#Listen no one can tell me golden guard was an easy job do you SEE his eye bags

[fallen-goldfishcracker]

Love how the entirety of the Hunter fandom heard of the whole mountain challenge and immediately said: Hunter crushed that challenge. Hunter did that challenge as a child and he absolutely killed it. Hunter, the magicless half- a- witch, took the record that Lilith Clawthorne made, Lilith Clawthorne, head of the Emperor's coven, one of the most powerful witches alive, and snapped that record in half, because he had to and because he was stronger than everyone thought and because he didn't take no for an answer.

And I love everyone for that.

[star-girl69]

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: updates will be slower from here on out- winter break is over, and i’m just getting busier and busier. i hope you all enjoy this chapter!!

warnings: incest, mentions of death, blood, violence, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter Forty Three- Good Men Die Too

—-

In the darkness of the night, he boards a trading ship.

It is plain, certainly not up to par for his station. Yet, he slips the tradesman a pouch of golden dragons, thanks him once again, and beckons his men onto the ship. There is only a few of them- but they are good. Good at their jobs, at keeping their emotions in check.

Perhaps not good men, not morally, seeing as they are so willing to kill. He never thought he would be doing this. But he must, he must, for the good of the realm. By the order of his king.

The ship sets sail, and he swears he hears a dragon roar.

—-

“Goodnight, Joffrey,” you whisper into his dark hair, kissing him, inhaling his little scent. He will soon grow, he will soon never be this size again. You intend to enjoy it as much as you can.

You had left the council meeting early today, all they said was the same redundant things over and over again. Besides, you would much rather read a story to the little brown headed boy than listen to Lord Steffon account each and every altercation happening in the Riverlands.

So, you had squeezed Rhaenyra’s hand and slipped out- into the dark halls, the sound of rain pouring comforting you. Joffrey was all to happy to see you- he is the only one of your children young enough for a story, and still awake at this time- and you know you do not seem him enough.

When you leave Joffrey, he is sound asleep, curled in blankets and arms wrapped around himself. The faceless guard stands outside his room, nodding as you pass, and you whisper a small thank you.

When you turn the corner, it is Ser Erryk who is there. You smile at him, and he does as well, although it does not quite meet his eyes. Your frown- while you would not consider Ser Erryk to be your closest companion, you shared similar interests and he would always spare a kind smile and a few minutes to talk with you.

But, you ignore it. It is rational to assume that it is simply the stress of war getting to him, as it is getting to everyone.

When you move into the thin sliver of light coming through the window- his eyes narrow on the crown you wear, now highlighted in the moonlight.

“Your Grace…” he says, still looking at the dragonglass, the bright red ruby.

“Ser Erryk. I suppose you have not seen me in my crown, yes? Well, besides for the coronation. We have all been so busy, it is a shame to not see you more often.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon say you have taken to the crown quite well. They tell you it is a heavy burden- but your neck is strong, and Daemon tells you his hands will always be there incase you falter. You admit, it makes your stomach flame in a way it did when you first met him. Newness, the unknown, but comforting at the same time. Like sleeping with a new pillow under your head.

Not only have you taken to the metaphorical crown, but the physical crown looks quite flattering on you. (Daemon and Rhaenyra have less polite ways of putting it, but you will not sully Ser Erryk’s ears.)

“My favorite part is the ruby, I think. Besides, I always wear red dresses, and it compliments them well.” He nods, distractedly, but you ignore it again. It is late, you rationalize.

“It looks exquisite on you, Queen Y/N, truly.”

“Thank you, Erryk. Where are you off to?” You enquire, and the two of you suddenly fall into an easy step.

“To find you, in fact.”

“Really? Whatever could you need me for?”

“There’s a situation that requires your attention- allow me to accompany you?” He holds his arm out, and you loop yours through it without a thought. (It is Erryk, you know, you can trust him.)

When you realize he is taking you to the balcony, it is much too late.

—-

Of course, it is not quite a balcony. It is a room in the palace, buried beneath dirt above and below it. But it is a secluded room, open, with a view of the sea before it. If you were not a lady of fire, you like to think the sea would be your calling. Perhaps in another life, one without your lovers, your family, you would be a simple fisherman’s daughter. But that is not your life.

Ser Erryk let’s go of you, turns around to close the door. You do not hear it lock, so you feel no concern.

The room looks fine. There is seating on either side, a rug, then a large expanse of open area, where the rain slightly slants in, wetting the plain stone floor.

It is one of your favorite rooms in the palace, but you cannot fathom why it needs your attention.

It isn’t until you hear Erryk sigh that you turn from the sea, back to the door.

He is leaning against the door, shoulders and muscles tight even through his guards uniform.

You swear you see a flash of green- it is late, your eyes must be playing tricks on you.

Erryk looks tense, forlorn, distraught. You feel the sudden urge to comfort him like he is one of your children.

“What is wrong, Ser Erryk?” You take a step forward, he does not move.

“I’m sorry. I do not want to do this.”

You frown, place a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, I-”

And suddenly he rounds on you, a murderous look in his eyes, a glint of evil as he grabs you by the throat and pins you to the wall.

It was too fast for you to fight back- for you to comprehend. You choke his name out, from beneath his rough touch, but it feels wrong on your tongue.

“You- you are not- not Erryk,” you get out, and he only stares, apathetic, emotionless.

“I am not my brother. I am not a traitor. I serve my king.”

“Treason-!” You screech, but he tightens his hand and you are like a rag doll against the wall.

“We fought on the beach. With some of your men. We won- I won- barely. The rest of my crew is dead or injured, waiting on the boat, in the docks.” He stops, stares off at the wall behind you. “They were good men,” he whispers after a moment. “The least I can do is fulfill our mission. I will return to them, with the Night Queens crown covered in her blood.”

“No-” you plead, as a tear falls down your face, but the look in his eyes forces you to swallow your words.

“I will kill you, and I will kill your children. I am sorry it had to come to this, my lady, I truly am.” He loosens his grip, allowing you to suck in more precious air before you die.

It is cruel, you think, to allow you a final luxury like that, knowing it is your last. It is tainted.

And you swear your words are tainted with poison when you speak.

“I am the Queen, and you will address me as such,” he is unbothered by your poison, your derision. He is a broken man- and his face reflects that. His eyes are of ones that have seen men die- he brothers die.

“Choose your last words,” he whispers, again, a cruel luxury.

“You will know my darkness,” you hiss, the weight of the crown feeling like nothing in this moment. In this moment, you feel infinite, powerful, good and worthy.

And when you lean forward- his skin succumbs to your teeth, and darkness pours forth. It is his, you suppose, but know it is yours.

—-

When he falls, blood pouring from his wounds, from your mouth, you scream with the blood on your lips, for the guards, for Daemon, for Rhaenyra, for someone and anyone.

He yells after you, one hand pressed to his wound, the other reaching out wildly as if he can command you back under his blade.

It was not a fatal wound, you think, but it was deep enough to make blood spurt forth, and harsh enough to force him to slow.

When you turn, you collide into the chest of a guard, and after confirming it is one you recognize, Lorent Marbrand, you let him draw you into his arms, put his sword in between you and the stumbling Ser Arryk.

More guards surge from out of nowhere, even the good Ser Erryk.

When his brother falls, held under the knee of Queensguard, he is stone cold. His face reveals nothing but duty, but honor.

You think he is a good man. But you know the saying from Braavos- “all men must die.” You know good men must die too. You hope they will take the bad ones with them.

—-

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[kupa-konstruct]

It catches me off guard for a second but they waltz past me, their laughter and jolly tears helping me to better hide me in the shadows of my favorite spot. They all have seat at the front, pushing and prodding each other as they share passing jokes and snide remarks at each other for fun, I pay no mind to it at first as I try to let it fade into the noise of the rest of the bar, that was until I heard it. "Time to celebrate the anniversary of death of the fucking pain in our asses, right guys?!" the hero loudly proclaims this to the rest of his friends and to extension, the rest of the bar. I freeze in my seat, my fingers clutching on to my glass as the bar cheers for my supposed death. I do not flinch and I take a sip of my drink.

I had heard rumors that my home town was celebrating my death and evening celebrating it after everything they put me through, part of me was hoping that it was just baseless rumors but I guess they all turned out to be true. Just the thought of these people celebrating and cheering for the death of a so-called monster that they created just makes me si-

"Are you okay?"

The barmaid's voice pierces through my thoughts as I snap out of it, only to realize that I had accidentally squeezed the glass in my hands enough to make it fracture, some of the shards now cutting my palm as my blood drips down on to the bar table.

With a small sigh, I reach for a nearby rag to hold the glass before letting it go completely, letting the barmaid take the broken glass, "I'll be all right miss. I've been through worse." The barmaid can only look at me with worry and a bit of pity before taking the rag and glass from me, looking back and forth from me before going to the kitchen to properly dispose of the glass. Once she left, I tried to breathe easy and let out a small sigh only to lock eyes with the hero. His eyes glued on to mine as he tightly holds on to a bottle of brandy. Despite changing my appearance long ago, my eyes still carried a shadow of my former self, a golden yellow hue, one of the few things I couldn't bring myself to get rid of and despite me looking completely different, I feared that the hero could see right through me. As if he could hear my thoughts, he stands up. I watch him take drunk steps towards my table until he's basically standing next to me, glaring down at me in my seat as the smell of booze oozed off of him.

He takes another swig of the brandy before speaking to me, glaring at my eyes before doing so.

"Why....why aren't you celebrating....like everyone else?" his words are slurred and he takes another drink as he waits for my response, his already short temper getting shorter with all the alcohol in his system.

I hesitate before I answer, "...I'd rather not. Celebrating the death of someone doesn't really suit me." I say bluntly as I look at the cuts the glass gave me to avoid his gaze, all of them now turning into small marks as I heal quickly. He slams his brandy bottle into my table, the loud thud making all the happy chatter and gossip cease as his glare gets worse. "Listen here, outsider. I don't care what you think "suits you" you better get up and celebrate because you being in this corner like a creep is killing my vibe!" he yells, disturbing the bar staff now as well. I keep my gaze on my hands as the cuts now fully heal and I listen to the sound of footsteps approach the both of us. I listen as one of his more sober friends try to calm him down, telling him that it's not his job to make everyone celebrate with him but he just doubles down more.

"NO!!! NO I WON'T CALM DOWN!!! IT'S BECAUSE YELLOW-EYED FREAKS LIKE-"

My body stands upright from my table, making the hero and his friend stumble back as I stare at the table. I can feel my power surging through me accompanied with seething rage as my eyes glow faintly in the dim light of the bar as I try to steady my racing heart. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I glance back at the hero and instead of looking even more enraged, he almost looked petrified but I wasn't about to stay in the wretched bar a second longer. It was time to find a new favorite spot to relax. I gently moved around the hero on the floor and his sober friend as I made my way to the door, adamant to live a live that this wretched took away from me, a normal life, a happy life.

I opened the bar door and never looked back as I left what was left of my former home now permanently behind me.

You, the villain, faked your death and started over years ago. But you never expected the hero to stumble into your new favorite bar, laughing with their friends.

[elysianightsss]

When Dusk Begins

Part six

Warnings: fluff, little bit of neck kissing

SERIES MASTERLIST

After a crazy night, and a crazy party. Some time had passed. Larry had left the museum, a while ago leaving you to come in every night and check on everything, not that you minded. He’d been too busy lately to join you.

Ahkmen’s hands caressed yours gently, both of you sitting in the hall of ocean life, the big blue whale hanging from the ceiling flapped his tail bringing a nice breeze throughout the room. Ahk sat behind you, your head laid back on his shoulder as you sat in between his legs.

The beautiful exotic fish swam around in their tanks, it was such a good idea for a date. Ahkmen seemed so so proud of himself that he thought of the idea.

“This is so nice.” You sighed, your body aching from a long day at work. Your new job in New York was amazing, but it came with a lot of paperwork. That meant tension in your neck and back, which Ahk was more than happy to massage out for you earlier.

“Indeed it is.” His arms wrapped tighter around you. “Did you hear anything more from the board of the museum?” He asked.

“No, they barely listened to me when I tried to get them to change their minds. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to keep your family here.” You turned your head to look at your beloved. He smiled sadly at you.

“This isn’t your fault my love. People make decisions that affect others.” He cupped your face gently bringing his lips to yours in the most wonderful way. “There isn’t anything anyone can do. The suns coming up.” He whispered pressing one last kiss to your lips before getting up and heading toward his exhibit.

The next night you entered the museum to find Larry playing tug of rope with Rexy. The big bone dinosaur flung him halfway across the room, just as Larry landed all the boxes sprung open. Everyone began climbing out of said boxes.

“Lawrence! Good to see you, lad!” Teddy, on his horse as always, bellowed at Larry with a gleeful expression.

“Yeah, you too Teddy.” Larry shook hands with the president.

“The guardian of Brooklyn has returned.” Ahkmenrah rounded the corner with a smile and hope shimmering in his eyes. He immediately spotted you, his grin widening as you got closer. Ahk wrapped his arms round you with a peck to your forehead.

“Hey Ahk. Hey, look McPhee told me what’s going on around here. I had no idea.” Larry said.

“Indeed. A lot had transpired Lawrence since your last visit. One would say that-“ a phone beeping interrupted the man on the horse. “Oh, cricket.”

“Hey! Bocephus! Little help over here!” Jed’s voice came from a small box over in the corner. Jed and Octavius climbed up onto the ledge of the box.

“Well lookey here, if it ain’t Mr. Big-in-the-Britches himself come back just in time to see us off!” Jed scoffed.

“Yeah, Jed, I heard. I don’t even know how this happened.” Another beep from Larry’s phone, he fished it out and began looking at it.

“Yeah, Yeah real mystery how this happened.” Sarcasm dripped from Jed’s voice. “Maybe the answer’s on that magic buzzing box there in your hand. You weren’t here, Gigantor! That’s how it happened! Ain’t no mystery!” Jed shouted.

“Guys it’s okay, I’ll call the board in the morning I’ve got some pull now.” Larry said.

“I already talked to the board, they wouldn’t change their minds.” You spoke up scowling at the man. Ahk pulled you in tighter.

“I’ll handle it. We’re gonna be okay here.” Larry turned back to look at the miniatures.

“We? Do you hear that? Did you hear Daydream Johnny? There ain’t been a we ever since you put us on the pay no mind list. And that’s a cold place to be, boy.” Jed glared.

“Larry what’s done is done. Even the glory of Rome had to come to an end.” Octavius chirped.

“Come with me.” Ahk whispered pulling you away from the big group discussion.

“What is it?” You asked.

“I couldn’t keep listening to that.” He spoke solemnly. His family was leaving, there was nothing you could say or do to make him feel better.

“I’m so sorry Ahk.” He sighed bringing you into his arms just as Teddy and Sacajawea riding Little Texas rounded the corner leading everyone else.

“One last stroll together?” He offered. We nodded joining Atilla in the line and began walking around.

The sad goodbye had you crying for your friends and Ahkmenrah’s family. The next night you visited the museum and Ahk didn’t wake up, nor did Teddy or any of the remaining exhibits. The tablet had gone with the others, you had been going crazy. Was the other night the last night you’d see Ahkmenrah again? You weren’t told that. You never got to say goodbye. It wasn’t until the second night, very early in the morning, that you saw him again.

You helped him out of his coffin, he looked just as confused as you did. “I don’t understand the tablet’s gone.” You said causing him to frown.

“Gone?” He questioned, your attention was caught by the sound of Atilla and the cavemen. “They’re back?” His hand grabbed yours as he began running into the main section of the museum.

“Y/N!” Atilla screamed as you got to the bottom step of the staircase. You hugged the big man, Dexter jumping on Ahkmenrah.

“What happened?” The Pharaoh inquired, and Atilla began to explain. You of course only heard gibberish but you trusted Ahk to tell you later. Indeed he did.

“Your Brother? As in the man we saw back in Egypt?” You asked.

“Yes him. He’s gone now it seems.” Ahk answered.

“Are you okay?” You cupped his cheeks.

“Never better. My family’s home.” He smiled.

——————————

Larry had sold his company and payed the museum to keep it open. It was amazingly busy, so many people as you weaved your way through the crowed. You spotted your boyfriend talking to some family’s, Dexter holding the golden tablet next to him.

“My parents gave me this tablet over 3000 years ago entrusting me with one my people’s most prized possessions.” Ahk spoke with such pride.

“Does it do anything?” A little girl asked.

“Do anything?” Ahk questioned.

“Yeah. What’s the point if it doesn’t do anything?” An older girl said with a snotty attitude.

“Tell em.” Dexter whimpered.

“Actually, it has a magical power that brings all of the exhibits to life.” Ahk spoke with a glint in his eyes and excitement in his voice.

“No really, what’s it do?” The girl answered back in a bored tone.

“Nothing it’s just for decoration.” Ahk slumped causing you to bite your lip stifling the giggling threatening to slip out.

“I knew it.” The younger girl whispered to the elder.

The only downside to this was less one on one time with Ahk, you were allowed to sneak off into the night guard office now and then but you longed to see him more often. By the time the museum closed for everyone to have their own time, you were at home asleep for work the next morning.

Tonight was an example of your one on one time. Just before the grand reopening of the newly renovated Hayden Planetarium, Ahk had pulled you aside kissing you instantly. “Hello to you too.” You panted as his lips caressed your neck gently. Gasping his name out.

“Good evening Setepa-i.” He chuckled against your skin. Before you could giggle Ahk fell to his knees with a groan. In shock you put your arms around him watching as his moment of weakness passed.

“What happened?” You rushed out worried.

“I don’t know.” You looked around to ask for help when your eyes caught the tablet.

“Ahk.” You pointed out. Helping him to his feet he moved over to the Tablet only to see part of it a blacky, dark green moss.

“What the hell.”

“I’ll tell Larry.” He was running off before you could answer. You frowned at the golden device with uncertainty. What had happened to it?

Larry and Ahk’s footsteps sounded behind you. Larry clicked his flashlight on inspecting the tablet, “have you ever seen it like this before?”

“Never.” Ahk replied. “This corrosion, it’s never happened before. It’s always been exactly the same.”

“I wonder what’s up with it.” Larry frowned.

“I have no idea. And to be honest, my father knew the secrets of the tablet better than I did. Unfortunately, he swore he’d never reveal them. He never did.” Just as Ahk finished his sentence, the corrosion spread, the pharaoh falling backwards. Larry caught him in time bringing him back to his feet.

“Are you okay?” You asked inspecting him for any form of injuries.

“I’m fine beautiful.” He pecked your forehead.

“Just take it easy out there tonight. Fifteen minutes till show time.” Larry said walking out of the exhibit like a man on a mission. “We’re gunna figure this out tomorrow.”

“All right.” Ahk agreed glancing worriedly at the tablet before following.

[cloudenthusiast2]

To be a human - Scaramouche x reader - Part 1

Synopsis: You knew committing to a relationship Scaramouche would be no easy task but you loved him dearly and unlike others, you believed he wasn't evil. But as a mortal and the devoted protector of your village you were too much of a good person, too much of a human compared to him and your differences slowly start to show.

Next: Part 2

Type: mostly angst, this part is still light tho

Warnings: none... yet

Length: not as long as it seems. I'll try to write the next chapters as soon as possible

Scaramouche turned his back to the mountains he's been staring at to look at the path leading to Qingce village. The sun shone through the fog above the rice fields, colouring everything in golden light. Trees sighed as the gentle morning breeze caressed them while glaze lilies slowly started to close their blossoms.

The view was absolutely mesmerising but it didn't absorb the exoticly dressed, short man even for a minute.

'Finally' he snorted unpatiently as you appeared out of the fog, walking towards him with a big smile. 'What took you so long?'

'Good morning' you answered in a calm, low-key but still visibly cheerful manner.

He mumbled some words to himself but you didn't even try to understand what he was saying. It was probably for the better anyway.

You were both happy you could finally see each other but Scaramouche would obviously never express such feelings, not even towards you. You didn't care so much about that though since the time you spent with trying to bare with him finally paid off. You could confidently say now that you actually knew him and his difficult personality well.

Yes, the constant need to search for clues that could tell you about his hidden emotions was a little tiering but you could usually put up with it.

You haven't been able to see him in a really long time as well. You were living in a small village in Liuye while Scaramouche was always travelling around Teyvat and could only visit you between two jobs. He wasn't the type to write letters so sometimes even months passed without you hearing anything about him.

He came back to you yesterday agter five weeks, to spend a little time in Qingce, the village you lived in and protected with your biggest gift, a Hydro vision.

'Where do you want to go?'

'Doesn't matter.'

'We could go to the forest! It's really pretty in the morning. And later we could pick some chili. I promised Pops Kai that I would bring some to him.'

He didn't react. You knew he didn't like you - his words - 'being a slave of those people' so he just ignored the fact someone requested something from you again.

'How did your last job go?' You asked as you two were slowly walking below the rice fields, watching the sun come up from behind the mountains.

'Could have been worse' he answered curtly. 'Inazuma is a pain in the neck. And there were some... unfortunate events I do not wish to discuss. But at least now I'm back.'

He looked up to the village and his piercing blue eyes narrowed as he took a glance of the neat but definitely archaic looking houses.

'Even this hick town is better than thet hell hole.'

Your facial expression strained for a moment as you heard him insulting the village which happened to be your favourite place all in Teyvat. You calmed your expressions but couldn't help and sting back a little.

'I thought you liked Inazuma' you retorted in a dry tone. 'It's where you're from after all.'

Scaramouche's face immediately darkened and you instantly realised the big mistake you made.

You knew a little about his origins, just enough to understand why he never told about it to you. Regret appeared in you for mentioning his past. At least Scaramouche didn't scold you for it but the air between you two visibly got heavier.

You continued your walk in silence and you couldn't stop cursing yourself for saying such insensitive things. It took two minutes for you to start bickering - this number made you feel sad and stupid.

But then again - he didn't even realise how hard he insulted your village and even if he did, he probably wouldn't regret it by one bit.

You lifted your chin and looked straight into the distance. You could see the various fatui agents scattered around the village, all standing guard for the sixth harbinger next to you.

You didn't like him being a part of the fatui at all but there wasn't much you could do about it. You only hoped and prayed that he one day would leave them after getting enough of the Tsaritsa and her overwhelming, suffocating power. After all, he only joined them because they 'seemed fun' and so far they were more of an annoyance then an genuine source of amusement for him.

'Unless he likes all the bloody tasks they're handing to him' you thought to yourself and then couldn't help but feel a little sick in the stomach.

You loved the man walking next to you but not every part of his personality. Not that part which screamed evil.

You weren't blinded by love. You knew he was indeed cruel sometimes. The part affecting you, his rudeness, his hatred towards any type of affection didn't concern you, it was actually kind of amusing. You loved to tease him about it and when he had an actual soft moment... it was heaven itself.

But you couldn't help but feel worried for others. What was he actually doing behind your back? Did he ever... kill someone? He seemed to be enjoying ending monsters a little too much. And he was quite open about his feelings towards humans. He hated all of them... you were probably the only exception.

'Say, Scara' you decided to broke the silence. He glanced at you, his face and movements still stiff. 'If there was a job suiting you in Liyue...'

'Stop tryna make me quit the fatui' he cut into your words in a harsh tone. 'It's not going to happen.'

'That's not what I was trying to do. I just... want to see you more often. Even after months I can only get a day or two with you... and we're not even alone.'

'If it's the Tsaritsa's order then I will follow it.' You averted your eyes. Barely a sentence in and you were already dejected by his words. 'Even though... I'd like to see you more too.'

You quickly rose your chin just to catch a glance of him rolling his eyes before he quickly turned his head away.

A wide smile lit up your face and you couldn't help but instantly start to gently tease him.

'Oh my, am I mistaken or is the almighty Balladeer actually admitting his oh-so-ridicoulus wishes to a mortal? Scara, are you okay? Yore getting soft, be careful before you get so weak even a slime could defeat you!'

