up and walk over to them. You grab both of their left hands and show them the tattoos. You peek inside your shirt and confirm you have the soulmates date above your heart, and tell them to check their chests as well. You strangely feel calm being around the two of them and less like a victim of some K-Pop Serial Killer drama that you stepped into, and you realize they also both settle down while you’re holding onto them.

Namjoon gets up and begins to explain that though it’s rare, there are known cases of multiple soulmates. They are harder to find because all of the mates must be together for their souls to connect. Once they do connect though the bond is stronger than a normal soulmates bond and can come with difficulties due to the relationship aspect of it. Prejudice often follows a poly soulmate connection due to the narrow mindedness of society and can often be looked down on. He tells the three of you that you should tell management right away so they can have a plan in place. Fans aren’t always supportive of their bias’s soulmates, and Y/N having two of the most popular idols in Korea as hers are going to come with challenges. Especially with you being a foreigner.

You three look at each other and back at Namjoon, silently agreeing to these terms. He also suggests you three need time together alone to get to know about each other because you all three had different lives leading up to today, and it would be best to figure out where you all should go from here. Other people’s feelings and relationships are going to be affected by what has happened and you all needed to be prepared for any backlash.

“Ok, now that this is all settled can we please get some dinner?” You hear from the other bed where apparently Yoongi has been napping throughout all the mental breakdowns.

To be continued...

Taglist: @mrcleanheichou @itsminniekat @dreamescapeswriting @seaoffangirling @4evahevah @sonderkook @bisexualmess007 @chxustuff @aviwasabi21 @skyys-universe @ally22042000 @ramblingsofawolfgirl

[the-silentium]

In Emergency Only

Masterlist

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Words: 2120 words

Warnings: TUA season 1 and 2 spoilers, violence, blood, sexual innuendos. 

Requested by: Anon!

Your last fic about Five was so good!!  Loved your unique twist you added and the interactions were so believable. Definitely one of my fav fics! If requests are open, could you do one of the same reader reacting to Five fighting and kicking ass, would they fight too or just hang out in the back and wait? Big fan and I love your work

A/N: Still 30 years old Five here! Same Reader and Five as in Doppelganger! Sorry for the title, I really had no idea. Oups.

The music playing in the background brought a smile to your face. You loved to learn more about different cultures and their different people dancing the Polka almost made you regret the reason of your little visit. You swore that this woman, the Handler, had Five in the middle of her palm, enraging your boyfriend to no end, but he sucked up his ego and accepted her deal to save his family. 

You followed Five through the enormous cabin. The architecture was truly beautiful, catching your eyes quite easily. You were occupied by admiring an intriguing animal carved into the wood that you didn’t see Five stopping in front of a vending machine and slammed into his side. He was quick to get a hold of your arms before you fell to the ground and hurt your behind, pulling you into his chest with a seductive smile on his kissable lips. 

“Distracted?” 

You rolled your eyes at him before pecking his lips. “I just like slamming into you.” Five’s groan made you chuckle before you turned your attention to the assortment of snacks displayed behind the glass. 

“See something you want?” Five buried his face into your neck, tickling you with his warm breath. Giggling, you pushed him away and pointed to a chocolate bar in the middle of the display. It has been a while since you last ate some, so you figured why not? You knew that you were sitting this one out, so eating would not be a problem. 

“Please?” You offered him your best puppy eyes, although you knew that it wasn't necessary. He asked you first after all. 

“Sure.” He pecked your lips one last time, turned to the machine while digging some money in his pocket and inserted the coins into the slot. He pressed the letter and number assigned to the candy and karma decided to hit you by stopping the spiral metal thing before the sweet could fall down. 

Frustrated, Five tried typing in the code again, without success. You knew that at this point in time, Five was getting pretty impatient. The last days haven’t been easy on him, especially when you almost got shot by one of the Swedes and every one of his siblings was scattered around town and not listening to him, causing Five to get irritated pretty easily. 

You grabbed his arm to calm him down when he started to push the machine and pulled him along with you to the cake further down the hallway. The only way to calm down Five was to allow him to successfully grant your wishes of eating something and the cake would do just fine. 

You quickly dipped your pointer finger into the icing, turned to him and when he opened his mouth to voice his anger you shut him up by putting your finger into his mouth. His pissed-off expression soon morphed into a cocky one when he noticed the red coloring your cheeks, proceeding to see if the color could reach your neck by sucking harder on your finger. Embarrassed by his antics, you retrieved your hand and hid your face in his chest. 

“This icing is heavenly.” He chuckled before reaching for something behind your back. “Look up.” You reluctantly did as told, dreading what you would find. Instead of being hit square in the face by a hand full of icing like you feared, a single maraschino cherry dangled between Five’s fingers, two inches away from your mouth. Instantly, your mouth started to water, the sweet ingredient had always been your favorite part of a dessert. “Open up.”

You would have blushed if it wasn’t for your excitement of eating the prized cherry. You didn’t hesitate to tilt your head and open your mouth to the incoming sweet, a delighted moan filled Five’s ears when you grabbed the fruit between your teeth and chewed.

“Now that’s a sound I like to hear.” The bliss of the cherry moment now over, your blush came back full force at his innuendo. You weren’t used to his flirty attitude, he was gone for 17 years and as young teenagers, your relationship wasn’t really oriented in that direction. You had to remind yourself that he was, in fact, 58 years old regardless of his physical appearance. 

A kiss fell on your cheek and Five let go of you to make his way to the fire axe on the opposite wall. 

“Do you think preventing the end of the world is enough of an emergency?” 

You smiled at his question and nodded once in approbation. “Definitely.” 

He winked at you before grabbing the axe with both hands and walked into the room. He passed in front of you and you took care of closing the door after yourself, this time your job was to keep watch and stop anyone from entering the room. Because it was the Commission’s board that was targeted, Five had thought it wise to take the matter into his own hands and keep you out of it. 

You weren’t against it, the memory of the barrel of an automatic rifle pressed at the back of your head was still pretty vivid and every time you thought about it you had goosebumps. In other circumstances, you were sure that you would have participated in some kind of way. Maybe with a knife or something, the fire axe was definitely out of your mental capacity. 

You had helped Five in some of his fights before. Not every fight, but some of them. You were impressed by the amount of bloody fighting your boyfriend could be engaged in and were truly amazed that every time he would get out almost without a scratch. 

Back at Griddy’s, you had to hide behind the counter where Five teleported you and wait until he had neutralized every armed guy in the room. You knew how to defend yourself, having followed some training with the Hargreeves when you were kids, but your skills were useless when guns were involved. This was the very first time you had seen the extent of Five’s ability. Never would you have thought that his space-jumping would be that effective. 

Then there was the fight with the Swedes in the Mexican consulate. The absence of guns gave you the opportunity to land some punch to the tough Swedes hitting the shit out of your boyfriend, the perfect distraction for him to throw the white-haired out the window. You hissed out of empathy for the guy before fist-bumping with Five and space-jump outside. 

Screams erupted from the room Five recently entered. Curiously, you made your way to the open doors to assess what you were sure was a gory scene. In the 2 seconds it took you to reach the doors, Five had already neutralized 4 of the board members and was quickly axing his way further into the room. You’ve never feared blood, your uncle had a butcher shop and you helped sometimes to put the meat into packages, nothing too dangerous, and while you helped you had seen the carcass of different animals being emptied from their organs so you were certain that you could handle whatever was happening in the next room. 

A blue spot flashed before your eyes and Five appeared at the same time a man hit a wall and fell down with a lamp. You rolled your eyes when Five took the time to take a sip from a glass, the next thing you knew a guy was hanging from the ceiling and three more board members were dead in a pool of blood. As much as you hated the view of dismembered bodies, you had to admit that Five was pretty efficient in his work. You managed to make eye contact with your boyfriend when he stopped for a second behind the last Commissioner, Five shooed you with one hand so you obeyed. If he thought that you couldn’t handle it, then you couldn’t. End of story. You had to admit that the sound of the axe hitting the bones was pretty disturbing, the sound occasionally made you shiver in disgust. 

You had your back pressed to the closed doors separating the bloody scene worthy of a horror movie and the welcoming Polka party, patiently waiting for your boyfriend to return victorious when a man with a fish tank as head stopped running when he saw you. If possible, you were as stunned as he was. You weren’t prepared to face a non-human person and he clearly wasn't prepared to see someone guarding the exit. 

However, he was faster than you to regain his senses and try to push past you. His sudden movements made you jump, his hands were almost on your arm when Five appeared in front of you and pushed the weird robot-man-fish away from you. 

“Surely we can come to some form of agreement that benefits both parties.” Your eyes widen at the voice, not expecting the fish to be able to talk. You tilted your head to the side so that you were able to see over Five’s shoulder and take a second look at the panicking talking goldfish. “Quid pro quo? What do you say?” Oh. His hope was cute. 

“Why not? Here’s your quid.” Five hit the human body’s leg with what you noted wasn’t the fire axe but something that looked like a cricket bat. “Here’s your pro.” He hit him again on the opposite leg. “Here’s your quo.” Five charged his hit as much as he could without hitting you with the bat, the fish’s pleas reaching your ears, then Five smashed the tank as hard as he could. The glass exploded, water got everywhere, the body fell to the ground in a thud and the goldfish dropped to the ground. 

As Five took a deep breath, you carefully stroked his back in a soothing manner before crouching to retrieve the gasping fish. You already had a bag ready for it, looking around you found a vase proudly showing off its beautiful purple flowers. You disposed of the flowers and poured the vase’s water into your plastic bag. Turning around you met your boyfriend with the fish’s tail trapped between his fingers, its head facing the ground. Hurriedly, you made your way toward them as you felt bad for the little thing convulsing out of the water.

“Poor little fishy! Put it quickly in the water!” You couldn’t help yourself and enveloped Five’s hand with the bag so the fish could be in his appropriate environment. 

“It’s far from being a ‘poor little fishy’ you know? It planned for the apocalypse to happen and ordered hundreds of people’s death.” He said letting go of the fish’s tail. 

You closed the bag so it wouldn’t escape and smiled sheepishly. “I guess I still can’t accept that a fish can talk. Or be at the head of an organization of killers.” You brought the bag at eye level to analyze the goldfish closer and sure enough, the fish was staring right at you. “I guess it does seem intelligent-” You paused as the fish nodded at your words. You controlled your surprise and smiled sweetly at him. “Can we name him sushi?”

The fish started to swim in circles, hitting the bag from time to time making you laugh at his apparent anger. A hand got a hold of the bag, taking the little burden out of your hands. At this moment you noticed that Five’s eyes were dull, their bright spark gone with every life he took. Worry etched your features, you reached for his empty hand and squeezed lightly hoping to give him some sort of comfort. He shot a small smile your way despite his eyes still being emotionless. 

Your heart broke for him, all this time he was forced to kill against his will and it ate at his soul. Oh how you wished you had a special ability like him and had the capacity to remove all of the darkness hurting his mind. Without warning, Five pulled you to his chest and jumped to an alley. The unexpected spacial-travel made you dizzy for a few seconds. You had done it enough time before to be used to it and be spared of the once usual wave of nausea following a jump. 

You knew that the Handler would come here sooner than later, so you engulfed your boyfriend in a hug regardless of the blood covering his clothes. Deposing a light kiss on his less stained cheek, you smiled lovingly at him. 

“It’s almost over. Then we’ll be only the two of us.” 

His forehead met yours and a sincere smile stretched his lips. “I can’t wait.”

[cassidyisnowdrawing]

He was going to kill Sun Wukong.

He was going to wrap his hands around his furry throat until he begged for Pigsy to stop, and then he was going to do it more. His eyebrow twitched in anger, he could feel the migraine starting to form behind his eyes as his temples pulsed.

