#and desperately hoping her fever didn’t get higher

[spocksgotemotions]

been having a Lot of thoughts about working in childcare lately. Like I love my job. I love the kids I work with. I love most of my coworkers. But sometimes it’s just So Emotionally Exhausting. These are babies! Their parents should be better.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Study Buddy 4

Warnings:this series will include dark elements which may include bullying, noncon or dubcon, or violent behaviour. Mind the warnings.

Summary: a group project leads to a tense partnership.

Character: Walter Marshall

Big thanks to those who read! Feedback always helps inspire and you know I’m always happy to chat about possibilities! Please reblog and comment ❤️

“She’s sleeping, fever’s still there,” you say as you ease the door shut behind you. 

As you come down the hall, Walter puts his phone away. He sighs. His curls are mussed from his stressed ruffling. He looks even more grumpy than usual. At least, what you know to be his usual. 

“Right,” he sighs. “Just called the captain...” 

“Captain? You military?” You ask before you can stop yourself. 

“Detective. Left the force a while back,” he sniffs. “I can’t exactly call in, you know?” 

You nod awkwardly. You’re not sure what to do and you know better than to say anything. He barely appreciates your opinions on fiction, let alone his life decisions. 

“You know, when she was a kid. A real kid, small one, I'd put her in the back seat with her teddy and blanket. Drive her around with me. She slept like a rock...” he shakes his head. “It’s too cold and she’s too sick. Too big for that now.” 

You fold your hands behind you. You don’t feel too bad for him, but you feel awful for Faye. She’s old enough to take care of herself but she’s in such a state, she should be left to. 

“Well, I don’t work tomorrow. I could—uh, I just realised how presumptuous--” 

“What?” He asks desperately. “You’ll stay with her?” 

His expression changes in an instant. Hope, concern, the face of a father. You nod. 

“Sure, I could,” you shrug. “I mean, I’ll keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t get worse.” 

“Really?” He asks. 

“She’s really sick,” you say. “And I mean, you’re a cop. That’s a hell of a lot more important than what I do. Oh, I’ll even finish the report. A draft of course, I'll let you edit out all my mistakes.” 

He nods and scratches his beard, “hm, alright. I guess... you don’t got any priors and you look harmless enough.” 

“Wait? You don’t trust me?” 

“I just said--” 

“Priors? Did you... Did you look into me?” 

“If I’m going to bring someone into my house, I’m doing a background check,” he says nonchalantly. “Don’t worry, you passed.” 

“I’m not so sure about that. I pocketed a tootsie roll at the corner shop when I was eight. Maybe I should just go--” 

“I was just being safe. She’s my daughter,” he insists. 

“I know, I look like a criminal,” you go and grab your bag. 

“Please--” 

“Relax, I’m not going anywhere. Faye didn’t run a search on me,” you say. “I’m just grabbing my phone charger.” 

“Oh, right,” he drawls. 

“So uh, I’ll just work on that paper then. You probably gotta get ready soon, huh?” 

“Right about now, yeah,” he grumbles and rubs behind his ear.  

“Cool, I’ll get back to it,” you go to the table and plug the cord into the outlet behind the chair.  

You plug in your cell then turn the laptop towards you. You pay Walter no mind as you review the paragraphs he added in your absence. Or you try not to notice him. He looms and you feel the heat of his gaze on you, for about a minute before he disappears down the hall. 

You focus on your task. You might as well get the report out of the way. Faye won’t sleep very long. You can’t let her either. You have to make sure that fever doesn’t get any higher. You’re no nurse or anything but you know that at least. Writers do tend to have peculiar search histories. Even aspiring ones. 

The night promises you little rest. You’re a bit disappointed. You hope for a break to refresh a bit. You can’t be too upset, you should feel lucky you’re not sick as a dog. 

Walter returns. He smells like pine and mint. He moves around the kitchen wordlessly. He opens a few cupboard before nearing the table. 

“Kid likes grape soda, there’s lots in the fridge. Some mac and cheese in the cupboard if you feel up to it,” he offers. 

“No problem. I think I’ll probably just finish this then deal with my other assignments. More than enough to last the night,” you assure him. “Uh...” you sit back and look at him. “Good luck?” 

His brows furrow, “thanks. Well, I’ll be off. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Sure,” you agree and go back to typing. 

He grunts and stomps off. He rustles around in the entryway as you try to concentrate on the half-finished sentence before you. Even as the door shuts and the lock grinds, you find it hard to add anything. This is weird. You definitely didn’t expect this. 

Another hour and you call it quits. It’s good enough. Besides, he will be sure to make it perfect. At least, to his standard. 

You get up and stretch. You pace around restlessly then go to check on Faye. You were never much of a babysitter. The few times you did so, you felt wildly incapable. You tap on the door before you enter. 

She’s awake but groggy. You touch her forehead. She’s still hot but not feverish. You’re relieved. You bring her some more water then leave her to rest some more. 

Your keep your ears pricked as you go back to the kitchen table. You open up another course and work your way through the lesson. It won’t be so bad if you can even get ahead of schedule. 

You cup your chin as your eyes turn fuzzy. You blink and make your vision clear. You can do this. There’s nothing else you can do. You gotta make it through the night, make sure Faye is okay. With how Walter gets about novels, you can’t imagine what would happen if you failed at this. 

You yawn and rub your temples as you try to shake some life into yourself. You get through the lesson and submit your discussion response. You go into the assignment then start to plot out your project. The clock ticks by. 

Nine turns into midnight before you stop again. You stand and jump around, getting your blood going. You look in on Faye again. She needs tissue and tea. Does he not have any honey? You leave that with her as she scrolls dully through Tiktok. 

In the kitchen, you stare at the blinking cursor. You don’t get much done. Your brain clogs with molasses. Your eyelids droop. 2am. You blink. 2:07. Blink. 2:22. 

You don’t realise you're asleep until you wake up. The smell of coffee tickles your nose and draws your head up with a gasp. You wipe the drool from your cheek and feel the imprint of the table’s edge on your skin. You bat away the glossiness in your eyes as Walter stands on the other side of the laptop. 

“Oh, hi.” 

“Morning,” he says as he puts down one of the plain paper cups. “Coffee.” 

“Uh, thanks,” you glance at the cup. “Er... Faye’s fever broke. I think she’s feeling better. I must have... must have dozed off.” 

“That’s fine,” he says. 

“So I guess...” you stand and close your laptop. “I should get out of your hair. Finally.” 

“No hurry. If you need to sleep, there’s the couch,” he offers. You hesitate. You look at him and his cheek ticks. “What?” 

“Hm? Nothing. That’s nice of you.” 

“I can be nice.” 

“I didn’t say--” you begin to argue. “I know. Thanks for the coffee.” 

You wrap up your charging cord and scoop up your phone and laptop, balancing the cup in your other hand. You turn and groan at the stiffness in your hips. Oof, those chairs are not forgiving. 

He follows you like a shadow as you head for the door. “I am nice,” he insists. 

You look up as you put the cup on the corner table and pack up your bag, “I know. First draft is done.” 

He huffs. “Thank you.... you know, for keeping an eye on her.” 

“Oh, it’s no problem,” you assure him as you go to pull on your shoe, only to nearly tip over. “Oomph.” 

“Look, you shouldn’t go right away. I can see you’re beat, so why don’t you get a few hours in. Buses don’t come out this way more than once an hour before ten.” 

You look at him again. He crosses his arms, his thick chest bulging beneath. Is he suggesting or commanding? It’s hard to tell with him. And you are exhausted. 

“I don’t want to bother.” 

“If it was a bother, I wouldn’t offer,” he retorts. 

“Oh, of course, I guess...” 

“I’ll get you a blanket,” he spins and marches off before you can finish your sentence. You never said yes. 

[outarizaki]

Lovesick. — Levi Ackerman.

SYNOPSIS: In a world infested with mindless, horrendous human-chomping titans, you’d never expected that Levi taking care of you was how you’d go out.

WC: 2.3k

PAIRING: Levi Ackerman x Reader

GENRE: Fluff

A/N: this is my first time writing for levi/aot in general and just overall my first time in a long time from doing creative writing i hope you guys like it!

In truth, Winter has never been your most favorite time of the year.

After all, those delicious hot meals, thick blankets, and cozy naps by the fireplace always came with a price for you every single year, wherein the same chilly weather that granted you those several pleasures only betrayed you and bit you in the ass annually, reeling you in again and again for recurring nightmarish sicknesses.

For as long as you remember, you’ve never fared well with such drastic change in weather. Ever since you were a little girl, your fevers were sky high enough to make your mother lose at least a year off her life with every time they checked your temperature around the dreaded season.

Thus even now, as a distinguished and mighty cadet in the Scout Regiment, there you lay, thrashing in wrinkled sheets with a spiking fever of 103° Fahrenheit.

It was quite an unraveling series of events. Perhaps you should have let it be known much earlier to your squad and superiors.

Maybe they would have taken your sudden, voracious collapse against a blushing Jean in the mess hall a little less seriously.

You could still recall those same goofy shrieks of surprise from your squad members with a grin. The look on Connie’s face was absolutely priceless.

But as you stared up at the ceiling, sweat beading at your hairline and mouth clammy with dehydration, your mind could only render and wring out the possible reactions that could have emitted from your Captain Levi.

Ever since you joined the squad, you’d been naturally drawn and fond of him. His cold demeanor seemed to be just a thin layer between a complex personality, and as much as you hated to admit, you desperately, secretly wanted to claw underneath that sheen.

It started with one sleepless night in which you brought yourself to the kitchen to rid yourself of your heavy mind with a book, only to find your captain sitting idly with a cup of tea.

You remembered the first encounter, how you babbled apologies like some sort of nitwit and he scowled and waved you off, uttering an, “it’s not like I own the damn room, quit being an idiot and do what you need,” before you dejectedly nodded and took a seat with a book just some feet away from him.

The insomnia seemed to grow only more and more, and a few more awkward nightly greetings later, it became a routine. He slowly began to acknowledge you, humming short replies and holding small talks every now and then.

Then on the field and during training he mindlessly complimented you. In his own way, of course.

A grumble of, “you didn’t get killed,” or, “you didn’t look like complete shit out there,” were some hearty examples of that.

Time went on as you began to loosen up even more around the squad, shamelessly poking fun at your members and joking around with them constantly. Even berating the Captain every now and then with snarky remarks that earned hesitant chuckles and gasps from your team, and even sometimes, if you looked really closely, a smirk from the Captain himself.

So with your poor little heart, ready to yearn, there was a spark of fondness towards him. One you wish would smother before it fanned out even more.

Damn him.

You wondered what he had thought when he saw you faint atop of Jean, that poor boy. How ridiculous you must have looked. How humiliating it must have been.

“God, I could die,” you groan aloud and fling your body on your side, hands coming to grasp at the roots of your scalp.

“That is quite an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

That voice. Speak of the devil.

Instantly, you spring up to meet his gunmetal gaze, hissing at the speed that caused your brain to seemingly rattle in your head with fatigue.

He tsks his tongue, brows furrowing together in an unamused manner as he walks towards the table across your bed. You swallow gently, gaze averting to the tray he holds with a small teapot, one teacup, and liquid medicine. You grimace.

“Oi...” Levi begins without looking back at you. You look to his stature expectantly. “You look like shit,” he says, finally twisting his torso to lock with your gaze.

A breathy, sarcastic laugh escapes your lips.

“Gee, you have such a way with words, Captain Suave,” you croak out with a roll of your eyes before easing your posture, allowing yourself to slouch.

“Don’t call me that.”

With his back faced to you once more, Levi feigns an aggravated grumble, yet the ghost of a grin still resides on his face. You watch in silence as he begins to move around the things on the tray.

You take your time to drink in the sight. His raven undercut, bangs slightly covering his handsome face, his white button-up rolled up at the sleeves showing off his veiny forearms, his black pants and leather shoes, the look of faint concentration on his sculpted face as he pours the contents of the teapot into the cup... and God, his hands. So slender and delicate, his fingers nice and long and—

Shit. What are you doing?

You take a deep breath and compose yourself in time before he turns at you again, bored look on his face as he approaches you with a cup of tea and the tiny bottle of medicine.

“Never thought I’d have to babysit one of my most promising Cadets,” Levi drawls out, handing you the teacup. Your fingers graze against his as you accept it, breath hitching in your throat slightly.

You fight off the gooey feeling by occupying yourself with his crude words.

Scoffing, you take a small sip of your tea, only to frown at the feeling of hotness. Levi’s brow arches in question.

“Who said you had to, Captain?” You say softly. “You’re busy. Why didn’t you ask Sasha to come instead? She would have brought me some good food, too.”

“Stolen you food, you mean. And what? You don’t like my tea?” He husks out, to which you perk up in realization.

Quickly, you shake your head to deny his question. “The tea is lovely. But I’m pretty sure my body is hotter than that teapot, and quite frankly the warmth feels suffocating,” you preach.

“Plus, you’re busy. And I look — indecent. You said it yourself,” you whisper the last part shyly, gulping down another sip of tea.

Levi feels taken aback. Surely you hadn’t taken offense to his comment, right? Brat, he thinks to himself.

“Tea is good for when you’re sick. You’re nauseated. Did you expect us to give you some sweet or cold crap while you have a fever?” He says sharply, squinting slightly.

You chuckle a bit at that.

Waving your hand, you grumble. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” you roll your eyes.

“Quit rolling your eyes at me.”

“Quit giving me a reason to.”

“Oh, you want me to give you a reason to roll your eyes back, Cadet?”

Your gaze widens and you feel yourself choke on your tea.

Your arm bolts to set your cup onto the nightstand and you glare up at him. You swear you see the faintest hint of amusement glint in those stupid grey eyes of his.

Suddenly, you’re feeling a little too hot. And you’re sure it’s not your fever.