'Just shut up, okay?' He growled at you but you just happily laughed. He's back. 'I'm gonna take my words back if you only show disrespect at...'

'Sure, sure' you smirked. 'Just admit you have a crush on me, Weeky-mouche!'

'Your nicknames are absolutely ridiculous' he claimed, ignoring the rest of the sentence.

'Oh, so what do you want me to call you then?' The temptation was too strong, you couldn't help but wink at him which made him growl in disgust again. 'Sweetheart, perhaps? Or honey?'

'I swear, you're as annoying as that damn red scum' he snorted, referring to his colleague, Childe.

You wanted to continue teasing him but as you turned right on the path you were walking on, a small shilouette - even smaller than Scaramouche's - appeared in front of you.

'Oh, little Yu!' You gasped, recognising the little 4-years-old girl.

Her dark hair was sparkling from the light of the morning sun and it put a tiny fire into her golden eyes as well. She looked like a magical little creature in the mystical forest, surrounded by old trees and young flowers.

A precious smile lit her face up as she saw you and the little girl reached out with both of her hands.

'Miss Y/n!'

You picked her up in an instant. Your favourite thing in guarding Qingce village was the people that lived in it and Yu always had a special place in your heart.

'Are you picking flowers?' You asked her and gently brushed her hair out of her face. 'For who?'

'Mommy' explained the little girl. 'It's her birthday tomorrow!'

'You're a very kind little lady, Yu' you praised her with a gentle smile. Holding a tiny, adorable creature like her was amongst the best feelings you've experienced, next to being with your lover, Scaramouche.

You didn't realise it was mainly because you were completely touch-starved.

Yu nodded but she didn't look at you. You followed her glance and you realised she was staring at Scaramouche.

The man was standing three feet away from you, with crossed arms and a hostile look on his face.

'Who is he?' Little Yu asked from you, fixing her eyes on the unfriendly expression of Scara's.

'His name is Scaramou... Just call him Scara.'

The man and the girl stared at each other.

'You needn't be afraid of him. He doesn't bite' you said jokingly but the little child's face remained serious.

'Why isn't he smiling?' She asked quietly. Scara glared at her.

'He's a little hard to make smile but he's still a good person' you promised her.

'Are you sure?'

Her words were innocent but they hit you really hard. Your breath stopped for a second and the fake smile on your face faded away.

'Now listen here you little...'

'I am sure. Don't worry' you cut down Scaramouche, sending a warning look to him.

He stayed silent but he looked like he could explode at any moment.

Maybe the child was able to sense it, maybe not, but she tried to get out of your hug all of a sudden. You put her down carefully, not forgetting to caress her hair and rosy cheeks even though her words upset both of you.

'I'm gonna go pick more flowers.'

'Yes. Be careful in the forest.' You warned her. 'Call my name if you're in danger!'

She nodded and ran away on her bare feet, looking like a little fairy among the old trees.

Leaving you alone with Scaramouche.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

The Kiss of Life

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You are an Avenger with the power to heal. However, you didn’t expect to catch feelings for the man you brought back from the dead.

Note: Let it be known that my very first ever Tumblr fanfiction, waaaaaay back in 2015, was a Pietro Maximoff fic about a healer! Reader bringing him back to life. I was obsessed with this man. Still am, lowkey. So, this fic is just kind of me revisiting that idea with about six more years of writing experience.

Warnings: Mentions of death, death (temporary), bulletwounds

Wordcount: 2.7k

On the day of the Battle of Sokovia, you were on board the Helicarrier. Tony Stark had contacted you, knowing the shit would hit the fan, and then Nick Fury had found you and picked you up. As the team’s resident healer, you didn’t actively go out in the field, but you were always on stand-by just in case. And this was one of the days you were glad you were.

You’d taken one of the “boats” to the quickly rising chunk of the city in order to heal civilians. You encountered a young woman who had her leg caught under a piece of rubble. But super-strength wasn’t one of your abilities. Luckily, a certain silver-haired speedster saw you and rushed over to help. You healed the woman and she quickly went over to the boats to be evacuated.

“Are you…” the man asked, looking you over. “You’re with…?”

“The Avengers, yeah.” You nodded. “Are you?”

“I’m new.” He grinned. “I’m Pietro. Nice to meet you.”

“(Y/N).” You offered your hand and instead of shaking your hand like you expected him to, he raised it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss there. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. You couldn’t deny he was handsome, and his accent and gorgeous muscles only helped his case.

“Oh shit, your arm.” You pointed out the wound there.

“I was shot.” He nodded, his jaw clenching. “It is not bad, though.”

“Here, let me.” You reached up and held your hand over the bullet hole. Immediately, golden light radiated from your palm and Pietro watched in awe as the spot repaired, his skin closing up underneath the hole in his shirt. “There. Good as new.”

“Thanks. Remind me to find you the next time I get a paper cut.”

You chuckled. “I’m always around.”

The two of you split after that. You went off to help more civilians evacuate and he busied himself with fighting robots.

And then it happened. You were on your way to the boats to help people. You heard the loud noise of a machine gun, and when you looked up, Pietro was standing there, riddled with bullet holes, wobbling on his feet before inevitably collapsing.

You sprinted. You didn’t care about the risks or the danger, you ran as fast as you could to him, falling to your knees at his side and immediately pushing every ounce of power you could muster into his chest, arms, and legs. You felt like your veins were on fire and you couldn’t describe why, but you knew that this was why you were there. This was your purpose and you intended to fulfill it.

You watched as his wounds stitched together. You searched him for more. Anything you could do to make him better.

His eyes were open, unblinking, wide and haunting. His skin was cold to the touch. You knew what you had to do, but you didn’t know if you had the strength to do it after expending your powers all day.

“Can you do it?” Clint asked softly, watching.

“I think so.” You murmured. “I’m gonna try.”

The Kiss of Life, as Tony had dubbed it, was something you had only done once. It had absolutely drained you. You’d been asleep for a few days following it, but it was worth it. It was always worth it.

So, slowly, you leaned in and pressed your lips to Pietro’s pushing everything you had left into his body, from your chest to his. You reached up and felt for a pulse, waiting, waiting, waiting, until suddenly, you felt his vein twitch beneath your fingertips. You felt his chest heave with a breath and immediately released, exhaling a large breath of your own.

He looked up at you, confusion and warmth swirled in his eyes. He stared at you for a long moment, a hand rising to his lips, as if he was looking for confirmation of what you’d just done. He looked down at himself, searching for the dozens of wounds he’d just acquired, but not finding any.

Your head was spinning. You blinked a few times, watching him carefully. He sat up and as soon as he did, you slumped forward into his firm chest, your eyes fluttering shut. The last thing you felt before falling asleep were his strong arms wrapping around you and his soft lips pressing against your forehead.

“Thank you.”

***

You woke up with a pounding headache in an…unfamiliar place. You didn’t recognize the room you were in, but it appeared your things were there, from what you could tell. Oh, and there was a man sitting in a chair pulled up to your bedside, a nervous look on his face. His finger rested on his lip, deep in thought.

You moved, straining to sit up but your entire body was sore, your limbs each screaming for you to stop.

“Hey, hey, careful.” He moved at lightning speed, catching you off guard. He gently moved you into an upright position, resting against the mountain of pillows on your bed. “Easy.” He smoothed the hair off of your forehead and leaned forward to kiss it, long and soft. “You do not feel like you have a fever…”

“I think I’m okay.” You insisted, shaking your head. Your voice was hoarse. You coughed a few times, but half a second later, Pietro was holding a cold water bottle in your face, helping you drink it with careful hands and a doting expression on his face.

“Banner left these for you.” He handed you a bottle of painkillers and you took a few of them, swallowing them down with more water.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t say anything, but you knew he was thinking about it.

Instead, you asked, “How long was I out?”

“A few days.” He replied, his voice soft and low. “I…I was worried…worried that you…”

“Yeah,” you laughed darkly, shrugging. “I…well, some risks are just worth taking, I guess.”

“You barely know me and you saved my life without hesitation.” He said, a million words hiding behind his eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed cautiously, giving you plenty of time to tell him to back off, but you didn’t. “Clint…he said he’s never seen you run so fast.”

“I knew I wouldn’t have much time before…” You shook your head, trailing off. “And I knew I couldn’t let that happen. I got lucky. I was exactly where I needed to be.”

He was quiet for a beat, thinking. And then, all at once, he pulled you into his arms, against his firm chest. You listened to his heartbeat, his breaths, which became ragged as soon as he started sobbing.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay. You’re okay. It’s all okay.” You said, your arms wrapping around him, one hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“Thank you. T-thank you so much. I…I don’t know how to repay you.”

“It’s just my job, Pietro. You don’t have to—”

“I want to, though.” He said, pulling away from you to look you in the eyes. His large hand rose to frame your cheek and you felt a chill run up your spine, heat flooding your cheeks due to his proximity and the look on his face. “Please let me thank you the way you deserve.”

You didn’t know what else to say, so you just nodded, staring up at him. “O-okay.”

“Do you think you can walk? The others want to see you.” He said.

“Um, I can try. I’ll probably be a bit weak.”

“I’ll help you.” He reassured you, helping you remove the blankets on top of you and scoot to the edge of the bed.

You put your feet on the floor, gently easing up until you were upright. You wobbled a little, but Pietro’s arm snaked around your waist for support, helping you forward slowly until you were out the door of your new bedroom.

“Where are we, exactly?”

“New facility.” Pietro explained. “Stark insists it will be safer than the Tower.”

“Gotcha.” You nodded.

He led you out to the main room, where the majority of the team were all sitting on the large sectional couch. As soon as you walked in, aided by Pietro, they all sat at attention. One of them, a young woman wearing a red sweater, stood up and walked up to you quickly, wrapping you in a tight hug.

“Thank you so much. Thank you for saving him.”

“Of course.” You hugged her back. “Us Avengers have to look out for each other. Welcome to the team. You’re Wanda, right?”

“Right. Nice to meet you, officially.” She smiled warmly.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” You pulled away and as soon as you did, you wobbled a bit, but Pietro immediately held you upright, preventing you from falling.

“Got a new friend there, (L/N)?” Tony chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

“So it seems.” You smiled, letting Pietro help you over to the couch where the others were all situated. “The new place is nice.” You noted. “Very modern. Very sleek.”

“Thought you’d like it.” Tony nodded. “There are still quite a few empty rooms if you want to switch, but, uh…Speedy wanted your room next to his.”

Pietro laughed nervously, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. When you looked over at him, his cheeks were steadily turning red. Cute, you decided.

“Well, I certainly don’t mind.” You grinned. “What are we watching?”

“Disney movies.”

“Hell yesssssss.”

“Told you she’d like it.” Steve chuckled, his arms folded across his broad chest. “How are you feeling, kid?”

“I’m good. Little sore, but good. Should be back to normal in a few days.”

“Glad to hear it.” Steve nodded, smiling.

“Anyone have any papercuts that need healing in the meantime?” You joked.

“Maybe take it easy for now, (L/N).” Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Our bruises and papercuts can wait.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

You watched a few movies with the rest of the team, and afterwards, Tony ordered pizza, a very bewildered delivery boy knocking on the door about an hour later. Pietro wouldn’t let you lift a finger, and so once the pizza arrived, he brought you a few slices on a plate with breadsticks and garlic cream cheese dip.

“Thank you, Pietro.”

“Of course.” He grinned, plopping back down in his spot between you and Wanda.

You had only been awake for a handful of hours, and yet you suspected that this constant attention from the silver-haired speedster wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

***

You were right. It was about two weeks later. You’d made a full recovery and were back to your usual level of activity. You were in the training facility doing your daily workout when Pietro sped in. You were on the treadmill, just finishing up, when he strolled over, a grin on his face.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh yeah?” You asked, slowing the treadmill to a stop and leaning against the rails, taking a moment to catch your breath. “May I ask why?”

“One of the interns is making a coffee run.”

“Oh hell yeah.” You took a long sip from your water bottle. “Well, thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course.” He grinned, leaning against your treadmill. “How are you today?”

You smiled, heat flushing your cheeks. You blame it on the workout, but you knew there might be another reason for it… “I’m good, how are you?”

“Good.” He replied. “I’m good.” He paused, holding up his hand, his knuckles red and bloody. “I did hurt my hand, though…”

“Oh, here.” You took his hand in yours and held your other palm over it, letting your power glow for a few seconds until the wound healed up. “There. Good as new.”

He exhaled a breath, clenching and unclenching his hand. With it, he reached up and gently traced your jaw. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours, causing a flurry of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. “You’re incredible. So incredible.”

You stared into his blue, blue eyes for what felt like eternities, his warm breaths ghosting across your cheeks. And then the moment was over. He pulled away from you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Want a ride?”

“To where, the living room?” You laughed. “Sure, why—?” There was a rush of cold air and suddenly, you were in the living room, Pietro cradling you in his arms. “Not.” You looked up at him, tucking a piece of hair back behind your ear. “Wow, you’re fast.”

He grinned and you swore his cheeks got a shade redder than they were previously. “I am, aren’t I?”

You ordered your coffee from the intern and waited for Pietro to order his, but he didn’t.

“Aren’t you getting anything?”

“Oh, I don’t like coffee.” He shrugged, and then winked at you. “But you do, so…”

***

It was a few weeks later. You’d known Pietro for a little over a month at this point. You were in your room, reading. It was getting late and you knew that, but you also didn’t want to go to sleep until you finished the chapter you were on.

You heard a knock on your doorframe and looked up to find Pietro standing there, his hair a tousled mess and dark bags under his eyes.

“Nightmare?”

He nodded.

“Come on in.” You scooted over and patted the side of the bed and immediately, he zipped over. “You okay?”

“Better now.” He said, his voice low and raspy.

You closed your book and set it on your nightstand to give him your full attention.

“Can we talk?” He asked.

“Of course, Pietro. What’s on your mind?”

“I…I don’t even know.” He let out a long breath. “I keep thinking about…that day. And I’m not sure why.”

“Well, it was traumatic. Dying, even briefly, is hard to recover from. Emotionally, that is.”

“Hmm.” He hummed, nodding. “Am I the only one…that you’ve…”

“No. There was one other. Some S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I don’t even remember her name. It was a long time ago. But those were the only two successful times.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes I’m just…too late. If I don’t get to the body in time…” You shuddered and shook your head. “I got really, really lucky with you, Pietro. If I was any further away, I don’t think…” Your stomach dropped at the thought and you couldn’t continue.

“Don’t think like that.” He said softly, one of his large hands rising to your face. His warmth was incredible, calming.

You leaned into his touch, resting your hand on top of his.

“I’m right here, printsessa.” He leaned in closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.”

“There’s…something else.” He said, his voice wavering. “I don’t think it’s any secret, but, I’ve fallen for you, (Y/N). We are so close and I love it, but the only time we’ve ever kissed was when I was unconscious. I…would like to change that.” He paused, looking deep into your eyes. “But only if that’s okay with you.”

“Oh thank God.” You exhaled a relieved breath, your eyes sparkling and heart racing. “I was worried you were only hanging around me because I saved you. I didn’t think you were into me.”

“How could I not be?” His thumb rubbed your cheek affectionately. “You are kind and clever and selfless and brave, not to mention the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’d have to be stupid to let you slip through my fingers.”

You were both quiet for a beat before he asked, his voice soft, “So…can I kiss you?”

You leaned in closer until your lips were less than an inch away from his before whispering, “Do you even have to ask?”

Part 2

[sekceesimps]

The Adeptus’s Temptation (Xiao x reader oneshot)

summary: Xiao watches and reacts to his darling being flirted with by a certain Geo Archon.  angst (kinda) but ends with fluff.  

a/n Hey anon, I loved your requests so I decided to do both of them… hope you enjoy it! Thanks for the love and feel free to leave another request (that goes for all of you!) 

This is sort of a more in depth version of the Xiao part in the Genshin Jealousy HCs

Also sorry for the delays between publishing, Tea and I have been busy with our personal lives, but we’re trying to write more! 

Keep liking and following us, it genuinely motivates me to write. 

 Sincerely Coffee  

Who would have ever thought that the Conqueror of Demons, the Vigilant Yaksha, the great adeptus Xiao would ever have a significant other that was human. Certainly not you and definitely not him. 

Xiao is not someone who is easy to open up and be kind, but you managed to break through his cold and harsh demeanor. A surprise to the adeptus who had resigned himself to living his life alone and far from others. You are someone special to him in a world filled with incompetent and useless humans. 

It took some time for him to allow you to spend more days with him and even allow you to initiate physical affection. At first, it came as a relief when you were out doing commissions or just going out to work, he needed his space after all. He was worried about how fast he was falling for you and clung onto the hope that the space he left would allow him to protect himself. 

As your warmth and presence grew on him more, a part of him yearned to be at your side and let you closer to his heart. He had put up his icy walls to combat the heartbreak that comes after losing friend after friend, he was distraught with how quickly you broke through to him. He grumbled at your hand holding, but leaning into your touch nonetheless. 

Your dangerous commissions started to lessen as he refused to let you take on the most harmful of enemies without him. After all, he had no idea what he would do if he lost you. 

Xiao’s favorite thing to do with you is sit at the top of Wangshu Inn or even just the cliff sides of Liyue and bask in your attention and presence. He practically glowed under your loving gaze and from the light brushes of your hand against his. He had known the land for thousands of years and he had seen the most beautiful of landscapes in his time guarding it. He thought that he had seen every stunning thing in this world, that was at least until he met you. 

Your bravery, resilience, and overwhelming beauty had completely captured him, and as time went on he fell further and further for you. The life he envisioned the two of you to live together was a calm and peaceful one. He knew it probably wouldn’t be possible with the nature of both of your responsibilities and his own life span, but an adeptus could still dream.  

Now as much as Xiao wants to protect you, he can’t really leave Liyue. He’s able to help you when you’re here with him, but he’s essentially powerless when you go to Mondstadt. Of course, he’s entertained the thought of just leaving for a bit and staying by your side to protect you. In the end, he always lets you leave for work with a light kiss to your forehead and a heavy feeling in his heart. 

You had accustomed him to your soft affections and gentle mannerisms. He was always reluctant in letting you leave, but he trusted your abilities and simply had to stew in his reluctance when you were gone. He often told you to simply call out his name if you were in trouble and he’d be there in a moment. To this you would simply smile and reassure him with soft kisses to the top of his head. It was a miracle when he had managed to convince you to take on more commissions and bounties in the Liyue area. It made it easier for him to come to your side for aid and also to watch over you. It also allowed for more frequent dates, which made both of you incredibly happy. 

You always had the most interesting stories from your time adventuring. When you two were relaxing on loving moonlight nights, he looked forward to the smile on your face when you spoke in detail about your commissions. He was silent and let you speak, paying full attention to you. Xiao loved the silence and peace. He hated when humans would talk for hours on end, it was unnecessary and wasted his time. However, this sentiment didn’t carry on with you. 

He often urged you to talk about your day and the people you met. Xiao does everything he can to coax more of your sweet voice out. Your voice had always been like music to his ears. For you, he could bear not being alone. For you, he was carving out hours of his day to cuddle and listen to you speak. 

That was until everything changed with your adventuring routes. Previously, right after you switched from Mondstadt routes, the Guild had kept you near the Wangshu Inn and around the Qingce Village area. However, due to increased demand for your services, you had been moved South towards Liyue Harbor. The adventures you went on now were much simpler, but much more boring. You’d complain to your boyfriend about how you had to talk to too many people and how exhausting it was for you. Xiao would listen intently and offer a comforting embrace, silently happy that at least you weren’t out risking your life every day.  

His concern began when you moved on from random requests and commissions with different people to a more stable and consistent job. You had accepted a job from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor as a one time thing, but your skill and agreeability had earned you a more permanent position there. 

Your day to day job was to just assist and protect different members with finding and restoring relics across Liyue. However, it allowed you to move around more and actually engage in combat, a welcome change from before. You had helped the director herself, but your favourite employee to work with was Mr. Zhongli.  He was a tall and serious man, but he was powerful and amusing to talk to. 

The first adventure you had gone on with him, you couldn’t stop talking about it with Xiao when you came home that night. One adventure turned into ten quite quickly as the two of you made a habit of engaging in all your commissions with the parlor together. Zhongli as your companion in travel gave you a sense of stability and a feeling of safety when you were out in dangerous situations again. 

Every night you came back, you told Xiao about the mysterious and strong man’s aid to you. The passion you spoke of his power and of his intelligence in the culture of Liyue surprised him at first. As you kept talking about Zhongli, Xiao started to feel different. He was no longer eager to hear of your adventures because he felt something very strange now. 

Xiao has never felt afraid. At least, not truly. He is not afraid of death as he had accepted it long ago. Yet now you had given him something to live for and losing you would leave him back into a pit of despair, suffering, longing, and emptiness. Seeing you gush over the assistant to the funeral director filled him with a new unpleasant feeling. Heart numbing fear. 

He was careful to not let you know how he felt. He was nervous that you would view him as pitiful for what he truly felt in his heart. Bile would fill up in his throat when you talked about that man as he held your full attention. In response, Xiao would start to capture your mouth with a kiss if he sensed that you’d talk about Zhongli on your dates. It got you to shut up and restored his happiness for a moment. 

He felt guilty for interrupting you of course. Yet, he couldn’t muster up the courage to confront his own feelings of insecurity. The best he could do was try to prove to you how much he could offer. As his kisses began to get more heated, he found it fit to use his strength to carry you back to your shared bedroom. 

Out of curiosity, Xiao decided to actually look at this Mr. Zhongli one day. If he was feeling insecure before, oh man, any self confidence he had was now wrecked. The man was absolutely perfect with you. 

You were smiling and walking through the harbor-city side by side with the sharply dressed golden eyed man. The walk that the two of you had was powerful. The men and women of Liyue whispered behind you two about how cute the both of you were. Xiao silently watched as you two sat at the tea house and drank tea in silence. Zhongli had never taken his loving and intent gaze off of you. The Yaksha took in more of the man’s appearance. He was much taller than Xiao was and carried himself with a royal sort of dignity. As the two of you finished your tea, the man made a move to pay for your tea by charging it to the funeral parlor. He’s rich too, Xiao thinks sourly. What doesn’t he have? He has enough when Zhongli’s resoundingly deep voice tells you how well you fought today. If Xiao sounded like that he would never want to shut up.  

He goes back into his bad habits of distancing himself and retreating back into his own silence. His awful self loathing that you worked hard to remove has manifested itself again and begun lashing out on you. Brushing you off, short snappy responses, and hardly responding to anything. This results in you thinking you did something wrong. 

Oh how the adeptus breaks when he sees you try to make him Almond Tofu and various other small gifts to please him. He knows you didn’t do anything, but all he wants is you to free yourself from him and spend your life with someone who could provide so much more than he could. 

In your shared bedroom, he would be physically present, but he was silent and hardly even looked at you. He could hear your muffled tears at night when you thought he was asleep. It took everything within him to not turn to you and let you lay your head in his chest and leave kisses across your face after he dried away your tears. It hurt him again when he heard you asking Verr Goldet if she could help you plan a nice surprise for him. As he stayed to listen, he had to listen to the innkeeper give you kind words as you broke down explaining what it was for.

All your advances towards his forgiveness and love go rejected. He decides that it would be better for you in the long run if it was like this. He stays cold, at least until he sees something that pushes him back to your side. 

His pity party and moping is interrupted by the strangest feeling in his heart. Something painful crackles and burns inside of him. He’s not sure how he knows, but he feels that something is very wrong with you. 

Xiao was not called the adeptus of speed for no reason. The speed in which he reached you was one he had not used for hundreds of years. 

You weren’t in any life threatening danger, but the bond that you two shared was. He could see Zhongli gently move a strand of your hair behind your ear. You had a more nervous smile on your face. 