He had just watched his kid twirl that damn stick around again. Clumsily, without the proper form or foresight to use it. A misaligned spin nearly sending the bowls resting on the counter flying, he quietly slide them back slightly as MK continued.

What was that stupid monkey thinking? Giving a kid, his kid, an all powerful weapon and what amounted to be superpowers. Telling him all he had to do was "believe", in himself before sending him to face an enemy three times his size and years of experience ahead of him. A teenager with no experience facing of the equivalent of a demigod.

It still makes bile rise in the back of his throat if he thinks too long about it.

"MK!" His kid snapped to look at him "Quit twirling that thing around in here, or so help me you'll be on dish duty for a month!" The kid froze mid-swing a look of terror passing over his face at the threat. Before a sheepish smile stretched across his face, " Sorry, Pigsy!"

"You better be, if I have to replace anymore bowls, it's coming outta your paycheck." The kid blanched slightly, drawing his staff close to his chest, "Wow, did you hear that I think I-heardMeicallingmegottagobye-!"

His kid was such a bad liar.

He tries not to let a fond smile pass over his face as MK trips over the door frame. Barely righting himself before taking off towards the direction of the arcade. A fondness settled in his chest for a moment, expression softening.

He never wanted kids.

He was always too prickly for kids. His anger used to rule him with an iron fist, his past littered with bad decisions and constant pain. Even as he began to settle down in his age and opened up the shop, finally doing something *useful* in his life, he knew he'd never *truly* have a family.

It changed the day he found MK.

He'll never forget it, every detail played back crystal clear in his mind. He'd finally managed to close up the shop, his back twinging in pain, the work never got easier especially when you started getting older. He hoped Tang at least attempted to clean up their shared apartment, the freeloader got enough free noodles to at least warrant some extra housework. He was about to lock the door when it happened.

He didn't even have time to prepare himself for the impact.

It had come from the side alley, a streak of yellow, white and red. A small body barreling straight into him, too lithe to actually do any real damage. He could the familiar anger simmer in his chest as he grunted in pain. He snatched the collar of his offender, easily lifting them and looking to the eyes of a- kid?

It was a kid, no older than sixteen.

He looked disheveled, clothes soaked through and dirty, hair scraggly and a touch greasy. Too skinny, far too skinny for a kid his age, but what punched the air out of his lungs was his eyes. Big eyebags underneath, brows pinched together, and a look of pure unadulterated fear seared on his features.

"Kid, what the hell-" hands gripped his arm where he still held the kid aloft. "Please," a raspy whisper escaped the kid, "Please, they won't stop chasing me andIcan'tloosethemandIdon'twanttodie-!" The kids hands shook, "Kid, kid slow down!" He set the kid down only for him to scramble back into his form.

"Please! Please--!" His voice cracked with desperation ,tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. He could feel his heart tug painfully at the sight. How much trouble was the kid in if he had to beg and plead with a random adult he'd physically ran into to step in?

Advancing footsteps sounded from the alleyway along with voices.

The kid flinched in turn ,form shrinking and eyes squeezing shut. Despite Tang's teasing ,Pigsy did in fact have a heart, so that really left him no other choice. Yanking the kid by his arm, he threw open the shop's door and hauled him in. "Sit there and do not move," he pried the death grip the kid had on him off.

The kid looked meek and afraid as he took in the place.

Pigsy simply rolled his eyes and pushed him down into the nearest chair. Peeling off his chef's uniform he set it on the kid's shoulders. "Keep an eye on that for me, and don't touch anything." The kid wrapped his hands around the fabric and watched as Pigsy headed back outside.

Tang wasn't happy when Pigsy called him to come down to the shop so late. He was even less happy when he saw that Pigsy was bloody ,bruised and apperently missing a tooth. He got over it when he saw the kid trying to seemingly hide behind him.

He'd won and he'd do it agian.

It all spiralled from there, Pigsy and Tang learned MK was hard to keep track of and even harder to actually find, despite their best attempts. Sometimes, he'd pop up at the noodle shop to say 'hi' or loiter outside their apartment when it rained. It had taken months of hard work and trust to get the kid to stay for more than a night in their tiny apartment.

Tang absolutely adored the kid, in his own weird-nerdy way and Pigsy had a soft-spot for the little trouble maker. It hurt to see such a bright smile dampered by hunger and fatigue. He and Tang tried to help the kid multiple times, but he was stubborn and didn't listen. Resolute to not take advantage of their kindness, despite repeated times telling him that was not the case.

Tang was the one who told him to hire MK.

"If he feels like he's pulling his own weight, he won't run. We can even put him in the room above the shop." Pigsy could see the reasoning, a way to inadvertently help and keep MK close. MK had cried happy tears when Pigsy told him he'd be able to live upstairs if he accepted the job, Pigsy simply patted his shoulder awkwardly. Tang helped him with his resume and Pigsy rearranged upstairs.

Three years MK had been in his and Tang's lives.

So he thinks he's a little justified in his anger. He thought he'd watch his kid die for God's sake! The nightmares plagued him on a constant replay of that moment-over and over and over agian. The flames swallowing his kid as he hauled away the other, because MK would never forgive him if he let Mei throw herself after him.

His nightmares that only doubled when the kid let slip that he had his "mentor" lock away the only thing protecting him from harm.

So, no, he wasn't really Monkey King's biggest fan and he was certainly tempted to deck him when the opportunity presented itself. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Pigsy released a sigh, tension radiating off his body in waves. He rolled up his sleeves and set himself back to work.

One day, one day him and Sun Wukong were going to have words.

[em0avacado]

They say

( Coco Cruz x Reader )

a/n : this is how i cope, don’t mind me, i’m just breaking my own heart.

trigger warnings : none i don’t think? except heart break, sadness. ends happy tho. i think. maybe.

word count : 2.4k

They say that, if you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it was meant to be, if it doesn’t? well you just couldn’t accept that. You’d poured every ounce of yourself into him, you’d told him all your fears, all your pet peeves, all your insecurities, because you trusted him. You’d accepted all his weird quirks, all the strange habits he had that you looked past, youd accepted him for who he was, as you do when you love someone as much as you loved him. You supported him, mentally and physically, from up close and from far away. You encouraged him, reminded him of little things he easily forgot, you told him every day how proud you were of him, how loved and appreciated he was.

He used to do the same for you, used to. But at some point, he began holding back, he stopped doing things he started doing to win you over. You used to have a list of pet names hed call you when he babied you, now it was just ‘baby’ if he was in a good mood, or [Y/N]. You noticed it as soon as it started, you noticed everything. You knew he was stressed so you didn’t want to push it, but you also know that “stressed” was a norm for Coco, so you couldn’t wrap your head around it entirely. He started coming home later, crashing on the couch in hopes of “not disturbing your sleep.” it sounded like an excuse to you, and it hurt. it really fucking hurt you.

At some point, you’d had enough of your boyfriend distancing himself like that, ignoring your feelings, ditching you when you needed him, you couldn’t live that way, you wouldn’t. So, when he came home, you’d waited up for him, sitting at the small kitchen table you both used to enjoy your breakfast on every Sunday, now it stood empty, with nothing but a stack of newspapers from the passing weeks piled on it. With a bit of liquid courage crashing against the rocks of ice as you swirled the brown liquid around in the cup, your eyes felt red with fire, and your cheeks were stained with few dried tears that rolled down your face as your mind came up with the worst possible results you could imagine, all to which, came true. With a jingle of his keys in the lock, you straightened your posture, looking at him.

“What’re you doing up?” he asked her, that same vacant look on his face.

“I wanted to talk”

“it can wait till morning.”

“it really can’t.” with that, she was met with utter annoyance, and an obnoxious scoff that made her blood boil.

“go on then.”

“you’ve distanced yourself, so hard. I barely see you. We don’t sleep in the same bed, I can’t remember the last time you touched me, hell, even looked at me like you used to. What’d I do?” that was your go to, blaming yourself. It’s how you dealt with the unexplained.

“Get off my ass, [Y/N].” He dismissed you, you watched as he pulled off his kutte, and settled into the couch. You kept your eyes on him, murder on your mind. God he irritated you, you wanted to take his neck between your hands and wring it. Maybe that’d breathe some sense into him, if you deprived him of oxygen a little. But you didn’t need another felony charge, you inhaled deeply, balling your fists, the sting of your nails digging into the palm of your hand bringing you back from picturing all the ways you’d brutally murder him, out of love, of course.

If you loved someone... you’d refrain from strangling them, you turned from the spot you stood, and headed into the bedroom. You did the breathing exercises your therapist had taught you, but they worked only slightly. You grabbed a duffel bag, and started shoving clothing into it, as much as you could, you pushed all the belongings you’d need the next few days, and zipped it up. Pulling on a hoodie, you tossed the bag over your shoulder, and headed out. You walked passed him without a word, when you went to grab your car keys, you did the only petty thing you’d let yourself, trying to be the better person, you hid every single key to everything you had, knowing how easily he lost keys, you’d help him, in your own favour, however.

You left, and you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The mere thought of Coco made you tear up, and it didn’t help that every tiny thing made you think about the lost love that still caused your chest to feel like it was about to concave. This wasn’t natural, you hadn’t felt like this, you were the queen of bottling up emotions, and ignoring them so you didn’t feel the pain of anything. But as you lived and breathed, everything reminded you of him.

You were in the middle of a girls lunch date, it’d been weeks since your seen your girlfriends since you’ve been trying to isolate yourself trying to get over this man, in the midst of drinking mimosas on the balcony of one of those entirely too fancy restaurants, you were laughing at highschool memories of your best friend who would start fights in the halls because she was bored, it was then, when a roar of motorcycles sped past where you were sitting, and it threw you into a whirl wind of emotions.

“make sure you hold on tight, mamas. Wouldnt want you to fall off.” the smirk heard in Coco’s voice sent a chill down your spine, being too intimidated by any sort of physical contact, usually, you usually ease yourself into it, but with Coco? It was brash and sudden, he started the bike, and gave you maybe a millisecond to grab a hold on him.

A little squeal forced its way out of your mouth as you quickly grabbed onto him, gripping onto your own hands, clinging to him. You buried your face in his shoulder. You felt him chuckle, and wanted to knock him out right then and there, but perhaps that wasn’t the best idea. It took you a moment, but once you opened your eyes, and watched as buildings, cars, people, hills and piles of dirt passed you by, trees whipping by. You felt yourself calm, you felt at peace. The wind flipped through your locks of hair, his scent filling your senses.

“This isn’t that bad.” you heard yourself admit in a soft mumble, you shut your eyes and felt the wind attack your face, balancing your inner battles with yourself. You felt peace in Coco, he tamed your chaos, and you his. God, what you’d give to feel like this all the time, but you only felt it with him.

You felt your throat burn, your bottom lip lodged itself between your teeth, and you did your best to fight the rage that tinged your eyes with tears. Your friends saw this, noticing immediately, the emotion that washed over your face, paling your features and dimming a smile that brought them laughter that lasted for days. You’d always been the group clown, with the loudest laugh, the brightest smiles, you were the one they’d all turn to when they couldn’t hold themselves up. You were a force to be reckoned with, you fought their battles when they couldn’t even hold themselves up. You never failed to show up with booze and ice cream to heal broken hearts. You brought things that made you think of friends, you remembered the finest details and came through every time. You listened to the quietest ones, heard every story, laughed at the lamest jokes. Seeing you with tears streaming involuntarily down your face as you tried to hide it, wiping them as fast as they came, it broke their collective hearts. They looked at one another, an unspoken question “how do you skip to the part of the storm that sprouts the flowers when the rain stops?”