Levi raises his brows, unimpressed as he leans forward. Slowly, he brings his hand to your forehead and presses his cold fingers against you. You feel your heart stutter in your chest, holding in your breath.

“You’re burning up.”

Wow, I wonder why.

“Yea? Tell me about it. I’m literally feeling all of it as we speak, old man.”

He clicks his tongue in irritation, straightening his back before jolting his arm at you with the bottle expectantly. “You’re better off holding your tongue, Cadet. Now take your medicine.”

Your face scrunches up. He narrows his eyes as you cross your arms and look elsewhere.

“L/N.”

“No.”

“Now.”

“No! It tastes gross.”

His eye twitches at your defiance.

“God, this is like talking to a little kid. Take it or I swear-“

“No.”

“Take the damn medicine. And that’s an order, Cadet.”

You look up at him with a scowl. Hesitantly, you take the bottle before unscrewing it, taking your sweet time until finally you down it reluctantly.

Meanwhile, your Captain stands with his arms crossed, albeit satisfied that you finally listened.

Once it goes down your throat, you gag slightly.

“God, this shit is vile-“

“Language.”

“It’s worse than what we usually take! What is this?”

“Higher grade medicine. I had to ask Erwin and a few of the nurses for even just that small dosage, you damn brat. I need you back on your feet ASAP.”

You blink. He went through trouble just to get you medicine? A fond grin starts to stretch on your lips.

“Thank y-“

“Don’t thank me. It’s my job to keep my Cadets at their best,” he practically half-lies through his teeth.

Oh. Right.

You nod, that fluttery feeling slightly dampening at his words. Of course. You’re just a young woman in his squad. His subordinate.

Levi notices. He doesn’t say anything.

“Now get some rest. I’ll clean up your room. It’s filth in here,” He scrunches his nose.

“Maybe ‘cause I’m sick, smarta- I mean, Captain,” you slur drowsily as you plop down onto the pillows. Whatever you took, it was strong.

The look on his face affirms he didn’t take lightly to your potential word vomit, though he allows to let it slide, much to your favor.

Levi groans, tidying up the teacups and the pile of clothes by the baskets, as well as the used bedsheets. He stops to think what in the hell he’s doing, going out of his way to care for one soldier.

He chalks it up to it simply being a better option than the inevitable mountains of paperwork he has to face later. That was it. Right?

A moderate amount of time had passed until he was satisfied with what he’d done. Levi’s eyes avert to your tiny figure on the bed. Laying flat on your back, arms sprawled beside your head, a dreamy smile on your lips.

The man walks up beside your bed. When you suddenly shift your head towards him, he startles a bit.

A breathy, twinkly giggle leaves your mouth as you look up at him. Levi swears he can feel his heartbeat in his ears.

You pout playfully, pointing an accusatory finger up at him. “Stalker. Are you here to watch me sleep?” You say almost so incoherently, Levi isn’t sure you’re speaking a language.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips at your change of demeanor. So out of character, even for you.

The pout on your lips soon curves into a sleepy grin of your own, and your eyes gloss over with something that makes your Captain’s breath hitch in his throat.

Such gentle, comforting fondness.

When you urge him to get closer, he obliges, slightly bending over your figure despite the rouge in his cheeks. Levi holds his breath as you reach up, fingers threading through his bangs to pull them back.

“You’re pretty when you smile, you know?” You whisper gently, the smile never fading from your obviously far-gone face. “Such a handsome boy.”

Heat rises even more to Levi’s face and he gulps thickly as he watches your arms begin to drop, eyelids following soon after.

A delighted, snoozing hum releases from your throat, and only then does Levi allow himself to breathe.

His eyes glance over you once more.

Soft cheeks, pretty eyes, long eyelashes. The tank top on your torso still allowing you to look like the most stunning thing he’s ever seen. The unruly bed-head hair that sat messily, yet still appearing soft to the touch, making him want to rake his fingers through. Your soft lips, still stuck in that smile. Your flushed face.

Levi sighs dreamily and defeatedly. He brings his hand up to pat at the top of your head.

“Shitty girl,” he says underneath his breath, voice cracking like that of a young boy with an unwavering crush. “You look — decent.”

His brows knit together even more as he thinks it over, finally sighing gently.

“You’re much prettier, Y/N,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

Levi then exits your room, his face still hot with fluster, hands shoved into his pockets, and the giddy feeling in his heart still reigning supreme.

And at the corner of the hall reside the Levi Squad members, spying from afar.

“You owe me your next lunch, Connie. I told you they liked each other!”

“Shut up before he hears you!” Jean scolds quietly.

“Oi,” a voice sounds from behind them unexpectedly.

They all freeze. Their blood turns cold. Armin is sure he’s as good as dead.

“Give me fifty laps outside. All of you. Now.”

“Not bad after feeling shitty for so long,” Levi nods at you as you return from combat training for the day.

You smile brightly, eyes twinkling as you catch your breath.

“Mhm. All because of you. Thanks for-“

“Don’t thank me.”

“I said,” you say firmly. “Thank you for taking care of me. You didn’t have to.”

Levi can only sigh and nod. “Sure.”

You beam at that, beginning to stride past him, before stopping midway.

“Oh, and Captain?” You begin.

He grunts in response, slightly turning your way with that same stoic expression.

“For the record,” you hum sweetly. “I think you’re the prettiest.”

And with that you walk away with a proud smirk, leaving Humanity’s Strongest with a pounding heart and the reddest cheeks mankind has ever seen.

[hockeyboysiguess]

a partridge in a pear tree -> a jersey under the tree | b. boeser

a/n: happy december 1st everyone and welcome to the first day of 12 days of christmas! as a reminder here is the whole list. these will be posted every other day through christmas eve. this one is where this whole thing started, a gift for my bestie bae, the apple to my peanut butter forever, @brockadoodles​​. i hope you like it most of all!

word count: 3,740

wine drink pairing recommendation: hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows

warnings: pregnancy. some seriously wholesome content.

You took a deep breath and pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, then pushed them back up again when you started pulling at the threads at the edge. Your sweater didn’t deserve to take the brunt of your stress in that moment. You bounced your foot up and down nervously instead as you waited what had to have been the longest three, absolutely agonizing minutes of your life. When the timer on your phone went off, you lurched forward to grab it, turning it off, as your other hand reached for the small, plastic test. You took a deep, centering breath before glancing down at the word in the small window.

Pregnant. 

You were actually pregnant. You knew everything had felt wrong for a few weeks now, food didn't taste the same or sit right, you were absolutely exhausted all of the time, and you had snapped at Brock a time or two for well-meaning actions. You knew something was wrong, but your mom had been the one to have to tell you to take a test before going to the doctor’s. You had told her it wasn’t possible; you and Brock were doing the opposite of trying since you had only gotten married over the summer. You agreed to wait. That single word, which came with a lifetime behind it, wasn’t in the plan for another few years, but it was here now and it would be your reality in seven short months. 

How were you going to tell Brock? 

You knew he would be overwhelmed, his eyes glazing over as the timeline of his life abruptly shifted forward several years, yanking him right along with it. You knew Brock though; you wouldn’t have married him if you didn’t know him as well as you did. You knew that glazed over look would give way into a smile so broad it practically broke across his face. The waiting a few years, the shattered plan, was mostly you with a dash of Brock trying to make you happy. If you suddenly changed your mind and wanted to try for a baby tomorrow, unnecessary now, he would’ve dragged you to bed that instant. In full truth, your husband had baby fever as soon as he slid the wedding band onto your finger, probably before that really. Brock was going to be over the moon. You didn’t have any doubts about it, you really just needed to get yourself on board with this more than anything, this new timeline. 

You grabbed your phone, fingers hovering over Brock’s name in your contacts. You debated calling him then, letting the nervous words spill out of your mouth, letting him wash away your concerns with words of love and affirmation. But you knew Brock. You knew Brock wanted the cliché, cute surprise. His scavenger hunt of a proposal set the standard for how big news was delivered, a cliché bang of sorts. You were more of a whimper than a bang sort of person, but you could lean into the cliché of it all for him.

Instead of calling him, you dropped your phone into your purse and grabbed your keys, needing to make a last minute trip in order to make this happen before he got home later that day from his road trip for the Christmas break. Two stores and one confused holiday worker later, you had everything you needed for your last minute announcement, letting the excitement of the anticipation of seeing Brock’s happiness calm your nerves in place of him doing it in only the way he knew how. Slowly but surely, as you carefully wrapped everything up, you could feel yourself getting more excited, hands shaking a little as you wrapped. A family with Brock was always the real plan; everything else was secondary, including the timing of it all. 

You and Brock had found each other by chance, a complete accident four years prior to the day actually. A department store the day before Christmas was a terrible place to be, but it was the only place in your area that said they had the last gift you needed before you could head off to spend Christmas with your family. You spotted it in the store, the last one on the shelf, and made a beeline for it. As your hand reached for it, a large hand reached for the item as well, grabbed onto it the same time you did. You both recoiled, and turned to face each other. 

You would have been furious with him if it wasn’t for the everything about him when you saw him. Blond hair peeking out from a gray beanie on his head, blue eyes that reminded you of the sky the morning after a snowstorm, bright and beautiful, and a small baby in his arms who was already reaching out for your hair, even though he didn’t know you at all. 

“Whoa, Easty, don’t grab the pretty girl’s hair,” he laughed as he intercepted the baby’s hand on its way to fist into your hair. “Sorry about Easton. His parents are trying to teach him not to grab, but you can see it’s not going well.”

He readjusted the baby in his arms, hoisting him up a little higher, before continuing, “I’m Brock, by the way, and this is my nephew, Easton.” 

“Um, hi,” you mumbled out, tucking your hair behind your ear as a blush rose to your cheeks as you added your name at the end of your half statement. You had a warmer smile for Easton though. Brock, a terrible name for a cute boy who liked babies to boot, who on the other hand was trying to take your gift that you needed. He was on the naughty list for sure. “Hi there, Easton.”

“I see we like Easton best,” Brock laughed, picking up on the stark difference in the tones you used. “Look, you want that, right?” 

Brock pointed up toward the shelf where the gift you desperately needed sat, taunting you, daring you to reach out and grab it. You nodded in response to Brock, unsure where he could possibly be going with this. 

“How about I let you have that if you’ll grab a drink with me?” Brock asked you, completely stunning you in the middle of a department store in the middle of the holiday season, a lawless place where one should always expect the unexpected. 

“I’m sorry?” you laughed, a look of disbelief clear on your face. 

Brock let a lazy smile roll across his face, “I get a drink with a pretty girl for the price of a Christmas gift for one of my cousins who would probably break it the day after I give it to him? Yeah, I’m coming out on top here, if you say yes.” 

You had said yes and the rest was pretty much history, an accidental meeting led to all of this, so maybe the accidental baby you were carrying just in time for Christmas was just the right thing for the two of you, a nod to your past in the setting up of your future. Just as you finished tying the bow around the box, the front door jingled, the sound instantly followed by barking from Milo and Coolie, and then followed by cooing from your husband at the pups. 

“Hey bud, hey bud. Yeah, Dad missed ya too,” he managed to get out as he was being practically tackled by the pups, like they did whenever he came home. 

You slid the surprise gift under the tree, tucking it in the back, before Brock could notice you were adding one more gift after you said you were done a few days ago. You lifted yourself off the floor, tucking the wrapping paper under the couch to hide it from Brock, as he rounded the corner into the living room. Brock looked at you like he always did, like you were his entire world, like you were his first breath of fresh air he’d had in years, like you were the living embodiment of a Christmas miracle. He shuffled across the floor to wrap his arms around your waist, and you gasped as he lifted you up. He laughed, but you were just panicking that maybe your stomach wasn’t as flat as you thought it was and he was going to find out about the biggest surprise he was ever going to get a little earlier than you wanted. 

“Hey, baby,” he breathed out as he set you back down, tilting his head down in one another motion to capture your lips in a soft kiss. 

“Hey, handsome,” you smiled as you pulled away from his kiss, a hand threading into the long strands of hair at the back of his neck. 

Brock smiled down at you, and gave you another quick kiss before saying, “How were the last couple days? Were the pups good for you? Do I need to be bad cop with them?”

You laughed and shook your head softly, “Brock Boeser, we both know you’re not capable of being the bad cop with anyone, let alone Milo and Coolie.”

Brock was laughing as he kissed your forehead, “Sorry you’re going to have to be the bad guy all the time when we have kids. Whenever that is, no pressure.”

Your heart picked up in your chest and your breath caught in your throat. You tucked your face in his neck to try and hide the expression on your face, letting the ease with which Brock brought up kids calm you. He wanted this baby, even if he didn’t know they existed yet. Your nerves that maybe he wouldn’t want this baby were just misplaced anxiety coming from your own feelings about becoming a parent yourself; they weren’t about him. Brock was here, again, being your perfect partner, comforting you and assuring you, even though he had no idea he was actually doing anything at all. 

Sliding into bed next to him later that night, his heavy arm slung over your stomach made you as nervous as when he picked you up earlier, even though nothing had changed since that afternoon other than everything that had already changed since the morning. Brock kissed your shoulder and relaxed into his pillow, letting his eyes flutter closed. He was out less than a few minutes after closing his eyes, as per usual. Your husband was a creature of habit, and you were about to throw the most welcome wrench into his routines that you ever could. Your nerves had shifted into ones of excitement, of wanting a beautiful thing to happen on the morning of Brock’s favorite holiday. You wanted to see him open that gift. You wanted to see the moment he realized everything was changing, the moment he realized he was going to be a father, the one thing he’d wanted for so long, under the lights of the Christmas tree, and the dawn of a winter Vancouver morning in late December. 