“How fascinating, Y/N” his voice breaks the silence, “Your abilities seem to get stronger every day,” he continues praising you.

Your face flushes a light pink and you look down, breaking the gaze between you two. “You’re too kind, Mr. Zhongli, but I wouldn’t have been able to grow so much without your guidance,”

The golden eyed man smiles at this as he leans in slightly closer to you, “In that case, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” 

Xiao clears his throat as he steps out from the bushes and stalks towards you with a glower on his face. You look at your lover in surprise, not seeing or hearing his voice in quite some time. 

“Actually, she’s already taken so you can take your leave now,” his words filled with venom. He doesn’t even try to be subtle as he holds his emerald spear by his side in warning to the man who tried to make a move on you. 

Zhongli nods, “I understand, sorry for intruding,” as he leaves. Xiao’s watchful gaze not leaving him until he’s far out of sight. Your adeptus moves to your side and engulfs you in a warm hug that he wishes to convey all of his feelings of love into. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, it was unnecessary and you didn’t even do anything wrong. Give me a chance,” he seldom begs, “please,” he adds. His golden eyes piercing into your soul and displaying such regret. 

You don’t respond, but you lean closer to him and press your lips softly against his. He forgot how much he missed this. 

Oh how stupid he was for not letting you know how much he adored you known more. Well, now he had the time to make it up to you. He brings you towards the cliffside and the two of you sit down together once more, the bond shared between you too also renewed. 

As you look at him, he lets you lean on his shoulder and look at the sun’s light beginning to wane as the sky was touched with beautiful pastel pinks and purples. 

“I love you, Y/N” he whispers softly as he nuzzles his face into your H/C hair. 

“Hmm, I love you too, Xiao,” you respond sweetly and relax under his presence.

The brown haired Archon chuckled lightly as he watched his Adeptus gently place his arm around your waist. He was happy that the cold guardian had finally found someone to love and someone to take care of him in return. When the time was necessary, Morax was ready to bring a contract to let the two of you spend the rest of eternity together, as two soulmates should. 

a/n Hope you enjoyed it! Leave a like and some feedback, please.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Let Chaos Reign

Chapter 3- Don’t Provoke The Bear

Summary: After getting your shit rocked by the Avengers, you now wake up in a strange new place even more pissed off then you already were. Also that one pretty looking dark haired guy won’t leave you alone.

Warning: reader being chaotic, Bucky trying his best

Masterlist - Chapter 2

Eyes still closed you can feel a soft pressure holding you up, slowly parting your eyelids, you’re soon greeted by the sight of bright lights circling you overhead, though they remain unmoving. On further inspection, once you force yourself into a seated position, you take notice that you’re in some kind of flat spherical glass holding cell.

Blinking groggily, you look down to find your clothes are all still on your body, suddenly a pang of fear hits you at the thought of your mothers necklace. Reaching for it, you’re relieved to feel it’s still with you. Thanking whoever will listen for that bit of good fortune in this otherwise adverse predicament.

Shifting your gaze back to the current situation of the room, you’re able to see around to some sort of large cavernous lab area with a multitude of that armored man from earlier, though you can tell there is no vital life that stirs within them. Guards maybe? Decoys? You have no idea.

Suddenly your eyes catch movement from the left door, a dark skinned man in black clothing and a single patch over his left eye appears. “Good morning. I’m Director Fury.” He smiles with a friendly nod, arms clasped behind his back while he walks over to you, “Or should I say afternoon?”

Getting off the elevated bed, you wander towards the thick glass keeping you from him, “Where am I?”

Fury nods, “Better question you should be asking is how long you’ve been out for, cause damn, you can sleep.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He chuckles knowingly, “I almost couldn’t believe it myself when the team told me. But wow, holding back both Vision and Wanda for as long as you did. I’m thoroughly impressed.” He boasts for you, genuinely fascinated by your daring feat.

Right, those two.

You frown, gaze hard set and intimidating, “Where the fuck am I?”

“Well for one, you’ve been out for a whole 15 hours since they found you unconscious but alive after getting blasted by Vision and Wanda. Weren’t sure if you were gonna make it, seems the universe has yet to take you out.”

Pursing your lips together in irritation, you glare through the glass at him, “Well I’m not exactly from here so....doesn’t matter. Tell me what this place is and where the fuck I am!”

He holds up his hands, “Alright no need to get heated.” Before clasping them behind his back as he begins pacing slowly back and forth in front of you, “You’ve created quit the stir since arriving in Ireland. My intelligence first received a message indicating a storm greater then a category four hurricane, which by our standards is pretty damn massive. Soon a fun little video of you throwing some busses around like rag dolls peaked my interest. And give or take a couple days, here you are.”

Giving him a deadpanned stare, you cross your arms, “The mystery of the century. Where am I?”

“Alright fine I won’t leave you in suspense, you’re in New York State. In a very secure and safe facility home to the Avengers. Nice place huh?” He smiles, dark eyes looking elsewhere as he gives a little once over of the room.

“I’m in a cell.”

“Yes. But it’s a clean cell.”

Suddenly you slam your left fist against the thick glass causing him to flinch, “You have no right to hold me here! Release me. Now.” You growl darkly, golden irises appearing to almost glow with your building vexation.

“Can’t do that.”

“Alright then, if that’s how it’s going to be. Then I’ll do it myself.”

A second later he’s genuinely startled as you cock your arm back before slamming it into the clear thick glass. With the power of bending the material and your people’s strength, the glass cracks into a fist sized area. Satisfied with this, you do it again and again before a voice startles you.

[Miss, please refrain from breaking that. Mr. Stark has requested that you stop immediately.]

“Agreed.” Says Fury as he hustles over to the far wall, bringing his arm up to his mouth, he speaks but you can’t tell what he’s saying. What nonsense is he even doing?

Ignoring both of them, you punch the glass a fourth time before the voice interrupts again. [Miss. Please suspend your advances. Mr. Stark is on his way.]

Halting your fist from punching a fifth time, you take a step back and bring yourself to the center. Positioning yourself in a fighters stance, legs slightly bent, arms held about 90 degrees; you thrust them forward causing the metal contraption to creak and whine in protest.

Holding your arms close to your body now, you make two tight fists before violently punching at the air; the metal holding in the glass slams forcefully against the far wall. Destroying a couple of those stoic armored sentinels in the process.

“What the fuck?!” Yelps Fury in surprise as he falls to the floor from the force of the impact, “Hey! You better stay right the fuck over there!” He warns while cowering in the corner, nothing to really threaten you with but his voice. That is until he pulls out a stunted black gun, like the ones you have seen on the Norwegian police. You ignore his threats anyways.

Taking your first steps out of the desolated cell feels almost euphoric, your body embraces how strong and dangerous you feel among this place and what has presented itself to you within her walls. A man and his words, a disembodied voice telling you to stop fighting your way to freedom. Ridiculous, they have no idea who you are.

You take a single step left when the man, Fury, shouts loudly, “Stay right there!” Your eyes find the gun held tightly within his grasp, “I will shoot!”

You don’t care for this shallow warning, there are things in this universe more important then a mortal mans fearful intimidation. Opening up your palm, the gun flies out of his hands while he gasps with a start, eyes wide and panicked as you turn the short nosed barrel towards him. Closing your fist, the gun combusts to nothing more then destroyed metal and hard plastic as it clatters to the floor.

He watches in disbelief as you then turn to your left before taking the first door that reads exit above it; you wander past a long hallway until you come across a door leading to a long flight of stairs to some floor with a sign reading - Parking Area - the door is obviously closed.

This is too easy, you think suspiciously, somethings not right.

Opening up the door, you’re greeted by a large cavernous glass and metal room holding a large black aircraft on the far end, a couple more vehicles parked in various areas spread about the place. And not a soul in sight.

Hustling along into the room, you’re able to reach the door on the other side, opening it, you cautiously stick your head out. Ahead of you is a large green yard stretching all the way back to a tree line with trees placed neatly along a road leading up to the facilities main entrance area.

To your far left is a large river, but still, you have no idea where New York is. This is all unfamiliar territory to you, so finding the Ancient One is going to be a tough fucking job.

Not seeing anyone, you take your first couple steps into the open. Soon you’ve made it halfway across the grass headed for the tree line before the sound of gravel crunching causes you to pause and turn around to face the intruder.

So close. The woods are right there.

Clenching your fists, you keep a defensive stance as you stare him down, this man is undoubtedly familiar. He’s dressed in boots, jeans, a pair of cloves for some reason, and a faded grey t-shirt that’s mostly covered by his forest green jacket, while his long dark hair is washed and sits handsomely around his face. Blue eyes staring at you apprehensively, “We’re not here to harm you.” Cautiously says the man in a soft tone of voice, hoping not to provoke you again.

“Then why was I just locked in a cell?”

He pauses for a moment, “Uh, okay, yeah that looks bad.”

“Precisely.

You turn to leave, yet his voice makes you stay, “You don’t have to be on your own you know. I don’t know what you’re looking for, or who....but doing it alone will only take longer. We could help you, if you want.” He suggests with the tiniest hint of a smile. You don’t trust him.

You look towards the lake before finding his gaze yet again, your golden eyes admittedly sadder as you softly answer him, “No one can help me.”

He takes a step forward, face softening, “I felt the same way once. Alone and confused, not sure where to go, no one to trust. Believe me, it sucked......so, I’m just hoping you’ll listen. That’s it.”

“Well, I don’t particularly like any of you. And so far you’ve all gotten in my way and fought me....I have no reason to trust a thing you say.”

He purses his lips together and nods, you’ve got him there, but nonetheless he takes another step forward, “Sorry about that.” He mutters while rubbing the back of his neck, “Uh, let me try and start over....I’m Bucky. And I am definitely not here to fight you. Promise.”

Eyeing him up suspiciously, you take a step back, “Y/N Lavpranthus..of Vanaheim.” You finally reveal, albeit with a smidge of apprehension, however you are not one to hold back your own name if someone is to speak freely theirs.

Bucky nods, incredibly grateful for your calm demeanor for the moment and this first bout of information given willingly by you, though he has not a single clue where Vanaheim is, this is progress. Good progress; perhaps the team was right to send him out first as their guinea pig against the big bad wolf.

Stupid in retrospect, but so far it’s appeared an effective strategy instead of Tony’s idea which was to have Vision and Wanda knock you out again. Not an efficient way to make friends who can throw busses around like its nothing but a bag of grapes...and all without even touching them.

Bucky reveals the flash of a smile as you slowly calm your once defensive stance, though you’re still wary of his true intentions, “Y/N.” Repeats Bucky with a genuine grin as he tests out your name on his tongue, “Never heard that one before, it’s beautiful.

Taken aback by his kindness and sincere compliment to your name, you finally let your guard down, “My mother gave that to me, it was her sisters name, though she died before I met her. Guess it doesn’t matter now...” He frowns as you share a dismal look with the ground, remembering the events that brought you here in the first place. 

Family.

Soon your anger rises once more as you think of your brother, that conniving piece of shit, “Bucky....I-I can’t stay here. I have to go, you wouldn’t understand. And I don’t want you to be involved....fuck....he probably already has scouts hunting for me.”

Bucky’s brows furrow in confusion, who would you be talking about he has no idea, “Y/N, no one could hurt you here, alright. This place is pretty damn guarded. I mean, we are the Avengers.”

Shaking your head you take a step backwards, “No, none of you understand how dangerous he is, I’m lucky he didn’t kill me when he had the chance.”

“Who tried to kill you?”

Finding his worried gaze once more, you back closer towards the woods, a knowingly loathsome look crossing your features as you frown, “My brother.” And with that do you make a swift exit into the trees, out of sight in an instant.

Bucky takes a hasty step forward before looking back at the base where all of the Avengers are watching from the windows, they collectively make a go-get-her motion with their hands, indicating that Y/N is now his problem.

Fantastic, he thinks sarcastically, half the team can fly and I’m going after a demigod with family problems.

——

Jumping over fallen trees and ragged roots alike, you’re swifter then a young leopard under the treetops, it’s admittedly incredibly freeing that you almost get lost in the rush of it all as your boots pound against the leafy ground.

Arms pumping you quickly along while you run deeper into the woods, you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt so free, though your fun soon comes to an abrupt halt when something hard latches onto both of your legs, instantly you begin falling towards the quickly approaching earth.

With lightening reflexes, your hands are thrusted outwards while you emit a blast of air that saves you from suffering brain damage or a bruised face. The wind aids your body in stabilizing itself once again; now standing with your lower legs tied collectively by some metal clasp, you quickly clap your hands together before focusing your release.

The metal clamps rip apart from off of your legs, freeing you in an instant, “What the fuck was that about?” You mutter to yourself when what would you know it, there’s Bucky standing not even twenty feet from you, an apologetic look on his annoyingly handsome face.

He raises his gloved hands into the air, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to stop you...”

Shaking your head in disappointment, you take a step in his direction, “Bucky, you’re going to really wish you didn’t just do that.”

“Uh.” Is all he’s able to mutter before you send him flying backwards with the force of a small windstorm, you watch in amusement as he breaks some branches on his way to the ground.

“You really don’t like following orders now do you?” He hears you chuckle, “I like that. You’ve got a brave heart I’ll admit.” He watches as you walk into view, a knowing smirk adorning your beautiful otherworldly features, “Courage, it’s good. Even after what I did to you a couple days ago, you still came to speak with me when no one else dared, it’s valiant. You would be a noble warrior in my homeland.”

Bucky could have blushed if not for the stick poking uncomfortably into his back, “Thanks....you seem like...uh....an experienced...woman.” Mutters Bucky, mentally cringing at how unbelievably stupid that just sounded in comparison with how gloriously divine you are.

You snort, “Easy on the eyes and a skilled fighter. Guess conversation is too adept for even the likes of you.”

Bucky shows you a cheeky grin as he jumps to his feet, “Well....uh...you don’t really know me that well yet.”

You laugh at his weak flirting skills, “Too bad I’ve got elsewhere to be. I bet you’re fine company.”

“Right...right, yeah...” Mumbles Bucky with a nod, not really confident he’s gonna be able to sway you completely to his side, he just needs you to come back with him to the base. That’s it, well, in a calmly manner. “Uh...do you even know where you are?”

You open your mouth to speak but pause as you actually have not a single clue where you really are, brows furrowed you answer, “Upstate New York.” Your accent dripping strong with a tinge of uncertainty that greatly annoys you.

Bucky smiles, “Do you know where that is?”

“Well.....not completely but I’m willing to find out, elsewhere. I don’t need help, believe me.”

Bucky throws his hands up, “I believe you. It’s just....I don’t think you’re gonna find your brother without a little guidance here...”

“Don’t patronize me!” You snap angrily, eyes practically glowing gold as you fill with irritation; he’s trying to distract you from your goal, you don’t need any help from anyone. Your brother would never dare ask for such a thing if he was in your place, he probably would have killed this man in the facility yard without a second thought. “You’re all just prying little bastards, I have no business with any of you when my personal quandary is concerned!”

Clearly noticing he’s struck some kind of nerve, and remembering he’s been tasked with gathering as much information about you as possible while striving for the end goal of a truce. Bucky stupidly pressures you further, “Your brother can’t be that terrible, I mean.....what did he do?” Asks Bucky with a casual shrug, a sudden pang of fear flashing through his eyes as you send him a nasty glare.

You don’t even give him a moment to react before his forest green jacket is ablaze from your quick thrust of flame out of your fist, Bucky instantly yelps in surprise before swiftly throwing the burning fabric off of him before he catches fire himself. The jacket falls to a flaming heap on the forest floor, “What the hell?!” Yells Bucky, eyes wide at your incredibly abrupt act of hostility.

Whoosh!

And Bucky’s flat on his back with you right on top of him, kneeling down to meet his startled gaze, his breath hitches as you forcefully grab his stubbled jaw. Your eyes two golden coins of tempered rage, “You have no idea what he has done to me or my realm, you’re lucky I’m not like him or you’d be a burnt corpse adding to the ash of the universe. Pray you never meet him.” Your lip quivers in angered emotion as you lightly squeeze his jaw, “And if we meet again, I assure you someone will die.”

Bucky keeps still as stone as you finally release him from your admittedly powerful grasp, soon you rise to your full height, giving him one last conflicted look before sauntering off into the bushes.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he had, chest rising heavily as the adrenaline rush of the fire and you touching him brings him back to reality. He’s on the ground in the woods and you’re absolutely no where to be seen. Soon he jumps to his feet and jogs in your direction until he reaches a gravel road leading back to the Avengers Facility.

You’re gone, just like a phantom in the shadows, gone.

Shaking his head in frustration, Bucky treks back to the base where Steve, Tony, and Natasha are waiting for him outside, all equally curious as to what the hell happened.

“Looks like you were unsuccessful, Barnes.” Quips Tony as Bucky throws him a dirty look.

“She’s...just.....complicated.” Mutters the tired Winter Soldier with a frown as they follow him to the front doors.

——

Bucky slouches comfortably into the back of the lounging rooms giant plush couch, a heating pad seated blissfully against his bruised back from all the times you knocked his ass to the ground today. Sam, Tony, Steve, and Natasha seated in various areas around the lounging room as they give him a break to rest.

Though the peace is soon broken by the sound of Tony’s irritating voice, “You at least get a name to hold against that psycho?”

Bucky throws him an annoyed glance, “She’s not a psycho, and her name is Y/N....I can’t remember her last name. It was something Middle Earth-like I don’t know.”

“Y/N?” Repeats Steve, “That’s different.”

Bucky’s face shifts to concentrated puzzlement, “Yeah, I know....it’s just, she said Y/N of Vanaheim or whatever that means....not sure but she’s definitely not from around here.”

“Really? What drew you to that final conclusion.” Jokes Sam as Bucky mutters an incomprehensible fuck off while the Falcon chuckles.

Natasha’s voice suddenly enters the conversation, “So she’s after her brother?”

Bucky nods, “Yep.”

“And doesn’t appear to know her way around this world either?”

“Yep.”

Natasha hums in thought as Sam speaks, “Damn. I wonder what happened to her before she got dumped into our world...”

Bucky suddenly sits up, “It’s just....she said some people are probably already after her, uh....her brothers guardsman I think?”

Steve takes a step forward, eye brows raised in interest, “Guardsmen?”

Tony nods, “Or are these some type of glorified assassins? I’m just putting this out there, but we really need to get this shit under control before she ends up destroying a building next. Or these, whoever is after her, decide to...oh I don’t know...kill some civilians while they’re at it.”

Bucky’s face shifts to puzzlement, “Dammit. It’s kinda my fault she ran off.” They all give him a varying amount of intrigued expressions as he sighs, “I was just trying to get more info out of her and then I talked about her brother and she set my jacket on fire, before throwing me to the ground and roughly grabbing my face to threaten me, she was really mad too.”

Sam smirks, “Did you enjoy it. Getting manhandled by a pretty lady in the woods?”

“Sam.” Mutters Steve like a disappointed father reprimanding his son.

“Come on Buck, it’s okay, you can tell us. Was it nice?”

Bucky throws him a deadly glare, “Actually it was, I felt very loved and comforted.” He quips, voice dripping in sarcasm before a more thoughtful expression crosses his features, “But she didn’t actually hurt me. I don’t know, she almost looked conflicted to leave....I don’t know it happened so fast.” He mumbles, closing his eyes as he falls back into the comfort of the couch.

“Well as much as I’m enjoying this time together with all of you...” Says Natasha, “We now have a person from an unknown world on the loose with incredible power and the means to use it as she wants. We all know where that can lead us.”

“With more collateral damage then what Ultron gave us.” Adds Tony, “Fortunately this time it won’t be my fault...like that makes a big difference I know. Still, she’s the Avengers newest problem now and we don’t have a damn clue where Miss. Anger Management is.”

“Uh, not exactly.” Starts Bucky as they all turn to look at him. Sam raises an intrigued brow, “What do you mean, not exactly?”

“I, well uh-when she was threatening me, well one of the times she was threatening me...I was able to plant a tracker on the inside of her one pocket. Then she pushed me into the grass and ran off into the woods, I couldn’t keep up even if I tried. She was just gone, but at least I was able to do that. It’s something.”

“Barnes.” Says Tony slowly, “And you’re just telling us this now? When we could have been sending some intelligence or agents or even ourselves out to find her.”

“Sorry but I was recovering from getting beaten up by a beautiful demigod to remember so soon,” Sasses Bucky, “but yeah, that aside, she’s got a tracker on her so all I’d need to do is pull it up on my phone and I’m good to go. Well, as long as she hasn’t found it yet.” 

“If it’s just like that, you’re sharing with the rest of the class.” Says Tony while he wanders over to the television mounted upon the wall, “I’m gonna have you link with the tv, I don’t wanna miss a second.”

With a dramatic sigh does the Winter Soldier lean over to grab the thin metal device from off of the coffee table in front of him while Tony flicks on the large tv screen. Once all is set correctly and synched up, the others watch on in curiosity as he scrolls around a bit before finding the app and clicking on it, a couple passwords are sent in and accepted when the screen then shows one option labeled -Unite_1P - between two white bars within a sea of black.

He taps the label and the screen changes to a view of North America resembling that of google maps, but the screen soon shifts to zoom in on a moving pin point in red that’s traveling a couple miles far northeast of the Bronx, where it appears that Y/N happens to be trekking through some forest heading downwards towards that designated part of New York City.

Steve’s eyes trail over the red pin point, “So that’s where Y/N is going?”

“Seems like it. And she hasn’t a damn clue where she’s actually going either.”

Sam keeps his gaze locked onto the map as well, “And what does she want exactly?”

 “She said something about finding her brother but that’s honestly it, I tried to help her but it was almost pointless. She’s on her own mission now, and no ones going to get in her way.”

Steve sighs, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What?”

“Y/N. Someone getting in her way, someone just trying to lend a hand and she takes it the wrong way and then...”

“I know man, but I don’t think she’d do that to some innocent person. At least I don’t think she would.” Worries Bucky while everyone takes a moment to process and stare at the screen, red pin point still moving slowly towards New York City. The creak of wood is suddenly heard and all five Avengers turn their heads towards the abrupt noise of Director Fury who’s found himself a spot to stand in the large room.

“Unfortunately we don’t know that. And as the worlds mightiest heroes. It’s your collective duty to always assume the worst. She’s strong, has a goal, and appears able to get it if she tries hard enough. It’s admirable, and yes she’s no Loki...but she is a danger to Earth the less we know about her true intentions and the longer she’s out of our reach.” Explains Fury, “Barnes you’ve done incredibly well. But our apparent need for you has increased as well, so I suggest you smack on a band-aid because we’re going to have a nice civil conversation with her whether she wants it or not.”

“Me?”

“Yes you. You’re the only person she hasn’t tried to send a chunk of metal at, you got close, you got the information. We need you to do it again.”

Steve looks to Fury, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. What if she...”

“I’ll do it.....” They all give Bucky a collective array of questionable facial expressions as he shrugs, “What? I think she’ll listen, maybe, okay I’m not one hundred percent sure if Y/N will hear me out. But I gotta try right? She’s conflicted inside, she’s hurt and alone....if I just have a moment, another moment, I think I could get to her. I think she’ll listen.”

Fury smiles as Steve lowers his gaze, “That’s what I like to hear Mr. Barnes. And don’t none of you worry alright. We’ll be close, at a safer distance of course, but close in case anything goes south. Now the day is still young and we have a demigod to find, I assume you all know what to do.”

Steve looks to the array of assembled heroes, “Suite up..well actually...just Bucky.”