Your relationship with sleep was toxic, it came and went as it pleased, your eyes were sunken, it was three A.M. and you felt your thoughts running through your mind a million miles a minute. Your head in your hands as another memory floated to the surface.

Panic overwhelmed you, hearing something, or someone, rustling around the kitchen, you grabbed the gun you kept tucked under your mattress. You cocked it, and took the safety off, holding it out in front of you in a defensive position. You opened your creaking door, the noise working at your nerves as you creeped into the kitchen where the only thing that illuminated the dark room was the bulb from the old white fridge. You watched silently as the head ducked from inside the fridge, you found it peculiar, but all you saw was a figure in your home you didn’t know. Getting closer, you held the barrel of the gun to the head of the man that stood in your kitchen.

“Hands up, Foo. Before I blow your brains all over my backsplash.” You threatened, your voice tense, and you were met with laughter that was all too familiar. Furrowing your brows, you were still panicked, not thinking straight. You shifted the gun so the bullet that was about to fly, only ripped through his hair. The shot rang loud, causing Coco, who you didn’t know was Coco, to crash to the ground.

“Crazy bitch!” he shouted, you flicked on the light, still having the gun pointed at him. Your eyes widened quickly, the man on your floor was Coco, and now there was a bullet lodged into your ceiling. You could kiss your security deposit goodbye, fuck, and you just shot at Coco. You put the safety back on, and set it on your counter before going to help him. A few minutes passed before both of you sat in fits of laughter, him mocking your voice, your words.

Coco told you so many times that the night you nearly shot him in the head, was the night he fell for you entirely. Sure, he’d known you were the one way before that. That night, though, he knew he was in love with you. That night he swore he’d break past your barriers, he’d demolish how you saw yourself, he taught you to love you, he made you promises to show you love like no other, and to show you that you didn’t have to be afraid of either physical and emotional aspects of love. He did do exactly that, but then ripped it away from her. Leaving her heart with him, and her chest feeling heavy with nothing. Once again tears were brought to your eyes, you were thankful for his love, but without it? you wished you’d never had experienced it in the first place. Maybe you wouldn’t be hurting now.

You were brought out of your train of thought by the knocking on your door, furrowing your brows, you got up from your spot on the counter, where you were thinking of better times, you looked through the peephole and it felt like someone took a vacuum to your weak lungs. Coco. Struggling to breathe proper, you just intended on ignoring him, it was the first time in months youd seen him and you didn’t know if you could handle it. Your heart screamed at you to let him in, he looked beat up, tired, and one of his eyes was bandaged up, he looked broken. you wanted to embrace him, forget the distance, but your mind scolded you, reminding you of the progress youd made, bouncing back from the pain oh so slowly. This could set it all back. So you decided, you wouldn’t open the door. He’s a big boy. You silently turn on your heel, away from the door.

“I’m sorry.” you heard him rasp, and you froze in your spot, a deer caught in headlights. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. “I know you’re there, I know you’re awake and I know you know it’s me. You have your kitchen light on, so I saw you stand on your toes to look through the peephole because you’re too short.” you cursed his observant ways, how well he knew you, like he had quirk notes tattooed on the back of his hand and read them like a bible. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice when you left, that I was too deep in my own world to see how me fading away for my own selfish needs was hurting you. I’m sorry I made it seem like I didn’t care, that it hurt you, I’m sorry that I made promises and broke them. I started thinking about things I never knew I wanted until you marched your stubborn self in my life and gave me a taste of a love that changed me. It scared the fuck out of me.”

That familiar burn of emotion lit up your head, and singed your chest. You let his words sink in, you couldn’t speak, not yet. Squeezing shut your eyes, you turned back to the door, setting your hand on the knob. You felt the door shift, like he’d gotten up from leaning his head against the poorly tinted wood. He got it, you could feel him prepare to walk away. If you love something, let it go. But Coco came back. He came back. You unlocked it, and turned the knob. Looking at him through sore eyes. “Running when you’re scared isn’t an option for me.” you said, defeat obvious in your voice. He stopped, turned to you and closed in quick. You pushed his hands away. “You can’t - You can’t just show me, tell me, and hold it to me that i shouldn’t shut you out, and i should trust you, and i should turn to you before anyone and anything else only to turn around and do that to me. You can’t do that and come running back.” you practically yelled at him, your voice shaking and raw.

“I know, I know I’m sorry.” he said, his hands dropping to his sides when you reached forward and yanked him in with all your might. The gesture was aggressive, sure. But pure.

“i’m sorry too.” you muttered, embracing him tightly.

—

tag list :

@queenbeered

@mayans-sauce

[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Hit me with your best shot

A/N: Hey! I saw the #WritersWednesday challenge on @autumnleaves1991-blog blog and thought it was an amazing opportunity to let the creativity flow and though I just started showing my works on here I guess giving it a chance wouldn't hur anybody and maybe some of you would enjoy this as much as I did writing it. And on that note, I'd like to thank every writer on here because your works have helped me a lot during these weird times; and of course speacilly to you @autumnleaves1991-blog for this and your "You're my best friend" series that made me cry, yearn (so much yearning) and loved every single minute of it, thank you!

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female character ( I decided to leave her very undeterminated as it's narrated on Javi's perspective I decided to use she/her pronouns, but I guess you could read it as a f!reader?)

Summary: Post-season 3, Javi and the character go on a date to Laredo's funfair (You could read this as a small piece on its own or as a part of the series I'm currently writing; if you're interested is on my blog and I haven't posted much since I opened it)

Warning: None (let me know if I should mark something) fluff! maybe some kissing...

Another thing! I've just finished this, so brace yourselves for some mistakes and mispellings, sorry

(I was listening to Kacey Musgraves while writing this, if you want to add more fluff to it)

She’s lovely with that white summer dress, she’s tapping her feet nervously looking around the street waiting for his car to arrive, but Javi is parked on the side of the road chewing a nicorette that has already lost all its taste. He observes how she peeks at her watch. He’s already late and doesn’t know what would make him feel any more terrible: standing her up or going on a date with her like an old creep.

Come on, Peña he urges himself to make a decision, but before he can make up his mind, he hears the door unlocking.

“Hey! I thought something had caught you up” she smiles and any doubts he had had been lifted. Gosh she’s pretty

“Sorry, I’m late I had...” he can make up any excuse and he feels he’s just smiling like an idiot.

“Don’t worry” she seats and adjusts her dress shyly “I see we’re making progress” she motions to his mouth

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been very good.” Javi says proudly and follows the road full of car towards the fair “I haven’t had a smoke in...a month, I think”

“Congrats!” she cheers “You deserve a reward then” she grins

“Sure?” he smirks eying her briefly not losing the sight of the road

“Whatever you want” she nods

“But a cigarette, of course”

“Obvs” she chuckles

“Then I better think for a really good reward, I deserve it”

“Yep”

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

­­­­­­­­­She’s talking about the first time she came to the funfair being a child. Javier is listening partially; part of his focus is on everybody around them. It feels like all Laredo is there and they had been stopped a few times already by people that wanted to shake his hand and thank him for his service; and Javi starts to feel like the music is too loud, there’s too many people around them and that he doesn’t want to hear the word “hero” anymore. So he tries really hard to look at her, to concentrate his mind on how she interrupts her speech when she looks directly at him, how she blushes, how the warm breezes moves the baby hairs that frame that beautiful visage, how her lips shine with that chapstick she uses and that he’s dying to taste.

“Anyway we can do any ride but that one” she points at the big one in the middle that spins fast creating a wave of screams and laughter every time it makes a round “Unless you want me to puke all over your pretty plaid shirt”

“You like my shirt?” he smirks

“Yeah” she tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear “You look like a real cowboy” she adds. Her smile is brighter than any of the thousand small lights that illuminate the fair.

“I like your dress” Javier leaves his hand hang languidly close to hers until their skin brushes against each other. When he sees she doesn’t recoil, he grabs her hand locking his fingers with hers.

He can sense her nervousness, but hopes it’s the good kind. The exact same feeling he has at the moment, those soft palpitations that he hasn’t felt in years; the butterflies. Eventually she answers his compliment:

“Thanks, it was just 10$” instantly she looks down at her feet “God! I’m terrible at this”

“At what?” the people look at him and then at her, and then their gaze is fixed on their intertwined hands. Javi knows that the rumors are already spreading and hopes that whatever she’s going to hear about him in the next few days doesn’t ruin this.

“Dates...flirt...this” she points at him and then herself

“I cannot believe that” he counters

“Seriously? hey your dress is pretty; yes it cost me ten dollars” she mimics

“I thought it was cute”

“Cute?” she raises her right eyebrow

“Yes, you’re cute” Javi maintains

“You too” she admits

“Me?”

“Yeah! A pretty cute cowboy in plaid” she laughs

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

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­She makes him forget about this damn town, even Colombia and everything that happens seems a billion years away. If the people around them bother her, she doesn’t say. She doesn’t speak with him like anybody in town after he’s been back. For her it’s just Javi, and this Javi can have fun: he has shared a cotton candy with her, he has done some of the strongest rides even if his back is killing him, he has hold her waist when she jumped and screamed on the Tunnel of Terror and then laughed out loud when they got out.

“Javi!” she calls “We forgot about your reward for your first month without a smoke” she holds his hand and stars running towards the shooting gallery.

“You have five shots to win one of our wonderful set of prices. You just have to hit the little birds once”

The targets come and go up and down on the wheel, the paint on them is chipped, testimony of a long life in these funfairs and many missed shots. She takes one of the guns and closes one of her eyes aiming towards the wooden forms that spin on the wheel.

“Take a look of the plushies, cowboy, I’m gonna win you one” she says cockily

“Yeah, sure” he scoffs

“What? you don’t think I’m capable?” she turns towards him, gun still in her hand

“Wow, first of all, never point to somebody with a gun” Javi grabs the barrel and pushes it downwards “even if it’s not real, and second, open both of your eyes to aim” he explains

“Yes, sir. I forgot you were an agent. I better follow your orders, then” she winks at him and with a deep breath resumes her posture to take her first shot. Failing.

“Shit” she grunts “Have you chosen?” she points to the wall on the right full of stuff toys

“Erm...Does it matter?”

“Absolutely, come on, it motivates me”

The toys are horrendous; surely they’ve been doing their round around every fun fair in Texas for ages.

“Okay, one of the teddy bears” he agrees with a shrug

“No! no! be more specific” she scolds “Do you want the big one? the white one with the red bowtie? the brown with the small farmer hat? Or...Look!” she jumps excitedly “There’s a cowboy one, I’m gonna get you the cowboy” she nods and tries a second time, missing.

Javi mocks her and leans on her shaking in laughter.

“Yeah, really funny. Why don’t you try then?” she passes him the gun. After he has collected himself, he adjusts his posture and aims. Nothing.

She crosses her arms over her chest and observes him with an amused grin.

He doesn’t wait longer until he tries again and misses.

“You only got one left”

“Say goodbye to your teddy bear, cowboy” she whispers in his ear. Her sweet perfume and her voice distract him briefly. For a second he wants to throw the gun away and take her in his arms at last.

Javier shots again

“No luck today, sir, if you want to try again is three dollars”

Javi refuses the man with a gesture; she doesn’t say a thing for a minute, but then snorts and cries in laughter

“You’re lousy shot!” she screams

“You missed too” he defends

“Yeah, two shots, and you three, but who of us is a well trained agent, huh?” she sassed

Javi bites his lip, both hands on his hips; he knows there’s no way to defend his shitty shots.