All you had to do to get to that moment was sleep, but it was the one thing that eluded you most of the night. The combination of excitement, nerves, and the fact that this baby seemed to have the goal of making you incredibly nauseous all of the time, all working in tandem to rob you of sleep. You tossed and turned most of the night, and slept terribly when you did manage to sleep, but it was Christmas after all Brock didn’t feel any shame in waking you up when he normally got up. He woke you up with a soft kiss to your shoulder, and a comforting arm around your waist. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he mumbled softly against your shoulder when you stirred. 

“Merry Christmas, husband,” you breathed out and you felt Brock smile against your shoulder. He loved when you called him by his favorite title, his words not yours. “What time is this?” 

Brock laughed lightly against your skin, “Early,” which was what he said when it was before seven thirty in the morning whenever you asked, “but it’s Christmas early, so it’s appropriate today.” 

You groaned, making him laugh deeper in response, “Still not sure how I married an early bird?” 

“But you love meeeee,” he muttered against your skin, voice soft with an edge of youth that perfectly fit the holiday, his days old stubble scratching across your skin as he talked. “And I love you so much.” 

“I do love you,” you smiled as you spoke. “It’s the only reason I can tolerate you waking up this early on days that aren’t Christmas.” 

“Well, today is Christmas, so we’re putting our matching pajamas on. I’ve got Milo if you take Coolie, and we’re opening some presents, baby!” 

One torn set of dog antlers, one discarded set, two embarrassing adult pajama sets Brock loved so much, and two cups of coffee since neither of you could function without it, later, and you and Brock were sat by the Christmas tree together, legs crossed, each with your first present for each other in yours laps. You had an order in mind for Brock’s gifts, saving the last addition, the announcement of your new addition, for last. Brock usually just grabbed whatever was closest to him with your name on it and handed it to you. 

“Sorry I still can’t wrap things,” was how he handed you the first one, snagging the box with his name on it off your lap in one smooth motion.

“Wouldn’t be from you if it wasn’t wrapped like you ran over it with your car first,” you joked. 

“Ho, ho, ho,” he rolled his eyes. “So kind of you, wifey.”

“I’ve got to keep you honest.”

You smiled brightly at him, earning yourself a quick peck on your lips before he ripped into your impeccably wrapped present, sending bits of paper and ribbon everywhere. You eyed Milo carefully as he started ripping up some of the paper Brock had torn off the box, but he wasn’t creating more of a mess than Brock was making himself, so you let it slide under a watchful eye. Brock loved his first gift, and his second, and his third. You cried at the first, and laughed at your second, and your entire chest felt warm with your third thinking that Brock Boeser was made for Christmas. He was warm and unfailingly kind and hopeful in the face of absolute hopelessness. You didn’t really believe in the idea of the magic of Christmas, chocking it all up to people making the holidays feel special simply because they wished for them to be special, but you believed that sometimes people were greater than the sum of their parts, of even their experiences, of their very atoms. There was something else to Brock Boeser, something so indescribably wonderful, that had drawn you to him in the first place, and that reminded you of what people said was the magic of Christmas. It was pure and good and so astoundingly bright that you thought maybe Brock Boeser was made of stardust from better stars than anyone else you’d ever known and maybe Christmas was made for Brock Boeser instead. 

You were just hoping that your little surprise was going to make this Christmas his best one yet, rather than derail Brock’s favorite holiday and every repetition of this holiday after. 

“Okay, I know we said three gifts,” and Brock was already groaning as you reached for the small box you hid behind Coolie and Milo’s gifts at the back of the tree, “but I had to get this one. It’s technically not really for you actually, but it’s kind of for you.” 

Brock gave you a curious look, eyebrows furrowing down and lips pursing, but you waved him off and shoved the pristinely wrapped box into his hands. You grabbed your phone and opened up your camera, knowing if you didn’t film this moment and it was as good as you hoped it would be, you would regret it for the rest of your life. If it wasn’t as good as you hoped, well, you could always delete it. 

“Oh, we’re filming me open a present that’s only sort of for me?” Brock laughed as he asked the question and you just shrugged in response and waved him on. “Okay then, weirdo wifey.” 

You rolled your eyes as he opened up his last present. Your breath caught in your throat as he popped open the tape keeping the lid on the box down. Your eyes bounced back and forth between his left hand and his right as he slowly pulled at the tissue paper, going painstakingly slowly for the sake of the camera. You groaned at his actions and whined his name, which just made him laugh, but at least he finally picked up the pace. You watched with your breath held and your body tense as his soft blue eyes looked over the contents of the gift. His brows furrowed together in confusion as his shaking hands picked up a small Canucks jersey, an incredibly small Canucks jersey that wouldn’t fit anyone in your household with your shared last name on the back.

“Baby, what is this?” Brock asked you, his voice tense, his emotions screaming behind the wall  he’d haphazardly built to try and keep the hopefulness out of it, but it was seeping in through the cracks in streams. 

You took a deep breath, your first one since he’d started opening the present, and whispered, “I’m pregnant, Brock. We’re having a baby.” 

Brock’s bottom lip quivered as he looked at the small jersey in his shaking hands. His brows softened and his chest started to heave as his breathing picked up. 

“You’re serious, right?” he managed to get out. “You’re actually pregnant? We’re actually having a baby?” 

He lost his voice a bit at the end, pitch going so high that he thought you didn’t even understand him, but you were listening and watching every single facet of him right now to miss what he said. You nodded slowly, letting out an unsteady breath as you did. He wasn’t angry, not that Brock had ever been angry with you even once in all the time you knew him. He was far too patient and by the time his patience wore thin, he loved you too much to ever be angry with you. But you couldn’t place how he was feeling, the emotions flashing over his face in the faint light of the Christmas tree and the Vancouver sunrise too complicated and changing too quickly for you to understand. 

You understood when Brock dropped the jersey and reached for you. It wasn’t really a reach. It was a tackle, your back ending up flat on the rug with Brock hovering over you. 

“We’re having a baby!” 

Brock’s voice shot up several octaves and decibel levels when he shouted. A wide, gorgeous smile broke out across his face, one so true and joyful you’d only seen it a handful of times before; when you agreed to be his girlfriend, when you agreed to marry him, and when he saw you walk down the aisle. But here it was again, his “overwhelmed to the point of absolute elation” smile. And with the Christmas lights making a halo of light twinkle around his head from your position on the floor, Brock looked like every bit of the angel he was to you. 

“A baby, baby,” he breathed out as he slowly sat back on his heels, pulling you up with him, keeping your faces close. “We’re having a baby, baby.” 

You nodded as his hand reached out to cup your face, “We’re having a baby, Brock.” 

“Well, you’re having a baby,” he smiled at you softly as his thumb ran over your lips. “I’m here for physical, moral, and emotional support.”

“Thanks for acknowledging that I’m doing all of the heavy lifting here,” you laughed with a teasing roll of your eyes. 

“Are you happy?” His question was so soft, so hesitant, you always didn’t catch it. “I know you didn’t want this for another couple of years and I just, I’m thrilled, I’m over the moon and the stars and the whole freaking universe that we’re having a baby, but are you happy?”

Hearing Brock’s words, feeling the steadiness of his hand on your cheek, and the excitement absolutely radiating off him, you knew you were happy. The prospect of becoming a parent was terrifying, especially when you hadn’t been trying to become one, but knowing Brock Boeser, the man you loved more than anyone else you had ever met, the man that outshone all the lights on the tree and the stars in the sky, the man that was made of brighter stardust than anyone else, the man that Christmas could only hope to be as magical as, was your co-parent. And what was there to worry about after that? 

“I’m so happy,” you told him, your voice shaking as tears began to fill your eyes. “I’m so, so happy.” 

Brock nodded as his eyes matched yours, glassy and threatening to overflow with tears as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. He slowly pulled back and lowered himself down, bending over until his face was in front of your stomach. Brock let out a long, slow breath before reaching out a hand to place gently on your still flat stomach. 

“Hi, little one. It’s me, Daddy.” Brock’s voice cracked at the last word that left his lips and your first tears spilled over. “Your momma and I are so happy and so excited you’re on your way and we can’t wait to meet you. Thank you for showing yourself for Christmas. You’re the best gift I’ve ever received in my entire life. Can’t wait for next Christmas already, even though this one isn’t over, because you’ll be sharing it with us then. We love you so much, little one.”

The tears were flowing freely as Brock looked back up at you. There was so much to do, so much to plan, so much to figure out, but right now it was just you and Brock and your little Christmas surprise, the best gift you had ever received either. 

“Merry Christmas, Brock.” 

“Merry Christmas, baby, and Merry Christmas, baby.”

[peterpanfromlemonland]

The Night I Heard You Cry (pt 4. Better Than Cardboard)

CW/TW: Slight mentions of child abuse, slightly possessive ghost, protective soap, more angst

Mai’s head was spinning as thousands upon thousands of questions were running at the speed of 500 miles per second. When she thought she had a good grip on normality and safety it would be yanked from beneath her feet in a matter of seconds; who were these people? She just wanted to be left alone, just wanted to sleep, but this masked jerk kept poking and prodding with no remorse. Why didn’t they just kill her then and there? She didn’t need to be saved, at least, that’s what she told herself but when Soap reached a hand out for her that night, she felt- no, she knew that things would get better if she took his hand.

The man that escaped was just one of the higher ups in the ring. She wrote before passing the notepad to Simon, the masked man took in the info and stashed it in his brain. This intel hinted to the fact that there were more of them in the world, his blood boiled when he slid the notepad back to Mai as he prepared his next question for her; she was unmoving while tears still fell and threatened to drown her. Before he could ask his next question she was already scribbling words onto a blank page, he wanted to speak up and stop her, to grab her tiny wrist and just feel her tremble in fear.

There were other women and girls there, but they were moved, I was only left there because I was his favorite. By now Johnny was hovering behind her like a protective honey badger, looking down and reading the sentence she had written almost brought him to tears; she had been there for 2 years alone? His heart shattered, he just wanted to take her into his arms and hold her close while he comforted her. The whole game of “pass the notepad” continued for 5 minutes between Simon and Mai, during those 5 minutes the men got the info they needed; there were 10 ‘Kings’ and 20 ‘Knights’, 40 ‘Bishops’ and 80 ‘Rooks’. Those were only the “top ranks” while the ‘Pawns’ were many and spread out, she had no clue how many there were exactly since the Kings would keep recruiting more and more Pawns. 

This trafficking ring was known as “The Chess Board” and they were anywhere and everywhere the shadows reached. Being “The 7th King’s” favorite she was able to hear some important details about the Chess Board’s moves, their bases, where their safe houses were and where they would have their next ‘auction’ at and when. The masked man was satisfied with this amount of information, he felt that Ghost Team would keep this girl for a while- or longer- and make her part of the team, or a mascot of sorts, he was done asking important questions about The Chess Board and wanted to know more about her.

“Now,” his whole attitude shifted from hatred to curiosity, “where were you smuggled in from?” The man crossed his arms, his body shifting into a relaxed position in hopes to calm the girl down and get her to use her voice again. She tilted her tear stained face to meet his mask covered one, his dark brown eyes peering at her with a sense of desperation and loneliness.

“First off,” she started, seeming offended by Simon’s question, “that’s racist to just assume I was smuggled into the states.”

“Lass has a point LT.” Johnny giggled at her remark, “Don’t assume things.” Simon glared daggers at his sergeant who instantly shut up upon seeing that glare.

“Okay then,” although they couldn’t see it, he was grinning underneath that mask of his; this girl was the first ever to talk back to him like that and it felt relieving in a way, “Which part of the ‘States’ are you from then, sweetheart?” Mai rolled her eyes, wasn’t it obvious where she was from? California. The Little Saigon District, not too far from Anaheim actually. She was feeling a bit more comfortable around these strangers, sure they were a little abrasive and very straightforward, but they didn’t seem threatening- they weren’t bad guys. Mai looked to both the sergeant and LT, noticing how much bigger in height and build they were than she was, she smiled and gave them both a small ‘thanks’ under her breath which only Simon could pick up.

When they noticed that she was calm and speaking more, the men wanted to ask more questions, get to know her as a person. They took her gentle smile as a sign that she felt safe in their presence- Mai was a first gen immigrant, both her parents fled to the states during the War. Her parents met in a cafe sometime in the 80s, they were both in their 20s when they got married, and in their 30s when they had Mai. December of 2001… Mai’s father, Vinh Phan, was in the US Army- he was a sergeant, well respected and loved his job but had a tendency to neglect his family. Especially her.

“Dad would always come home stressed,” Mai shrugged, “always yelling and throwing things, he would never hit mom.” She gently pulled the sleeve of her shirt to the side to reveal a faded scar. Mai’s father would always blame her for not being the perfect child, the disgrace of the family, the embarrassment. One day when he came home from work he was so upset that he burned her shoulder with a lit cigarette, she was 5. She was a kid… Throughout her childhood, Vinh would constantly drill army training into her as if he were trying to raise the perfect little soldier; the training ranged from stealth training, resistance, and he taught her how to fight. All of this would’ve been fine if Mai were 18 and willing to learn these lessons but it’s difficult to speak up for yourself as a kid.

“I forgive him though.” She continued, “Ran off to Cali after I graduated high school, became a teacher- a good one too. He was still disappointed.” she laughed. It seemed that no matter how much she tried she would always seem to fail her father. She was never good enough, even when mom got sick and passed away- she tried to be there for her father, even went so far as to letting him move in with her, but it was never good enough. That was her story, that was who she was, she hoped that answered all of the questions Soap and Ghost had about her; the men wanted to know more, know every little detail about her from her favorite color to her favorite drink. Now was not the time.

“Mai,” Soap started, “I am so sorry you went through everything you did.”

“Don’t be.” she flashed him a sick grin, “When the Chess Board came after me, the old man’s fighting lessons helped me fend some of them off…” The more she spoke the more smitten both men became, the more they wanted to protect her and be in her presence. But time was not on their side that night. After the interrogation Soap led Mai to the room she’d be staying in, it wasn’t much but it was something at least. Better than cardboard and a bedsheet. Better than nothing.