The designated man of the hour rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

-

Tagged: @buckylokisimp @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender  @a-girl-who-loves-disney @bizarrebibitch @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @jmstz @thehornytitties @staygoldsquatchling02 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @mischiefmanaged71​ @noragracebrewer   @atomicpersonacheesecake  @thescarlettvvitch @shawnartmendes​

[binniesthighs]

call me babydoll | reader x chan

soooo shhhh this actually a part one shhhh but i’m just trying out writing out different things and getting out some of my ideas outta my head that i’m really excited about, this one being one of them!! for now...just pretend that this is just a regular ol’ drabble hehehehe. this part is the set-up chapter (shhh i mean drabble) 

One

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan 

Genre: fluff, smut, and angst 

Tags: (overall) bodyguard au, moderndayprince!chan, bodyguard!reader, secret agent au, royal au, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, softswitch!chan, hardswitch!reader, some skz side characters, jeongin third wheel and comedic relief LOL, travelling, chan being expensive and having a lil bit of a superiority complex, flirtyyyy chan, bits of mystery, explicit language, mentions of food and alcohol, idk think like 007 vibes hehe 

CWs: guns and gun violence, a shooting in a ballroom, mentions of blood 

Word count: 4.6k 

Parts

ONE | TWO 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here early.” 

“Well, expect the unexpected.” 

“Don’t turn the motto back at me. I’m sick of hearing it so many damn times.” 

“What? You and I both know that it’s true. You’re here early too, so, technically you don’t get to say anything.” 

Jeongin straightened his bow tie, then patted down the sides of his perfectly ironed tux with not a crinkle to be found. Knowing him, it was a miracle that he hadn’t messed it up in some form yet. He promptly took out his pocket square to clean off his glasses. 

“You’re looking nice. Seems like they don’t mind spending money now on you these days.” He blew off the flecks of dust on his lenses. 

“They know that they get their return on their investment. And thank you.” 

You smoothed down the sides of your dusty pink dress that nearly went all the way down to your ankles. Had you any other choice, it would’ve been something different, but, dresses were really good at hiding your thigh holster compared to the slacks you usually favored. You didn’t mind the times that you would have to put on a pretty dress, it somewhat reminded you that there was normal life outside of your job. Not to mention, they had started sending you jewelry as well. You always had liked the look of a diamond necklace. 

“You do your research for tonight?” 

Jeongin nodded, then took from his pocket his phone to read over the details. 

“I’ve done a background check on everyone attending, we shouldn’t have any issues. It’s already a low risk event anyway. Charity is never something to get too worked up over, but, you never know with the detail that some of these people come with...who they might be tied to...” 

“--The only people we can trust is ourselves.” You nodded with arms crossed. 

“Expect the unexpected, I know.” He slid his phone back into his inside suit pocket to adjust his cufflinks. 

“--Nervous?” You took note of his fidgeting actions. 

“Nervous? No. I’ve been through this before. You know that.” 

You flicked your partner right on his forehead strung with his white hair. You had really wished that he had picked a less conspicuous color, but he had strings to pull that you didn’t. 

Jeongin cleared his throat, “You do your once over?” 

“Do you even need to ask? I did it hours ago and when we arrived. You know that I’ve done this before too.” 

“I know. I know.” 

Jeongin looked out at the vast circular atrium that made up the center of the hotel. Several stories down under the glass rooftop, you could hear the faint sprinkling of the intricate fountain which smelled of copper. A bit further down, you could see the tips of the tree branches from the indoor landscaping. Across the way, a door slammed with residents tucking in their ties. The two men you had recognized from the roster: a simple thing which made you feel at ease. Your young partner must’ve started to have an effect on you. A sense of unease seemed to quell in your neck. You always listened to your hunches. 

“W-what do you think he thinks of us?” Jeongin broke the silence. 

“Well,” From inside the room you had waited outside, you could hear his distant murmuring, so you lowered your tone. “I think that he has yet to trust us. It’s only been a few weeks. He doesn’t seem like the kind to give himself up easy. That, and I’m sure his resentment of his father must have some influence.” 

“You think he hates us?” 

“I think he hates his father for hiring us. I mean, wouldn’t you? His old security detail, he had them for years.” 

“I guess so. But, we’re not like his old detail.” 

“No. We’re not. I don’t think he gets that yet. I think he sees us as one more way his father has a hold on him.” 

“It’s not like he can do much else about it when his dad’s a kin--” 

“--No, no, thank you, really, it’s lovely. Some of your best work. Thank you.” 

Chan swung open the door to his room, stopping Jeongin right in his sentence. 

“Ah. You’re here already. That’s...punctual.” 

As dazzling and showy as ever, Chan looking nothing short of a magazine model. For a prince, he had certain...appearances that he had to maintain. Today, it was a velvety and maroon suit jacket with a white button up. On the collar, two matching brooches had been perfectly placed, and they were silver like moonlight in the shape of English ivy and adorned with diamonds. On his lapel, he wore the royal insignia of the lion and the wolf. Behind him, you could see his slew of stylists cleaning up their makeup kits and obscene assortment of designer dress shoes for him to pick from. You had thought before that he even smelled like royalty: stuffy white roses with a hint of priceless cognac. 

Jeongin bowed his head respectfully. “Everything has been prepared for tonight. The rest of your guards are surrounding the building, and I’ll be corresponding with them as needed, your Highness.” He tapped at his earpiece. 

Chan drew his attention over to you, giving you a rather lusty glare. Over the past couple weeks, you had gotten used to it. He was a prince to every extent of the word. If there was anything that he had wanted, he simply had to ask. It drove him insane that all he could do was merely look at you. You had  wondered if he harbored anything else for you besides the way that he would devour the curves of your shoulders and hips. 

“Fox. Bee. You look nice tonight. I like seeing you dressed up. Makes me feel less out of place.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a little sound of discontentment over his rather affectionate nickname for you. You and your partner had been introduced to him as F and B. Quickly he had figured out Jeongin’s codename as Fox, considering that he had done a poor job picking out one that wasn’t related to him at all. Anyone could tell that boy was fox-like, and he also just wasn’t that creative when it came to picking out a name for himself. B, or Bee as he had decided, was your name; as in bumblebee. After learning about Fox, he figured that there was an animal theme going, so Bee seemed to fit best in his oponion. 

You tested his glare with your best, “Thank you, your Highness.” 

Jeongin gulped. “Your assistant should be waiting downstairs with your itinerary. She told me that you should meet her first off.” 

“You work too hard F. Have some fun tonight, hm? But don’t...drink too much. You’re responsible for my life remember?” Chan clapped his bodyguard on the back. 

Your partner nervously laughed and adjusted his glasses once more: his preferred tic. 

“And Bee?” Chan rose a brow to lean into close and whisper. “Stay close, alright?” 

“Of course, your Highness.” 

Chan let out a little scoff after getting one more proper look at your frame. “Damn. You really are stunning. Just a little too dangerous for me though.” 

You rolled your eyes, dishing him outa, “Whatever you say, your Highness.” 

Jeongin threw you and annoyed glare before tracing after Chan as he sauntered down the hall to the glass elevator. 

“Bee? You coming? Or do you have something better to do?” Chan’s voice called down the hall with an echo and a little teasing gesture of his hand. 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

It had been seven years since you had chosen this line of work, and each time that you had to go to one of these things, you hated them more and more. Not because they were hard to control--they were easy--but you just hated how many superficial and self-absorbed people that they could fit into one room. 

The air was filled with the scent of champagne bubbles and too much Chanel No. 5. From corner to corner of the room, and even next to the ice sculpture of the lion and the wolf crest, silk, satin; velvet and the best cotton could be found. Long gloves covered the arms of ladies with wrinkling skin, and tweed vests held in the guts of men who indulged in their food just as much as their mistresses. All this effort just to appear as if they had given one care about the philanthropic efforts of the royalty.

Several neatly dressed waiters passed you with golden platters of hors d'oeuvres made of ingredients so expensive, they would’ve cost the same amount as the generous donations made by the attendees. If you could’ve, you would’ve scooped up as many of them as you could, just to eat all of their copious amounts of money yourself, but, there was somewhere a rule that you had to keep your hand to yourself when you were on duty. The best that you had to look forward too was take-out to eat at 3 in the morning with Jeongin later. 

Buzzing chatter filled your earpiece while each of the additional guards gave their hourly report. 

“Damn. It’s fucking colder out here than I thought. It’s fucking summer.” One of them joked to the tune of the other guards laughter. 

“Stay focused.” Jeongin scolded over the line. “Don’t leave your posts until your shifts change.” 

While he was a timid man, Jeongin was not one to mess around. Son of the director, he knew that he had big shoes to fill. After pleading for years for her to admit him into the academy, she had agreed. Everyone knew the reason why she didn’t want him in this line of work. Too many dead. Too many missing. In some ways, he was also yours to look after. 

You trailed after Chan who was busy talking to his assistant and his publicist. While he nodded at their words, you knew that he must’ve been barely listening. Chan never really was one for formality, but much rather enjoyed simplicity and pleasure. Jeongin and you had somewhat of a bet going: out of all the guests, you had liked to bet which one he would take with him to his bedroom. Since you had all the profiles of the guests, you liked to bet a little money on which one it would be. 

Jeongin had guessed it to be the heiress and daughter of a tycoon who had made a multi-million won donation in the name of his company. It was ironic; his very company was a big-scale pollutor who liked to make nice with the crown. She was conventionally very pretty: long legs, a thin frame, she was educated and looked as if she could hold somewhat of a conversation...not like that mattered to him. 

You had predicted it to be the foreign CEO who had just started business dealings with the crown. While she might’ve looked a bit stuck-up and prim, she was intimidating, and a challenge. Chan loved challenges. Chan also had a pension for pretty boys with a bit too much money on their hands--usually inherited--and with nothing much else to do other than dote on him. There were plenty of those attending the gala tonight. 

Chan snaked through the crowd, bowing his head at all of the Good evening, your Highnesses and the It’s a pleasure to meet you, your Highnesses. Every few moments or so he would take a bite from a golden plate and then pop it into his mouth. The whole night long, he would hold his glass with him and it would get refilled for him without him even needing to ask. You sometimes liked to pretend that in some places, they must’ve assigned someone to watch him from afar to make sure that he would never need anything before it was given to him. It wouldn’t have surprised you. 

“Having fun Bee?” Chan languidly rolled his head back, swirling his glass. 

“As much fun as you are.” You quipped. 

“Anything that I should be concerned about?” 

“Nothing of concern.” You stated matter-of-factly. Had you matched his flirting tone, you knew that you wouldn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the night. “Fox. Report?” 

“Nothing that I can see. No one has been tagging you.” Jeongin had staked himself up on the upper balcony of the banquet hall room, and had been watching for as long as you had been following after the prince. “You sensing anything strange?” His voice tickled in your in-ear. 

“Just a bunch of the normal crowd.” You kept your tone down low. “He’s rubbing noses with the usual. You’ve seen too?” 

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

You followed Chan to his seat nearest the front of the room which had been fashioned into a stage with a clear glass podium in the center. Right in front there was one more crest decorating it. Chan had ensured it to be so: he had wanted everyone to know that this was all for his charity. 

“It seems like our bets aren’t working out. He hasn’t talked to either of the...suspects.” Your partner changed his choice of words knowing that the other guards were listening. 

From the opposite side of the room both the heiress and the CEO stood with thin glasses of wine in their lithe hands. Chan had in fact walked right past them, and didn’t even notice. 

“Tonight is going to be a long night.” Jeongin sighed over the line. 

You politely pushed past attendees with a raised hand and a sweet smile. You had found that when you smiled, you had appeared less intimidating. 

“Oh wait...what’s this?” 

“What?” You whipped your head around after Jeongin’s interjection. “What? Do you see something? What’s the call?” 

“Relax! It just looks like he’s approaching someone he wants to talk to. I think both of us are about to be proven wrong.” 

“Ah, shit.” You sighed. “Don’t put me on edge like that.” 

“I’m only trying to entertain myself.” 

“Name. Who is it? You’ve got the roster.” 

You partner was quiet for a minute, and you watched from a distance as Chan approached the man leaned over a martini seated at one of the perfectly decorated tables. 

“Uh, I think that he’s Lee Minho. Some kind of royalty from somewhere else. Pretty low ranking from the looks of it. I think that he made a donation himself...and it’s...damn, larger than you would expect.” 

“Should we be concerned?” 

“No. Seems harmless.” 

“Thank you for coming,” You made out the words that Chan had mouthed. He drew a chair next to the unknown man. 

From what you could tell, Lee Minho was handsome to the full extent of the word: nearly all of his physical features were exemplary and his suit appeared to have been fitted to perfect for him; likely one of a kind. He too wore an insignia on his lapel, but it was one that you hadn’t recognized before. He had immaculately styled hair that had some kind of rebellious and boyish charm to it. The man had a kind of mystery about him too: you had been able to pride yourself in being able to read people, and it had saved your life on more than one occasion. But with him, there was something that you couldn’t place. 

“Do they know eachother?” You asked Jeongin. 

“Not that I know of. School friend maybe? Seems like all the royals send their kids to the same schools.”

“Hm. That would make sense.” 

“Enjoying yourself?” Chan said. 

Lee Minho nodded, and rose his glass to clink it with the prince’s. 

“Do we think that he’s our...suspect?” 

The stranger dipped his head into his hand as he listened to Chan speak. A flirty gesture that you had seen a hundred times or more. Still, the way that he inspected Chan, it wasn’t adoring. Or at least, you didn’t think that it was.

“No. I don’t think so.” 

“What the hell are you yapping about?” One of the other guards snapped over the line. 

“Um, classified stuff.” Jeongin quickly explained. “Above your paygrade. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Fox. Watch out for him tonight.” You snuck over to a corner of the room where you could watch the two of them more discreetly. 

“Affirmative....” Your partner paused. “Babydoll.” 

“Pffff--Babydoll??” The same guard stifled his laughter. “You call her Babydoll, Fox? Damn, you all must be closer than I thought. Didn’t know that I was missing out on some of the action--” 

“--Ever heard of a codename, Three?” 

“Babydoll’s her codename.” 

A grin crept over your lips. “Expect the unexpected.” 

You had almost gotten distracted enough to miss how Lee Minho had leaned over to whisper something into the prince’s ear. After he had done so, Chan laughed out a little, then reached his arm around the other man’s chair comfortably. 

“They’re...cozy.” You updated your partner. 

“I’m trying to cross-check where he might know him from.” 

Chan’s assistant and publicist finally slipped away with giddy little smiles. In many ways, you were jealous of them. They could leave whenever the wanted, eat what they wanted...

Jeongin scoffed. “Well, turns out...nothing. I can’t find anything.” 

“Nothing?” 

“Negative. I’m not seeing any crossover.” 

“So they really are strangers?” 

Your partner sighed. “Looks like neither of us are cashing ou--I mean--finding the suspect.” 

Under your breath, you wondered aloud, “Who are you...Lee Minho?” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The night drew on longer with the rest of the formalities: the formal dinner, followed by several speeches from important people while dessert was being served. It all led up to the final act: His Royal Highness, Prince Chan’s speech. On several neat notecards marked with the crest, he held them in front of him while he ate his last bits of Mont Blanc Chocolate Pavlova. Even the name of the sweet itself sounded pretentious. Granted, it smelled delicious--as many expensive things did. 

You stifled a yawn from your little set up on the edge of the room. At least you should’ve been able to sit, but it turns out that sitting is also against the rules in this line of work. A couple other security and bodyguards had joined you at the edge: some of their heads nodded with sleep, and the others looked as if they had taken one too many energy shots. Luckily, your stamina had been well crafted. 

A fancily dressed MC made his way up to the podium and the room filled with applause after the last speaker had said all of their correct mandatory words. 

“It is my honor to introduce to the stage, our wonderful head benefactor of this organization, His Royal Highness, Prince Chan of the Crown. 

Applause tenfold of before erupted through the whole room and it wasn’t even an afterthought for the every attendee to stand up from their seats in an ovation. It was a force of habit for you, but you found yourself clapping as well. 

Chan rose with grace, and re-buttoned his jacket with finesse. A blinding spotlight found him and it made the diamonds adorning his beck wink brilliantly. Even more blinding was his pearl white, and perfectly trained smile accompanied by his wave. 

Thank you. Thank you. He mouthed. 

“It’s like he’s a frickin’ movie star.” Jeongin groaned. 

“Might as well be with the way that they treat him. You know deep down they’re all just terrified.” 

Chan made his way up to the stage in all of his regality, and the applause didn’t stop until he cleared his throat. A collective groaning of a couple hundred chairs squeaked when everyone sat back down. 

“Thank you everyone, really. I wanted to thank you all for your generous support in your donations to this organization, as well as your association with the crown. I’m sure that all the beneficiaries of your donations are beyond thankful compared to me. Without you, this would not be possible.” Chan spoke with grandiose gestures, as usual, but this time, he had found you on the side of the room. “Listen, aside from being a prince, I’m also just a person. A person who knows what it means to struggle, to--” 

“--I can’t listen to this anymore.” You whispered into the quiet room, and to your partner. 

“Just a few more hours.” He droned. “I almost wish that something would happen so that we don’t have to sit though much else of this.” 

“Be careful what you wish for.” 

In the corner of your eye, Lee Minho shifted in his seat, but still kept his undivided attention to the stage. You figured he must’ve been just like the rest of them: enamored by the flashiness of the crown--and Chan. He had a way of putting a spell on people: it was the kind of spell that a prince of deception had crafted after years of being kept under lock and key. 

“--Anyway, what I’m trying to say, royal or fanciful we all might be, in the simplest way, we’re all just people, therefore this is what connects us all. Thank you.” 

Chan was gifted yet another standing ovation that was somehow even more thunderous than before. 

“Yeah right.” You scoffed. “People born into money. There’s a difference.” 

Chan gave his last waves, then a clamor echoed from the back of the room. At first, it had just sounded like the same raucous laughter you had heard all night, but then it shifted to something different. The sound of laugher turned into shouting, then screams: high pitched and piercing. You had seconds to respond, head whipping around the room to catch sight of the confused prince. In your in-ears, the the sound of gunshots echoed with rapid-fire speed. Machine guns. Shouting commands barked in your ear, and muddled with Jeongin’s string of demands and questions. 

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE? REPORT! REPORT!” 

Your heart instantly started beating into hyperdrive, and your legs sprinted as fast has physically possible 

“THEY’VE GOT GUNS!” A shrill and cracked voice of an older woman wailed from the back of the room. 

Immediately after she had said so, shots fired into the darkened room with sparks, and the metallic sound of bullets hitting the marbled ground followed. 

Chan looked around in his panic for you, petrified on the stage. You slung your gun out from your thigh holster and latched onto him with all of your might. 

“TH-THEY JUST CAME OUT OF NOWHERE IN THESE VANS. THEY’RE ARMOURED, WE CAN’T--” 

“Get the fuck down there and secure the exists!” Jeongin growled into his mic. “B--is the prince secure??” 

“Secure!” You yelled back. Using your body as a barrier, you led the cowering prince through the mass hysteria of the crowd. 

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Shit.” Chan shook under your iron grip. 

More shots fired into the room and bodies parted like the sea and fell over each other. 

From the balcony, you had caught Jeongin aiming his own gun at the chaos below. 

“I’ll cover you! Fuck! There’s so many of them! Get him to the car out back--Three, Six, meet B out there! Three!? Six!? Report!” 

“Three and Six are down F!” One of the guards panted. “I can provide cover out back!!” 

“Who’s speaking??” Jeongin bellowed, then aimed from above at one of the intruders. Your only focus was on weaving you and Chan out of there, but you had seen one of them in a blur. Each of the men with guns wore dark grey suits with black ties and leather gloves. Each of them wore their own crest: and it was all red. 

“Bee?? Bee???” Chan shouted out for you, and jumped every time the crack of a shot echoed in the ballroom. 

“I’ve got you, your Highness. We’ll be out soon. Keep your head down and listen to me.” Your arm held to him tightly, and you soon found the exit nearest. There was no telling if there would be more of them outside, but you loaded your gun quickly just in case, and pointed it out. 

“Jeongin, get your ass down here!” 

“Jeongin? Who the fuck is that??” Chan ducked down to hide himself behind your frame. 

His name had slipped on your tongue, but that hardly mattered. 

“I’ll be down in a second!!!” 

“Don’t fucking waste time up there when I need you down here!!” 

“Two! Two Reporting!!” A man suddenly yelled in your in-ear. “I’ve made it out back and I’ve secured the exit. The car is safe!!” 

“FOX! Now!” 

Your partner heaved, “I’m coming, I’m coming!!” 

You kicked open the exit door, gun’s still blazing, however one one else could be found on the other side. 

“Thank God,” You sighed. 

“Oh shit, I’m gonna be sick.” Chan had turned paler than white, then stumbled in your arms. 

“Hey, HEY!” You held him upright. “It’s gonna be alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe. You need to trust me. Your life is in my hands and I’m not giving it up easy, got it?” 

“O-okay.” He stammered, then attempted to straighten himself. 

“The Prince is outside, repeat, The Prince is outside. Two, are you in position?” 

“Yes. Yes, I am.” 

Other than the fact that you had just escaped absolute peril, the evening was unbearably pleasant. Crickets chirped in the summer evening, and the humidity of the night smelled gorgeously of the lake that was near-by as well as the vast array of flowers that had been purposefully landscaped around the hotel. Chan’s uneven steps scraped at the gravel walkway. 

Since you had canvassed the whole building well, you had known exactly where the getaway car was, but you were still careful. 

“Bee. Bee!” Chan blabbered. “Have-have I told you yet that I-I’m in love with you?” 

“No, you haven’t Your Highness.” 

“I fucking am. If I die tonight, I want you to know that I am ridiculously in love with you, and fuck, I wanna--” 

“--I’m sorry, Your Highness, respectfully, but now is not the time for this and you are not dying on my watch.” 

Somewhere off in the distance, frogs croaked, and the splashing of fish in the lake plopped at the surface waters. You turned a corner to finally see Two waiting his his gun raised. He was a bit of a shorter and scrawnier man, but something about him told you that where he lacked in strength, he must’ve made up for in agility. 

“I’m out! I’m out!” Your partner gasped, and over the in-ear you could hear his running footsteps. “I’m almost there! I’ll be there in a second!” 

“Your Highness,” Two bowed and opened the car door. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You can call me Two or J. Either you prefer.” 

Jeongin came bounding around the corner with heaving breaths and his clothes askew. His glasses which just barely held onto his face had a crack on them and his knuckles were covered in blood. 

“Let’s go.” The younger man prompted. 

“In the car you go, Your Highness.” You motioned for him to do so. 

Chan whimpered like a toddler. 

You shoved his body in, “Stop that. Get in the car.” 

“I’m in love with you Bee!” He yelled out, “I’M FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU BEE!” 

Jeongin slammed the door in his face with a bit of a chuckle. 

“He’s delirious.” 

“Mm.” your partner smiled. “Sure.” 

[mrspettyferr]

A Midnight Wish Part 2: A Kiss of Dawn

Part 1

Elain was exhausted by the time she finally dragged herself to her bedchamber. She had neglected her slippers long ago, crossing over the threshold silently on padded feet.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her back against the closed door and closed her eyes. Despite the nature of the festivity--and the celebration of Nesta and Cassian--too many thoughts were still running wild in her mind. She tried not to think of how she had failed Nuala and Cerridwen, because that led her to thinking of someone else.

So she tried to think of nothing at all.

She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, fully clothed, her face still glowing with rouge and her hair still styled. But she would regret it in the morning--especially if she ruined such a beautiful gown.

Sighing, Elain walked to her vanity, plunked down, and got to work.

She had just finished removing the pins from her hair when she felt the night-kissed shadow ruffle the hem of her gown. She went very still, staring at the swirling darkness at her feet. It moved, and she turned and watched as it slithered away like a snake, across her floor and to the balcony.

Follow me, it seemed to say.

She hesitated only a moment before rising and padding quietly across her bedchamber. She pushed back her lilac curtains and stepped onto the balcony. There, crouched precariously on the railing like a gargoyle, was Azriel.