“I still gained a reward though” he gazes at her

“Yeah, that’s true. What do you want then? I still have a few of dollars on me if you want a sundae or something”

“No, not that” he walks towards her and she instinctively recoils until she’s against the tent of the shooting gallery “I want something sweeter” he places his hands on her waist.

“Wh-hat?”

He bends and holds her at the same time, saving the height difference between them. He just brushes his lips against hers at first until she sighs and comes closer to him standing on her tiptoes. Javi deepens the kiss savoring the fruity chapstick she wears. Her lips are soft and sweet as he has imagined since he met her, her soft moans are music to his ears and he wants to hear more.

“Wow, you’re an incredible kisser, Javi Peña, but a terrible shot” she assures.

[commonwealthoccurences]

Romanced!Companions React: It’s All A Dream (Part One)

Note: I hope this is okay! I treated it as if the dream were kind of an alternate timeline that the companions accidentally saw into via a dream. If that’s not what you wanted let me know!

Cait:

Cait wakes with a start, surrounded by a home she barely recognizes, in a bed that feels too soft to be real. She reaches over to the other side of the bed out of habit to realize it’s cold and empty. Panic rises in her chest and she sits up fast enough to make herself dizzy. The memories of two different worlds blur together and she squeezes her eyes shut, willing things to straighten themselves out. She opens them again.

There’s light streaming through the window near her bed, warm orange casting onto the hardwood floor. Slowly, nervous to make the wrong move, she stretches out her legs and places her feet firmly on the floor. Nothing shifts again and she breathes a sigh of relief. It was a dream. Of course. A realistic dream, but a dream nonetheless. 

Cait runs her fingers through her fiery red hair and rises from her bed, pausing to stand in the sunlight. There’s no mistake in the warmth on her skin or the fluffy clouds drifting by. This was real and she had just had a weird dream. With a scoff to herself that she couldn’t even have a realistic dream that was nice, she shuffled her way to her kitchen and turned her mind to other things.

It was her sister’s birthday soon and she needed to head out to find a good gift. As always, she’d put it off long enough that it was practically an emergency to find something at this point, but she was confident Concord would turn up something useful. First, though, she needed coffee and a good breakfast.

Nearly three hours later Cait made her way through the streets of Concord, peering in the windows at the displays. They were filled with warm clothing in soft shades as the weather had begun to take on a light chill in the past couple of days, reminding everyone it was nearly October. She decided it was hard to go wrong with a good scarf, especially since her sister worked outdoors, and began to head up the stairs to the shop entrance.

Before she could enter, though, someone came bustling out. Cait dodged to the side to avoid getting barreled over and turned to reprimand them when her stomach dropped. Sole was staring up at her from a lower step in confusion and concern. “I’m sorry, I just realized I was late and I didn’t realize you were on the other side of the door. Sorry.” They sounded flustered.

“Don’t worry about it.” Cait struggled to keep her tone even as memories from the dream came flooding back. Sole hadn’t budged, despite just stating they were late. “Do we- do we know each other?”

“I don’t think so.” Sole looked lost, their gaze searching Cait’s features. “You do look kind of familiar, though.”

Cait nodded slowly. How the hell did they have a dream about this person, create a whole new world with them, and not actually know them? She swallowed nausea that rose at the idea that she was a stranger to them. Sole took in a deep breath and looked as if they were going to say something before pausing and shutting their mouth. “I’m sorry, I really do have to go.” They smiled politely and turned to leave, still appearing confused.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything and simply watched as they hurried away, checking their watch once more.

Curie:

Curie roused slowly. The first thing she thought was that she didn’t feel Sole in bed next to her; they must’ve gotten up early. The second thing she thought was that it was too comfortably warm to be the middle of winter in the Commonwealth. She shifted, stretching lazily, before she opened her eyes.

Her surroundings made her scramble backwards on the bed, defensive as she gathered the sheets around her. This wasn’t the bed she shared with Sole in Sanctuary. She blinked a few times before things started to become more familiar. The photo on her nightstand of her and her parents, the nurse’s uniform folded on her nightstand across the room, and her cat basking in the sunlight all seemed to be greeting her back to the real world.

Curie sighed, relaxing and letting the sheets drop into her lap. Had that really been a dream? It had been so real, so lifelike. A pang hit her chest as she thought of Sole, though it dissipated soon after. Sole wasn’t real. She didn’t actually know them. “Kitty.” She called out softly to her pet, seeking comfort in her companion.

Kitty raised his head in contemplation, debating whether or not to join her on the bed, before dropping his head again to enjoy the sun’s warmth. Curie sighed and rose from her bed. She had work in a couple of hours; she couldn’t afford to be this distracted while taking care of patients. It was no use to dwell on a dream.

It wasn’t a particularly busy day for Curie and her coworkers. She had a few patients coming in for check-ups, but other than that, they spent most of their time talking amongst themselves and attempting to pass the time. She was sorting through paperwork when she heard a familiar voice say, “Hello?”

Curie rounded the corner to the front desk only to stop dead in her tracks. Sole stood on the other side of the desk, drumming their fingers idly on the surface, glancing around the waiting room. Curie took a deep breath to steady herself and willed what she remembered of the dream to leave her be. “Hi. Do you have an appointment?” She asked. Maybe if she continued casually the familiarity would ease and so would the knot in her chest.

“12:30. For-”

“Sole?” Curie blurted out. So much for casual.

Sole’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Um, yes. How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” She replied weakly. “Right this way, Mx.”

Her legs felt like jello as she led them down the hall to a room. She turned to leave after reassuring them that the doctor would see them soon when they called out. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Curie.”

They nodded to themself before blinking and putting on an easygoing smile, though she could still see disorientation in their eyes. “Sorry, I thought I knew you. You seemed familiar.” They laughed. “Guess not.”

“Guess not.” Curie repeated softly before exiting and clicking the door shut behind her.

Danse:

Danse woke to surprisingly familiar surroundings. The bed was stiff underneath him, the snoring of a couple other people echoing around the room. However, when he opened his eyes, he was alarmed to see he was no longer on the Prydwen. Instead, it appeared he was in another sort of soldiers quarters.

His eyes darted to his side and his concern grew at the fact that Sole wasn’t there next to him. Someone shifted in their bed and the familiar sound of the springs grounded him for a moment. He had just been dispatched to Concord with a few others for a ‘just in case' situation. The orders didn’t give a specific reason, but it was good enough for his Commander, and therefore, good enough for him. Concord was a quiet little town with just enough to do, so everyone else was treating this as a mini vacation. Danse, however, had been finding it hard to relax for some reason. Of course, he'd been teased that he was always uptight, but this had felt different. And then he had the weird dream. 

That's what it was. A dream. He gritted his teeth for a moment before taking a deep breath and forcing himself to move on. Exhaustion did weird things to the brain and he was just finding out how far that weirdness went. Maybe food would help bring him back to reality.  Danse stood abruptly and made his way out of the quarters. 

 Late in the evening, a few others had insisted he get out to see Concord more and "take a break for once." Danse had agreed, though extremely reluctantly, and allowed them to drag him to a nearby movie theater. Something had stopped him from going inside and he waved them off when they called him a buzzkill, moving to sit outside on a bench and take in the surrounding area. Maybe thirty minutes later, someone sat down next to him, and when he turned to look at them, he inhaled sharply.

Sole was sitting next to him, a bright smile on their face, warmer and more vibrant than ever. The recognition sent a shock through and he resisted the urge to wrap them up in a hug. “Hey there, soldier.” The greeting was so familiar he had to look away in a panic. “Friends leave you behind?” They asked, their tone light.

“Uh, no. Wasn’t really interested in the movies.” Danse cringed internally at how stiff his tone sounded.

Sole didn’t seem to mind and instead laughed. “You too? I just gave my friends the slip. They wanted to see a cheesy horror movie and I’d rather enjoy the weather right now.”

Danse nodded in response, trying to seem casual. He must’ve seen their face before; he knew people in dreams were just faces someone had seen before and subconsciously remembered. They must’ve passed by him before and he’d simply had a realistic dream due to the long hours he’d been working.

“Do you wanna go walk around the park, soldier? It’s just down the street and something tells me there’s more to you than your lack of conversation lets on.” Their tone was teasing.

“I,  uh- why not. Let’s go.”

Deacon:

It was late in the evening and Deacon had been trying to shake the dream he’d had off all day. When his company offered to take the employees working overtime to the bar, he’d accepted readily, more than ready to get his mind off of things. Better yet on the company’s time. Deacon swung back a shot of Jack Daniel’s, kindly gifted to him by his boss, before working his way through the crowd to sit in the back of the bar.

It was loud, something he didn’t usually enjoy, but it was entertaining to observe everyone filter through the room. Internally, he made up backstories for everyone. The bartender simply wanted to get home to his new dog. The couple arguing in the opposite corner were debating whether or not National Pancake Day should be made an official holiday and include paid time off (the brunette man was winning, the blond man simply couldn’t keep up with his boyfriend’s logic). 

Eventually, Deacon grew bored and reclined in his chair, swirling his whiskey in the glass. A moment later, someone tapping his shoulder got his attention. Deacon’s gaze snapped up as he instinctively shifted away, though he froze as soon as he met Sole’s eyes. “Um, normally I’m not so bold, but would you like to dance?” It was a little hard to hear them over the music, but their voice was so familiar he could pick up on it.

“I’m sorry to say I’m not the dancing type.” He replied, leaning towards them so they could hear him. He watched their face drop a little as they mulled over what he said. “I’m willing to give it a shot, though.” 

The way their face lit up was so distinctive he wondered if dreams were supposed to be detailed enough that he could remember such a thing. Internally, he found he couldn’t logic his way out of this one. It made no sense that moving around them was muscle memory to him, and yet he’d never met them before in his life. He knew for certain that meeting them was about to make his life a lot more interesting, though, and took the hand they offered him, allowing them to lead him onto the dance floor.

[plaidbooks]

I love your work! Could you do one where the reader and sonny or Barba have been in a long term relationship and he finds out she has a stalker when he receives an envelope with pictures of her/them inside? thanks! 💕

Love Hurts

A/N: Hey anon! First off, I loved this prompt, and I hope I did it justice! I went with Sonny Carisi x reader, and when he was still a detective--I hope that’s ok!

Tags: stalking, knives, guns, panic/stressful situations

Words: 1k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @mrsrafaelbarba @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner

I got a surprise for you for dinner

You read the text from Sonny again, a small smile tugging at your lips. He’d been working a lot recently, and the thought of him home for dinner was exciting, “surprise” or not. You shot him back a message:

When are you coming home?

He responded almost instantly:

A couple more hours, then I’m all yours

You felt heat rise to your cheeks from the thought alone. It had been too long since you’d spent a proper evening together, and the thought of his long fingers on you, his lips against yours made a wave of arousal flood through you. Suddenly, there was a hard knock on your front door, startling you. You almost dropped your phone in your surprise, wondering who it could be—you weren’t expecting anyone—and then you remembered Sonny’s text. Smiling at your boyfriend’s “surprise,” you moved to the front door, but before you could reach it, your phone rang, Sonny’s name and face flashing across the screen. Confused at what he was playing at, you looked from the door to the phone before answering.

“Yeah, I’m coming to the door right now,” you smiled into the phone.

“[Y/N]! Do not answer the door! Lock yourself in the bathroom and stay there until I get home, do you understand me?” Sonny’s voice was panicked, coming out in a rush. It took you a moment to understand what he was saying, and when you did, your blood ran cold. You froze, hand outstretched to the lock. The pounding on the door had stopped, but now it sounded like whoever was out there was throwing their whole body against the door. You backed away, terrified that the door would give at any moment, silently thankful that Sonny had replaced the screws with thicker, longer, stronger ones. You turned and ran to the kitchen, grabbing a long cutting knife, and heading to the bathroom, locking yourself in and crouching in the shower, shaking slightly and holding your phone to your chest.