“We got you some blankets, a fresh set of clothes,” Johnny went on about her sleeping arrangements while Mai seemed to be frantically searching for something, “Lass, what’cha looking for?”

“The bag I had with me,” she panicked, “where is it?”

“Bag?”

[ktheist]

05 — show me yours & i’ll show you mine | m

➙ muses. seokjin x college student / gamer!reader ft. best friend! taehyung

➙ genre. best friend’s brother au. university au. working au. fwb au.

➙ word. 1.8k

➙ warnings. mild exhibitionism

➙ index. 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | finale | side story 1 |

➙ synopsis.

“i missed you.”

“i know.”

x

you steal one last glance at seokjin, the smallest of smirk playing on his lips but before it spreads across his face, he’s already burying it in the crook of your neck, biting and suckling on that one spot that gets you clenching your legs together only to be reminded of the man buried to the hilt in between your thighs.

“hey, tae,” you sing the first word, barely managing to get your best friend’s name out without your voice cracking as seokjin starts to move again, tampering with your sanity.

“hey, where you at?” taehyung baritone rings in your left ear where your phone is pressed and seokjin’s exhaled breath drums in the other.

“uh, in class?” your brain shortcircuits - you can barely offer anything tangible than a two worded reply but that probably has something to do with the hand that clasps over your mouth as you feel the moan about to spill off your lips.

“still? i thought you have class till noon and the rest of the day off on thursdays?” the confusion in taehyung’s voice laces around his words - you can almost hear him scratching his head in confusion whilst his brother’s hands rests on the dip of your waist, pulling out and letting a pause lull in between you, that damned smirk gone from seokjin’s face, replaced with a hazed look that couldn’t care less about the little brother who’s on the phone with the woman he’s about to-

“fu-” you whimper against the mouth that crashes against yours, swallowing your moan.

but the kiss was short-lived.

you push away seokjin’s face to force out an awkward laugh, “yeah, so i forgot i had a replacement class.”

“shit, you just knew?” taehyung sounded like he didn’t mind having a whole conversation with you while you were in your fake class.

“i mean,” you breathe out softly when seokjin’s thumb grazes your erected nub, “i think the professor mentioned it some time ago? i don’t know. didn’t care.”

“touche.” the man on the other end replies, you can almost hear him nodding.

“i gotta go, okay?” and with that, you toss your phone to the side.

in hindsight, you should’ve checked if you properly ended the call.

but how can you have a sliver of concern for something else when you’re too rapt in grasping onto the bed sheets as stars dot behind your eyelids. pleasure courses through your veins. back arching, toe curling, heart leaping within your caged chest as moan after moan pours out of your mouth as seokjin takes you higher than any man you’ve had before.

seokjin’s body falls over you a moment later, his strong arms propped on either sides of your head on the bed as he moans. your arms wrap around his body, face buried in the crook of his neck as you tighten yourself around him, goosebumps rising on your skin when his moan turns to a growl as you feel him twitch inside you.

it’s a moment later, once your breathing calms down, do you catch the faint scent of seokjin’s cologne amidst the smell of sweat and sex in the air as seokjin lifts your head with his hand, pushes the pillow away and places your head on his bicep as his free hand wraps around your body. because of your position, you can clearly hear the sound of his heart beating in his chest.

he should be getting off his high but why is his heart racing like crazy?

you snuggle into him, forehead resting against his chest as your cheeks remain hot - you think you’re gonna catch a fever.

x

the weeks pass by in a breeze with taehyung adamantly advocating for you, hoseok, jimin and him to hang out at jeongguk’s place. rather than a place, it’s a studio for one so having five grown adults in the same room isn’t exactly the brightest idea.

neither you nor taehyung brought up what happened three weeks ago. whether he heard you have sex with his brother - you rather not find out. but to say that everything went back to normal would be a pathetic lie.

every time silence lapses over you, there’s a stale air of awkwardness that comes with it. as if you have to sift through your brain for a topic or else you’ll die from suffocation because having a hole open up underneath you and swallow you into oblivion is too good of a fantasy.

but little do you know, that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

“jinnie, you got so much better at cooking!” a high pitched squeal bursts your eardrums as you watch yoo mina stand too close to your man in her delivery of compliments.

“psssh, this is nothing, wait till you taste my special garlic butter potatoes,” seokjin tries to play it cool but the blush on his cheeks is too apparent even to a blind person.

not to mention, she’s using the nickname you gave him. well, his parents started calling him jinnie first and since you’ve been around for a long time, you end up calling him that too but that’s besides the point.

the point is, you’ve found an annoying little thorn stuck inside your flesh and you want her out.

christmas break rolled around and for the first time, the four of you manage to catch a flight back to your hometown at the same time. usually, seokjin and namjoon would have a day off and spend christmas together in seoul since a day is too short of time to be flying back and forth while you and taehyung go back home.

though this year, your parents decide to make an impromptu visit to your grandparents’ two days before you landed and leave you in the kim’s care like a charity basket on someone’s doorstep on christmas eve.

“yo,” taehyung’s baritone drums in your ears all too suddenly, making you flinch, “can you pass me the-”

as if on cue, an earth shattering crack bounces off the walls for the longest moment as silence settles in the room and nothing except the sound of the tv host energetically announcing something about welcoming guests to the show, fills the air.

“...angel,” taehyung ends his words, blinking at the pieces of porcelain angel scattered across the floor near your feet.

“oh shit, sorry,” you say to no one in particular, heart racing as you drop to your knees, attempting to gather the broken pieces in hopes of- “can you ask mrs. kim if you have hot glue?”

“___, don’t touch the glass with your hands-” you can barely make out taehyung’s instructions even though he’s standing on the ladder right next to you.

“maybe i can piece it b- ah,” you hiss, retracting your hand and holding it against your chest as you watch the spot where it stings starts to seep out bleed.

“let me see that,” a large hand slips under yours gently, as if you’d break under the slightest pressure.

the familiar scent of ocean and fresh air hits your nose as a pair of troubled eyebrows bind together, eyes focused on your bleeding finger, “we need to disinfect it,” seokjin turns to the dark haired girl and middle aged woman standing a few feet away, probably giving you space to breathe and recover from your shock, “sorry mom. mina. can you watch the stove for a bit? and - is the first aid kit still under the sink in the bathroom?”

the pain hasn’t registered, but it’ll be a bitch once it does.

mrs. kim smiles that warm, gentle smile that seokjin often wears. like mother like son, “yes, dear, it’s still there. we hadn’t moved it since you left because no one was getting hurt some of them might’ve expired...”

“come on,” seokjin pushes himself up first but he stops mid action as your anguished voice slips out of your mouth, “ow ow ow, jinnie, it hurts so much, i can’t even stand up.”

“wait, let me-” taehyung starts before his voice gets drowned out by his mother’s order to- “oh tae, since you’re not doing anything, go get the gloves and broom from the storage room and clean this up.”

seokjin shakes his head, an amused smile on his lips as his hands slip under your armpits and hoists you up to your feet like he would a child.

“welp, there goes my chance of being carried like a princess,” you sigh, lips puckering into a pout but you don’t expect him to agree to it so casually-

“okay.”

with a shrug and an all too willing smile, one arm wraps around your shoulder as he bends down to hook his other arm under your knees - only to have you grasp a handful of his sleeve in a desperate attempt to stop him from dipping any lower. like a lesser than smooth criminal scared of getting caught.

“i’d reach up and pluck the stars for you if you asked me to, what makes you think i won’t carry you in my arms if that’s what you want me to do?” his face is dangerously close to you as he whispers before standing back up again.

“what if i asked you to stop talking to someone?” cheeks hot, you murmur to yourself, glancing at mina’s frowning face as you and seokjin walk pass the kitchen counter, him with his face too close and you with your overjoyed heartbeat.

 “just kidding!” you grin at the man before skipping a few steps ahead.

x

“no, please! i don’t wanna die!” you lament, leaning your body over the bathtub and away from the man that’s holding the gauze pad soaked in alcohol over the cut.

instead of sighing, clicking his tongue and calling you dramatic like his brother would, seokjin chuckles, “you know, we haven’t had a conversation since forever. what’s your favorite thing about christmas?”

“you’re just asking to distract me and when i’m distracted, you’ll pour the alcohol over the cut and it’ll hurt like hell,” you pout, eyes boring into his in an attempt to scour for admittance but when he doesn’t let up, you let a grin spread across your face, “i’ll let you do that for a kiss.”

but his inquiry isn’t what you expected, “just a kiss?” 

“and a hug,” you nod, opening your arms and offering an innocent smile that barely stays for longer than a second before you feel his arms around your waist, his hand on the back of your head pulling you down to his longing lips.

the kiss lingers a little too long. seokjin pulls away only to breathe out a sigh of relief, as if quenched from the deprivation that almost drove him insane. his hands lock on your back as his face finds home in the crook of your neck. he tends to do that - breathe in the scent of your perfume as if it’s his safe haven.

“i missed you,” his breath is hot against your skin, but nothing could beat the warmth spreading throughout your whole body from just holding him like this.

your heart clenches in your chest. a kiss on top of his head.

“i know.”

x

taglist.  @aretha170 @scalubera @ambersaesthetics @heyjiminnie @hyuck-me @fanfuckingfic @fangurl-ontgeside @bri-mal @waves-and-woods​ (if i missed anyone, please comment below. i haven’t got my shit together after coming back eye-)

note. so i wrote this before christmas, hence the holiday theme for this chapter. but stuff happened and i couldn’t post it. hope yall enjoyed!

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 27: Untangling

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Relaxing(?) with Chen and taking some time for yourself... and things are uh... interesting, to say the least.

The choice is like 3-4 posts away- and I just wanted to give you a heads up that it won't be an overt "i choose so and so" choice. It will be a... seemingly monotonous choice that will lead you, dear reader, down a path to end up with one or the other! Do you guys want me to label which choice goes where? I mean it'll be obvious after the next parts are up which one is which SO I guess it doesn't matter?? Just figured I'd ask! Smooches.

Part 26 Part 28 Chapter Index

You left Kung Lao to rest and decided afterward to relax in the hot springs. Your body was sore, even more so after having gone toe to toe with a second monster. At least the second monster hadn’t tossed you around like a ragdoll the way the first one had. Still, you were sore. You made your way to the springs, rinsed off in the changing room, found a towel, and then walked inside. It was peaceful and there were only a handful of other people there.

You explored the pools a bit further back in hopes of finding some peace and quiet. Thankfully, your time in the springs in Huangshan hadn’t ruined this for you. They were so drastically different.

Peace and quiet were exactly what you’d been granted for a time.

Resting your head back against the natural stone formations, you let your sore body bask in the warmth of the water. It was enough to clear your thoughts of the word ‘monster’ being so frequent in your vocabulary and both the men that you’d left with fevers in their respective rooms.

It was no wonder that you drifted to sleep so quickly. Your sleep wasn’t restful though. You kept seeing flashes of the nightmare you’d had before you’d crawled into Liu’s bed that night. Then you saw the man with the horns, his white eyes staring into yours, and you felt the pain of his hand in your chest.

There was a splash next to you and you sat upright quickly, fists clenched at the ready for a fight. Chen was looking at you in surprise. You sighed with relief and relaxed. Chen and a few of the other women from the infirmary, as well as two of the cooks that you’d met a handful of times were getting into the water alongside you. You had tried to get to know the people you interacted with every day if not just a little bit. They worked hard and you wanted them to feel appreciated.

“It’s good to see you back, Y/N!” One of the younger girls chimed in and then went about chatting to the woman next to her animatedly. You greeted them politely and then rested your head back against the stone. Chen sat close to you. So much for peace. Even so, you smiled. Chen pestered you sure, but she was also a delight to talk to. Your smile faded quickly as you remembered the last conversation you had.

“How are you feeling?” Chen asked discreetly. You sat upright and covered your bruised neck as Chen made to poke at it. It was still sore. “I’m guessing that’s not from anything fun, huh?”

“Definitely not something fun.” You sunk down so that your neck was in the water, to hide, and Chen giggled. “I’m fine, by the way. Just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well the past few nights.” You hadn’t, you supposed. There had been nightmares and then you and Kung Lao had gotten about four hours of sleep before you’d had to roll out of bed to go and meet Raiden. The women stared at you with rapt attention as if expecting an exciting reason for you to have not been sleeping.

“Because…?” Chen urged you onward hopefully and you splashed at them.

“I am so not in the mood, Chen.”

Chen and the other women laughed. “It’s all in good fun, Y/N. I know that things were crazy for you in Japan. I’ve heard you had quite the adventure.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah! One of Raiden’s scribes overheard Kung Lao recounting your adventure with that tar thing.”

“Are you all gossips?”

“Look, it can be really boring here sometimes while those with the marks are off going on adventures and protecting the world. We’re here to protect you so I feel like in return we get to live vicariously through you. Is that so much to ask?” Chen had her chest puffed out proudly and you bowed your head and gestured toward her friends.

“My apologies, gossip away.”

“I was promised more information after you’d ditched Liu Kang. Define complicated please.”

The eyes of the other monks were on you, as curious but less forward than Chen. You bet it was so they could all update their little betting pool appropriately and you narrowed your eyes at them. “I will no gossip about myself. Especially not in front of everyone. No offense, guys.”

“Boo! You’re no fun, Y/N! There must be something steamy you’re not sharing with me. I swear that I interrupted something that morning with Liu Kang. I’ve thought about it on repeat since you left.” Chen poked your shoulder and the other women agreed with her, so you held your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment. Your skin was officially hotter than the spring water. They were whispering about what Chen had seen and it was much more dramatic than what had actually happened.

If they only knew that Chen hadn’t been completely wrong with her assumptions. Liu had asked you to stay in bed with him. Ugh, you wished that you had.