For a moment they just stared at each other, Elain still in her evening gown, her golden-brown waves blowing gently in the wind. Azriel still wore his finery, too, though he had retired from the party long before she had.

She wanted to ask him what he was doing here, but instead she blurted, "How are you doing that?"

He seemed surprised at her question. She could not blame him. "Doing what?"

"Balancing like--like that."

"It's not that difficult."

It most certainly was. "Perhaps you just make it seem easy."

"Perhaps," Az agreed, and though it was almost too dark to see, a slight smile tugged at his mouth.

Elain crossed her arms, shielding herself from the chill of the night. "You left the party quite early," she said, and immediately regretted it. She shouldn't have noticed.

"I had business to attend," he replied.

"He keeps you busy, doesn't he?"

She said it lightly, jokingly, but for some reason Azriel stiffened slightly. And when he spoke, he did not sound amused. "Yes, he does."

Silence fell, though it was not uncomfortable. It never had been with him. Still, Elain felt a slight blush creep up on her cheeks as she considered the situation: it was very late, and there was a male perched outside her balcony. Not just any male, either.

She was about to ask him what he wanted, when she saw his head turn slightly, as though listening to something. A shadow, no doubt, though she could scarcely see one. But she did notice the way he went very well.

"What is it?" she asked, taking a step forward.

"Nothing." He turned back to her, his hazel eyes guarded. But not enough. Something was worrying him.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

He shrugged.

"You like your secrets, don't you?" she asked, her tone a bit sharper than she intended.

"No, I don't. But that comes with the territory." Azriel smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Though Feyre tells me you have me beat in secret keeping."

"Did she?" Elain couldn't help it--she beamed at the compliment, no matter how poorly earned it was.

Still, Az nodded. "Nuala and Cerridwen are training you well."

Elain stared at him. It felt like someone had thrown cold water over her.

"How--how did you know?" She managed to ask. The twins wouldn't have told him, she was certain.

Az angled his head almost curiously. "I am Rhys's Spymaster. It is my job to know."

"Are you upset with them?" Before he could answer, she plowed on, "Don't be. I insisted. We are friends, you know. And I practically forced them to train me. Don't--"

"The only thing that upsets me," he interrupted quietly, "is that you felt you couldn't come to me."

Elain blinked, staring at him. "You haven't exactly been around," she said carefully.

Azriel's jaw clenched, the only sign of emotion on his otherwise perfectly guarded face. It was the sort of look one made before they retreated into the night, a heavy silence falling in between.

And because she did not want him to go, to put that distance between them that he so recently favored, she said, "If you must know, I failed miserably tonight."

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but settled on, "How so?"

"I was...out matched, it would seem." An understatement, but she did not want to elaborate.

To her surprise, Azriel chuckled, his shoulders loosening a bit. "I doubt that. You just need practice, and time."

Time. She had endless time now, didn't she?

She didn't want to talk about any of that anymore. So she just cocked her head and surveyed him, still perched on that railing. Wasn't he cold?

"Do you want a cup of tea or something?" she asked. "A scone? Something hot?"

Azriel straightened as though she had offended him. "No," he practically blurted.

"Oh." Elain blinked in surprise. Something inside her crumpled just a bit. "Right. Well, it's late, I shouldn't have--"

"It was very kind," he said quickly, though for some reason, he sounded pained. "But I don't think that would be a good idea."

Of course not. How could she be so foolish?

"It's fine," she said stiffly.

"You keep saying that."

"Because I mean it."

Az stared at her. "You can lie to them," he said quietly, "but not to me."

And just like that, Elain was no longer on the balcony, but standing before Nesta and her friends. A familiar necklace stared back at her, glinting and taunting her in the faelight.

It was as though Azriel could read her mind, for he said, "I--I'm sorry."

"You said that already."

"Can't I say it twice?"

Elain just waited.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, once again looking oddly out of sorts. "When I found your necklace, I intended to return it to the shop, but for some reason I ended up at the library, and I thought..." He shook his head. "I don't know what I thought. You didn't want it, and--"

"I did want it," Elain interrupted.

His brows furrowed as he studied her. "You did?"

She nodded. "I wanted it very much. Too much, probably."

She knew--and hoped he did not--that she was no longer talking about the necklace. But something shifted in his gaze, as though he did know. He always seemed to know what she was thinking.

Hesitantly, Elain took a step forward. And another. Moving closer until she stood before him. He watched her carefully, still balanced precariously on the railing. Even perched, he still stood above her.

His hazel eyes were glowing, an intensity in them that made Elain look down. Made her admit, "I left the necklace behind because I did not want you to regret more than one thing that night."

The silence that followed was cold and biting, seeming to last forever. Elain sucked in a breath, prepared to fumble through some sort of explanation, when--

"I do regret it," Az said softly.

Elain looked up, hurt flashing on her face before she could hide it. But Azriel reached out, cupping her face in his scarred hands. Her mouth parted slightly in surprise.

"I regret making you think it was a mistake. And I regret not doing this," he said, and leaned down and kissed her.

Elain's surprise only lasted a half second before she returned his kiss, sighing into his mouth, her own moving in perfect sync with his. Her hands clung to the front of his jacket, pulling him off the railing and closer to her. A lesser male would have stumbled in the process, but Azriel was graceful and smooth, and no sooner had he landed on the balcony did he spin them so that Elain's back was pressed against the railing.

His wings flared out slightly, shielding them from the wind. One of his hands slid behind her neck, burying in her hair, while the other found her lower back, pressing her closer. Elain let out a soft moan that Az devoured with his mouth. Heat flooded her cheeks, her core. She was on fire. She was burning and burning and--

A clock tolled in the distance.

Dawn. It was almost dawn.

As though the sound woke them from their reverie, Azriel pulled back slightly. His breathing was slightly ragged, matching Elain's. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his hammering heart.

"I will speak to her," Az said finally. "Clear up the confusion and return your necklace to you."

It took Elain a moment to realize who he meant. She opened her eyes and frowned. Took a step back. "No, no. I could never do that."

"But--"

"What is done is done." Regret flashed in his eyes. She wanted to tell him it wasn't the gift itself that meant so much--it was the thought, the careful consideration in which he took in finding something so perfect. But all she said was, "I might ask for something else in exchange, though."

Though Az's eyes narrowed slightly, he said nothing, waiting.

Elain knew it was selfish, but she said, "Come to family dinners. When you can. Everyone misses seeing you."

I miss seeing you.

Az stiffened and peered down at her. His thumb gently brushed her cheek, the gesture shockingly tender from someone who tortured enemies for information.

"They know where to find me," he murmured.

"Perhaps they're waiting for an invitation."

He raised a brow. "Is that so?"

Elain nodded. "It is only polite. Even among friends and family."

"Friends and family." Amusement glittered in his eyes and even Elain fought back a smile. While she was still trying to work out what Azriel was to her, simply a friend or family did not seem accurate. "I will remember that."

"Good."

They stared at one another, tension and longing thick between them. They left the rest unsaid. How the mating bond complicated matters, even if Elain had not accepted it. Even if it meant nothing to her at all. There would be a time for that conversation, but that time was not now.

"I should go," Az murmured. "Rhys is expecting me."

Elain didn't want him to leave, but she had no power to make him stay. So she just nodded.

He turned, and hesitated. Hesitated long enough that Elain asked, "What is it?"

"There is something else," Az said, almost reluctantly.

"Oh?"

"It's Koschei."

Elain felt the color drain from her face. "What about him?"

Azriel turned back to face her. He looked resigned, unhappy, but determined. "There is another object to be found, I am certain--a fourth item in the Dread Trove."

She stopped breathing. Forced herself to say, "And?"

"And I think we're the only ones who can find it."

Elain stared at him. She hadn't told anyone--not even her friends--what she had seen.

"Who is we?" she managed to ask.

"You and I."

You and I.

The words fell into deep, unending silence. And the way Azriel was looking at her--did he know she had seen something? Was he just waiting for her to confirm his suspicions?

"This sounds quite serious," she said finally.

"It is." Shadows swirled around Azriel's shoulders, reflecting the darkening of his eyes.

"Then you must tell Feyre and Rhys as well."

And I must tell them what I have seen, she thought.

Some unknown emotion flittered across Az's face, one Elain could not decipher. "I intend to, but--"

"Perfect. Then you will do so tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"At dinner. I will even prepare some of Nesta's favorites, for she will certainly have much to say on the matter."

Az's confusion morphed into a knowing, amused look. "I know what you are doing."

"I have no idea what you mean," Elain said seriously, but her eyes shone with mischief. "This is a serious matter that must be discussed with the High Lord and Lady. Don't you agree?"

"I do," he said reluctantly.

Her grin widened, but quickly faded as she considered, truly, what he was saying. What it meant. What it confirmed, even for herself.

"Do you think they will protest?" Elain asked. "Insist I stay out of it?" She remembered the last time she tried to get involved, and how that had ended. But this time was different. It had to be different.

Azriel considered her words. "Possibly. And they are not entirely wrong." When Elain looked at him in exasperation, he added, "There is an innate darkness to the Trove, Elain. A darkness that might alter you forever."

She raised her chin. "I do not fear the dark."

Az smiled slightly, like he believed her. And Elain could not help but return his smile, because she knew he did. He was the only person who ever looked at her like she was capable of something great.

She wanted to cross the distance between them and kiss him again. She wanted him to gently push her into her bedchamber and lay her atop the silk sheets.

Elain swore Az could read her mind, for he chuckled and inclined his head toward her chamber. "Go," he said, though it was far from commanding.

And because it was nearly first light, Elain backed away, biting her lip and smiling. "Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," he promised.

- -

Note: In this scenario, I do imagine when Gwyn found out the truth, she would return the necklace. But I couldn't imagine Elain demanding it from her. Such an uncomfortable situation, so it was interesting to write. Can't wait to see how SJM handles it!

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Melted Mask

awitchbravestheverge prompt: I don't know if you're still taking prompts but you are a master of hurt/comfort and would sell you my soul for some of that for Janus. Maybe where he's feeling insecure or like he's worn out his welcome post acceptance, or maybe a little touch starved, or both. Preferably with Virgil or Patton as the comforter, but if not thats ok. I just have a never-ending need for fic where people are soft and gentle with the snake boy, and I love everything you write with my whole heart

Thanks for the request, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: DLAMPR, focus on anxceit and moceit, can be platonic or romantic you decide I don’t mind

Warnings: uhhh sympathetic deceit and remus

Word Count: 4804

 “How many masks of your own face are you currently wearing?”

 “At least four.”

Between the gloves, the cape, and the hat, there’s not an awful lot of Janus that is seen most of the time. Not that he particularly minds. There is a certain benefit that layers upon layers of clothing provides. One, they’re perfect for concealing his cane—the others always look so surprised when he summons it from nowhere. Two, he is Dark Side, thanks to Roman’s fantastic naming system. There is an aesthetic standard that must be met. What was he going to do, show up in some ratted old hoodie?

 Three, well—there is an awful lot to look at. If the others are focused on the clasps at his throat, the shock of the yellow gloves, the logo hidden under the black fabric, they’re not looking at him.

 If they were, they’d see his scales.

 He is the only side with a visible animal trait, after all. The scales cover the left side of his face, down beneath his collar. He doesn’t mind the stares—come on, it’s so easy to catch them off guard, how could he?—but sometimes he does wonder if they’ll ever get used to it.

  To him.

 The scales are a reminder. That he’s different. That he’s not like them. He’s not like the others, he doesn’t look like Thomas, at least not to the extent that they do. Thomas doesn’t have golden scales along the side of his face. Thomas doesn’t have a mouth that curves up along his cheek. Thomas doesn’t have a slit-eye pupil. No, no, Thomas is normal.

 How dreadful.

 Then, of course, there are the lies.

 ‘Deceit.’ Such a funny word. And so…polarizing.

 ‘Deceitful,’ ‘dishonest,’ ‘dastardly’—lot of ‘d’s, here, hmm?—all of the words that just mean he’s a liar. And lying must be bad, right? So it follows logically then, because we simply adore logic in this house, that he must be bad.

 He’s not to be trusted, he’s a liar. He’s not honest, he’s a liar. They have to double and triple-check everything he says because he’s a liar.

 They always conveniently seem to forget that you can always trust a dishonest person to be dishonest. It’s the truthful ones you have to watch out for.

 Janus knows he’s a liar. Frankly, he’s quite proud of it. He’s gotten very good at it too; twisting the words together just right in order to tug slightly at a heartstring there, block off just a little rationality there, get the job done. The others always get caught up in his words, too busy focusing on the minutia of it, the details, leaving him free to step around them and speak to Thomas.

 They see the gloves, they see the scales, they see the lies.

 They see the masks.

 Oh, sometimes he’ll put on a little bit more of a show if he needs to make a point, if the normal masks aren’t quite enough to get Thomas to listen. He’ll tie a hoodie around his shoulders, push a pair of glasses up his nose, knot a tie around his neck. Problem is…those ones are a little easier to see through. No matter how hard he tries, all of his disguises end up being a self-portrait.

 Which is how he ended up here.

 “You know the rules,” Patton says, his hands on his hips, “no impersonating others outside of filming!”

 Janus rolls his eyes and idly flicks a speck of dirt off one of his gloves. “Oh, please. You don’t want me to do it during filming either.”

 “No, I don’t, but we made a compromise, kiddo, now we both have to stick to it.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure the others will be relieved to hear so.”

 “What have we said about impersonations?”

 He sighs. “The others may be idiots—“

 “Oi!”

 “—but idiots are also deserving of respect,” Janus finishes, glancing at Virgil draped over the back of the couch. “And I would never dream of being anything less than perfectly respectful.”

 Virgil snorts. “What do you even get out of it anyway?” He sits up a little straighter. “Wait, you haven’t been tricking Roman into telling you how to impersonate us better, have you?”

 “Now why would I do that?”

 “Janus!”

 “What? Like you don’t make a habit of going to the others for advice.”

 “There’s a difference between openly asking for it and tricking them into giving it to you.”

 Janus levels a stare at him. “I suppose there is, isn’t there?”

 “Hey!” Patton steps between them. “That’s enough.”

 “Oh, well—“ Janus makes a show of resettling his cape—“if you say so.”

 Patton sighs. “Janus, we are trying, okay? You heard Thomas, you’re…well, you’re more welcome now.”

 “And you’re doing a marvelous job of that.”

 Patton doesn’t quite deflate, but it’s close. “Well, maybe we could all try a little harder.” He gives Janus a pointed look.

 “Yes, I’m sure my efforts will be richly rewarded.”

 “Well, you could start by showing up as yourself more often.”

 “Myself?” Janus gasps theatrically, putting a gloved hand to his scales. “Who’s that?”

 “Dude,” Virgil sniggers—Virgil did always appreciate his sense of humor—“how many masks of your own face are you currently wearing”

 “At least four.”

 Patton lets him go with another verbal slap on the wrist and Virgil flips him off. Janus sinks out, striding down the hallway near his room. It’s quieter here. The walls hum a little less. He can think.

 He hadn’t gone to Roman to gets tips on his acting. He’d gone because Roman doesn’t want to talk to Janus.

 Janus, the liar. Janus, the manipulator. Janus, the Dark Side.

 Janus shuts the door of his room and instinctively slumps, the cape hanging off his shoulders. He knows Patton means well, and Virgil’s…Virgil, but sometimes it stings a little more than it should. Not that the others will ever see it.

 He’ll never forget the look on Thomas’s face when Logan said he was the side that acts with the one priority of self-preservation. Of how it instantly demonized the idea of protecting yourself. Of Thomas keeping himself safe.

 He looks at his hands, sees the gloves. They still don’t fit quite right, even after all these years. He can’t get the seams to run down the sides of the fingers, not curve around to the front or the back. It really shouldn’t be this difficult. Especially considering how much use he’s gotten out of them.

 Lying kept Thomas alive. It kept him safe. He helped keep Thomas safe. When Virgil couldn’t breathe, when Logan faltered, when Patton froze, Janus would quietly make his way over to Roman and whisper a suggestion. Just a suggestion. To lie. To keep Thomas safe. To get them out of here. And it saved them. So many times.

 Janus walks over to the mirror. It’s a fairly modest thing; about the size of a small sink, oval, large enough so he can see himself completely if he takes a few steps back. He ignores his own face and reaches for the golden latch on the side. He turns it.

 The cabinet swings open to reveal a dark velvet interior with several small podiums. Each has a thin mask laid atop it. They gleam in the low light of the room. Janus reaches out and carefully makes sure each is perfectly centered. As he does so, his gloves linger on the fine print beneath the podiums.

 Everyone has masks. Versions of themselves to present to the world when they need to. A mask that keeps you safe, a mask that keeps you alive, a mask that has the courage to speak when you don’t. The mask they wear around their homophobic relatives, the mask they wear when they need to make a phone call, the mask they wear when they need to pretend they’re something they’re not.

 Janus is very, very good at making masks.

 He never wears these. These are for Thomas. When Thomas needs help, Janus slips one of these out of the cabinet and sets it on the desk in front of the mirror. He looks at it, then at the mirror, and works. These masks are what helps Thomas.

 He shuts the cabinet with a decisive click, suddenly confronted with his own face.

Janus is so good at making masks that he doesn’t even need a mask to wear one.

 A mask because you’re the bad guy. A mask because you can never be trusted. A mask because when you try to be vulnerable they won’t listen. A mask because they don’t want you, they want the character that you embody to survive.

 He pities the others sometimes. They don’t have these masks and they hurt. They can’t distance themselves, pull away just a little more, embody a role so that when it’s over, when they’re safe again, they can take it off and breathe. But they don’t. So they just get hurt. Over and over and over.

 Janus’s lips involuntarily curl up into a snarl. The hand on the mirror closes into a fist.

 They’re not supposed to get hurt. That’s not how this is supposed to work.

 He’s not supposed to hurt them.

 Part of him argues that he has to. If he keeps working the way he’s been working he can get right to Thomas, who is who needs the most protection. If he tries to do it their way they risk Thomas getting hurt and Janus won’t have that.

 Part of him whispers that this is good for them. If he can make them a little tougher, help them get thicker skin, they’ll be safer. And then it won’t matter if they hate him. They’ll be safe. That’s all he cares about.

 The rest of him—

 …well, the rest of him is currently the reason he’s having trouble looking in the mirror right now.

 The problem with wearing so many masks is that it becomes harder and harder to figure what’s the mask and what’s not. And he’s gotten so good at making them that now…now he doesn’t have to think about it.

 A mask for when Logan asks to debate about philosophy. A mask for when Remus wants him to help him and Roman make something new. A mask for when Patton wants to bake. A mask for when Virgil comes to him for help.

 A mask for all of them. A mask for none of them.

 Janus doesn’t want to wear the masks all the time. He wants them to be warm, to care, to smile when he comes into the room, or even ask where he is. He wants to laugh as Patton smears batter all over his nose accidentally. He wants to listen to Logan ramble about some new advancement in quantum gravity. He wants Virgil to come plop down next to him while everyone else is in the living room. He wants Remus to stay with him while they watch the others get into ridiculous fights over board games. He wants Roman to not be afraid to come talk to him.

 He wants.

 Janus is selfish.

 But he isn’t stupid.

 He knows they don’t want him. He knows they don’t want him, even without the masks. Deep down, he knows they don’t need him either.

 But Thomas does.

 So here Janus will stay, in the dark, in the cold, wearing too many masks of his own face to keep count.

—————————————————————

The Mindscape is cold. It never quite feels solid. Drafts blow in and out of the walls, through the little gaps in the floor, from places that Janus can’t find, no matter how many times he looks for them. He bundles himself up in his cloak and his hat and does his best to hold still, sink in as much warmth as he can. He sneaks up behind the others, pressing himself up near them, purring in their ears, just to snatch their body heat. They always shove him away with flustered protests and blushy little faces. They’re so adorable.

 Plus, he knows that’s all he’s ever really going to get from them.

 But he’s cold, goddamnit. Why do they keep the air conditioning so high in this house? Snakes are cold-blooded. They get slow. Lethargic. Hypothermic, if it gets very bad.

 Janus can’t afford to be slow.

 So he wears his gloves, his cape, his hat. He stands opposite the window so he can get the most sunlight. He finds the patches of warmth where none of the others will find him and he can curl up for the warmth he needs...

 …and fine, maybe it’s a little more than just being cold.

 The others are…touchy. Patton throws his arm around just about everyone. Bumps his hip against theirs. Pats their shoulders, squeezes their hands, kisses their cheeks. Roman sweeps people into his arms, pulls them in for hugs, keeps an arm around their waists for as long as he’s allowed. Remus can and will just tackle whoever he wants. Logan holds himself a little further away, but even he’ll lay a comforting hand on someone’s arm. Janus will admit he was shocked when Virgil started exhibiting spider characteristics. That Side is a cat and you will not convince him otherwise. And everyone knows if a cat falls asleep on you, you’re not allowed to move until it wakes up.

 Not that Virgil has fallen asleep on him recently.

 Janus is not too proud to admit that at first, he didn’t want their touches. He had a job to do, he didn’t need to be distracted. But now…now he does.

 He sees the way they move around each other and it stings. The accidental brushes he gets from standing too close or when they aren’t thinking about it sear through layers and layers of clothing to burn into his skin. When he stays close to them—close, but not too close—his whole side begins to tingle, reaching for them, their warmth, for them. But now it’s too late. His mask is already firmly in place and they know Deceit hates being touched.

 That’s another reason for the layers. For the gloves.

 Janus knows that if they ever touch him directly, skin to skin, his mask will shatter. And that is too dangerous to risk. With his gloves, his cape, his hat, his masks, the only way that would happen is if one of them tried to touch his face.

 And that is certainly very likely indeed.

 The clothes give him a barrier. A last line of defense. No touch is better than unexpected touch.

 But that doesn’t stop him from being cold.

 He can tell it’s going to happen when he can’t quite close his fingers around the end of his staff in the middle of their conversation. His gloves don’t catch on the wood quite right and he has to fumble to grab it properly. He glances up. No one’s looking at him.

  Are they ever?

 He tucks his hands smoothly out of sight, frantically burrowing them into his cloak to see if they’ll warm up. He locks his knees. No good. His fingers start to hurt as he flexes them. They’re still not moving faster. It’s cold.

 He glances at the clock. Two minutes. He can last two minutes. Or so he thinks, until his jaw starts to clench. He clenches it harder, ignoring the protest from his neck, his shoulders, trying to make it stop. He takes a deep slow breath and tries to relax, to stop his muscles from tensing. It works, barely.

 One minute.

 His hands aren’t responding properly. He can barely move his fingers. He just needs to get out of here. If he gets out of here he can get warm. He has his electric blanket, he has everything he needs. He just needs to leave.

 Thirty seconds.

 The conversation draws to a close and Janus nods deeply, tossing one last barb over his shoulder as he sinks out, only to collapse in the hallway as soon as he does. A draft flows out right next to his shoulder, freezing fingers dancing up his arm, along the back of his neck, diving into his collar to snatch more of his warmth. He curses, heaves himself to his feet, and makes it to his room. It’s so cold.

 Something tugs in his chest. No, no—!

 “I suppose there must be a good reason for summoning me back,” Janus drawls, snapping his gloves right back into place as he appears in the living room.

 Patton and Virgil stare back at him. Patton fidgets with his hands. “W-well, we, uh, I had a question for you.”

 Damn. “Well.” Janus spreads his arms, trying to play off how slow he’s moving for dramatic effect. “I’m here. Ask away.”

 “I, uh, a few days ago you mentioned that you didn’t feel as welcome here.” Patton looks at him with such an expression of sincerity that it makes Janus’s tongue itch. “And I wanted to know what I could do to help.”

 “Aren’t you sweet?”

 Patton won’t be deterred, it seems. He stares at Janus, resolute as ever. It’s so cold in here he’s going to start slurring in a moment.