 ****************************

Sonny was excited to be getting off work at a decent hour; a rare occurrence indeed. He was going to pick up some expensive steaks and cook the most perfect meal for you tonight, to make up for all the overtime he’d been working. But right now, he was stuck in a car with Fin, texting you and trying to forget about the slimy suspect they had just finished interviewing.

He was still smiling at his phone when they made it back to SVU…at least, until he had made it to his desk. Slid into his stack of paperwork was a manilla envelop that was definitely not there before. Grabbing it and carefully pulling it from the stack, he turned it over in his hands, examining it. There were no words on it, no stamp, no nothing, yet it was sealed.

“Whatcha got there?” Rollins asked, glancing up at him.

He furrowed his brow at the envelop. “No clue.” Taking his letter opener, he cut the end of it open, pouring its contents onto his desk. His heart sank as he saw pictures of himself and you—mostly you—staring back at him. Pictures of you and him coming out of a café, of you both walking in the park, his arm around your shoulders, pictures of just you at the grocery store, of you on the phone, of you in your apartment, taken through the living room window. In every picture with Sonny in it, too, whoever had taken the pictures had crossed Sonny out with a red marker, drawing hearts around your head.

With shaking hands, Sonny took his phone out of his pocket, calling you. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he muttered as it rang. Once connected, he could hear your voice, but more importantly, he could hear someone pounding on the front door. “[Y/N]! Do not answer the door! Lock yourself in the bathroom and stay there until I get home, do you understand me?”

Once he hung up, he was a flurry of motion, grabbing his jacket, making sure his gun was on his hip, and heading towards the door as the other detectives were asking what was wrong. Even Liv came out of her office to see what the commotion was about. But it only took one look at the array of pictures on his desk before they were gearing up, following him out the door and to your shared apartment.

 *********************************

You were still crouched in the shower, your legs cramped, when you heard the front door open. Even though the pounding against the door had stopped a while ago, you still held your breath. Your trembling resumed, and you tensed as the footsteps got closer to the bathroom. You could feel a scream bubbling up in your throat, and you struggled to stay quiet, tears slowly spilling over and down your cheeks. There was a knock on the bathroom door, and you whimpered.

“[Y/N]? Are you in there? It’s me,” came Sonny’s voice.

You let out a choked sob as you struggled to your feet, your legs burning from the uncomfortable position. Holding the knife in front of you, you unlocked the door, cracking it open to see Sonny standing there, looking worried. Seeing him, you dropped the knife, flinging your arms around his middle and burying your head against his chest, the tears really falling now. He hugged you tightly to him, his hand stroking your hair.

“S-Sonny, what the fuck?” you choked out, trying to control your breathing, regain some sort of composure.

He held you at arm’s length, looking into your face, making sure you were alright. “You got a stalker, babe. They—they left pictures of you, of us, on my desk,” he explained.

“Is [Y/N] okay?” a woman’s voice called from the living room. You recognized the voice as Sonny’s boss, Lieutenant Benson.

You followed Sonny out of the doorway to the bathroom to find the Lieutenant in your living room, gazing out the window there, across to the next building, before pulling the blinds and then the curtains closed. “Fin and Rollins are getting the security footage from the manager,” she told Sonny. “I’ll put an unmarked outside your building tonight, but Carisi, you can’t be on this case.”

Sonny scoffed. “Are you kidding me? This is my girlfriend they’re after! You’re damn straight I’m on this case—”

“No, you’re not. You’re too close; it’s too personal,”—Sonny opened his mouth to argue more, but Olivia put her hand up—“what you’re going to do is stay here, with [Y/N]. We’ll update you when we have information.”

You could tell that Sonny wasn’t happy being sidelined, but he also didn’t want to leave your side, not after they had tried to break down your door. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Fine…fine,” he conceded.

 ***************************

You were sitting on the couch, your legs tucked up underneath you, your head on Sonny’s chest as you curled into his side. His hand was stroking up and down your back absentmindedly. The TV was on, but neither of you were watching, your thoughts anywhere but on whatever station was on when Sonny had clicked it on.

“You’re sure no one’s been looking at you weird? Following you around?” Sonny asked again, his voice echoing in his chest because your ear was pressed against it, the vibrations tickling your cheek.

You closed your eyes, trying to think back on your week, trying to think of every interaction you had. “Not that I can think of,” you sighed.

He nodded, his mind working. You knew he was worried that it was somehow work-related, that this was his fault. But you weren’t connected to that side of his life, and since the pictures seemed focused on you, it seemed unlikely that it was someone from Sonny’s world.

Suddenly, there was a pounding on the front door. You jumped, startled, as Sonny launched to his feet, his gun instantly in his hand as he slowly picked his way to the door. You could both hear footsteps go down the hall, and Sonny holstered his gun, throwing the door open and bolting after whoever it was, screaming “freeze, NYPD!” as he went.

You had left the knife on the end table by the couch—even thought it had felt silly with Sonny there—and grabbed the handle, gripping it tightly as you made your way towards the open door. But you froze when a figure stepped into the doorframe, coming from the opposite direction from where Sonny just ran. Looking into his face, he didn’t look familiar at all; just a face in the crowd. You took a step back as you noticed the machete in his hand.

“Oh, don’t look so scared, [Y/N]…now that that cop is gone, we can have some alone time,” he whispered, a disturbing smile stretching across his face.

 *****************************

Sonny caught up easily with the person running down the hallway. They had made it down only one flight of stairs before Sonny had pinned them up against the wall, a forearm across their chest.

“What do you want with [Y/N]?” he asked, panting.

The guy seemed terrified. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Some dude gave me 20 bucks to go hit a door, man.”

Sonny stood back, confused. Now that he looked at the man—and smelled him—he realized that this was a homeless guy…a distraction. Stomach dropping, he turned and leapt back up the stairs, ripping the door open and sprinting as fast as his legs could carry back to your apartment, back to you.

 ****************************

You had made it to the bedroom, barely closing and locking the door before the man had slammed against it. Unlike with the front door, Sonny hadn’t reenforced this door against breaking and entering, and you were waiting for the man to come barreling through at any moment. The door made an impressive creaking noise as he hit the door again.

“Come on out, [Y/N]…I love you, so, so much baby,” he called through the door. There was silence for a moment before his body slammed against the door again, the doorjamb splintering as it broke, the door flying open. You screamed as you fell back onto the bed, your pitiful kitchen knife held in front of you while the man stalked into the room, machete raised.

A gunshot rang out, cutting your shriek off, dark red quickly staining the front of the man’s shirt before he fell forward, body limp. Sonny was standing in the doorway, his gun still aimed at man’s corpse, his chest heaving, eyes wild. He looked at you, holstering his gun and gesturing for you to come to him. You jumped off the bed, running to Sonny’s outstretched arms. This time, the tears didn’t come—you just clutched Sonny’s shirt in shock, shaking violently.

“You’re okay, you’re safe,” he murmured over and over again. He took out his phone and called Olivia, telling her to bring CSU, but you tuned it all out, your eyes focused only on the corpse in your bedroom. Perhaps sensing this, Sonny tugged you out of the room, back to the living room.

“Who was he?” he asked you, voice low.

You were still staring at the broken door to the bedroom, unable to look away. “I…I don’t know…. He said he loved me.” And then the tears did come. Sonny brought your head to his chest, letting you cry into him as he rubbed your back soothingly, telling you to let it all out, and that everything’s going to be okay now. He held you like that until Olivia arrived with CSU.

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 17

Authors note: Hey guys! Sorry, had to delete and repost this chapter because Tumblr is, once again, giving me difficulties. Just want to thank y'all so much for being patient with me as I finished up with classes. Hoping these next few months will give me more time to work on this fic. As always, your comments and likes always make my day and help me get through the worst of writer's block and I cannot thank you enough for that!

READ MORE on AO3 or see the Master post!

When the witches got back to the academy, the sun had barely risen above the horizon. Emily hadn’t realized how accustomed she had become to the usual hustle and bustle; the silence was nearly as stinging as the constant noise.

They were all dead on their feet. After hell, sleep had eluded Emily. The fact Madison had forced her to sleep on the ground didn’t help… neither did the darkness. It was suffocating, that place. Sometimes she was afraid the underground fortress would become her tomb. They had all tried to catch up on sleep during the plane ride home, but Misty snored so much it made the feat nearly impossible.

So, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, the witches made their way through the door. Zoe grumbled about canceling classes, Cordelia muttering an agreement.

“A break? Already?” Coco said. She stood next to Mallory by the stairs, looking more like butlers than students. The pair must have been the only ones awake, looking to one other and smiling at a silent inside joke. “I like this school.”

“I trust there were no disturbances while we were away?” Myrtle asked, handing off her bags to Kyle who proceeded to take them up the stairs.

If Mallory were a bird, Emily would have said she was preening, “No more than usual.”

Kyle paused by Emily for a moment, hand extended, but she waved him forward. Kyle smiled and nodded, proceeding past them and towards the stairs.

“Oh, lover-boy,” Madison sang as he began to take the first step, pulling Emily’s attention away from Mallory and their headmistress, “my bags?

The blond man hesitated, then doubled back. He rearranged the bags on his arm and picked up the ex-movie star’s numerous suitcases, all either Chanel or some other overpriced name brand.

“You have two arms,” Zoe snapped at the woman, her own bag in hand. Emily’s gaze flickered to the floor, green eyes darting between it, Cordelia, and the scene unfurling before her.

“It’s fine,” Kyle said quietly, giving a pointed look at Zoe, “It’s my job.”

The look seemed to soothe Zoe, her shoulders tense but her back no longer arched like she was about to swing at Madison. Madison opened her mouth, unable to resist not having the last word.

A body barreling into her side kept Emily from hearing exactly what was spoken. By the look on Zoe’s face, it was nothing good.

“Oh, I missed you!” Coco exclaimed, squeezing the girl in a hug. Emily did her best not to tense, but the reaction was second nature to the brunette. “How was California?”

“Dry,” Emily said, earning a chuckle from Coco.

“Obviously you didn’t go to the beach,” Coco said, “How did it go?”

The brunette’s eyes darted to the figure moving towards them, continuing to speak as Mallory approached. For some reason, Emily had expected her and Cordelia’s talk to last longer. She settled in to place beside Coco, listening with an attentive grin.

“We’re all in one piece,” Emily said, looking back to Coco, “so I’d say rather well.”

Mallory reached out and squeezed Emily’s arm, her ever-present grin widening ever slightly. “See? I knew you’d do great!”

“Who’s this, Firefly?”

Misty had always got possessive a little too quickly. It was her vice, clinging to things too tightly. Her mother used to call her a “little python…” the snake in the garden of Eden.

Emily faltered ever slightly. As someone who kept to herself, she was more used to being the one introduced, not the one introducing.

“Coco, Mallory,” She spoke, glancing between the two girls and her new acquaintance, “Misty Day.”

Mallory rushed forward to shake the woman’s hand as if she were meeting Stevie Nicks instead of a girl from the swamplands of Mississippi.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Miss Cordelia. You’re a legend here!”

Misty pulled her shawl in tighter and glanced between Mallory and Emily. Being the center of attention was an anxious position for her. The last time she was the center of attention, she went to hell. The first time had her burned at the stake. Her steps back from Mallory and into Emily’s side were more a flight instinct than an anxious tic.

“Aw, shucks,” the swamp witch said with a flickering smile and a chuckle, “Didn’t think I was here long enough to make an impression.”