“Oh, stop picking on Y/N, guys. We have plenty to gossip about and she deserves to relax. She’s all bruised up, look at her.” One of the younger girls came to your defense and you were relieved.

They seemed eager to talk about whatever other gossip they’d picked up in the temple. You tuned most of it out as much as you could. You’d always struggled with gossip. Most of your life you’d been gossiped about, and it had never been in a good way. You didn’t like making other people feel like they were being talked about behind their back. You supposed it made you bottle everything inside which wasn’t exactly healthy either. No one was perfect. The kind of gossip that these monks were involved in didn’t bother you as much. It seemed harmless. No one’s feelings were getting hurt.

You listened to the hum of conversation. Apparently, one of the groups of monks who had gone into the closest town to pick up goods had gotten themselves into a bit of trouble with one of the women there. The story was ridiculous, and you wondered if this was how they talked about you when you weren’t around. It probably sounded just as absurd. It was funny. At least the gossip seemed distant from the truth. Unless this was the truth and, in that case, you felt terribly sorry for the woman and the monk who had gotten into trouble with her husband.

They were terrible monks.

The group drifted in the water until they were out of earshot, and you were grateful for the peace. You almost managed to fall asleep again but instead you felt Chen lifting your arm out of the water to check your pulse. You peeked one eye open and found Chen smiling at you.

“Still feeling okay? You’re pretty pale.”

“You can relax, Chen. You don’t always have to be on call. I’m fine. Really.”

“I work extra hard to make up for all the gossip.”

“I’m really okay. Just tired. I’m probably going to go back to my room and sleep soon. Less risk of drowning if I pass out there.” Only marginally less, you thought. You’d almost drowned yourself in ink the other night.

“Aww, not going to regale me with any stories of danger and romance?”

“I don’t know if I’m emotionally up to discussing the danger and romance, as you call it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s… a lot. It’s escalated in complication. I’m mixed up right now. I think my discussion needs to be more… mental.” You realized, suddenly, that Chen had weaseled you into talking about it.

“Oh? Going to make a decision soon?”

“You’re such a sneak. You know that, right?”

“Do go on.” Chen batted her eyelashes happily, resting her elbow against the stone.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s time to make a choice. I’ve got to… sort it out. I have to talk to them about it or just… make an honest move. It scared me for a while, but it needs to happen. No matter what happens next? I have to stop kissing both of them but there’s so much conflict in my heart…”

“Oh, hold on, excuse me? You’ve kissed them both? Y/N! You have been holding out on me!”

“Could you please lower your voice.” You sat up higher in alarm. “You’re completely missing the point that I was making.” You scooted further back from the other monks and Chen followed you. Your face was on fire again and the water was too hot.

“I need details immediately.” Chen’s eyes were filled with glee. “Which one of them kisses better? Are they good kisses? When did this happen? Has this happened more than once? Was there tongue? Did you do more than kissing?”

“Oh, for the love of all that you believe in, please stop!” You laughed and held your hands out in a panic to try and silence Chen. “I’m begging you to lower your voice.”

Chen cackled with laughter and pointed at your red face in amusement. You waited for Chen to get herself together. It took an awkwardly long amount of time. Chen cleared her throat and then straightened her posture as if she had to prepare herself to have a conversation. “Okay. Sorry. Yes, continue. That was delightful. What is it that has you so mixed up?” Besides the fact that they were both gorgeous? Besides the fact that their kisses and their touches literally took your breath away? That they both filled you with a deep and desperate longing that made you want to rip your insides out and offer them as sacrifice?

Liu Kang was the proverbial spark. You’d never once been drawn to another human being the way that you were drawn to him. It was like your bodies called to one another and as silly as you felt for thinking it, it was also true. Kung Lao, however, was your childhood love, but all grown up and while he was a complete mess, he was also romantic as hell. It wasn’t the same attraction you shared with Liu, but your attraction was different and just as wonderful.

“You’re just going to make fun of me.”

“You were quiet for a long time there. Getting lost in memories of kisses?”

“See?”

“Of course I’m going to make fun of you, Y/N, but I will also try to be a good friend.”

“You’re also going to just tell everyone else about it.”

“…true.”

“Ugh.”

“You could still tell me. I promise I’ll twist it enough that no one will quite believe me.”

“I’m… I just…” You sighed in frustration, mussed your hair, and then decided to just go for it. It would make Chen happy to get something of substance from you and maybe putting it out into the universe would offer you some reflection. Chen was hanging on your every word. “I have this crazy attraction to Liu. Plus, he’s so sweet and funny and smart. He holds me in such reverence and it’s going to sound so crazy cheesy but he’s made of fire in just about every way and… ugh he calls me beautiful and…” You whined and leaned your head back against the stone and felt your insides tighten up just at the thought. This hadn’t helped.

Chen was fanning herself.

“Hard to beat that. When was this steamy, fiery kiss…?”

“You are fishing for more information than I’m willing to give you.”

“You can’t blame me for trying. So, what’s the hang up with Lao then? I’ve seen you with Liu. You two are natural together.”

“Like I said, it’s complicated. I… ugh, I am bad at this. I hate this, Chen. I hate talking about it.”

“I know. It’s the worst. I wish you were drunk. You’d go on about it.”

“I kind of wish I was drunk too.”

“Raiden said no liquor for now.” Chen was disappointed. “Focus. Lao. Tell me.”

“We… it’s complicated, okay? We butt heads but he’s so damn nostalgic and surprisingly sweet when he’s not… trying to be. It’s hard to explain why I’m hung up on it because it’s… emotional? When he kissed me? The world disappeared. It makes me think that maybe if we hadn’t lost touch, if he hadn’t disappeared, then we probably would have been together from the beginning. It’s not any less magnetic, just different. Lao and I are very alike. Liu balances me out.” You sighed and briefly forgot that you were talking to the biggest gossip that you had ever met. “I care deeply for them both. I don’t want to hurt either of them, but I can’t take the emotional turmoil of bouncing back and forth between them anymore. And it’s not fair to any of us.”

“Wow, this is actually eating you up inside. I thought you were just being ridiculous to avoid telling me dirty details.” Chen seemed impressed and you turned your attention to her in surprise. Of course, it was eating you up inside! How could it not? “You’re really not going to just get them super drunk and then get spit roasted by both and have a wild night none of you will remember?”

You choked on your own spit and then coughed, leaning out of the water and onto the stone to escape the heat of the springs. Chen patted you on the back but laughed. “I have to look at and talk to them every day, Chen!”

“Have fun picturing that for the rest of your life.”

“Oh, I hate you right now.” You laughed, but the mental image was there, and Chen was right. It would live in your brain rent free for the rest of your life.

“You’ll be fine, Y/N. Just follow your heart and please get laid. Then get drunk and give me all those dirty details.”

“I’m so glad that I’m asking you for advice.” You managed to clear your windpipe, finally. “That was sarcasm. Sorry, choked up.” You shook the mental image away again. Your morning with Liu Kang hadn’t helped that mental image at all. “I’ll figure it out. I’m at a point where I’m ready to figure it out. But I think you’ve teased me enough. I’m going upstairs to get some rest because I am hotter than the springs now.”

“Good. Rest. You’re still pale when you’re not as red as I made you.”

“I plan too.”

“I hope you run into one of them and you can’t shake the mental image!” Chen called to you as you started out of the water, and you nearly slipped and fell back in.

“Goodbye, Chen.” You waved back to her and then bowed to the other monks before returning to the changing room, getting back into your clothes, and heading back to your room. Thankfully, you didn’t run into Liu Kang or Kung Lao. You hoped that they were still resting.

You threw yourself into bed and laid face down for a while, contemplating your options. It was kind of nice to think of how it might wind up. What were you complaining about? There were two incredibly attractive men chasing after your heart. Even so, it filled your stomach with anxiety and dread. You didn’t want to hurt either of them. You wished there were a reality where you could have them both but knew that would end messy too.

After changing into a nightshirt, you went to bed. You really were exhausted but your sleep wasn’t restful. You tossed and turned throughout the night, plagued with nightmares. When you opened your eyes, there was a silhouette of a horned man standing at the side of your bed. You struggled to move, to blink, but you were paralyzed by fear. Breathing was difficult and he leaned over you and reached for your throat. His face was shadow with the exception of a wicked white smile. You felt like he held you down, pinned to your bed, pushing you further into it.

Your body ached.

You were seeing spots, unable to breathe. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t fight it. It was like sleep paralysis. You’d read about it, but it also felt real. He was closer to you, inches from your face, and his clawed hand rested over your cheek.

Then suddenly you were free of the grip that held you prisoner, that had trapped you in bed. You were alone and gasped for struggled breaths. Panicked, you crawled out of bed, collapsing onto the floor and bursting into sobs. Ink spilled from your hands, staining the floor. You struggled to stop shaking and push yourself up, catching your breath.

Then you froze in horror.

Strands of ink were spread across your room from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, creating an elaborate and dangerous web.

What the actual hell?

What had you done?

How had you done it?

Reaching out with a shaky hand, you brushed your fingers over the thick web of ink and pulled your hand back immediately. It had been solid and sharp, slicing the tip of your finger.

You trembled with fear and leaned as far against the bed as you could press your body. You tried to get up, to will yourself to move, but instead it felt like your lungs were being squeezed by invisible hands. Your fingers were curling up and you pulled them close to your chest. Closing your eyes, you tried to take deep breaths to calm down but you could barely exhale.

You’d filled your room with ink in your sleep.

That had to have been a vision, but it hadn’t been the future or the past. It had been of that thing in your room with you, hovering over you. What, was this some Catholic-style possession? Maybe finding the artifacts had been a mistake.

You laid on the floor, stretching out into child’s pose to try and help yourself calm down, to breathe. This moment mattered. Not the nightmare. Not the vision. Not the fear.

Just the moment.

You would be okay.

After an agonizingly long time, you felt your heart finally slowing down. Your fingers uncurled and you were able to sit upright. Your head was spinning but you could at least think without the screaming adrenaline of panic.

You couldn’t get out of your room with the ink like this.

The strands were too closely knit together. Pushing your hair back, still shaking, you held it away from your face and tried to think. You’d trapped yourself in the room. But you’d made the ink so maybe you could unmake it too. Holding your palm close to the nearest strand of ink, you closed your eyes and focused. It wouldn’t move and your whole body was shaking.

Your brain was buzzing with panic still. You tried again and were thrown back against the bed, but the ink was gone in a blink. Your hands were aching like you’d been punched right in the palms. They were dark and bruised. But you’d done it. The ink was gone.

Wrapping your arms around your knees, you pressed yourself against the bed.

You had to get a hold of yourself.

What the fuck had just happened?

There was a knock at your door, and you whined, buried your face against your knees, and then took a deep breath. You felt like you could vomit but you managed to get yourself up, vomit free, and made your way to the door. Shaky on your feet, you recognized the monk on the other side. He kept guard outside of Raiden’s chambers. He bowed to you politely as the monks often did.

“Lord Raiden requests your presence.”

“I-I’ll be there in a few… few minutes. I just… I need to get dressed.” You tried not to sound like you had been hysterically sobbing only a few minutes ago. The monk didn’t seem to notice. He bowed and walked away to deliver your message. You leaned against the door after he’d left, taking shaky breaths. You had to calm down.

Liu Kang would have had you meditate so you decided to do just that. You sat on your prayer mat and closed your eyes. Deep breaths. Grounding exercises. You could hear his comforting voice in your head, guiding you along.

In truth, you just wanted to be held.

[secret-rendezvous1d]

“don’t leave me”

hello, hi!

i definitely don’t think this is a one-off thing anymore and this blog may be on the way to merging into a harry styles + matthew gray gubler blog so i’d like to think that that is a new exciting venture people will . i’m really enjoying writing about a new scene, a new character and a new life to plan out and write about. the stories don’t essentially follow each other so they can be read anyhow and in any way but i’d like to think they all follow the same storyline/timeline so they link in that way.

like, reblog and give me some feedback. it’s greatly appreciated and it helps me work out what you want to see and what you are after.

thank you. enjoy.

-

“don’t leave me” spencer reid x female reader (reader insert imagine) word count; 2.1k.

* if you haven’t watched criminal minds then this does contain some spoilers to the show that you may want to dodge if you are thinking of starting the series up. *

summary; spencer struggles to come to terms with emily’s return and the betrayal of his friends.

-

“Spencer, look, we’ve got to talk about this.”

YN came to a stop with what she was doing when she saw her boyfriend and JJ starting a conversation in the station’s negotiation room, setting down the files she was sifting through so she could pay a little more attention to the conversation happening just a few feet away from the desk she was seated at, eyes still focused on the page with the bold name of a potential unsub printed at the top, accompanied by a picture of what they looked like. She tried to, at least, make herself seem busy without showing herself being nosey over a conversation that didn’t necessarily include her.

“What do you mean, talk about it?” Spencer questioned, looking at her in disbelief, “talk about what?”

YN hated how passive-aggressive he’d been, over the last two days, towards the two women who used to be considered a few of the only women close to him. He was never like that and, given what had happened, she understood his pain and his upset… she just hated how he wanted to push it, and them, away so he could carry on like an unexpected change hadn’t just sprung into his life.

“I get it, okay? You’re disappointed with the way we handled Emily,” JJ stated, hands on her hips as she stood around the opposite side of the table, watching intently at Spencer as he stood looking at the paper in his hands, eyes darting from the print to his scrawny handwriting on the board beside him, “I get that.”

The tension amongst the team was unbearable, to say the least.

As soon as Emily had entered the roundtable room a week prior to their case in Oklahoma, much to the surprise of everyone occupying the room who had stood waiting for the next plan of action to take down Ian Doyle and find his son, there was a sudden wave of uncertainty that seemed swallow the team whole and didn’t have plans on spitting them back out again anytime soon. No one could pick apart the emotions on one person’s face and state clearly how they were feeling. Confusion, shock, anger, happiness, joy, surprise… there were flecks of each emotion but never one clear facial expression that gave away how someone was truly feeling.