 “Janus?”

 “That is my name, yes.”

 “Are you…are you feeling alright?”

 Janus gestures to himself, movements growing slower by the second. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”

 Slow. Too slow.

 Patton frowns. He gives him a look. “You don’t seem like you normally are, are you sure?”

 “I am entirely in one piece.”

 “That doesn’t answer my question.”

 “Honey, if you’re looking for a straight answer, I’m afraid you’re looking in the wrong place.”

 Virgil moves. Right, Virgil was here too. Janus is slow. Too slow. He can’t move. He can’t get away. His mask forms a bored expression on his face, quirking an eyebrow. Virgil approaches him and holds out a hand. A cold part of Janus’s chest leaps.

 The lips of the mask part. “And what exactly do you intend to do with that?”

 “This,” Virgil mutters, and cups the side of Janus’s face.

 Everything stops.

 Distantly, he feels Virgil’s hand leave his face. Hears something about being too cold. Sees a blur of blue rush away. But all he can focus on is—

  Warm. Virgil touched you. Warm. Warm. So warm. Keep the mask on. Don’t let the mask slip. Warm. If the mask slips everything will be ruined. Warm. Don’t you remember how to take the mask off? Virgil. Patton. Warm.

 “Janus? Janus!”

 Janus blinks. Virgil is still standing in front of him. There’s a little wrinkle between his brows. The mask is frozen in place, iced into a neutral expression.

 “Hey,” Virgil says quietly, “you’re freezing, bud. You gotta get warm.”

 Janus can’t speak. The mask is so cold.

 “You remember what happens when you get too cold,” Virgil continues, taking a step closer. Janus can’t move. Virgil’s frown deepens and he tilts his head. “What’s going on, Janus, you don’t normally let it get this bad.”

  Yes, Virgil, we’re aware.

 “You could’ve asked, dude,” Virgil says, taking another step closer, a little exasperation mingling with the concern, “any of us.”

 The mask smirks. Barely. “Yes, because I’m sure everyone would be so willing to cuddle me so I could steal their body heat.”

 “You don’t know that.” The mask doesn’t move. Virgil glances over his shoulder. When he speaks next, his voice is lowered to a whisper.

 “You don’t have to keep that on right now, Jan,” he says quietly, “it’s okay. It’s just me. I know you. You can…you know. Emote and stuff.”

 Janus huffs a laugh. It’s weak. 

 “You ever wear a mask so long you forget how to take it off?”

 Vigil pauses. “Huh?”

 “Ever pretended to be something for so long you forget which is real and which isn’t?” Janus’s smile turns sad. “Made yourself believe it too?”

 Virgil’s eyes close for a second. When he opens them, the concern in his gaze takes the last of the warm breath from Janus’s lungs. “Does this have anything to do with…?” He waves in Janus’s direction.

 Janus nods, slowly, so slowly. “I can’t. Because I’ve been…I’ve been trained out of it. I built my masks to hide behind. And now I can’t take them off.”

 “And we haven’t been good about helping you do that, huh.” He sounds so tired. He’s been through so much…

 “I’m…”

 The mask won’t let him apologize.

  Like they would ever accept it.

 “No, no,” Virgil says, “don’t apologize. You aren’t to blame for what you’ve been put through.”

  Oh, Virgil…

 Virgil glances over his shoulder. Then he shakes his head. “Just…look, go.”

 “What?”

 “I know this isn’t the time to talk about stuff. You’re not in any sort of shape to do that and Patton will understand. Go get warm.” He gives Janus a pointed look. “You take care of yourself first, okay?”

 He tries. He goes back to his room and buries himself in blankets, in pillows, in more layers than he can stand. The pressure is good but it’s still so cold. The weight of the electric blanket is nothing compared to the warmth of Virgil’s hand. Everything in here smells sterile, clinical, detached. It’s all so cold.

  You take care of yourself.

 The last sentence rings through his head late at night. He wants. But everyone’s probably asleep by now, and god knows they need to sleep. Surely it’ll be alright if he just goes to the living room? That’s not too far, right?

 There’s a fire going in the fireplace—since when did they have a fireplace? And there’s someone sitting on the couch. Hmm. Maybe if…if he’s quiet, if he doesn’t make too much noise, he can slip in and soak up some of the warmth. 

 Virgil turns around.

 “Hey, Janus,” he murmurs, standing, and comes over to him. “Can’t sleep?”

 Janus shakes his head. It’s warm in here, but he’s still cold. Virgil can see that, apparently.

 “Here,” he says, handing him a cup of tea that appeared out of thin air, “drink. It’ll warm you up.”

 Janus takes it cautiously. Isn’t it Virgil’s? There’s no way Virgil would’ve know Janus was coming…right?

 “This is my third one, figure I should let you catch up first.”

 He gestures to the couch, an encouraging smile on his lips.

 “Sit. C’mon”

 Janus does, sinking into the plush couch and cradling the warm mug in his hands. The couch groans as Virgil sits next to him. He can feel Virgil just out of reach, just there…

 “I like watching the fire,” comes a low voice from next to him as he sips the tea. “Helps me think. Or stop thinking.”

 He keeps talking in that low voice and the warm tea flows through Janus, sapping the cold slowly away from his body.

 Distantly, he feels someone steering him down onto the couch, and heavy arms around him.

 “Or maybe you just need a cuddle. Go to sleep, Janus.”

—————————————————————

 “ — stop twitching, Remus! You’ll make a mistake!”

 “Stop tugging his arm all over the place and then you won’t.”

 “Will you two pipe the fuck down? You’re gonna wake him up.”

 “Says the loudmouth!”

 “Roman, stop it.”

 “Stop moving his arm!”

 What is…? He’s lying on something. It’s warm, really warm. It smells like…coffee, makeup, and…cinnamon? He shifts slightly, and oh he slept on his neck wrong. A low groan escapes his throat.

 His pillow stiffens. “Shit. He’s awake.”

 “Good going, Remus.”

 “You were the one yelling!”

 “Shut the fuck up, both of you.” The chest underneath him vibrates. “Shh, snake-face, go back to sleep. You’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

 Janus shifts again, trying to look around, but he’s held down by another strong arm. A hand cards itself through his hair—where’s his hat? “Shh, be still, buddy, you’re okay. Can’t we get you back to sleep?”

 “What…’s going on?” His tongue feels heavy, swelling up in his mouth.

 “I believe the chances of getting him back to sleep will increase if you tell him what you’re doing.”

 It’s…Logan? He appears, fuzzy but definitely there, over the back of the couch. Janus tries to turn to make it easier to see him but his right arm is pinned and he can’t move—

 “Easy, J, easy, shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re safe, just keep your arm nice and still, okay?” Virgil, it’s Virgil he’s lying on, runs his hand through his hair again. “I’m pretty sure Roman would pitch a fit.”

 “Hah.” Roman snorts from somewhere close to the ground. “If this got ruined, yours would be too.”

 “If you hadn’t insisted on going last,” Remus says, “this wouldn’t’ve been an issue.”

 And then he feels it. Something is drawn sharply across his right wrist.

 “Shh, shh, Janus, breathe, breathe, you’re okay, damnit, Princey, stop! You’re making him freak out!”

 It’s gone, the contact is gone. His arm is still hanging over the edge of the couch but it’s held there by Virgil’s arm and another hand.

 “Hey there, Snakey.” Remus appears over Virgil’s shoulder. “You’re okay. We’re just making sure you’re okay.”

 Roman snorts. “There’s something wrong with how you phrased that.”

 Then suddenly Patton appears out of nowhere and doesn’t surprise him at all. Luckily, or unluckily, Janus is far too exhausted and disoriented to react more than rucking up the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie a little. Patton looks at the couch.

 “There isn’t room, Pop-star,” Virgil says, lazily stretching so his bulk takes up all of it, moving slow enough so Janus isn’t jostled too much. Then Virgil yelps and their lower bodies are lifted and he can feel the couch sag under another body.

 “What the hell, Pat.”

 “Now there’s room.” Patton reaches up and ruffles Virgil’s hair.

 There are so many people and it’s warm but why are they all here? Did he miss something? Does he need to leave?

 “Looks good,” Patton says, interrupting his train of thought, “it’s coming along well.”

 Logan clears his throat. “Would someone like to inform Janus about what exactly ‘this’ is?”

 “Oh, right, sorry, Snakey,” Remus says, crouching back down, “let’s show you.”

 Virgil turns over slowly, lifting his arm and using the leverage to shift Janus onto his chest. “Jeez, Janus, you’re light. Patton, have we been feeding him enough?”

 “I suspect there’s been a lack of communication, kiddo.”

 “Now is not the time to yell at him, Patton,” Logan says quietly.

 “I’m not yelling! But yes, now is not the time.”

 Virgil coaxes his head to one side, and Roman lifts his arm by the back of his hand.

 Janus’s mouth drops open.

 There are little animals drawn on his right arm, from his wrist to his elbow. There’s a navy cat, simple and clean, near the vein. A light blue frog with little glasses. A purple and black spider. A green octopus with large black tentacles. And an unfinished red dragon right near his wrist.

 “If I could finish,” Roman asks softly.

 “Alright, calm down, here.” Remus lowers his arm and holds it steady. Roman puts the brush back to his arm and starts painting again. Virgil and Remus start arguing about something, probably, but he can’t focus on anything besides the soft bristles of the brush on his arm, the rumble of Virgil’s chest, and the warmth of the weight on his legs.

 Logan stands behind his head. “You don’t need to wear a mask here, Janus,” he says softly, “not unless you want to.”

 No one else hears him except for Patton. He gives Janus’s leg a squeeze.

 It’s warm. It’s so warm.

 He wants to watch as Roman paints the dragon but he’s tired but he doesn’t want to sleep yet…not just yet.

 Patton reaches towards his face. His finger lands on his forehead and drags gently down the bridge of his nose.

 What…?

 Oh.

 As he follows his touch, Janus’s eyes drift closed.

 It’s so warm.

 And a warm hand on his cheek wipes the last of the mask away.

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If you would like to be added/taken off the taglist please let me know ^_^

[sepublic]

Escaping Expulsion!

           LUMITY! LUMITY DEVELOPMENT! LUZ REALIZING HER CRUSH!!!!

           Amity calling her MY Luz… Amity and Luz back-to-back! Playing tricks together that’s so ADORABLE!

           There’s so much to this episode, I… I…!

           Gus! His growth spurt will take a lot getting used to, it’s like watching your favorite kids grow up… At this point he may as well go back to Augustus! And Perry, I love seeing more of him!

           WILLOW’S DADS! They’re GOOD parents I tell you, they talk a lot about grounding or whatever, but then IMMEDIATELY drop their jobs for Willow’s sake!? To home-school her, to have fun! GOOD PARENTS! And the Glasses Dad, he’s a really chill dude, sees Willow going behind the back and is like “I won’t tell!” Nice. VERY nice…!

           BUMP! Not only do we get confirmation that he’s in the Abomination Coven, BUT HE’S A SWEETIE! He’s an utter sweetheart! This really all adds to my headcanon that he felt bad about what happened with Eda, and I bet he was being reminded a LOT of that when he had to get rid of Luz, Willow, and Gus… At least with Eda she more or less left of her own volition, but these kids WANT to come back! I love this principal and his layers… Also Frewin’s tail moving?

           I agree with Alador, and I find it hilarious that he doesn’t seem to understand Frewin that much either… Or he does but he’s still curious! Al IS interesting like Odalia said… Not exactly a good parent, but he is a man of his word! Also WOW he looks like an utter mess, nothing like the prim and proper noble we all expected! I guess Alador from Amity’s flashback was in dress clothes for Amity’s birthday and all that… But yeah he IS fascinating as Dana said! I guess he is the inventor as some people suspected…

           His whole demeanor matches his brief depiction in YBOS pretty well; Looking like he’s mostly just kind of THERE, just kind of chilling for the ride. Has his head in the clouds and focuses on the inventions, on the technical know-how, on carrying out the orders and seeing them through, while Odalia is the leader who instructs things- Just as we suspected! I can already see the neurodivergent Alador headcanons… If Amity is autistic, does she get it from him?

           ODALIA… Ugh. I mean, she’s about as rancid as we all expected, but it’s interesting that she DOES listen to Alador, so there is still that respect there! But JEEZ, she’s an attempted child murderer?! Goes back on her word!? I have to wonder if Alador was the original Blight actually, and Odalia was the one who married in; That, or Alador just has actual integrity and acts as like… The second voice who helps rein in Odalia and remind her of things every now and then. Interesting… But yeah, I loathe her!

           Of course, back to Al- He may not necessarily be so great himself. He does seem to prefer the easy path, the path of least resistance; He adapts to Amity standing up to him and Odalia by instead considering how she could replace the current Abomination Head one day… Which makes sense, that’s HIS expertise, and daughter takes after father! And Odalia really is an Oracle as we thought… Oracle magic for spying, makes sense, but that necklace…

           UGH… Remember when we all liked that necklace! How we thought it was SO CUTE? How Amity wore it at first in Adventures in the Elements… But then she rarely wore her casual outfit? WELL NOW WE KNOW… Here’s hoping the intro changes to remove the necklace, but WOW I was genuinely feeling sick in my stomach when I saw that!

           And Odalia and Alador are even WORSE, because they’re literally arms-manufacturers! Do I even need to explain why that’s awful? But I’m really having a lot of fun with the idea of Abominations as robotics; I’d considered the idea of Abominations melding with Automatons, and the show just confirms and validates that! I love this show… I have to wonder if we’ll see Amity and the Abomination Head interact more? And I like how Abominations is basically shape-shifting and form-changing, but applied to a magical goop that Abomination Witches can control…

           Belos and the Golden Guard! More worldbuilding- Of course Belos is monopolizing and taking things into his own control, he’s expanding his influence! And of course, as Golden Guard pointed out- Not only does he want soldiers –glad we’ll see more of these Abomination things in practice- but also… He doesn’t want anyone raising a private army against him; Which again fits with how Belos operates! 

          But the way Odalia and Alador look at one another… WERE they intending to raise a private army? Or were they always open to selling out to the highest bidder- With their desire to install Amity as the new Abomination Head, we might see them ally with a rebellion, but for their OWN purposes… With how their audience and customer base was cloaked, they may have been unknowingly selling to people with a vested interest and stake in taking down Belos!

           EDA AND LILITH! This show once again confirms my read on glyphs; Not containing magic, but more commanding the magic around them! Lilith is SO smart, figuring out how it works… And YES, I love delving into the mechanics! How glyphs are about COMMUNICATION with the Isles, that calls back to Adventures in the Elements! I wonder then if Belos can communicate with the isles too, possibly through glyphs…

           But we get more insight into their dynamic! Eda was always that talented kid, so she could always breeze the basics and get right into experimentation! It was good for critical thinking, but as we see, she can be really hyperactive and impatient… And of course, this frustrates Lilith, who is very stoic and rule-bound! God she was adorable this episode, how she clearly wants validation… She really is the embodiment of “My child is fine!” “Your child was a pleasure to have in class.” Couldn’t get validation from Gwen, so Lilith went to teachers…

           AND JEEZ, no wonder Belos’ approval meant so much to her! Maybe like Marcy and Andrias from Amphibia, Lilith kind of latched onto Belos as a potential found family figure for her… But as we know, she still had her own desires and wants because she IS a person and not a mindless drone.

           BUT YES, I love the show delving into how Lilith and Eda work as different people! Lilith is by-the-book, and Eda recognizing that Lilith’s methods have value, because Eda is really out of her own element here. I love seeing Eda experiment with glyphs, just the way they experiment with glyphs- I’m glad it’s not just Luz! Also it’s interesting… The show seems to imply that there really are only four glyphs in existence; Light, Ice, Fire, and Plant! That’s a shame because I’d have liked to see more glyphs in the future, just a few more…

           BUT YEAH, this hearkens back to that shot of Luz combining Glyphs in the trailer, and I’ve always hoped that mashing Glyphs can unlock more complex spells! I love this kind of worldbuilding where basic elements are combined in certain ways to yield more specific things, it’s making my worldbuilding brain buzz happily! And I love Luz just freely giving out stars… Lilith is SUCH an Elsa, and her friendship with Hooty is adorable! And here’s hoping that Eda uses that messed-up spell anyway, against enemies…

           Overall this was an AMAZING EPISODE, so strong! Luz isn’t dense, like Alador she’s just distracted… Oh dang, maybe my Luz and Alador parallels idea wasn’t so far off? BUT YES this show promises and delivers through on these characters! I do wish we got to see more of Willow’s thought process about Odalia and Alador interrupting her life again, but with how the episode is already jam-packed with glyph lore AND Luz’s own thing, and I can see why they had to leave it out- 

          But give her some more spotlight, please! I wouldn’t be surprised if some things had to be cut out thanks to Disney downsizing the show… Also again, it’s interesting that based on what this episode implied; The Plant Coven is the ONLY Coven to have such a close basis in nature. If there are only four glyphs in nature, theoretically there should only be four main covens…

           Belos, your system is beginning to look even MORE sketchy now! And dang, the revelations, the lore, the reveals… Not much of Emira and Edric alas, but what we got was short and sweet, and I love how they felt the need to be nice but also sneak in a prank, but Amity just sees them! And also CAT ABOMINATION, the fanart came through! 

          And Amity just immediately recognizing her girlfriend’s work to figure out Luz was there, I love it so much! Overall, an AMAZING episode that blew my expectations out of the water! Now after this we have Echoes of the Past, which promises even MORE in regards to King! I love that these characters are getting a lot of focus now.

           Also it just occurred to me, but yeah- Edric’s occasional air-headed moments, Emira being a bit more bossy and strict… As we all speculated, they get it from their respective parents!

           (Also Hop Pop cameo I see you TOH crew.)

[write-ur-wrongs]

Of Monsters and Men (pt. 1)

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier travel to a small seaside village after being hired to take care of a monster that has been terrorizing the villagers for months. However when they arrive, Geralt finds that the monster in question isn’t so easy to kill. 

A/N: This was getting to be quite lengthy, so I decided to split it into parts. This is the story I wanted to write when I first started watching the Witcher on Netflix and I am nervous and excited to finally be sharing it here!! Like with all my fics, I try to keep my Y/N has physically non-descript as possible, she/her and vibe are the only descriptors. I’ve also not proof-read but will edit errors as I see them post post lol. I hope y’all enjoy this!! Your feedback is always welcome :’)

this is approx. 2200 words and is largely setting the scene. I expect this to story to be told in no more than 3 parts. 

                              _________________________

When Geralt and Jaskier rode up to the quiet coastal village, they were struck by how calm and peaceful it was. The sound of waves lapping against the rocky shoreline, the rhythmic bumping of boats against the docks, and the soft clatter of driftwood windchimes melted together to create an atmosphere that soothed Jaskier to his core. He found himself gaping at the sights that surrounded him in wonder; truly taken by the way setting sun cast a golden glow on everything and painted the cloud-laced sky in rich hues of pink and orange.

“This place…” he sighed theatrically, waving his arms around, “is wonderful! Geralt are you not moved by the sight of it all? Does your soul not sing out! Oh, Geralt! Wow!”  

The witcher only rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. Jaskier was always so blown away by the simplest things and it both amused and annoyed Geralt. Yes, the sky and the sea were beautiful sights, but more importantly, they were merciless vehicles of danger, death, and destruction; and Geralt knew better than to romanticize things that were, at their core, dangerous.

Sensing the bard’s eyes on him, Geralt gave him a hum of acknowledgement hoping it would be enough to satisfy Jaskier’s need for collective appreciation. It was, as he dreaded, insufficient.

“Come now, Geralt!” he enthused, “take that stick out your arse for a moment and appreciate the sights and sounds of this charming inlet! Listen to the sea! The chimes, Geralt! Listen to how the wind tickles the –”

“For fucks sake, Jaskier! It’s a fucking port city just like any other. This place is one bad storm away from being wiped out by that scenic sea of yours!”

“Yeesh,” Jaskier said letting out a low whistle. “Was it the stick in the arse bit? Too far?”

“Jask-”

“- because look, you are very stoic but – and I mean this as a compliment Geralt, so don’t get your leather in a –”

“Jaskier!” Geralt interrupted gruffly as he dismounted Roach with a huff. “Will you please shut up! Let’s just find the stables and the inn and get this over with.” Without waiting for Jaskier to catch up to him, he led his mare deeper into town.

Jaskier, refusing to let Geralt’s gruff exterior get him down, dismounted gracefully and lightly jogged to meet up with him, his lute clacking loudly against his back as he ran.

“Remind me again what dreadful little creature brings us out to this enchanting harbor?” he asked, still jogging a little to keep up with the witcher’s long strides.

“Don’t know yet.”

“Oh, ho-ho! A mystery? Always makes for a good song. What do we know so far?”

Geralt stopped and turned slightly towards the bard before speaking.

“Apparently a creature has been killing and dismembering men in town. They are being killed at all hours, bodies found in town, at sea, or out in the surrounding forests. Seems nowhere is safe.” Geralt let his cat-like eyes linger on the bard’s horrified expression for a moment before turning back and keeping on the path into town, shaking his head at Jaskier’s queasiness.

“Yeesh – Geralt! You’re not serious! Why would you bring me with you!?” Jaskier picked up the pace, suddenly wanting to be closer to his friend.

“You invited yourself,” Geralt said, trying to contain his smile, “as always.”

“Of course, I invited myself! You’re far to proud to admit you’d miss me.” Jaskier retorted. “Let’s get these horses to the stables, get rooms, and find food so that you can sort this out as quickly as inhumanly possible,” he said, speaking quickly and with a light waver, trying to pretend the quaint seaside village around him didn’t now leave him chilled to the bone.

“Hmm,” Geralt chuckled, happy to have managed to scare the bard into silence, at least for the time being.

The local pub was busier than Jaskier had expected when they rode into town. Seems the reason the village was so peaceful upon arrival was because everyone had already made their way to the bar. Fortunately, he’d managed to nab them a table by the stone fireplace; after a day of riding alongside the sea, Jaskier was desperate for a cold ale and a warm fire.

“Alrighty then, Geralt,” Jaskier said, holding his hands up to the hearth, “what have we got so far?”

“Not much,” he replied, tearing apart the loaf of bread a barmaid had brought over moments prior, “a couple people stopped me at the inn to ask me if I was here to kill the beast, but they didn’t have any information to offer besides the fact that it was a constant threat.”

“Well, maybe you’ll have more luck here – I mean look around, you’d think the whole town’s come to drink!”

“Port cities, Jask,” Geralt said, letting his gaze scan the room slowly, “the people here either spend their days at the mercy of the sea or waiting for their loved ones to come home. You drink for sorrow and for hope of a bright tomorrow.”

“That was poetic as fuck, Geralt! My influence?” he teased, shooting the witcher a cheeky grin, who merely grunted distractedly in reply.

Now ignoring his still-talking friend, Geralt’s eyes had landed on the two women working behind the bar. One was talking excitedly and kept casting quick glances toward the bard, blushing brightly when she caught his eye, while the other was watching Geralt with inquisitive eyes.

“… I tell you Geralt the more you allow yourself to – oh! Speaking of which, here come a few now!” Jaskier flourished, winking enthusiastically at the blushing barmaid who was making her way towards them sheepishly.

Geralt sat back in his chair and rolled his eyes, already tired of the flirting he was about to witness. To his surprise and great pleasure, Jaskier got up and met her halfway, leaving him in peace with his thoughts.

Having brought his attention back down to the bread before him, Geralt didn’t notice that he had company until she was right in front of him. Sensing her presence, he shot his gaze up quickly, and found her staring at his wolf medallion with a quirked brow.

“Forgive me,” she started, her deep, velvet-like voice washing over Geralt like morning sun after a cold night, “but you’re… a witcher?”

“I am,” he replied, giving her a crooked smile, his own voice, low and gravely and smooth, not going unnoticed by the woman before him. “Geralt, of Rivia.”