“Resurgence is a remarkable power,” Mallory insisted, “If not for you, I would have thought myself a freak.”

“Well, ain’t that sweet.”

Myrtle was quick to rescue the woman from the over-exuberance of the younger witch, placing a steadying hand on Misty’s shoulder. Cordelia was not far behind. Emily could feel her brown eyes on her back like a botanist studying a new plant species.

“While I love pleasantries,” Myrtle said, “I am absolutely famished. Airplane foods always fall flat.”

“It’s because of our sense of smell,” Emily said, trying to ignore the weird looks she was getting, “The altitude affects our nasal passages, making it harder to smell and thus harder to taste. The two are inseparable.”

“So, it’s like how parents plug their kid's nose to get them to take their medicine,” Mallory said. Emily sent her a brief, but thankful smile for making the moment feel less awkward than it was.

“Exactly.”

“Either way,” Myrtle said with a wave of her hand, “I am craving a crème brûlée with a glass of chardonnay.”

Emily smirked a bit before she spoke, “Chardonnay sounds good.”

“Not yet, you,” Cordelia admonished through a chuckle, ruffling Emily’s hair a bit, “We may be lenient with a lot of things, but underage drinking will not be one of them.”

The brunette wanted to note she had done plenty of underage drinking the night before but refrained. Part of being able to bend the rules is pretending you didn’t break them.

“Oh, come on,” Madison said, standing at the back of their little group with her arms crossed in front of her chest, “Little miss indigestion just went to hell. Let her live a little.”

“Maybe a glass,” Cordelia relented, earning a few chuckles from the group. “One.”

Emily echoed the expressions of her fellow witches, but Cordelia’s humor did not amuse her. The headmistresses statement assured her of one thing, however. The brunette had secured a place in the inner circle of Robichaux. It was a feat she would have been proud of before, but now…

Now, the real world seemed so dull. Sensations failed to feel real-- like the world was covered in a fog. Her hands would hover, expecting something to come to her palm and playing off hesitation when it didn’t. Emily had always fancied her dreams to the waking world. The real world now felt more dull than usual. The young witch found herself missing hell, debating whether or not to chase that high.

“Full already?” Cordelia asked at the table they all gathered around. Emily had been picking at her food for the past ten minutes, gaze flickering to the many conversations around the table.

Emily was quick to brush it off, putting down her fork and taking a sip of her sweet tea, “I’ve always eaten like a bird.”

“Birds eat ten times their weight,” Myrtle noted with an amused smile. Cordelia had been so tense since Hawthorne. For once, Myrtle had to be the optimistic one… if only for the sake of maintaining an air of control.

“Good thing I wasn’t talking in ratios.”

Myrtle chuckled and went back to her food, but Cordelia continued to watch Emily carefully as she turned and offered Misty her desert.

“You alright, Firefly?”

“Just tired.”

“Bad dreams?”

“Something like that.”

Cordelia’s glance flickered to her mentor. The slight quirking of the redhead’s brow gave away her own concerns. The headmistress gaze returned to Emily, her posture straightening ever slightly.

“About your personal hell?” she asked.

Emily faltered slightly at her headmistress’s voice. While they were surrounded by people, most had the decency not to eavesdrop on the more intimate conversations — feigning ignorance even if they heard every word. It was one of those unspoken rules of society.

“No. I didn’t have a personal hell.”

Shit.

Her exhaustion and weird mindset had made her careless. Then again, Cordelia was supposed to help with things such as these, right? The whole point of being here was to learn. How could she learn if she never asked questions? Why did her gut churn like she had been caught with her hands painted red?

Green eyes slowly turned to the brown ones that had burned holes in her skin since she had arrived in Mississippi. Cordelia’s brows furrowed, lips twisting in the way they always did when she didn’t have the answers.

“Then where were you?”

“… I don’t know.”

The table was consumed with silence, no one able to pretend they weren’t listening in to the conversation at hand. Coco glanced around at the table, noting the unwavering stares. Glancing to Emily, she saw her eyes flick between them all, her plate, Cordelia, and back again.

“Probably the jet lag,” the heiress said, “shit makes you forget what your own name is.”

Emily smiled with the rest of them, sending a thankful glance to the woman who squeezed her hand and smiled. The table fell back into idle chatter.

“Hell of a spotlight,” Coco whispered into her glass, eyes flickering around to her fellow witches.

Emily mimicked her movements, “you’re telling me.”

The pair shared a glance and promptly fell into laughter.

“Next time you need to swing by L.A. Beaches are crowded, but the experience is worth it.”

“There’s a tattoo parlor there I wanted to check out,” Emily noted, “Purple Panther. One of my favorite artists works there.”

“We should go and get matching tattoos.”

“What did I miss?” Mallory asked, returning from a trip to the bathroom.

“We’re all going to get matching tattoos.” Coco declared.

“Of what?”

Emily smiled and leaned in, “we should get the triquetra from Charmed.”

“Oooh, yes!” Coco exclaimed, “I loved that show as a kid.”

Mallory’s face twisted in confusion, “Haven’t seen it.”

“We’re binge-watching it,” Coco declared, “tonight.”

“My room?” Emily asked, “I have a TV.”

“No offense, your room is a broom closet.”

“Feels like home,” Emily jested, a genuine smile curling on her lips, “certainly been in it for long enough.”

Coco snorted out a laugh, infecting Mallory and Emily into a fit of giggles. The brunette could feel Cordelia’s eyes on her, a hand going to smooth down the hairs on the back of her neck. She didn’t like it, the feeling of being watched.

“Oh!” Mallory said, “I have a tattoo idea — swords.”

“Swords?”

“For the Three Musketeers!”

Emily gasped as an idea hit her, pulling out her sketchbook and scrawling out an idea.

“What if…”

She finished the crude drawing — a sword with a triquetra behind it. Some of the lines of the triquetra looped around the blade where it was positioned at the end of its point. “… we did both?”

“Both?” Mallory asked.

“Both,” Emily repeated.

“Both is good,” Coco finished, the three falling into giggles once again.

.

.

.

Emily was unsurprised when Cordelia cornered her later in the day. Classes had been canceled for the day, older girls put in charge of amusing the younger ones. The brunette had dozed until 12 o’clock when the cheerful laughing and screeching from the lawn kept her from falling back asleep.

Book in hand, Emily had nearly made it to the greenhouse when Cordelia intercepted her. The blonde woman had been leaning against the door of the rotting shack. Emily wondered how long the headmistress had waited for her out in the sun.

“Walk with me,” was all she said as the brunette got within earshot, her tone filled with bad news. They strolled in silence for a good while. When the playful yelling and screaming was muffled by distance and the trees around the property, Cordelia finally spoke.

“I’ve been to hell myself. It changes a person… for better or worse.”

Emily’s eyes were trained on the ground, navigating over twisting roots and rocks that jutted from the dirt. She spared Cordelia a brief glance. “Which was it? Better or worse?”

“That’s the thing,” Cordelia said, head high and eyes steady on the path ahead of them, “you can never tell which. It’s something only others can see.”

“Is this an intervention or something?”

A smile tugged at the blonde’s lips, “Or something.”

Silence consumed them once more. It became clear that Emily could either talk or they would walk until she did.

“Hell was like a dream,” the brunette relented after a minute or so, “Dreams always feel so real until you wake up. Then, you mourn the reality you lost.”

“Even with nightmares?”

“All I ever have is nightmares.”

Cordelia spared the woman a look. Emily’s eyes were trained on the ground as she took a step over a fallen trunk. Dark circles ringed around her eyes, the purple somehow making the green even brighter. Cordelia realized she had never seen Emily without them. Were her dreams something more? Something that paraded around as sleep when it was really anything but?

Emily’s words were hardly louder than a whisper, “It isn’t the situation I mourn, but the power I have.”

The book in Emily’s hands suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. It was one of her many journals, each page dedicated to the carefully worded and detailed recollections of the visions her mind procured in sleep. The voice said her dreams were something more. Emily feared the implications. She was a stickler for a little thing called proof, however. Spirits can lie and trick just as well as humans could.

Cordelia regarded the girl beside her, “Powers such as what?”

“In hell, I could pull a weapon to me as if I reached out and grabbed it with my own hand. I could conjure flames and move them to my will.”

Her words were like a snarl on her lip, a frustration that plagued her every hour. Then, the snarl faltered and the grief set in. “Everything was so much clearer… simpler.”

The headmistress stopped and placed a hand upon the girl’s shoulder, squeezing it for good measure. Emily wished she hadn’t. It was easy to hold back tears and emotions when you didn’t have to look someone in the eye.

“You went to hell and brought back my dearest friend,” she pressed, hand trailing down Emily’s arm and taking her hand, cupping it in her own, “just because you cannot perform grand acts of magic does not mean you cannot fight.”

Emily looked at Cordelia, searching for something in those brown eyes. Everyone’s eyes were covered in a fog of optimism. It made real-life feel more like a dream than her dreams did. Their gazes never failed to make her shudder. Coco was the only one who did not succumb. Thus, the only one she somewhat trusted. Carefully, Emily pulled her hand away.

“Michael brought back Misty, not me.”

It was something she had said a thousand times since her return. The people here either didn’t listen or didn’t care. Which was worse?

“With your aid.”

For a moment, Emily contemplated telling Cordelia everything. She was so desperate for answers — so desperate to cut through the fog. She was reminded of The Odyssey, Odysseus’s travel to an island where everything seemed perfect. It was so tempting to give in, to be alright with not knowing.

What was Michael?

Why did the voices speak to him?

Why did she understand their words while Misty did not?

“I had a weird dream last night,” she found herself speaking, her silence lasting a little too long, “I know it means something, but I can’t quite place it.”

Cordelia seemed content in her words, a small smile telling Emily that she had chosen the right words… even if they were not the words she had intended to speak. There was trust to be built before Emily could talk to Cordelia about hell.

“Tell me about it,” her Supreme commanded, gently ushering Emily back the way they came.

“I was in a field,” Emily started, an air of distance taking over her voice. When Cordelia looked to her, she was miles away — eyes filled with fog. “You were there just… waiting. For me, I think, but I could be wrong.”

“What happened?” Cordelia asked, “in the dream?”

“You were standing next to a girl. She saw me first… said her name was Nan.”

Cordelia’s gasp was quiet, but still loud enough to draw Emily from the fog. A manicured hand came to her mouth before going to her stomach as if the woman had been punched. Emily was afraid Cordelia might pass out again.

“Nan,” Cordelia said, speaking around a frog in her throat.

The younger witch felt a surge of anxiety. She should have said nothing, kept her mouth shut. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut? It had been an easy feat until she came to Robichaux.

“She was sweet,” Emily found herself saying, “told me not to worry.”

Cordelia leaned on a nearby tree. Emily wrung her hands, biting her lip and waiting for the woman to say something. Her heart leaped into her chest when she heard the woman sniffle back a tear.

“Did I say something wrong?” Emily asked, heart hammering. Cordelia didn’t answer. Should she get closer? Should she squeeze her arm as Cordelia had done to her many a times? Emily had never been good at consoling. “I’m sorry.”

The woman finally shook her head, the heels of her palm swiping away the few tears that had trailed down her cheeks. “No… no, you’ve brought me a great deal of peace.”

Curiosity always got the best of her.

“Nan…” Emily said, “You recognize her?”

“She used to be a student here… before her untimely death.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cordelia sighed and straightened her shirt, quickly taking back the decorum Emily had managed to peel back. At that moment, Emily realized something darkened in her Supreme. The fog left the brown eyes and hardened into something more tangible, her jaw clenched ever slightly, and the mother-like tone left her voice.

“I’d advise you not to approach her in your dreams again.”