Now they were deep in Oklahoma, on a case and trying to find an unsub who had come to light in the recent murders of two young women prior to their touchdown, with Emily back in her regular place and trying her best to get back to normal as a BAU agent for the FBI. No longer under protection of the higher authority, no longer hiding behind an alias that took her identity away and stripped her of who she once was and she was finally able to go back to the Emily Prentiss whom she had been loved by many before life did a one-eighty flip. Almost as if nothing had changed, like the seven months she spent in witness protection hadn’t ever happened, like her death and her funeral and her burial were a fever dream that seemed to never leave the rest of them alone.

For most of the unit, having her back was something so wonderful and so great, to see her jumping back into a case with a mindset ready for justice and helping out with the mind she was graced with having, to have the same pair of eyes that were used to seeing case after case of young victims and unstable unsubs be considered a fresh pair of eyes now she was back. To work a case with someone you were comfortable with, that was what the most of them loved; the witty banter shared, the anger that bounced off from each sentence, the kind and caring charisma to get the best result of a case.  

But for some, it was difficult to adjust to something they had only just overcome.The grief they felt towards the situation of losing a beloved member of the unit, someone so loving and kind, a huge part of their team, it was unbearable and tore them down soon after they presumed they laid her to rest. Going back, visiting her burial site, resting flowers and almost keeping her updated with how everyone had been. They refused to believe she was gone yet denied her when she was found out to be healthy and alive and ready to start back where she left off.

“Well, I have a lot going on, alright?”

A lie, to say the least, but she wasn’t to know that.

“You know what I think it is?”

That caught his attention. And YN’s.

The one question that many profilers, specifically Spencer, hated to be personally asked was that question. They didn’t need to know what others thought when they could have the same thought pattern as each other, they didn’t need someone else telling them what they think they should be thinking and Spencer didn’t need a pity chat from someone who wronged him to find out what he was thinking.

Deep down, YN knew what the problem was and she was handling the situation as best as she could when she was alone with him in their hotel room, but she didn’t think it was as clear cut as people assumed. So how had JJ worked it out? If she was correct in what she thought was wrong with him, that is. He was hurt and he was upset and he was confused; he showed his grief towards missing a friend and he showed how much they meant to him by showing so much emotion yet he just couldn’t come to terms with how none of that was needed anymore. How he didn’t need to build his walls any higher because there wasn’t going to be any more heartache to deal with..

“What?”

“You’re mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you weren’t able to detect our deception,” JJ suggested, a little more vigour in her voice as she spoke to him, frustration dripping from her words because she was desperate to get through to him. Absolutely desperate to find some way to resolve an issue that others had forgiven almost instantly, “you’re mad because you couldn’t catch us out on our lies.”

“You think this is about my profiling skills?” He scoffed and shook his head, looking back to the paper in his hands, ”Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions was because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row, crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth,” he continued, disappointment laced through his words. And he so badly wanted to look up and catch the eyes of his girlfriend, the only one he felt truly supported him and his decision to act out, but he knew he needed to fight a battle of his own. Especially one that he caused but especially one that he was actively dragging out.

“I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t? Or you wouldn’t?”

It was the first time they made eye contact through the debacle. And, in that moment, JJ could see the pain behind his eyes. The deceit he felt. The grief that was nonsense because they were grieving over no one. The time wasted crying. The time wasted over nothing but false information and lies. She could see he looked vulnerable and naive and she felt guilty for even bringing her back to help on the mission they so direly needed her help with.

“No, I couldn’t.”

“What if I started taking Dilaudid again? Would you have let me?” YN’s eyes shot up at the question he bit towards his colleague; he never considered that, she was sure of it. YN would have known if he did. That time of his life was something she wished he would let go of, something she wished he forgot about so he could carry on with his life, something she wished he never considered again, “I thought about it.”  

YN couldn’t only feel her heart ache but she could feel the eyes of Hotch and Morgan resting upon her figure as she tried to occupy herself.

“You didn’t-”

“I did,” he hissed, placing the paper down on the desk below him and striding towards the doors, passed JJ as she pressed an apology upon him, hoping to get him to stay behind so she could hash it out until he fully understood their reasoning why they chose the plan that they did, “I did.”

“Spencer, I’m sorry-”

“It’s too late, alright?” He mumbled.

His legs took him out of the room and down from the floor they were situated on, ignoring the calls from Hotch as he stood with his arms folded in the corner of the room, everyone watching him as he left to go outside so he could catch a breath of fresh air and clear his mind of all the things rattling around inside his head. An alarming look from Morgan and a squeeze to her shoulder had YN up from her seat, case files left behind as she followed her boyfriend out of the station’s vicinity, catching him on a bench just a short walk away from the entrance of the building.

“If you’re coming here to tell me I need to focus on work rather than what’s happening then don’t, Morgan. I’m not-”

“What on earth gives you the impression I’m the big dude with muscles and a charming voice?” YN teased, his upper body twisting so he could catch the sweet stature of his smiling girlfriend, the slightest hint of a smile twitching his lips before he turned back to face forward. Hands clasped together and resting on his legs, thumbs tapping and rubbing at his skin in circles, feeling the presence of his girlfriend behind him, “mind telling me what that was all about?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He slipped to the other side of the bench so there was enough room for YN to sit down beside him, her hand reaching over to lace her fingers through his, squeezing his hand tightly as their conjoined palms rested upon his thigh, “I’m hurt and I’m angry, YN. I’m so angry. You saw how much I cried, how much I struggled, how much everyone had to adjust to life without Emily when she ‘died’. Yet they knew, they knew she was alive and they knew she was healthy and okay. They didn’t tell us and that’s- it’s sick,” he grappled, his voice full of passion; there was no way he was angry with them anymore and there was no way he would continue the trait up until someone said something to bring him back down to earth. He was glad she was home - he told her so many times in the last few days about just how great it was to have her home - but he never failed to drift back to the subject of how they dealt with the situation.

“They did it for her protection, Spence. They saved her and, essentially, saved us for truly having to say goodbye to her,” YN admitted, bringing their hands to her mouth so she could press a tacky kiss to the back of his hand, leaving a pink lipstick stain behind in her wake, “she’s safe now because of what they did. Doyle, he’s dead. Anyone who was after, they’re dead. She’s safer now than she was ever.”

“But they watched us grieve at a funeral. We buried something in that ground and were made to believe it was her,” Spencer sighed shakily, “they cried for her, too. They grieved. They said nothing was the same anymore. When they knew the truth all along. I cried with JJ, she helped me when you were working, she was denying it all but, in her head, she knew everything was a lie.”

“Emily left for a reason. To save everyone. She’s back now and you’ve got to remember how everything was before she left us,” YN’s hand gave his a gentle squeeze before she let go, bringing her hands to her lap and waiting for him to look up from the ground so she could see his eyes and so she could see his bright smile, “Spence, she’s not going anywhere.”

He nodded slowly and hesitantly lifted his head, his eyes a little raw around the rims and his lip a little chewed at, but the light in his face was still there. His body scooting closer to YN, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side for a little bit of romance before they were caught and checked on by another agent.

“You won’t leave me like that, will you?” He wondered, “don’t, okay? Don’t leave me.”

“If I’m going anywhere, you’re coming with me, mister,” YN grinned, leaning up to press a kiss to his pink lips, “we do it together or we don’t do it at all.”

[fanmoose12]

terrifyingly complicated

Levi and Hange come to a Halloween party, wearing a two-person costume. Everyone wonders what that can mean.

Working at a law firm was exhausting. It was also very stressing. And since he couldn’t get drunk in the middle of workday, Erwin had no choice, but to resort to another vice – smoking. Whenever the tension inside of him grew too intense to ignore (which happened rather frequently), Erwin took a pack of cigarettes and went outside. Feeling the smoke enter his lungs and then releasing it into the air, watching the white whiff dissolve into nothing calmed Erwin down better than anything.

During his smoke breaks, he was often accompanied by his co-workers. Mike joined him frequently. Moblit came a lot, too, especially when the stress of dealing with his troublesome superior Hange made him feel like tearing out his hair. As far as Erwin knew, Hange didn’t smoke. And even if she did, she never took breaks, too passionate about her work to let anything distract her. That is until Moblit, or sometimes Levi, didn’t make her rest. Moblit pleaded and bargained with her. Levi simple dragged her away from her desk.

Speaking of Levi, he was the one, who accompanied Erwin the most. He didn’t smoke that much, so Erwin suspected that Levi used the excuse of smoke breaks simply to get out of their noisy, bustling office.

This time, of course, he joined Erwin, as well.

"So, Levi," Erwin glanced at his friend. He lighted up a cigarette and passed the lighter to Levi. "Are you going to the office party this Friday?"

Erwin didn't actually expect an affirmative answer from Levi. If he could help it, Levi always stayed at home, preferring to keep his human interaction to a minimum. Recently, though, he started appearing at social gatherings more often. Erwin strongly suspected that a certain bespectacled co-worker of theirs was the reason for this sudden change.

Still, Halloween wasn't just another party, where everyone gets slightly drunk and bitches about their higher-ups. You have to wear a costume. And in all those years that Levi worked in their firm, he had never attended the Halloween party.

So what a surprise Erwin got, when Levi took a drag of his cigarette and then slowly nodded.

The cigarette almost slipped from between Erwin's fingers.

"You're coming?" he couldn't help, but ask again.

"Yes.”

"And... do you have a costume?"

"Frankenstein's monster," Levi replied nonchalantly.

Erwin openly stared at him. Was their conversation real? Or was it some kind of fever dream?

"F-frankenstein's monster?" he repeated, getting more and more worried about his sanity.

"Erwin, check your hearing," Levi grumbled. "Yes, I'll be a Frankenstein's monster, like from the novel, you know?"

Levi looked so calm, as though him not only attending a party, but also wearing a costume was a regular occurrence and not once in a lifetime event.

Erwin put a cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. Just one cigarette wasn't enough to get him through this bizarre conversation.

"So... if you're Frankenstein's monster...” Erwin said slowly, carefully. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Levi will be at the party. “Will there be a Frankenstein?"

"Of course, there will be Frankenstein. It’s obviously four-eyes," Levi huffed. "Who else could it be?"

Who else indeed. Erwin felt like an idiot. Truly, there was only one person in this world, who could force Levi to do something like this.

But the question was... Did it mean something?

"Oi," Mike appeared outside, joining them, before Erwin could ask that question. "What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Levi answered immediately .

Erwin shared a look with Mike. "Hange and Levi are going together to the Halloween party."

"Oh," Mike raised his eyebrows. "You finally decided to let people know?"

Levi stared at him. "What the fuck are you talking about? What do we need to let people know? That Hange has an annoying ability to pester people until they agree to do what she wants them to? It is hardly news for anyone."

Ah. That was it. Erwin shook his head, he shouldn't have expected anything else. Levi and Hange were the most oblivious people in existence. Everyone in the office knew about their feelings for each other. Everyone, except Levi and Hange. Erwin often wondered how two people can be so smart and so stupid at the same time. These two were obviously made for each other.

"So you two..." Mike trailed off, trying to find the best words. With Levi and Hange, one had to be as concrete as possible. "...Er, you did not confess to each other?"

"Confessed about what?" Levi scowled. "You both are so weird today," he turned around, throwing the cigarette butt into the nearest trashcan. "Whatever, I'm going inside. You shouldn't stay long as well. Your brains have obviously started to freeze."

Raising the collar of his coat higher, Levi hurriedly made his way back inside.

Mike and Erwin watched him go, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

"I can't believe them," Mike muttered. "They're really doing a two-person costume, but they don't realize what people will think? Nanaba and I have never worn a couple costume, and we've been dating for four years!"

"It's an extremely difficult case," Erwin agreed with a sigh.

“You’re their boss, can’t you do something about it? Like order them to get their shit together and stop living in denial?” Mike asked almost desperately. “The stench of their pheromones is making me insane.”

Erwin looked up, lighting up another cigarette. “I don’t think anything can be done about it. We just have to wait and hope that they will realize it by themselves. Pushing them in that direction will only delay any possible development.”

“Jesus,” Mike shuddered. “These two are terrifyingly difficult.”

***

“Hey boss,” Nifa sat down at the edge of Hange’s desk with a cautious smile. Hange hated when someone interrupted her work. Unless that someone was Levi. Strangely, she didn’t seem to mind whenever he came up to her desk to engage in another round of meaningless bickering. Furthermore, Hange herself often took a break from her oh so precious work to go and find Levi, just so she could share some joke or pun with him. However, Nifa obviously was no Levi, so she had to resort to placating her superior with a cup of coffee.

If there was something Hange liked more than her work, it was coffee.

It seemed like Nifa’s plan was working out. Hange accepted the coffee, looking up at Nifa with a kind smile.

“Do you want something?” she murmured, taking a large gulp from the cup.

“Halloween is this Friday,” Nifa explained, tilting her head slightly. “What costume are you going to wear this year?”

Most of the people at their firm didn’t really bother with costumes. The majority just put on vampire teeth or painted their faces with fake blood and called it a day. Although this year, they had new interns, so maybe they would be able to spice things up a little. Personally, Nifa couldn’t wait to show off her Freddy Kruger costume.

And she was also dying to know what Hange was going to wear this year. She always went out of her way to come up with the most gorgeous and creative costumes. Last year she dressed up as a space pirate. And year before that she was a grim reaper. She even had a scythe! Nifa’s favorite, however, was that Halloween, when Hange wore a zombie costume. It was both disturbing and awesome – the look was completed by a part of brain, sticking out of Hange’s hair! She claimed that it was real, and Nifa, knowing her superior, wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.

“It’s nothing special this time,” Hange revealed. “A little boring even.”

“Oi, quit teasing,” Nifa chided. “Your costumes are never boring. So, what is it?”