“Oh fuck,” she said, with a breathy sort of laugh, “so you’re not a witcher, you’re the Witcher then, aren’t you?”

Geralt let out a low and modest grunt, shaking his head at the comment. He thought himself immune to the scrutiny and awe that came with being the White Wolf, having carried the title for so long, but there was something about the way she was looking at him that left him shy.

“I’m,” he faltered needing to stop to clear his throat, having made the mistake to look her in the eyes, “just a witcher. Really.”

“Well, they don’t send you out for just anything, do they? For you to be out here in our little hamlet…” she squinted at him with a small tilt of her head, “we must be under some kind of threat. Should I be worried?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me, –” he stopped, waiting for her to introduce herself.

“Y/N,” she replied quickly, offering Geralt a warm smile despite the fact that she’d just crossed her arms, “and I mean we do get the odd ruffian coming through town. They always make a mess of things, don’t they? Beyond that, well, I suppose alcohol does breed violence in some,” she gave a light, one shouldered shrug, “but that’s not the kind of crime that would reach your ears.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully, taking his time to consider Y/N’s words. She seemed almost too friendly, and there was something about her that both drew him in and had him putting up his guard.

“A monster has been picking the men of the village off one by one.” Leaning back into his chair to put some distance between them. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t be aware, considering,” he nodded towards the bar, “your job here.”

“Meaning what?” she retorted, wearing a playful smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Only that you must hear a lot,” he gestured vaguely to the crowd surrounding them, “and see a lot, doing what you do. I would have expected that the disappearance and dismemberment of men in town would be something of note.”

“Well,” Y’N tsked, “I’m sorry to say that you’ve been brought out here on something of a fool’s errand. There’s no monster here; the tale of disappearing men has been told here for months. It started with a woman, too embarrassed to admit that the man who impregnated her left her overnight, telling everyone that a creature from the forest killed him. From there the story grew wilder with every retelling.”

“Hm,” Geralt hummed, watching Y/N carefully with narrow eyes, “I was told dismembered body parts were turning up, consistently, after each disappearance, and that they were being identified as belonging to the latest victim. Besides, I was hired to come here. Why would someone pay me coin to rid a town of ghost?”

“People struck by tragedy will claim to see many things, Sir Geralt,” she replied softly, “not all of them will be true. A dead fish floating at sea, a creature mauled by wolves by the roads, rotten meats abandoned by vendors…” she shrugged, “the mind will twist the truth in order to bring comfort. Who hired you?” 

She added that last question quickly, and Geralt could tell it was calculated. Sensing this, he only replied with a quirked brow and a tilt of his head. 

Y/N betrayed no sense of frustration when she realized the Witcher wasn’t going to elaborate. Instead, her eyes softened, and she smiled at Geralt with what he perceived as pity. 

“Look, the truth is that there is no monster here. Isn’t that right Thalia?”

“Sorry, what?” Thalia, who had just walked back over the Geralt’s table with a tray of ales in her hands, was breathlessly giggling at something Jaskier had whispered in her ear. As she and Jaskier placed four ales on the table, Y/N took a seat across from the Witcher and quickly explained got the two up to speed.

“Oh goodness, that! I can not believe our town’s little lore made it to your ears, Sir Geralt!” She said with wide eyes as she snuggled up next to Jaskier, clinking her tankard with his before taking a generous sip.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jaskier coughed on his ale, “you’re telling me there’s no monster here? That we might actually be able to enjoy a little rest and relaxation here without any horrible monster-killing business? Geralt this is good news!” he exclaimed, smacking his free hand on the table for emphasis.

Geralt only growled out a hum in response, never taking his eyes off Y/N.

“I’ll admit,” Thalia continued, seemingly unaware of the tension between the Witcher and her friend, “it’s scary to think about – you know, murder – but when you actually think about who disappears, it’s not difficult to see the truth.”

At this, Geralt turned his fierce gaze away from Y/N. “What do you mean, ‘who disappears’?”

“O-only that the men who leave aren’t really the type that anyone would miss.” She replied, stuttering a little against her best efforts to not recoil at Geralt’s inhuman eye-contact. “They were mean, violent types. The kind of man that would get crueler the more he drank. Just, awful, evil men, right Y/N?”

Y/N nodded quickly in agreement, taking a slow sip of her ale. “Good riddance.”

“Exactly!” Thalia agreed, clinking her glass to Y/N’s.

“Hell, I’ll drink to that,” Jaskier laughed, before picking his lute up off the floor. “What do you say ladies, a song?”

Thalia cheered loudly and encouraged the rest of the patrons to listen to the bard, letting them all know that he was in fact, the one who traveled with the great White Wolf. Jaskier was positively floating from the adoration as he danced around the pub, pulling cheers and applause after every song.

All the while, Geralt never took his eyes off of Y/N, who had retreated back to the bar after finishing her drink.

Geralt wasn’t sure what to believe. He had a strange feeling about this place from the moment he and the bard arrived, and it frustrated him to no end that even after hours in town, he was no closer to understanding the source of his discomfort. One thing was for certain, something about the story he heard here tonight did not add up, and he definitely didn’t trust its source.

Y/N was standing behind the bar washing glasses, but she wasn’t focused on the task at hand. Instead, her eyes were trained on the crowd before her. Geralt watched her as she scanned the pub with calm, slow-moving eyes that jumped from patron to patron.

The witcher was distracted for a moment when Jaskier sauntered into his sightline, singing a loud chorus of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. Despite himself, Geralt couldn’t help but smile at the bard, whose face was flushed from the ales and the exertion.

However, as Geralt watched Jaskier twirl across the crowded pub, something in his peripheral vision made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Y/N had turned he head and was staring right at him with a pair of pitch-black eyes.  

Like a shot, Geralt turned his gaze to the woman behind the bar – his heart beating loudly in his ears – only to find her smiling warmly at him, her eyes their normal shade.

Instinctively, Geralt brought his hand up to his wolf-head medallion, hoping it would signal the presence of some supernatural evil. But he felt nothing.

He didn’t know what she was, but she was not human.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Omg do you have more cute hcs with the lov and class1a/1b

I dont care how long or short it is, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE READING THEM 💕💕💕💕💖 😊😊

Theyre so comforting <333

YES I HAVE A BUNCH. COME TAKE IT ALL.

Tomura is an expert in video games, right? Well, he's currently working from afar with Hatsume and Melissa to create a VR system to help the kids at UA train.

Everything because the first thing he did when meeting Nezu was telling him the UA system sucked.

No more public exposure, no more simple barriers keeping away the villains from the kids, no more pushing them to dangerous places with no proper supervision.

The new job of the League when it comes to working is the UA is keeping the place as safe as possible and helping the kids recover from the trauma of the war.

Dabi doesn't like working directly with the kids, so his job consist on patrolling around the UA. In case a crisis is reported, he's the first at the place and his job is to keep the crisis on minimum 'til the teachers arrive.

The funniest part is the type of crisis he has solved so far. They include:

Helping people with their crushes because they tried to confess and caused an accident. (Dabi has the fun of his life with it, being honest).

Accidents in the kitchen. (No much he can do except using Shoto as a way of taking down the flames).

Stupid fights (He is banned from helping in those since he cheered for Shoto when he was fistfighting Iida for saying something to Midoriya).

And his favorite: keeping Mineta at bay. Dabi is not the type of gentleman that defends women constantly, because he just doesn't care about helping anyone. But Mineta is a type of gross he would have incinerate in the streets if he was a man and not a kid. So instead, he just walks from a safe distance and keeps scaring the kid when he's about to annoy one of the girls.

Tomura always find Dabi is the halls complaining about the no smoking rule

They make fun of each other a little until they realize they should be working and there are kids staring at them.

Class 1-A talks about Dabi like the older brother who was in jail.

Oh, but Dabi told me...

They are actually well informed about a bunch of stuff and they know how to take care of street criminals better now.

Ah, but they're also the ones who check if he is not drinking too much, if he's having proper rest, if his burns and staples are taken care of, if he's not too anxious or depressed, if hes' taking his meds...

If he's not following one of those, they call Natsuo. Oh man, Natsuo has become the emergency contact of half the League somehow. Maybe because he has a golden heart or maybe because they all are scared of Fuyumi by some weird reason.

Shoto is the other emergency contact when it comes to Dabi, hmmm, but sometimes he just follows Dabi bad example and well.

Dabi is the anti-Santa. He's gonna give you that one gift you wanted but everyone said no because it's dangerous.

"Dabi, I'm trying to make a safer space for the kids" , "Tomura, I'm trying to make them relax".

After getting fired twice by Aizawa, Dabi is finally behaving.

This has nothing to do with the fact that he's finally dating Tomura tho.

WHICH TAKE US TO: SPINNER, THE BROTHER WHO ACTUALLY ACKNOWLEDGES HIS RESPONSIBILITIES.

Spinner works in the same thing as Dabi, but he's the reliable one.

Getting Uraraka down when she starts floating on her sleep, calming people down when they're having anxiety attacks, noting when someone is having a bad day and requesting the teachers to let the person rest...

Spinner is the one actually helping them with their ptsd. He makes everything so easy and pleasant. It's like they're just kids taking classes and having fun.

Besides, class 1-B knows he is amazing at cuddling and people love his hugs. Just by seeing Spinner, they cheer up.

He and Shinso are responsible for the purple hair tendency among the kids of General Studies. Their heroes.

He's also the one who helps the kids with their training sessions when they need a partner but there's no one else to help them.

He became one of the official bus drivers of the school after taking some lessons and requesting a license.

He sings with them while they travel, he always has snacks in case someone is hungry and he has pills in case someone is motion sick. Well, a bunch of pills since Dabi is always motion sick.

He had a crush on Tomura but he realized it was more platonic than anything.

Now now, Tomura and Spinner have matching gamer tattoos that said Player #1 and Player #2. Dumbasses in action.

If Dabi is the problematic uncle and Spinner is the responsible uncle...

That leave us with: Compress the artistic dad and Kurogiri the dad who's always working far away but you can totally rely on.

THE VIDEO CALLS WITH KUROGIRI AND COMPRESS ARE SO CUTE.

101 Flirting with Compress.

All the kids in all courses have a personalized mask. Compress is addicted to creating them.

His beautiful, mischievous kids that once, trying to distract him, stole his prosthesis and kept it going around the school from room to room.

Turns out it was a surprise party, but man if it was fun because Compress pretended the whole time he was a pirate looking for his long buried treasure.

HE GOT A PARROT AND HE NAMED HIM RED BEAK.

Bakugo almost exploded the whole place after hearing such a ridiculous name.

Well, Red Beak loves making fun of Bakugo, repeating everything he says.

RED BEAK AND KIRISHIMA ARE BESTIES. YES YES.

The Bakusquad would kill for Red Beak.

Sero is teaching him Spanish, Mina is teaching him to dance, Denki is teaching him bad jokes and Jirou is teaching him to sing.

Tokoyami is the official protector of Red Beak. Koda is the translator.

On the other hand, Kurogiri always gives them some honey and other things when he visits the school.

He congratulates them on their achievements, he hears them for hours talking about their adventures and he is the old friend you call when it's 3am, you're feeling bad but you don't want to worry no one else.

If you want to solve a problem, call Kurogiri. He's gonna give you the clues but let you solve it yourself.

The award for the dad with more patience goes to: KUROGIRI.

If you really really need to run away from some hours, he can use his quirk to rescue you and he would prepare some tea for you, wrap you in a soft sweater and walk with you through his yard. You can pick flowers or fruit with him until you calm down. Or you can watch old movies with him. Or bake. Being with him is like floating around in the sky, no worries, just clouds and stars and soft noises and lights.

The school always knows when it happens and they are okay with it. Mostly. Just don't do it too much.

Toga is another good option if you need to talk but you don't know with who.

She's actually a great listener and an expert on making things look less stressing than they are. You see, she pays attention at your triggers and moods and if she sees something is bothering the students, she finds a way to distract them immediately, while letting the teachers deal with the problem.

Ah, the queen of gossip.

If you want to know something about someone you need to pay the prize, tho. And she won't even tell you if she considers the secret must be guarded 'til the grave.

She's the one who takes the messages to the parents because she's fast, can hide at plain sight and doesn't put them in danger.

You never know where Toga is. She someone studies like the rest of them, but she's like, selected to secret missions. She has a lot of info but they all trust her somehow.

Maybe is the fact that she would kill and take a stab for you. And that she would never put Deku or Ochaco in danger. Or her family.

She's also Mineta's biggest nightmare.

Try sexualizing the girl and win a terrifying week, courtesy of Toga Himiko.

She won't let you sleep, she won't let you eat, you're gonna wish you were never born. She can make you feel as sexualized, observed and stalked as you make the girls feel. Oh, she's gonna show you exactly how it feels to be a girl.

Also don't sexualize the boys around her either. Stabby queen is not gentle to those who are not gentle with her friends. Period.

Friendly reminder: 0 stabbing accidents since she started studying at UA.

BECAUSE THEY GAVE HER A RUBBER KNIFE.

And finally, the Tomura headcanons.

He's always falling asleep on odd places. The kids have a new name called "let's put a blanket on Tomura".

And then they call Dabi or Spinner to take him somewhere more comfortable.

He's working so hard. He's really working so hard on redeeming himself, even when everyone has already forgiven him. But he has this fear of being a failure or being too much...

The kids are also well trained on how to help him through his anxiety or panic attacks. Even more, some of them have always a pair of gloves in them just in case.

Momo is more than happy to make him more.

It's kinda sad how much he's suffering even now. That's way they all do their best to let him know his doing great.

Kisses in the cheek, compliments on how he's looking, new products to his hair and skin, playing the games he recommends, telling how badass he is when he trains them...

Somehow being around Tomura has help them realize how important is communicating stuff. They all are way healthier now.

Tomura is just... So sincere. He's been instructed to share his thoughts, because he had a problem before with communicating properly. That means he used to forget saying certain information because it was obvious to him, but not to others.

He doesn't mean to hurt people. He's just saying what he thinks. Which also means he offends a bunch of people not by accident. And he doesn't apologize because he is just doing what he's been told.

Midoriya and Shigaraki's discussions are epic. And so are their fights. Yes, they fight like siblings. Which is crazy funny because they are like "friendly reminder you tried to KILL ME" and "WELL YOU DESERVED THAT FOR BEING A DICK".

They've finally found out that you can complain to him or get a little violent and he's not gonna even blink, just hear you out.

It was because Bakugo got a little violent with him and yeah, he just stared back waiting.

You can't imagine Dabi's anger when Tomura told him about Kotaro. He was frustrated because at least Tomura did step on Endeavor and humiliated him for life, but him? He is angry with a man that's dead and gone.

Okay no, the whole League is angry about the things that has happened to the whole League. That's the thing with finally being able to relax and feel. It all comes back in a flood.

They have prohibited being around school when the parents visit. Specially because they are no very civil to shitty parents.

And if a kid confess about having shitty parents, oh boy. The League is gonna BE PISSED.

The UA is still a total chaos, but now in the right ways. They have more normal problems, they don't have to win war and kill evil lords, they complain about not having money to go out and forgetting their homework. And the ex-villians can complain about life being boring a needing more action.

That's a good thing. That means they all are healing, together.

They're gonna be fine.

[goldafterglow]

dissolve me (repost)

(deleted this post on accident, reblog of original here)

Summary: We find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Except the Tootsie Pop is Horacio Carrillo.

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 5k+ (look away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, gory metaphors (I use figurative language to mask the scent of flaming trash)

A/N: This is literally the first thing I’ve written in like 3 years so you have to be nice to me. Please give me feedback!! But it has to be exclusively positive or I will spontaneously combust!!!

Horacio is cold.

It’s a little past midnight and the Sun has been asleep for hours by now, but not Bogota. Instead, the city moves in slow motion, the weight of slumber heavy on its creatures as the few visible stars shush the agitated crickets. Somehow, even despite the Sun’s absence, it’s influence still blankets the trees. It accumulates, even. The hot radiation permeates the lungs of taxis and buildings, but the cool darkness brings life into the air as water begins to materialize on the sides of newspaper stands and underneath Horacio’s shirt. His clothes stick to him so tight (more than usual) that he thinks he may be drowning under the moon. He can taste the ocean on his tongue and the sensation is only relieved as he steps off the pavement and onto the tile of the rundown convenience store. The building, heavily air conditioned, makes each drop of sweat feel like icicles pricking into his fried red skin, but his body still burns from the residual heat.

Somehow, Horacio still maintains that icey core in his chest. So even as he makes a beeline for the refrigerated-goods, yes. Horacio is cold.

He exists as a green-sheet ghost walking through the aisles of the grocery store, barely conscious at 2 am as he searches for some goddamn milk. He knows he works too hard, knows his life is concrete and bricks screeching against his steel heart. Every morning he walks on glass to enter his office, and every morning he forces his feet to bleed. What else is there for him? His body has been adorned with splinters and cuts for so long now, so what’s a few more? Each night, he drags his body flat across the floor, just trying to make it out the door. Trying to escape an office that chews him up and spits him out, saliva covered and filthy.

But fuck if he just wants some milk.

So he makes this small trip before he heads home. Once he finds the dairy, his heavy eyes hoist themselves upwards, to the second-to-topmost shelf in the refrigerator. The last carton of fat free milk -  dairy-flavored water - that he’ll chug the next morning. But just as his hardened fingertips reach for it, they meet something else; a third wheel to this toxic milk-Horacio romance that is ruining his plans for what might as well be the best morning he’s had in the past three milk-free days. His mind, once fuzzy from the sleepy grey clouds filling his lenses like cataracts, now feels a sharp jolt of electricity soar through it as his machine body is activated and his surroundings suddenly become clearer, laser vision kicking in. His senses are now sharper and his guard is completely up. His nerves begin racing as the data from his hands shoots straight to his brain to get integrated and that thing he’s feeling is...warm? Shit, no it’s hot. It fucking burns his skin and immediately he pulls back because his motherboard is screaming at him that he’s in danger.

His head shoots up and his eyes dart to the side as he turns to look, expecting a raging bonfire or boiling cast iron, but instead he sees a human. A sweet, candy person that looks almost surprised as he does, but with softer features and kinder eyes. He smells the caramel seeping out of your pores and it stings his olfactory nerves but perhaps he wants to smell it again so it can fill his lungs and then let it harden inside of his cold body. So that it can stay within him forever.

“Disculpame,” you say, remorse dripping out of your golden mouth and if his ears were in control, he’d beg you to say it again. Say anything. He recognizes your accent. Not a Columbian, but a gringo. His brain reminds his heart that hey, we don’t like selfish, egotistical gringos. His heart doesn’t listen.

“Go ahead,” he says, and shit he sounds horrible. He sounds fucked up, and it’s probably because he is fucked up. He talks like toothpicks and needles, but it’s okay because he got to speak to you and he’s never spoken to an angel before.

He notices how you relax a little at the sound of his English, and he feels that heat spread at the beautiful notion that he did that all by himself.

“No really, I don’t need it,” you insist, a small smile gracing your lips. “You’re very sweet for offering, though.” Huh?

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. He doesn’t taste like sugar or chocolate or berries. Horacio is bitter gourd, burnt toast and that shitty part at the end of the banana that no one wants. Copper and hot tar oozing down taste buds and burning the frail pink dots along the way. Straight black coffee that’s tear-inducingly retched. Pepto Bismol and whatever the fuck is inside of those plastic pill capsules. Raw beef festering with E. coli and flies, a rotting corpse under a wake of vultures, the creepy old man that sits next to you on the train, mace burning your shivering eyes while you collapse to your shredded knees onto a floor of thumbtacks.

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. But you said he was, and you are oh so persuasive. That’s when he felt the first one. Crack.

His mind goes into overdrive as panic sets in - what was that sound? What just broke? What crevice of his mind just ripped a little and how can he staple it back shut? He feels the slimey pus of his emotions begin to seep out of the opening a little, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to put his guard back up and regain control of this situation the way he’s been trained to do by offering you the carton and then leaving; defying your orders and following his own.

But who is he to refuse you?

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s just noticed that your hand is back at your side and your eyes shine a little brighter as your smile widens at his defeat. That was me, too. But then you’re turning around and leaving, messy bun flopping up and down as you walk towards the cash register and his heart is furious. It’s pounding in his ribcage like a ravenous shark caged in glass, telling him to not let you get away because it wants to burn in your soft flames and turn to ash in your fingers, but he stays planted. Watches you walk away and take that gentle radiating heat with you, leaving him just as hard and frozen as he was before he’d ever let you poke around into his soul. Suddenly he understands why you’d burned him so bad; doesn’t even the lightest match make that violent sizzling sound when it touches ice? But he can’t deny that you had melted him, just a little bit, and he can’t deny that he likes being a little watery.

He sees you again just a few days later. It’s a Sunday morning and Bogota is now wide awake. Pastel streaks fly down the streets as manifestations of yellow taxis, dusty red cars, and pale blue cyclers bring the canvas of the city to life. Horacio decides to be adventurous, introduce true exploration and child-like color into his monochrome world, and walk to the cafe near his street. A truly exhilarating touch, if he did say so himself.

Except he hadn’t prepared himself for the anarchy that would occur within him when he saw you again. The girl that was awake at 2 am and offered him white calcium water in a carton and called him sweet. You’re wearing one of those pink dresses that you just know is sleeveless, but a light denim jacket guards your shoulders and he can’t help but wonder what would happen if he just tugged on your collar a little bit, exposed some of your delicate skin and traced his fingers over it. Just closed his eyes and leaned down to brush his lips over - shit, fuck. What is he thinking? His eyes don’t know where to look, his heart doesn’t know how to beat, his lungs don’t know how to take in air. What do you do when you see a pretty thing in a pretty sundress? Certainly not function. Horacio wasn’t doing that at all. So he did the next best thing: sit at a table and watch you. That’s the next best thing, right?

He watches as you smile at the young man taking your order, talking to him like you know him, care about him. All you were doing was listing the ingredients you wanted in your drink, but your bright eyes twinkle with a sort of endearment that he isn’t used to. Like you were happy.

He is in awe of you. Horacio has worked so hard to stay numb, to feel nothing but that rusty scrape of motivation that made him do his job. But you made it look so easy to gush, to overflow and spill your delight with life onto everyone around you until that tired, overworked teenager behind the register was smiling too as he said “next!”

You turn your head to find a table once you pick up your order and panic settles into Horacio’s bones again as he reflexively turns his head away from you, but your keen eyes spot him. Oh, how you must pity him. The poor, miserable apparition from the grocery store. He feels that radiating heat begin to grow as you approach him at his table, so he pretends to not notice you. Pretends he’s numb as you thaw him into a dripping mess of thin ice and water.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask him, nodding to the other chair in front of him with a cup of coffee in your supple hands. Horacio’s tactful eyes scan the cafe once more; there’s other seats in the building, other men and women for you to pity. He’s been chosen. And he just can’t resist you, is too weak to deny himself that addicting sugary sweetness that you’re coated in because he’s not sure he’ll ever feel so soft again and he wants to savor it.

Horacio looks up at you, clearing his throat as he takes the kind of breath that you can feel as the air fills his lungs. He’s priming his voice to talk to you because this time, he wants to make it count.

“No,” he says. Fuck. In that moment, he couldn't remember having talked before. Has he ever spoken? Certainly not, or he’d know how to do it. But you don’t seem to mind his cold tone as you take the seat in front of you, and those damned eyes of yours are blinding to look at but god, who needs pupils anyway?