Emily faltered for a moment, too caught up in the change to process the woman’s words.

“Why?”

“For your safety.”

“She hardly seemed dangerous.”

“It is not her I worry about.”

Her lips opened to ask more questions, but Cordelia quickly overtook the conversation. “Tell me about the rest of this dream.”

It was probably best if she didn’t argue. Emily went on describing, glancing at the woman now and again. Cordelia’s eyes lost their dark edge as the tale continued — flying, levitation, conjuring of fire and wind — until they once again held the optimistic fog Emily had become accustomed to.

“And when I wake up,” Emily concluded, “I felt like I was not myself. That my real self lies within these dreams.”

Cordelia simply nodded.

“Dreams are more powerful than we can imagine,” she said, “it is, in short, an insight into our true nature — witch or no witch.”

“Then what is my true nature?” Emily asked, jumping back as a boisterous toddler ran past her, two more hot on her heels. They had made it back to the garden.

Cordelia smiled at her, giving her shoulder one more squeeze before she trailed after the children.

“That is something only you can answer.”

.

.

.

Cordelia paced her room, thoughts writhing like a snake that had worked its way into a knot. Unable to move forward or back, she wondered how long she had until death. Do nothing and she would starve — giving into the circumstances like a beast baring its belly to the knife. Tug too harshly, however, and she would sever her own spine.

“I do hope you have good reason for waking me in the middle of the night,” Myrtle sighed as she entered the room. She carefully closed the door, the only sign of her entrance the dulled click of the lock behind her.

The Supreme ceased her pacing, taking to wringing her hands instead as she came to a stop before the redhead.

“I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.”

“You just put a petulant boy in power,” Myrtle scoffed, “What can be more wrong than that?”

“I did it for the best of the coven.”

Myrtle let out a sigh, unable to keep up her irritation. Tense shoulders and crossed arms relaxed and rested at her sides. “My dear, what good are you if you keep working yourself into a fit of hysterics?”

Cordelia either didn’t hear her or didn’t care to address the topic. Hurrying over to her desk, she pushed papers this way and that until she found what she was looking for.

“Were you able to look into the matter we discussed?”

It took all Myrtle’s power not to roll her eyes.

“Evocation rituals of that nature aren’t exactly common if they exist at all.”

“But they do exist?”

“None that I could find.”

“What if we modified a resurgence spell… combined it with dreams. That’s where her skill shows the most, after all. If we could get into that otherness—”

Cordelia had thrown the idea around with the woman multiple times before they visited Hawthorne. Seeing the aftermath of the Seven Wonders, particularly in the trial of Descensum, had made the Supreme all the more convinced of her path. If Cordelia shared any traits with Fiona, it was her stubbornness.

“I still don’t see how her power, any power, could be trapped inside her,” Myrtle insisted once more, “That family of hers didn’t have a lick of magic in her bones. Her mother has no magical talent whatsoever and don’t get me started on that father of hers.”

“Then why is she here at our school?”

Myrtle spared her a pointed look. Cordelia huffed and leaned on her desk, keeping her eyes locked with her mentor’s.

“Emily’s powers have to originate from somewhere,” she said, shaking her head and averting her gaze for but a moment, “Her grandmother died. Maybe she used the last of her power to protect Emily. Delphi had yet to be disbanded when she passed.”

“If that were the case, she wouldn’t be able to go to hell, dear. Maybe it’s as you said; her magic is tied to the other — dreams, visions, prophecy, the whole shebang.”

Cordelia shook her head, “That doesn’t feel right.”

Myrtle was now the one to pace. The carpet was sure to be filled with holes if the issue loomed over their heads any longer. If Cordelia could not let go of this vision, the coven would be doomed. How many more dead ends did Delia need to hit before she recognized the futility of—

“Why are you so adamant about this?” Myrtle found herself asking, more out of desperation than curiosity.

Cordelia gave her a pointed look and the woman scoffed. “Mallory—”

“Mallory didn’t go to hell.”

“And our dear Emily can’t make a butterfly out of petals. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. One false step and they all shatter.”

“Then help me eliminate this option,” Cordelia said, voice pleading, “Let's perform a ritual and get our answers before too much time has passed.”

“Alright,” Myrtle relented, “let's pull out the books… and the booze.”

.

.

.

Emily sat on one of the tables in the greenhouse like she was waiting at a doctor’s appointment, picking absentmindedly at the thin layer of paint atop the table. The inner circle of Robichaux stood around her watching Cordelia and Myrtle as they gathered material and passed it out.

Misty sat at Emily’s side, holding her hand and offering reassuring smiles whenever the brunette turned to look at her. Part of e was afraid they were going to kill her… or something worse. Death certainly wasn’t the worst thing the lot of them had experienced.

“We believe there is something blocking out our dear Emily’s powers,” Myrtle explained, placing jars of… something around the table.

“Or she just doesn’t have any,” Madison sighed, obviously wanting to be anywhere else as she studied her nails — she just got a manicure. The others stared at her in annoyance. “What? We’re all thinking it.”

“She saw Nan,” Cordelia spoke. She had been silent the entire time and didn’t even greet Emily when she was escorted into the greenhouse by Myrtle. If her silence was out of concentration or concern, no one could tell.

Queenie’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Her arms fell to her sides and all she could do was look between Emily and her Supreme. “She what?”

“I didn’t know who she was,” Emily said, glancing to Misty who held a similar expression to Queenie, “Not until I talked to Cordelia.”

“Is she alright?” Zoe asked. She stood opposite to Misty, carefully watching Cordelia and Myrtle as they prepared. “Did she say anything?”

“Nothing of note.”

“But she did say something,” Queenie said, a silent command in her voice.

“Only that I shouldn’t worry.”

Zoe’s brow furrowed, “worry about what?”

“… I don’t know.”

“If we are able to unlock your powers,” Myrtle said, ignoring the scathing look Cordelia sent her. The redhead still held her doubts. “Perhaps we can find out.”

Her words seemed to motivate the other girls. One by one they fell into place around the table, taking a string as Cordelia handed it to them. Misty and Madison stood at Emily’s left, Queenie and Zoe at her right. Myrtle stood in front of her, a large tomb of a book in her hands as she watched Cordelia work.

“Lay down, my dear,” she told Emily, who hesitantly did as she was told, “We will be delving deep into your subconscious and I’d rather you didn’t wake with a concussion.”

Cordelia came to a stop at Emily’s head. The brunette looked up through her lashes and watched as the woman lit a stick of incense, quickly blowing it out and placing it in a cup of sand. Emily really hoped they wouldn’t have a fire accident. If her hair were to be cut even shorter, she’d look like an egg wearing a toupee.

“Concentrate on the power you had in hell,” She whispered, so low that only Emily could hear her, “Visualize it and keep the sensation in the forefront of your mind.”

Emily felt if she were in some weird baptism, one you’d see on a TLC show about those weird Mormon cults. Shaking her head, she reminded herself to focus. She thought of hell, of that classroom — the fire, the words, the void. Emily felt her eyes become heavy before they closed. She saw Michael, blue eyes only showing a brief moment of alarm as fire raged around him.

Cordelia looked to Myrtle. The redhead began to chant. One by one, the other girls echoed her words. Emily was only slightly aware of their actions, their voices sounding miles away. Finally, Cordelia echoed the words. Her hands cupped over Emily’s face, covering her eyes and centering the spell between her brows, the third eye.

Once again, Emily fell into a slumber. Cordelia prayed that, when she awoke, her questions would be answered.

[bre-meister]

9 &/or 10 (Dialogue Prompts) for cleon !! TY FOR FEEDING US

9. “I just wish things could have turned out differently between us, you know?” 

Mall trips were always...interesting. Perhaps it stems from the insanity that was his everyday life, but Leon always felt that doing things so mundane like going to the mall was kind of weird? But, weird in a good way. He wasn’t sure exactly how to describe it. D.S.O Agent Leon Kennedy wasn’t sure exactly how to feel about it as he stood surrounded by little tiny onesies and itty bitty tutus and headbands; cribs, strollers, changing tables, and more displayed on top of the shelves reaching up towards the high ceilings of the store. Well, that’s a lie, Leon did know how he felt - awkward, out of place even.

He wasn’t exactly sure why that was the case, especially considering this wasn’t his first rodeo so to speak. Though, last time Claire had done most of the shopping for the smaller things. His preparatory skills were mostly limited to ordering the bigger things online once Claire had picked them out and then assembling them after they had arrived. 

When his wife had asked him to come along this time - mainly to help wrangle little Izzy who had insisted on helping pick out clothes for her new little sister - Leon couldn’t say no. He had nothing else to do on an unnaturally normal Saturday and spending the day with his family sounded like heaven after spending the week doing paperwork. He just hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of things they actually needed to get. Technically speaking, they should have all of the said items at home from when Isabelle had been little - and they did have some. Some of her baby things had been lost in a move a while back - a two-bedroom apartment in the heart of D.C was great for him and Claire but not necessarily for a little girl. The couple had also given away some things to one of Claire’s co-workers who had needed some baby clothes and such. They truly had not expected to have another child, what with their hectic lifestyle but Leon would be lying if he said he wasn’t extremely excited for the new baby.

So, things having been lost one way or another, they had to replace almost everything; which was fine considering Leon’s paycheck alone was enough for them to live fairly comfortably. Chris was always making snide comments about his “government money”, he might as well put it to good use. Which is how the small family found themselves in the non-descript baby store on an even less notable Saturday afternoon. But, despite coming in with two girls, Leon now found himself alone hence the unnecessarily awkward feelings. Claire and Isabell had stepped out for a short moment to find a bathroom, his pregnant wife needing to go nearly just as bad as their four-year-old. 

“Leon?” a voice called from the doorway of the store that leads out to the mall.

Leon looked up confused, that was the direction that his wife and daughter had disappeared to but that voice sounded nothing like Claire’s. Upon laying eyes on the source of the noise Leon felt his confusion shift to something else.

He hadn’t thought he could feel more awkward but somehow, he managed. Calling his name was a living ghost. Leon didn’t have much time to consider that oxymoron before the blast from his past in the form of an objectively beautiful woman entered the store and made her way towards him.

“Oh my gosh! It is you - Leon Kennedy. What’s it been, like five, six years?”

“Yeah,” Leon swallowed awkwardly, “something like that.” If he remembered correctly, it had been much longer than that.

As if coming to his senses, Leon suddenly realized how rude he was being - a former fling or not, Claire would have scolded him if she saw the way he was behaving now. He chuckled awkwardly to cover up how...awkward he was feeling. Quietly, Leon wished he could think of a word or a feeling that was not “awkward”.

“How have you been, Cindy?” He hoped she didn’t catch the upward lit of his greeting when he got to her name - he wasn’t exactly sure he’d remembered correctly.

“Oh ya know, working, shopping,” she gestured to the bags in her hands, “this and that. I’m good though, how about you?” If she noticed his hesitance at her name she didn’t let it outwardly bother her.

Leon looked around before answering, trying to see if he could spot Claire anywhere - no luck. Apparently, at this moment, Leon was two things: awkward and incredibly unlucky.

“Ya know, work, family, shopping,” he mirrored Cindy both in his statement and bodily actions. Motioning to the pack of baby bottles in his hands that he had been mulling over he hoped that Cindy would take the hint - Leon purposefully having emphasized the word family.

Yet again, if Cindy noticed she didn’t let it deter her. She placed a well-manicured hand on Leon’s bicep, gently squeezing all the while batting her eyes in what he assumed was supposed to be a sultry manner. Not many things could be taken as sultry when surrounded by pacifiers and burping cloths. 