“If you want to know so much,” Hange sighed, feigning indifference. However, a little twinkle in her eyes told Nifa that, despite her claims, Hange was excited about the costume. “I’m going as Frankenstein.”

“Frankenstein?” Nifa drew her eyebrows together. “Monster or a scientist?”

“Scientist.”

“Oh,” maybe, Hange was right after all. It did sound a little boring. “Why not a monster?”

“Levi is going to be my monster,” Hange confessed with a wide grin.

My monster?

Did that mean what Nifa thought it meant? She could ask Hange about it, of course, and she would probably answer, but still, asking her superior that kind of personal question felt a little too intrusive even for the great gossiper Nifa.

However, she could always take a less direct approach.

"I don't remember Levi ever attending the Halloween party," Nifa looked at Hange beneath her eyelashes. "It must have been hard to make him come this year."

"You bet it was," Hange agreed, pushing the glasses up on her head. "He had two conditions."

Nifa leaned closer. "What conditions?"

"Firstly, I have to learn how to brew tea the way he likes it."

That was.... so Levi, Nifa thought with an internal smile. Everyone in the office knew he was obsessed with tea. However, why did he need Hange to learn how to brew it? As far as Nifa knew, Levi didn't let anyone come near his precious tea stash. Was Hange an exception? If so, then why? Could it mean that they were much closer than just friends?

Still, it wasn't conclusive evidence. Nifa needed something more substantial.

"And secondly," Hange showed the exact number with her fingers. "Levi wants to wash my hair. He says it's dirty and sticky, and he hates the stench of my shampoo," Hange shrugged, while Nifa was too busy gaping at her. Levi wanted to wash her hair? Seemed a little too intimate even for the best friends.

"It isn't the worth deal," Hange continued, seemingly not seeing Nifa's bewilderment. "I mean Levi could have demanded to let him clean my apartment. He always complains that my sheets are too dirty."

How in the world Levi knew about the state of Hange’s sheets? There was only one possible explanation for this…

“So you and Levi are seeing each other?” Nifa finally asked. Screw the less direct approach. It clearly wasn’t working.

“Um, yes?” Hange frowned. “I do see Levi a lot. I mean we live in the same apartment complex and we often hang out after work, so…”

Nifa barely kept herself from groaning out loud. These two were impossible! She thought she was an expert in human interactions but these were terrifyingly complicated for her to figure out. They were either actually dating or they were the most oblivious people in existence. And Nifa suspected that the latter was, unfortunately, true.

"I... I have a lot of work," Nifa smiled apologetically and hopped off the table. The intricacies of relationship between Levi and Hange were causing her a headache.

“What did she mean by ‘seeing each other’?” Hange muttered to herself. “I know that Levi is short, but he’s not that small. Was that a hint that I should check my vision?” she wondered, putting her glasses back on her face and returning to her work.

*** 

"Why are you dressed like a snobby douche?" Connie asked Jean, as the latter approached him and Sasha. It was the evening of a Halloween party, and everyone gathered in the dimly lit and sparsely decorated with cobwebs and pumpkins main room, chatting among themselves.

"I'm Dracula, you idiot," Jean scoffed. "Besides, what are you even supposed to be?" he looked at Connie's face and body, covered in toilet paper. He plucked his lips in disgust. "Toilet monster?"

"Hey!" Connie cried out, while Sasha snickered in her palm. "I'm a mummy!"

Jean decided not to dignify it with a response.

"And you?” he turned to Sasha. “You are red riding hood, right?"

"Yes!" Sasha beamed. "Look! I even have a basket! Trick or treat, Jean!"

Sasha proudly showed him the aforementioned basket. It was full of sandwiches.

Jean sighed.

"Did you choose this costume just so you could sneak more food in here?"

"Maybe," Sasha shrugged, taking out one of the sandwiches and taking a bite. "Want some?"

"Um, no, thanks. Even if I wanted to," which he did not. Trying to separate Sasha and food was a dangerous affair. Jean had learned it firsthand. "I can't really eat with these things," he opened his mouth, showing them his fake fangs.

"Wow," Connie grinned. "There is even blood on them! Can I touch it?"

"No way!" Jean took a step back, putting his hands forward.

“Hey, look, look," Sasha tugged at Jean and Connie's arms. "Eren, Mikasa and Armin came."

"What the fuck." Jean stared at Eren, his hands clutching into fists. "That asshole, what the fuck is he wearing?"

"Oh, Jean, I think," Connie patted his shoulder. "Eren is Van Helsing."

"He is!" Sasha agreed, pointing at the wooden stake in Eren's hand.

"Motherfucker," Jean growled. "He knew I was going to dress as a vampire!"

"Calm down," Connie rolled his eyes. "And don't start another fight. At least wait until we're out of office."

"You can always beat him up in the parking lot!" Sasha giggled.

“Or, more probably, Mikasa will beat both of you up in the parking lot,” Connie mocked with a shit-eating grin. Sasha cheerfully high-fived him.

“Shut up, you idiots,” Jean gave them both a smack upside their heads. “I fucking hate that jerk," he muttered, glaring at Eren.

"His costume is nice, though," Connie noted.

"His mother probably helped to prepare it," Sasha nodded. "Armin looks adorable!" she added. "That Peter Pan costume suits him so much!"

"Looks like Mikasa isn't a fun of Halloween, though," Connie continued. "I mean what is she even supposed to be?"

"Maybe, a ghost?" Sasha offered, looking at Mikasa's white shirt and long skirt.

"If she wasn't constantly glued to Eren's side," Jean began bitterly. "I would have asked her to be my Morticia Addams."

"She would rock that look," Sasha said with a dreamy smile. "Although, you're nearly not as handsome as Gomez."

"Hey!" Jean protested. "I would have been great as Gomez. And you," he smirked. "You could have been Wednesday and Pugsley."

"Eugh," Sasha and Connie exclaimed in unison.

"Now I'm kinda glad that Mikasa rejected you," Sasha told him truthfully.

"Shut up,” Jean mumbled.

"By the way," Sasha opened another sandwich and started eating it. "Did any of you see Historia? I'm curious what is she wearing. Her costumes are always so cute!"

"She's dressed as Princess Leia," Connie replied. "She even has her own Han Solo."

"Let me guess," Jean said. "It's Ymir?"

"Of course, it's Ymir. Although, calling her Han Solo may be a stretch, she's just wearing her usual work clothes, but now she also put a vest on."

"Ah, I want to come and say hi!" Sasha announced with her mouth still full of sandwich. "Where have you seen them, Connie?"

Connie made a face. "Last time I saw them, Ymir was dragging Historia to a supply closet, so..."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I don't think they'll come out soon."

"Oi, look," Jean pointed at the entrance door. "That's Miss Hange."

"What is she supposed to be?" Connie scratched his neck, frowning in confusion. "Some kind of scientist?"

"No, she's Frankenstein," Jean replied.

"Now how did you guess that?" Connie asked, glaring up at Jean.

Jean didn't say anything, just showed Connie who was accompanying Hange.

"Oh." Connie breathed out.

"Oh!" Sasha exclaimed. "Who is that?”

Jean sighed.

“Sasha, pay attention please. Look at that guy’s height.”

“No way!” Sasha’s eyes widened. “It’s Mr. Ackerman?”

“I didn’t take him for a guy, who dresses up for a Halloween,” Connie mused.

“Neither did I,” Jean agreed.

“Hey, if they came together, does that mean they’re dating?” Sasha cocked her head to the side, observing the strange couple.

“Don’t know,” Jean shrugged. “I thought it was just some kind of a running joke.”

“Let’s go to them!” Sasha wrapped her arms around Jean and Connie’s shoulders, pushing them in the direction of Levi and Hange.

“Are you insane?” Jean hissed. “What are you even going to say to them?”

If Miss Hange was by herself, Jean wouldn’t have minded approaching her. She was nice, and really funny. Mr. Ackerman, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Whenever their eyes met, Jean felt an acute desire to hide under the table. Levi’s cold gaze terrified him.

“We won’t be talking to them,” Sasha assured him, leading them through the crowd of people. “I just want to take a better look. Mr. Ackerman’s make-up is amazing!”

Well, it was hard to argue with that. Levi wore a torn shirt and large jacket. His face was painted green with a few black stitches added on the side of his forehead. Jean had to admit, his costume was actually impressive. And Miss Hange, who was dressed in a white lab coat, which was purposefully dirtied with red and pink specks that were probably meant to represent the blood and parts of brain, with her big round glasses, crazy hair and even crazier grin, was a perfect Frankenstein. 

“Just be quiet,” Jean warned his friends, as they stopped a little distance away from Hange and Levi. “I don’t want to get in trouble with Mr. Ackerman.”

Connie and Sasha nodded and then the three of them turned their gazes at Frankenstein and her monster.

Hange and Levi stood in a corner, holding plastic cups in their hands. Hange was talking about something, energetically gesticulating. Her hands moved so wildly it looked like soon she’d spill the contents of her cup on the floor. Levi sighed and took the cup out of her hands. Hange smiled gratefully.

“Wait,” she stopped her rant and turned to face Levi. “Your make-up is smudged,” she reached out and moved her thumb across his cheekbone, gently wiping the paint.

“Of course, it’s smudged,” Levi grumbled with annoyed face. “It’s hot as fuck in here. Why there are so many people?”

“Because our firm is big?” Hange offered with a tiny grin.

Levi tsked. “Smartass. By the way, when was the last time you cleaned your glasses? I can see nothing but your fingerprints, four-eyes,” he plucked them off her face, scowling in disgust. Tugging at Hange’s coat, Levi used it to clean her glasses. Hange didn’t even try to protest, just watched Levi’s ministrations with an affectionate smile.

Jean, Connie and Sasha stared at them with wide eyes.

“They act so…” Connie began and then faltered.

“Domestic,” Jean finished for him. “Geez, they really are together.”

“I’ve never thought I’d say this about Mr. Ackerman,” Sasha admitted. “But they look adorable.”

“They do,” Connie agreed.

“C’mon,” Jean took Sasha and Connie by their sleeves. “Let’s leave them alone. I still need to settle a score with Eren.”

 ***

"Ymir, stop it," Historia hissed, trying to shake her girlfriend's hands off her waist. "People are watching."

"Let them watch," Ymir smirked, putting her chin on top of Historia's head. "They're just envious."

"You're insufferable," Historia huffed. She raised her head to press a kiss on Ymir's jaw. "Why do I even put up with you?"

"Because I'm hot? Because I'm hilarious? Because I'm excellent in bed?"

"Ymir!" A pretty blush appeared on Historia's cheeks. Ymir mentally patted herself on a head.

"Babe," she drew out, leaning to kiss behind Historia's earlobe. Ymir's hot breath made shivers run down her neck. "Let's ditch this party and go back to that closet. I'm so bored here."

"But look around!" Historia exclaimed, trying to ignore the growing desire inside her. "Everyone is dressed so nicely!"

"I don't really care, you know."

"You should," Historia muttered with a small pout. "Our friends came up with really original costumes!"

Ymir scoffed. "Kirschtein is dressed as Dracula. And Mikasa is the worst ghost I've ever seen. She could have put at least some effort."

"You're the one to talk," Historia rolled her eyes. "Putting on a black vest doesn't make you Han Solo."

"The costume itself doesn't matter, when I have the most important thing," Ymir lowered her voice to a seductive whisper. "My pretty Princess Leia."

"And our superiors picked cool outfits as well," Historia continued, ignoring Ymir. She wouldn't let her break her resolve so easily. They came to enjoy the party, not make out in supply closets. Even if the latter option started to look more and more appealing to Historia.

"Mr. Smith came as Indiana Jones!" she pointed at the tall blonde. "Doesn't he look handsome?"

"Yeah," Ymir replied unenthusiastically.

"And Mr. Zacharias! He's dressed as Thor!"

Ymir tilted her head, staring at Mike critically. He wore a cheap looking blonde wig and something that looked like more like red blanket than actual cape. "He's a mighty god of thunder, indeed," she deadpanned.

Historia ignored her once again.

"Miss Nanaba looks so pretty," she mused instead.

This time Ymir couldn't disagree. Nanaba was probably supposed to be Jack Skellington. And while the white make-up on her face was ridiculous, the suit fitted her perfectly, accentuating every curve of her thin but muscled body.

"What," Historia teased. "No sarcastic comment?"

Ymir shrugged. "You know how much I love women in suit."

"Asshole," Historia muttered, rolling her eyes.

“That's why you love me, babe."

Sometimes Ymir was so annoying, Historia thought as she stared at her cocky grin. It made her want to kiss her, just so she could wipe that smug expression off her face.

"I don't see Miss Hange by the way," Historia looked around in confusion. "I wanted to see her costume so much..."

Again, Ymir agreed with her girlfriend on that one. Hange was a lunatic, there was no denying that, and her excited energy was truly draining, but she was funny. Most of all, Ymir enjoyed watching Hange bicker with Levi, that permanently scowling midget. It was nice to see that shorty grit his teeth in annoyance, as Hange continuously teased him.

"Nifa told me that her costumes are always amazing," Historia hanged her head. "And Mr. Ackerman is absent as well..."

Well, that wasn't surprising in a slightest. Levi was definitely not the type to come to office parties.

"Forget about them. It's Halloween," Ymir kissed Historia’s cheek, trying to cheer her up. "I need my treat."

"You are really needy, are you aware of that?" Historia asked with a stern expression.

Ymir shrugged. Sure, she loved receiving attention from her super-hot girlfriend. If that made her needy, then so be it.

"That's a yes to a second round of make out session in the closet?"

Historia frowned, biting her lip. "What if this time someone catches us?"

"Who could catch us? I doubt that other interns will need that closet, unless Kirschtein and Yeager suddenly decide to let out their frustration with each other in a more productive manner than just screaming and waving their fists around. And everyone else here is clearly too boring and old to indulge in such activities."