He can tell you’re curious about him. You want to pick him apart scab by scab and take him apart into individual fibers until you get to that soft mushy center that is Horacio Carrillo. You want to see him naked and open, but that’s not something Horacio can give you. How could he? He’s taken that weak, inferior soul within him and crushed it under concrete and plaster of paris, secured it with walls and steel and barbed wire until the protective layers become so extensive that even if someone could get through them all, why the fuck would they want to? It wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“You know, I’ve never been here before,” you say, taking a sip of your drink, and he hums, knowing that’s how people interact but not quite knowing what is going on with him. You’re just saying things, just want him to talk back. You’re trying to have a real conversation with him, and he doesn’t understand why, but maybe for just once in his life he doesn’t need to fucking understand everything.

“Then what brings you here?” he asks, and slowly he begins to regain a little feeling inside him. Not enough that it unleashes his pain, but enough that he can feel that ice water slosh around inside him easily. A gentle flow of slush that mixes with your amber and makes him feel like a person.

“A student of mine recommended it to me,” you explain, and he’s starting to put together a little picture of who you are in his mind. 

“You teach?” he asks, probing you for your life. He wants to study your mind, hear the music that leaves your mouth when you speak. You nod thoughtfully, and he can tell he’s mentioned something you enjoy. He learns that you teach at a local university and hears about just how passionate you are about what you teach. His dark eyes begin to fill with that precious light you possess as you tell him about your students and how though you’re new to Bogotá, you already love it. But that doesn’t surprise him so much; somehow he just knows that you’ve got plenty of love to go around.

“Well now you know what business I have in a grocery store at 2 am,” you conclude after you tell him about your late nights grading subpar papers, curiosity twinkling in your eyes like fairy lights in the dark. “What about you?” It isn’t until the focus is back on himself that he notes the smile that graces his features. A real smile. He smiles not out of diplomacy but because right now, he’s happy. He’s high on you and serotonin and he’d let you ruin him if you wanted to. But your question troubles him. He can’t really tell you why; he can’t bear to take his ugly, black, acrylic life and stain your lavender and daffodil backdrop. So he tells you the bare minimum: that he’s a colonel and leads a special ops unit called the Search Bloc. He leaves out the blood that paints his eyes everyday, forgets to mention the agony he’s felt and inflicted on others.

“Your drink isn’t ready yet?” you question, like a sudden realization has just hit you. Your kind features are furrowed into slight confusion, and Horacio wants to let a black sky swallow him into his own misery because he forgot to order something.

“I didn’t get anything,” he admits, face starting to glow light pink as his foolishness begins to manifest on his hardened features. You don’t look confused anymore; you’re curious again. Forever wondering about the enigma in front of you, except he’s no mystery; he’s a labyrinth. Full of questions and doubt without one single answer, and once you enter you can’t ever escape.

“Then what does a colonel do at a humble cafe?” you ask. And all of the sudden, for a man that makes a living out of repeatedly evading death, he wants to evaporate into the beige, worn tile beneath the teal cushion of his seat because the answer to that question will surely ruin the delicate, blushed bubble around the two of you. But you’ve incapacitated him with your stupid fucking pretty eyes so much so that you must be the enemy in this story. He can escape gunpoint, rouse himself from a concussion, but he hasn’t got a single clue how to regain his quick wit and pistol mind in the face of something much more sinister: a pretty girl.

“I-” he starts, but all of the sudden his throat won’t cooperate because his mind is helpless to lie to you but his body is resisting. His body rejects that frozen, dreadful state of nothing that it’s normally kept in. You’ve spread the warmth of fuzzy blankets and blissful vertigo throughout his stomach and his body wants to stay warm. “I was just…” he coughs, hard, willing his esophagus to heed his commands, “...I was watching you.” Horacio is flustered now, completely out of his element as he feels his blood seep to the topmost layers of his skin, exposing his embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he adds almost immediately, his eyes wide as he tries to avert his flushed features from your careful gaze. “I know that’s weird. I didn’t mean to-”

“Horacio,” you interrupt. Say it again. Say my name again. “It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” Crack. That steel fortress that he thought was so impenetrable was beginning to soften into something moldable, pliable only to your hands so you could transform him from a wall to a rose.

Horacio lets out a soft chuckle, biting his lip so hard he almost can’t feel his teeth digging into his own chapped flesh. His pink cheeks are full and for the first time in so long his eyes glimmer with life and adoration.

“I don’t want to be too forward and scare you away,” he says, a little nervous but so much more giddy, “but could I see you again?” You giggle, a beautiful melody that floods his ears and softens his brow.

“Yes, Horacio, I’d really like that,” you agree, and he can’t help but feel like he’s not in a cafe but somewhere in the cosmos as a compliant planet orbiting a bright, burning star. Somewhere far more heavenly and celestial than this godforsaken planet. He watches you glance up at the grandfather clock situated against the wall behind him and then back at him. “I need to get going, but take this.” You pull a pen out of your small bag and scribble a string of digits onto your coffee cup, holding the marked cardboard out to him. He’s slow to take it from your hands; he doesn’t want to keep you here, but at the same time he very much does. He allows himself to brush his fingers against yours again, like they had the night before, so that your potent you-flavored syrup can inject into his bloodstream and fill his capillaries. 

As you stand to leave, he can tell you have one last lingering thought itching at your brow. “For the record, you couldn’t scare me away,” you assure with a smile that borders on teasing. “You’re just not scary.” And he watches you walk away, leaving him completely and utterly dumbfounded as to who you had just spoken to because it certainly wasn’t Horacio Carrillo, world class murderer and notoriously inhuman interrogator. Crack.

That next Friday, Horacio sees you again. He shakes as he knocks on your door, roses trembling in his fingers as you swing the door open. He knows the bouquet resting under his chin is pathetic, an overused display of affection, but it makes you gush as you take them from hands and bring them to your own wondrous features and let that stupid cheesy token fill your lungs with its scent. 

He takes you to a restaurant like a proper gentleman, not that he gave a single shit where he was as long as it was with you. You put him far too out of his element for him to get creative with his date idea, so instead he pulls every last cliche out of the book and piles it on you. He holds the door open for you and pulls your chair out and orders wine for you because he doesn’t have a clue how to tell you that you turn him into sugar bubbles floating on warm cocoa but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to show you.

So evening after evening he finds himself leaving work just a little earlier each day. He spends less time in poorly lit grocery stores and more time loitering at the open farmer’s market under the real sun, perusing lazily amongst the various produce and trinkets because why not? He starts wearing pink and stripes and maybe a polka-dot shirt because he starts to realize that the world has so much beauty in it and all things beautiful remind him of you. He waits a little longer to shave his face so he can hear that ethereal symphony of giggles play from your throat when he uses his scruff to scratch against your soft shoulder. You start showing up in his life in places that you don’t even exist and filling his odd corners with a pretty white glow.

He lets little things bring him joy; your tongue wetting your lips when you’re deciding where to eat for the night, your neck craning to look up at him from the couch when he walks through your door, the way the stacks of student papers that rest on your kitchen island are always different sizes.  Your tongue tapping his skin when you lay a lingering kiss to his face. Your lipgloss sticking to his tricep when you don’t feel like getting up to kiss his lips, leaving a shimmer on his skin that he never wipes away. Your feather fingers sweeping his torso and turning his skin to cotton candy. The fumes of pencil lead and your perfume choking his lungs when he buries his face into your neck and breathes you in. And every fucking time you call him cute, adorable, pretty, beautiful, baby. All of those forbidden words that you dare to use in vain, courageously sacrilegious considering how he worships you, create more little cracks inside of him.

Horacio may not know how to communicate, but he knows you. He knows which compliments make you turn the reddest. He gets you your favorite artists’ CDs imported from America. He shows up at your door with your favorite pastry from your new favorite cafe. He hugs you from behind and peppers kisses down the column of your throat because it makes you giggle. He flutters his fingers where you’re ticklish until you’re so overstimulated that tears form. He cooks meals for you, insisting that all you can do to help is sit on the counter and look pretty for him. He kisses you deeply, so hard and intimate that the two of you are breathing the same air and taste the same. He does everything he can to make you smile for him because in return he gets called a “beautiful boy” and “my sweet soldier” and an “angel,” all words that send him beyond the stars and spin his head like a top until all he can think to do is giggle.

Passed weeks turn into a month, a month becomes two, and before he knows it he’s twice the man he used to be with you filling in half of him. Horacio is still, however, a man adorned with flaws. And with each moment that you occupy, he starts to really collect cracks. The powerful resolve that keeps him from ever admitting that he’s absolutely gone for you becomes compromised because you are powerful. Without even trying, your soft voice is like a wrecking ball to his defenses, breaking him down as you probe into what you call the “pretty parts” of him that he hides. But you don’t have the first clue what he’s hiding.

Horacio is not a man without emotions. He gets angry and frustrated, but those kinds of emotions sit at his surface, above his armed fortress. He can let them all out in his work through stony grimaces and raised voices and guns and fists. But he also feels sorrow, regret, shame. So much shame. These emotions are unsightly black and blue dents in the soft, fragile mush that sits at the very core of him. Under his walls are wounds still wide open and full of splinters, gushing blood and pus, septic and untreated. And they fucking hurt. So he gathers them all together along with his love, his adoration and sweetness, and ices them over, freezes them away and covers them in layer after layer of concrete until he can barely even remember that they’re there.

But he’s starting to feel again.

His fondness for you is explosive and wild, greedy for your affection. But he’s afraid. He knows you adore him, because you are brave. You can speak your feelings into existence and not feel like something inside you has fractured. But Horacio is a coward. He can’t say he loves you, he can’t love you. He knows that if he did, his filthy rotting core would be unleashed and he’d feel an agony worse than anything he’s ever subjected anyone to. But you’re leaving him full of cracks, making him weak and vulnerable in the security of your arms, and he doesn’t think you could hold all of him together if he was truly unleashed. He thinks you might realize how much of a lost cause he is and leave him on the side of the road to bleed out.

The last crack you leave in him is so small, you don’t even notice.

He sits next to you on your couch, your head tucked into his neck as a shitty telenovela radiates through the thick glass of your TV set. Neither of you say anything because you don’t need to be talking to feel comfortable with each other, so you don’t notice how he hasn’t glanced at the TV in 15 minutes. He can’t take his eyes off of you, hermosa, the puny glow of Rodrigo telling Lucia that “it’s not what it looks like” barely doing your face justice. He notices each pore on your face, the curve of your jaw and the bridge of your nose forming sweeping lines that sculpt your face, and he knows he is so utterly fucked. He knows he’s so dangerously in love with you.

He only blinks when you yawn softly, those lines contorting as you scrunch your face. He relaxes a little as you move to sit up, leaning forward to grab the remote from the coffee table and blindly turning the TV off as the preview for the next episode plays. He fills to the brim with amazement as you stretch your back, letting out a gentle squeal. Now it’s just that antique lamp on the edge of your couch illuminating the room, and it’s still not enough light. Nothing is ever bright enough when you’re there to rival it.

“It’s late, baby,” you whisper, a sleepy rasp scraping your voice a little as you look up at him with a rosy smile. You reach up to run a hand through his dark hair, taking care to let your fingers caress his scalp. “You can stay if you want,” you offer, as he’s stayed the night before. “I sleep better with you anyway.” Crack.

“Cariño,” he breathes, his features turning pained as his lip begins to quiver like never before. “Cariño I love you.”

Horacio crumbles in your hands.

Like a mound of brown sugar after it’s poured, the dome losing its form as it slowly collapses, grains dragging over each other as they sink to the bottom of the bowl and the dome is destroyed. No longer held together by tight, sticky molasses and instead a helpless, feeble puddle too broken down to be considered a shape anymore. Just a pathetic sea of lost particles, helpless in putting itself back together. He falls apart right in front of you.

He feels tears that are years old begin to flow down his cheeks, falling off his chin and onto the baby blue cloth of his too-tight shirt. He is completely unprotected, every last defense around that shapeless, dark flesh inside him falling to dust as you hold it in your kind hands. Your arms are quick to wrap around his head, bringing his face to your chest where he is safe. He’s never been more raw and vulnerable in his life, and yet he’s never felt more secure.

He bares his soul to you. He chokes on his words as he gushes his dried, brown blood onto your cotton skin and you soak up every ounce of him. He tells you he is ashamed, that he is remorseful, that he is afraid. And you listen, skin absorbing him in until you’ve got him enveloped in your big, beautiful heart. And whereas every touch used to break him down, your fingertips are now healing him, building him back up and reshaping him into something better than what he was. He can feel his scars begin to heal and the pain begin to dull as an intense awe for you overcomes him.

He knows you can’t just fix him with your fairy dust overnight. He knows he will need time to restore himself from beast to man. But fuck if he doesn’t want to do it with you, can’t do it without you.

You’ve led him towards your bed, undressing him slowly because you know that he just needs to breathe and feel the air cool his irritated skin. Once you’re both down to your underclothes, you’re careful in letting him onto the mattress. You sit down first, leaning back against the pillow, and then you sweetly tug on his arm to join you. He dives into your body head first, face nosing into your neck as his big arms wrap around your midsection. You reach for your softest blanket, enveloping the two of you in the added warm as his breaths begin to even out against your chest. He feels you wrap your arms around his head again, for the second time reminding him that he is safe.

He can feel his emotions getting the best of himself again as you whisper sweet nothings into his hair, telling him how strong and brave he is, how beautiful his soul is now that he’s really showing it to you. His muscles melt into you as you take those fragments of him and begin to piece them back together, filling the cracks you’d made with your marshmallow fluff and liquid gold.

He feels warm again as you call him your “baby,” and this time he doesn’t try to run away from it. He embraces it, leans into it. He was being protected by bones and bricks, but now it’s by honeycomb and delicate flesh. Horacio finally starts to feel like he’s beautiful because you’re letting him borrow yours. And as long as you’ll have him, he’s willing to share.

[damn-stark]

Lightning

Thor Odinson x Odinsdottir!reader, Loki Laufeyson x Odinsdottir!reader (platonic)

Summary: After the death of your brother Loki, and Frigga, things in Asgard change drastically, just like your father. Where he was once cold and distant before, now he’s caring and attentive. And you didn’t mind his change, in fact you loved that he had this new time for you, yet when you find out the truth behind his actions, how will you react?

Warning- Fluff, slight angst

———-

“This is stupid.” You groan as you kick the mirror back and fall back in your seat.

“What did that poor mirror do to you?”

At the sound of your fathers voice you throw your head up and turn to see him standing by your doorway. It was a surprise for sure, but you knew how to react by his sudden appearance.

You stand up and straighten out your shoulders, offering him a small smile. “Father.”

Said man walks into your room and picks up your mirror, standing beside it and keeping his attention on you. “What’s wrong?”

“I,” you blink, keeping your gaze on him for a brief second and silently questioning his behavior before sitting back down and refocusing on your appearance. “I can’t do my braid, it’s hard,” you sigh, feeling your smile fall, “without mother here I can’t seem to do it. I also don’t like when the handmaidens touch my hair, and Thor isn’t here to help, and Loki...is gone too. So I can’t do my braid.”

“I can help you.” Your father suddenly offers.

“Are you sure?” You ask unsurely, watching as he made his way behind you. “Aren’t you busy?”

“I can make some time,” he says as he begins to braid your hair, peeking your curiosity even more.

You don’t question it, you find it odd that he’s been so attentive lately, so involved with your days, but again, you don’t want to question it. You actually like receiving his attention. It was a good change.

“Father, do you know when Thor will be returning?”

Through his reflection from the mirror in front of you, you see him shrug and briefly lift his gaze to look at you before focusing back on your hair. “No, it seems after the dark elves attacked he hardly tells me anything. Why bored of me already?”

You narrow your gaze on his reflection, but you dont think to get too deep into what was going on. “No, it’s just I find myself bored most of the day after school, and well after mother and Loki died he always tried to make time to do something with me.”

“Do you miss Loki?”

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

“Even after all he did? All the terrible things he’s caused?”

You sigh and look down at your hands and create sparks of lightning between your fingers. “Loki was always nice to me, he never did the things to me that he did to, Thor. Plus, mother always said never to think of him badly,” you pause and close your fist, feeling your eyes sting with tears whilst going unaware of your “fathers” stunned pause after your comment. “So, yes I miss my brother.”

Your father clears his throat and goes back to finishing your braid in silence, patting your shoulder to signal you that he was done. When you stand up and lift your gaze to examine the braid, you gasp and feel those salty tears you withheld roll down your cheeks.

“What? Did it come out wrong?” Your father queries.

You reach for your braid and gently run your fingers down it, responding in an almost breathless manner. “It’s how Loki would braid my hair.” You turn around to face your father and you offer him a short, sweet smile. “Thank you, father.” You move to your desk and grab your things to go to class, stopping at your doorway and looking over your shoulder. “I’m going to go to class now, I’ll see you at dinner.”

Just as you turn to leave, he stops you. “Wait. Do you want to skip class today and do something else?”

“Uh,” you part your lips, spinning on your heels to face him still in your room. “But you always say learning is the fundamental of being a good princess.” You tilt your head and narrow your gaze on his face, searching it for any sign of trick.

“Well,” he shrugs as he slowly makes his way to you. “Learning magic is the fundamental of becoming a good princess too and then even better when you become queen.”

You scoff and manage an amused grin. “Queen?”

“Why yes, after I die who will rule Asgard?”

“Thor,” you respond.

Your father clasps his hands on his back and falls beside you, shaking his head as he’s quick to correct your answer. “What if I don’t want it to be, Thor? You my sweet si—daughter, will make a perfect fit to be queen, with your powers and knowledge. That’s why learning magic is beneficial.” He puts his hand on your shoulder and turns you around to walk off with you at his side. “What do you know about magic?”

“Not so much,” you shrug, “just a bit of what Loki and Frigga taught me.”

“Don’t you want to learn more?” Your father presses as he guides you out of the golden castle. “Just imagine with your powers and magic combined, you’d be powerful.”

Perhaps you should question his behavior deeper, really just think about what he was proposing—learning magic from your father?

But that part of you that felt your fathers negligence in the past loved the attention he was recently giving you. You desired to be loved by him like he loved Thor. So that’s why you didn’t want to question this strange new behavior.

You smile widely and finally come to an easy agreement. “Okay I want to learn more magic.”

“Good,” your father pats your shoulder, guiding you to the green gardens outside. “First let’s see your power, what’s your highest running record now?”

“Forty-five seconds.”

“Hmm,” your father hums as he parts away and stops you both in your tracks, stepping to the side to stand before you. “Have you tried incorporating your lightning when you run? It'd be like when you travel with your lightning from one place to another; it’s instantaneous and happens in a blink of an eye, right?”

“Right,” you nod whilst you place your books down. “How come I’ve never tried that before?”

“Try it,” your father insists.

With a newborn eagerness to impress your father before you, you summon lightning and do a quick outfit change, feeling a new surge of happiness within you at this moment. Albeit a small hint of doubt sparked in your brain. You began to stretch and didn’t fail to question what irked you. “Father, are you not busy? I just mean, lately all you’ve done is been with...me.”

Your father walks back to stay at a safe distance from you when you run, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging, “well is it a crime spending time with my only daughter.” He finishes with an almost nervous chuckle. “Anyways stop thinking too much about it and break that record so we can get to teaching you magic.”

You stand up straight and nod apprehensively, getting into a running stance and then looking at him one last time to see him point his head in the way you were going to run. That single gesture sets you off to super speed your way through your usual running coarse, but this time unlike the other using lightning like your father suggested and finding that it gave you an incredible boast. Even the way you saw your surroundings was different, before you would only see the same greenery, the great blue water and beautiful green lush forest; now you saw lightning, it was like traveling through the Bifrost.

And regarding your personal running record, it did wonders to it.

Once you returned to your previous spot you saw your father smiling at you for what seemed to be the first time in ages. “Good job, y/n. You got twenty-five seconds off your previous record!”

At first you’re confused on how to take his positive feedback, his appreciation that you just stare at him dumb-struck and in slight awe. It isn’t until much later do you find your right reaction; you beam at him and utter, “thank you, father.”

——

“Oh, brother. This is it. I take my leave.”

“You fool, you didn’t listen!”

Tears fill your eyes and you wipe away the tears that had already rolled down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

“Lady Sif, get help!”

“Somebody help!”

Yeah, you didn’t really agree with that slight part, Lady Sif was a spectacular warrior and deserved more than that part in the play. But nonetheless it was just play.

“I’m sorry for all I’ve done.”

“Shh. It’s all right. Hold on.”

“I’m sorry I tried to rule earth.”

“They’d be lucky to have you.”

“I’m sorry about that thing with the Tesseract. I just couldn’t help myself. I'm a trickster.”

“Yes. So mischievous.”

“I’m sorry about that time I turned you into a frog.”

You yawn and lean back in your seat, grabbing a piece of fruit and throwing it in your mouth as you continue to watch the play, crying one last time when fake Thor cries out, after that you grew bored and watched as the play ended. Once it was you jumped to your feet to attempt to leave, but then at your side you saw the real Thor.

When he noticed that you saw him, he smiled and waved and you followed by speeding towards him, instantly getting welcomed by a hug. “Hello, sister.”

“Thor! You’re finally back!” You beamed up at him.

“Yes, for a more permanent stay this time.” He informed you as you parted away, drifting his gaze to your father now. “Father.”

“Uh, my son, Thor, has returned!” Your father announced, “greetings my boy.”

The crowd around clapped and Thor seemed to be unamused by this whole ordeal. “This is an interesting play, what's it called?”

“The tragedy of Loki of Asgard. The people wanted to commemorate him.”

That’s very doubtful, considering what he did.

“Ah, indeed they should. I like the statue. A lot better looking then he was when he was alive, though. A little less weaselly, less greasy, maybe.” Thor continued making your father laugh nervously and made you just look at him amused and confused. “Do you know what this is?” Thor asked as he lifted the huge Skull in his hand.

“The skull of Surtur. That’s a formidable weapon!”

Thor proceeds to hand the skull to a guard, “do me a favor. Lock this away in a vault so it doesn’t turn into a giant monster and destroy the whole planet.” Thor walks forward and gestures you to follow him.

“Thank you, dear. Um, so it’s back to Midgard for you, is it?” Your father questioned Thor, gaining your full unwavered attention even if he had answered that to you already.

“Nope.” Thor answered as he threw his hammer up and then caught it with ease. “You know I’ve been having this reoccurring dream lately. Every night, I see Asgard fall into ruins.”

“That’s just a silly dream,” your father turned Thor down, “signs of an overactive imagination.”

“Possibly.” Thor quipped, “but then I decided to go out there and investigate. And what do I find, but the nine Realms completely in chaos.” Thor repeats his previous action with his hammer and gets closer to your father. “Enemies of Asgard assembling, plotting our demise all while you, Odin, the protector of those Nine Realms are sitting here in your bathrobe, eating grapes.”

When you look at your father you notice that he appears quite nervous, it was strange, very strange, but considersing that Thor wasn’t amused and appeared threatening, you stayed silent.

“Yes, it is best to respect our neighbors’ freedom.”

“Yes, of course the freedom to be massacred.” Thor throws his hammer forward, frightening the crowd and puzzling you even more.

“Yes,” your father tries to excuse himself and his negligence, “besides I’ve been rather busy myself.”

“Watching theater.” Thor remarks.

“Well, raising a teenage daughter, board meetings and security council meetings.”

“You’re really going to make me do it?” Thor quips, receiving just a simple question from your father before Thor throws his hammer far and walks behind your father, to threaten him. “You know nothing will stop Mjolnir, as it returns to my hand. Not even your face.”

“Thor!” You call frighteningly, receiving a quick smug answer.

“Watch this, sister.”

“You’ve gone quite mad. Y/N, stop him. You’ll be executed for this.”

“Then I’ll see you on the other side, brother.”

Your eyes widen and you freeze in your spot, keeping your gaze stuck on the pair beside you and gasping as your father transforms into Loki.

“But,” you try to question through your confusion, “but…” you pause and Loki turns to you, trying to approach you as you stay frozen and in disbelief with tears filling your eyes. “You...lied.”

“Y/N, I can explain.”