“I was genuinely surprised when I saw you, and in a baby store of all places. Never would have thought of you as the settling down kinda man. Then, I thought that you were probably just shopping for a friend or a family member, ya know like a shower gift or something. I also thought you’d might want some help, ya know, a woman’s touch. So, here I am” 

At that the hand on his arm began to move up and down, those red-colored nails causing involuntary goosebumps to rise on his skin. Apparently, Cindy had been doing a lot of thinking in the last few minutes. Doing some thinking on his own, Leon came to the realization that he’d used to think he loved the color red on a woman. Now, he realizes that he loves the color red on one particular woman. 

Before he could get a word in to stop whatever was happening in its tracks, Cindy started up again. Her attention had shifted to the things on the self in front of him, finally removing her hand from his arm. That didn’t mean that she wasn’t done with her not so subtle come on though.

“Sometimes I just wish things could have turned out differently between us ya know? Maybe this could have been us together, shopping for our own baby,” Cindy let out a small laugh at her own imagined scenario. 

“I don’t.” He said confidently, happy that the awkward had finally made his way out of his system.

Apparently so had the unluckiness because as Cindy looked up at him, a confused frown on her face, any response she was about to formulate was cut short by a tiny body barreling into Leon’s legs.

“Daddy, Mommy and I saw the coolest candy store and she said that if I’m a good girl then we can go after we're done here! Are we done yet?” Isabelle let out, seemingly in one breath.

Leon laughed, both at his daughter's enthusiasm to curb her sweet tooth and at the look on Cindy’s face. He knew it was rude but the genuine shock was just too good to let slip and she was too wrapped up in said shock to notice.

“No baby girl, we are not done yet. Although trust me, I would much rather be in the candy store,” She looked to Leon as she approached, her next words directed towards him, “their chocolate display was pretty impressive.” 

Leon wanted to laugh at his two girls. Instead, he coughed a little, nodding his head discreetly towards Cindy - an action he knew only his wife would notice.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. How rude of me, I'm Claire and you are?”

Cindy had managed to pick up her jaw from where it had fallen on the floor but still seemed to be too stunned to speak.

“Claire, this is Cindy, an old friend of mine. We haven’t seen each other in a while so when she spotted me from the window outside she came in to say hi. Cindy, this is my wife, Claire, and my daughter, Isabelle.”

Isabelle waved shyly from where she had retreated behind her daddy’s leg. Leon felt that was a little odd considering usually Izzy was a boisterous little girl who loved to talk - even to strangers. Perhaps she was tired, or maybe Cindy just rubbed her the wrong way - he’d heard kids were perceptive like that. It certainly didn’t help that Cindy’s face had been akin to a fish what with all the open-mouthed gaping when both girls had returned. 

“It's wonderful to meet you, Claire.” the tone of her voice said that this meeting was anything but wonderful. 

Still, Cindy held out her hand and the two politely shook. Leon couldn’t help but notice Cindy’s gaze falling on Claire’s hand returning to her noticeable bump as they pulled away. What was left of the color in her face drained and at that moment, Leon could tell that the woman made a tactical decision to save whatever was left of her dignity. 

“Well, I just came in to say hi. Leon looked a little lost on his own but now that I see he is not alone I suppose I should continue on my way. I still have a few stores to hit before I can go home. Congrats, by the way.” Cindy motioned towards Claire’s midsection at her baby bump.

“Thanks,” Leon said, in unison with his wife. 

Cindy turned to leave, giving one more awkward smile before she left - funny how the tables had turned in that way. Leon almost felt bad for her. It was obvious by her comment that she was still searching for the peaceful family life that he was forever grateful he’d found with Claire.

 I just wish things could have turned out differently between us ya know?

That one statement carried so much weight. Leon knew that eventually, Cindy would find the one who was right for her, and together they could shop baby necessities until her heart's content. But, as for him, looking at his two girls fawn over pink and purple onesies meant for his soon-to-be girl number three, he couldn’t say he agreed. This is where he was meant to be - with them. 

He knew he’d do anything for them, follow them anywhere. Even, he thought, overpriced, extravagant, mall candy stores. Although he had to admit, Claire wasn’t wrong about the chocolate display, it was pretty impressive.

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

Human Au, One character goes into another character's room looking for him, the closet door is open, first character peeks inside looking for second character, but instead of clothes or the second character they find... something (idk what they found) -pineapple

Alright so there’s a lot of ways this could be seen but the thing I thought first is more or less

Remy and Virgil are roommates for whatever and Virgil needs Remy for smth so he wanders into his room and he’s not there so Virgil checks the closet

Remy’s not there, and while there are some clothes, they’re in a pile on the middle of the closet floor

Lining the walls and sat on the shelves, instead, are… weapons

Guns, knives, some arrows next to what might be a fold-able bow, blow darts, etc.

There’s a box that’s ajar and seemingly holding a dozen IDs sitting next to boomerang and the only outfit that’s hung up is a pressed suit

There are FIVE pairs of sunglasses stacked on top of each other as well and Virgil just wants to know what the FUCK is going on

Remy wanders in a moment later, while Virgil’s still trying to figure out his closet, and he’s just ‘yo babes heard you calling for me- aw, fuck’

Virgil turns to Remy like ‘what??? is this???’

Remy’s ignoring him and just muttering to himself, ‘stupid nosey roommates always get in my closet… no privacy… guess I should lock it but that’s my problem… ugh I liked this one too…’

Virgil, crying in spirit: ‘PLEASE give me some sort of explanation’

Remy: ‘yeah, sure, just uh… oh look! a knife!’

Virgil, a stressed fool, turned around to look, found that, yeah, there were knives but he already knew that, and what was that sudden sting in his arm that can’t be good when did the world starting getting all wobbly and dark-

Virgil wakes up about two hours later sprawled on his bed with a little smiley-faces bandage slapped literally over his hoodie

Checking the spot beneath the hoodie + bandage reveals a little red dot that Virgil knows well enough from when he gets flu shots

He groans

His roommate drugged him after Virgil found his danger closet

Getting up a few minutes later and checking around the apartment finds an unmarked envelope filled with next month’s rent sitting on the table and all of Remy’s things completely gone and packed up- closet definitely included

Great. His ex-roommate drugged him and left after Virgil found his danger closet that is now completely unexplained and will likely never be explained

Well, Virgil can’t let that stand

He wants explanations and by gods he’s going to get them!

Even though Remy’s gone, his presence isn’t completely erased. Virgil remembers him, remembers how he acted and where he went and a few other things

(It’s an anxiety thing, that he knows all this, alright? not stalker-y or creepy or related to the fact that Remy’s cute)

It takes a few weeks, triangulating all the places he went and making calls that are… weird, at the best, and downright life-threatening at worst, but everything just makes Virgil more and more curious until he’s standing in front of an abandoned warehouse that he’s heard mentioned five times in all his calling and is his best lead as to where the hell Remy went

He manages to break in through a window that’s missing its glass pane

Virgil’s confused at first when he finds nothing but a completely empty factory, decorated skillfully with old barrels and rotting planks, but he pokes around a bit and finds a trap door under a couple of marked ‘hazardous material’ containers

(Any other day, any other place? He wouldn’t have even thought of touching them- but here and now, all he could think was ‘where would I hide my secrets? underneath the thing no one would ever touch is probably a good idea’)

He descends the ladder within, dropping into a narrow passage that leads… somewhere

He starts to walk down it when the lights that lined the walls suddenly flickered off, plunging him into complete darkness

Footsteps echo in the hall until five seconds the lights are back on and there are six different people in dark, uniform clothing pointing guns at him

Virgil puts his hands up before they’re even asking him too, confused and unsure of what the hell was happening until there’s a ripple in the ranks, the people getting pushed and nudged to the side as someone presses their way in between them, making their way to the front, and it’s-

“Remy?” Virgil says the minute he sees his former roommate, though he’s- well he’s him but also not, sunglasses there but propped up on top of his head instead of over his eyes, still in ripped jeans and a crop top but their both plain black instead of being bright, garnish colours, a coffee in his hand but in a paper cup instead of a Starbucks one

“You’re- you-” Remy looks confused, brow furrowed, but eventually he just sighs, rubbing his temple before he says, “Drop it, boys, I’ll handle it”

The people with guns obey immediately, squinting suspiciously at Virgil as they holster their guns and shuffle away. Remy’s still looking at Virgil like he doesn’t belong there (which he doesn’t, he really doesn’t)

“How’d you find me, babes?” Remy asked, finally, after the silence stretched for a while. “There are some people who would kill to get here, though I don’t really think that’s up your alley.”

“I made a lot of calls.” Virgil answered hesitantly. He didn’t like implication that he had done something impossibly hard. “And triangulated a few locations. Just… small stuff.”

“Trust me, that ain’t small. Why were you trying to find this place?”

“I wanted to know why my roommate had a closet full of weapons and convenient knock-out drugs on hand.” Virgil snapped, annoyed.

Remy half-shrugged. “Fair enough.” He turned, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

Virgil didn’t bother asking why Remy wanted him to follow or where they were going or what was happening or anything, really, because something told him he’d figure it out soon enough

They eventually reached the end of the hallway, and Virgil had to bite back a gasp of pure shock when he saw the room they entered

The place seemed to be a fully set up agency; the room they immediately entered had smoothed rock floors that were covered in various desks and screens, lights attached to the walls and laid within the floor as well, hallways carved into the walls leading elsewhere

Most of the desks were occupied by people dressed identically to those who had held Virgil up in the hallway, working diligently in their plain outfits, guns clearly hanging against their hips and making Virgil more than a little nervous.

“Welcome… to Nowhere.” Remy said, waving at the room before turning to grin at Virgil. “We call it that because, legally, this place? It exists nowhere. The warehouse over it doesn’t even exist- not if you looked for it solely through google maps and government records, anyways.”

“Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious?”

Remy shrugged. “Google maps makes mistakes. Government systems glitch. and if anyone happens to notice, well… most of them don’t have the luck of having had been roommate’s with one of the people who know this place is real.”

Virgil knew he paled at that. “I… hate that.”

Remy nodded. “Not surprised… come on! To my office!”

Virgil felt odd, shuffling past the desks with all the workers staring untrustingly at him as Remy whistled and more or less skipped by, taking them down another hall before ushering Virgil into one of the rooms branching off of it

The room was like the rest of the place- stone walls and floors- but with only one chair in it, set up before a desk + wall of monitors and screens paired with three keyboards and two computer mice.

“Have a seat.” Remy says, sitting himself on one of the outcroppings of stone sticking out of the wall. “We have a lot to talk about.”

And I won’t go further but basically the idea is that Remy’s part of a secret organization, one that’s entrenched in enough secrets it doesn’t even have a NAME. Virgil finding the place is a feat, so, of course, he can never leave. Like it not, he’s part of this place now.

Casting is basically

Virgil: Was just some random person, now works at Nowhere because they’d probably kill him if he didn’t. Doesn’t have an actual job in the agency, just works what Remy works.

Remy: Technical support/hacker. Keeps the agency a secret and deals with all the online stuff. Goes into the field when needed (hence having an arsenal) but he’s more of a stay-at-home man. Sometimes gets apartments when he needs them, but he’s bad at keeping the company secret, so it’s not often

Roman: Remy’s field partner when he goes out. I don’t have many more details for him except that he and Remy are highkey crushing on each other, which causes problems for the sake that a) Roman thinks Remy and Virgil are together/getting together, b) Virgil thinks Remy and Roman are together/getting together, c) Remy thinks they’re both cute but not interested in him. It’s called a convoluted love triangle except they ALL get together because that’s the only thing I write hscbjch

And,,,,, that’s all I have. Hope you like it shdcfbsjdfcsd