"Fine," Historia finally surrendered. "But we won't stay there for long. I want to chat with some of our friends afterwards."

Ymir certainly didn't share the same sentiment, but, well, love is built on compromises, right?

She grabbed Historia by the hand, leading her to a closet with a wide grin on her face. Turning her around and holding her face between her palms, Ymir kissed her on the lips. With her back against the door, she pushed it open with her leg.

Historia froze.

"Babe?" worry reflected in Ymir's eyes, as she stared at her. Did she do something wrong?

Historia said nothing, just frantically pulled Ymir closer and then quietly closed the door. She didn't stop, and with her hands wrapped still around Ymir, Historia dragged her as far from the closet as possible.

"Hey, hey, what's up?" Ymir was barely able to keep up with Historia's hurried steps.

"There was someone in the closet," Historia whispered with a terrified expression.

"Someone?" Ymir frowned. "Who?"

"I don't know, I didn't get a good look, and the costumes really made it hard to recognize the faces," she pushed a stray lock behind her hair, her gaze darting around nervously.

"What were the costumes?" Ymir asked impatiently. Oh, she wanted to know who was making out in the closer so much! If she finds out, she'd tease that couple so hard!

"I... I think it was Frankenstein and his monster? I definitely saw a white coat and a green make-up.”

"Frankenstein and his monster?" Ymir snickered. "If I knew that the book portrayed that side of their relationship, I would have read it in high school."

"Ymir!" Historia scolded, smacking her forearm.

"Wait..." Ymir drew her eyebrows together, thinking. She scanned the crowd of her co-workers, checking her theory. "There are only two people who are absent from the party..."

"No way..." Historia breathed out, coming to the same conclusion. "Are you trying to say that it was Miss Hange and Mr. Ackerman?"

"Well, it looks that midget is getting his treat this Halloween. Good for him," Ymir said cheekily. "Let's go and tell these nerds about it."

"You want to tell everyone?" Historia looked at her worriedly. She looked so cute with her pursed lips and that little frown, Ymir's heart skipped a beat.

"Sure," she replied nonchalantly, trying to hide from Historia the fact that just a moment ago she was staring adoringly at her. "It's not like it'd be a secret to anyone. The way they constantly looked at each other, it was only a matter of time before they got their shit together."

"Alright, but let's not tell them how we found them in a supply closet."

"You're too kind," Ymir sighed, throwing a hand over Historia's shoulder. "But if you don't want to make them jealous, so be it."

Historia rolled her eyes, but couldn't resist the desire to press a swift kiss in the corner of Ymir's smirk. "Let's go already."

***

When almost half an hour later, Levi and Hange came back to the party, all eyes were on them. Hange's hair was in bigger state of disarray than usual and Levi's lips were red and swollen.

"I helped Levi fix the make-up," Hange explained, when they joined Erwin, Mike and Nanaba.

"Isn't a closet a little dark for that?" Erwin asked with a smirk. Beside him Nanaba and Mike could barely held in their laughter.

Levi's blush was visible even under the green paint. Hange nervously chuckled. None of them tried to deny it though. 

Erwin, Mike and Nanaba counted it as a success. 

[nextwarden]

The world is burning

"I think I deserve a bit of fucking honesty for once," the tall blonde says after a while. "Just once. Just this once, stop fleeing and face me."

Her voice is ragged and sizzling, raw in its power and in its emotion. The quiet and ever soft please that follows almost immediately is barely heard, almost slips by unnoticed but you know it's there because it's her, and even if she were to go hellblazing all guns blasting the girl would still apologize for the trouble. The infinitely kind and stupid soul she is.

It's a while since either of you spoke, a long and loud silence settled over the echoes of the last words like a blanket of mist over a fire, dousing the embers. Not all of them, it seems, as the forcefulness is still there, under the tan, freckled skin of your friend. The friend. The only one that matters right now. Or ever. You can see it, sizzling the air and stinging your eyes. And you can see the fire in her eyes right then too, bright and blazing, and you feel like she could burn worlds and reduce them to cinder with the effortless weight of a single gaze. It's amazing, terrifying and beautiful at the same time and you can't quite find the strength to look away from it.

Some would say that of your eyes. Some have said it. She has said it. Beautiful, deep, bright like stars in the night, like their favourite colour. As powerful as a god's blood, if gods could bleed. They can, in fact, bleed. You know it, you've seen it more than once. How scared you were when it seemed to taint the world so much that it was all you could see, all you could feel, all you could scream. That's why you ran, that's why you always run, because even gods can bleed and you can't be a god-killer, not again.

You can hear yourself speak before your mind even catches up with what you should be saying. You can feel the hotness in your chest echo the one that, strangely but not surprisingly, has been hinting at your loins for a while now. And the heat becomes white hot, unbearable, it spreads all over like thunder and lightning, both needle-thin and tidal-like, destroying every single foundation of your being. It's molten and you're drowning in it, slowly, painfully.

"Well what do you want me to say exactly?", you begin, unsure of what you're even saying, but saying it anyway because if you don't you're sure you're going to be consumed on the spot. And anger can only sustain one for so long. That, you know by experience. So you have to let it out, you have to let the pressure flow out before you blow. You didn't want it to be here, so close to everything being done. It couldn't be here, not today of all days. And yet, here you are, on the farthest balcony you could find, hidden from the rest of the party, alone with the one person you can't trust yourself being alone with. And you don't want to say it, any of it, but you want to, you need to, desperately so. And she looks at you with those eyes, those fucking eyes, and you can't anymore. So you let it flow, halted, weird and breathless.

"You want me to say that I haven't been able to get you out of my head since the day you came crashing down through the walls of the fortress I spent years building around myself? On your own and with only that damned smile to boot? That despite your frankly infuriating unending joy and hope for this godforsaken world and its bunch of asshole idiots I can't manage to be irritated by you? That before I even knew it I found myself unable to help but be instantly comforted by your warmth, or that I can't even fall asleep anymore without your arms around me? That you smell of orange and honey and somehow of the sea and I can't walk into a goddamn room without being reminded either of it or the absence of it?! Hell, I've been thinking poetry about the way your brow crinkles adorably when you're problem-solving; and sometimes, in my most deluded moments, that from the way you look at me, I pray to all the higher powers I know of that that problem is me because there's so much in your eyes and I can't fucking read it! Me! I can't read it! How ironic is that?! And still I hope... Or perhaps I should tell you about how I sometimes can't take my eyes off your neck, I mean do you know how hard it is to not just give in and sink my teeth in there? It pulses, and you keep flexing it whenever you get ready to throw down! Or that I wonder far too often what it would feel like to run my hands all over you and what sound you would make as I unravel you with nothing but my fingers…? That I feel like an angel each and every moment you look at me like that because I'm simultaneously floating and falling? That I fucking hate myself for even thinking these things because you're not mine. You're not even mine to want anymore, and that's not even broaching the subject of what I've done, what I have done to you. I almost killed you and, and, and-", you can't help but feel the tears that have been rolling against your lungs fall free upon your cheeks now, "I almost killed you…"

You take a deep and shuddering breath, it aches all over but you're not finished.

"I have been nothing but pain for you, pain and sadness and an unending headache. And still you come back. You come back to me and bring me back in, always. I can't quite figure out why or how you can still look at me after all of that, all of the damage I caused, all of the blood I've spilled… Or- or that despite everything, all of that, even if I hadn't fucked everything up, if I deserved anything but your contempt and hate and anger for a single second… Should I tell you about what I've done to give you my blessing? That although I cannot deserve anything ever again, I have the gall to not be able to fucking stomach you with them and I had to come up with not two but three new mantras just to keep my mind off of things and to be able to smile in your direction like I mean it because I have to be so happy for you because you deserve the world and now that you have it, after everything, I'm not about to take that away from you, not even get close to threaten it, by acting out of line and letting all those fucking hints that I am iredeemably smitten and in love with you, and have been for the past years, even surface for a single second because I fear it would destroy what happiness you have finally found and then me in turn because I can't even think about hurting you in any single way without feeling like I'm going to die? Because I know it! I know… You deserve the world, and I deserve to die…", your voice is threatening to give out.

"Is that what you want me to say?", you barely manage to croak out.

Your throat was already sore before but now it must be raw and bleeding, you think, as you realize you can't quite recognise the voice coming out of you as it too dies in the distance. You can taste the acid in your mouth. Then it's like the darkness before creation: there's silence and nothing, and all that nothing is cold, so cold. And scary too in it's deep silence. You've always been weary of silence. Silence meant many things: disappointment, the prospect of anger and pain, loneliness, death... You can feel the shiver crawl up your spine. And before anything else can not happen, here you are, combusting and burning away at the stake of your own stupidity, your mouth tasting like iron, your chest on fire and your lungs in cinders as you begin to realize the implications of what you've just voiced.

"Yes," you finally hear from the distant void that has devoured the world around you, somehow softer than any breeze you've ever felt and somehow louder than the Sun itself. "Yes, that's what I want", you hear her say.

And before anything else can not happen, there she is with her arms and her gentle strength and her love, holding you despite the fire licking your soul and the cataclysmic blaze consuming your whole being. You're burning up, it's like a fever. And you know when it finally dies down only ashes will remain, ashes to be scattered in the wind. Yet, despite all of that, here she is, holding you tighter than she's ever held you, gentler than you deserve, and her eyes. God, her eyes. They roam your face, as if painting you in the deathly glow of your final instants. Let the fire blind her to what just happened, erase the memory of this moment, you almost wish. You want to be selfless but you're not, and you know it, so you let yourself burn atop the pire of her gaze and hope that whatever comes after delivers you from this unbearable conflagration.

And in all your glorious selfishness, your unreserved desire, she has the gall to smile at you with that beautiful and ever-loving smile.

"That's what I've always wanted," she whispers gently.

That's when it clicks. You are the world. That's why you're burning.

***

So I had this idea while reading a fic a while back and when I came back to it yesterday I couldn’t decide if I wanted to make this about Supercorp, Bumbleby or OCs of mine, so I just “duck it, I’ll make it about everything!”

Definitely not polished enough, but I’m too lazy to rework the kinks right now so, here, take this.

[elenamiria]

A Sweet Poison

Pairing: Plo Koon x Reader

A mission goes awry when your data proves to be outdated. Specifically in the flora department. (Again this is just smut, no plot and yes it’s cliche but honestly idc) Word Count: 3K (I’m so sorry, this was meant to be like 1k but I can’t control myself) Warnings: Sex pollen and thus dub-con, daddy kink, overstimulation, p in v sex, degradation (only once), begging, cockwarming 

Tagggies: @hxldmxdxwn @fishswimbetterunderwater  Let me know if you wanna be tagged in future fics 🥰 Dedicating this one to Kenna (hxldmxdxwn) for many reasons, number one she hit 2k!!! number two plo koon is her husband and number three her plo koon thots were a big inspiration as well as her plo fics! (Masterlist here) Also if you say anything bad about Plo, I will fight you :)  That’s all! Enjoy this entirely gratuitous smut

Plo was sitting on the ground, whole body tense - his back against a large tree, legs spread. His eyes were focused on your every move as you frantically paced back and forth. Barely audible whines left your mouth and you were shaking your hands as if to try to shake off the fever that was rapidly consuming your body. 

The two of you had gone for reconnaissance for your mission. After flying over it had been discovered that there was a ledge with a clear view of a separatist hide out, far enough away that you wouldn’t be spotted and it was just a trek through a jungle away. You had done your research on the planet and informed your master that it should be safe to do so, the flora and fauna in this area had been cleared by settlers in a village not far from the your campsite. Unfortunately, in your haste to ensure the plan would go smoothly you had failed to check when the reports were filed, which was over a year ago. So now here the two of you were clearly having some sort of reaction to something, leading to your anxious pacing, as you racked your brains trying to figure out what it could be. It hadn’t taken Plo long to figure out what was happening, in his padawan days a Jedi had encountered a form of sex pollen and the story spread like wildfire as a cautionary tale and all the telltale symptoms were making an appearance.  

Most prominent was his cock straining against his pants, a direct result of the whines you thought he couldn’t hear. He was feeling the same burning heat you were and he had sat down with the intention to meditate to try to get his urges under control but with your constant pacing all he could focus on were his thoughts of fucking you until you couldn’t walk. He also was thankful that though you were his padawan, you had only just joined him. You had come to him after losing your master and though the two of you knew very little of each other you had bonded, both through the force and outside of it, quickly. It was through your bond that he could sense your increasing want, but he also sensed your rising anxiousness and pain. 

Unable to watch you in such a desperate state he called your name out softly. You froze and turned to him eyes wide, you felt yourself grow wet at his voice. You were biting your lower lip in a way that made his cock twitch and he spread his legs slightly before beckoning you towards him. You obeyed immediately, sinking down to sit in front of him and he could sense your desperation to be touched. Gently he reached out to you pulling you to him, turning you around he situated you so you were sitting in between his spread legs and his chest to your back. Wrapping his arms around your waist he pulled you firmly against him hoping that the contact would ease both of your pain.You couldn’t help but let out a sweet breathy moan at the contact, your head falling back onto Plo’s shoulder. For a moment you both sat there, it was working the burning sensation dulled enough for you to regain your senses a bit. You managed to squeak out “Plo, w-what’s happening??” His grip around you tightened causing another whine to escape and unconsciously you arched your back, wiggling to try to get closer. Plo pressed his head to the side of yours as his hands started a soothing stroking along your sides, with a quick reassurance of “Shhh, I’ve got you don’t worry” Your breathing started to even at his touch and you couldn’t help but question the whole situation again. “We need help, can’t we just call the boys to come get us?? O-or if we don’t come back they’ll come looking for us, right?”

Plo froze at your question, how was he supposed to explain to you that he had commed Wolffe when he realized what was happening and made up an excuse saying that you wouldn’t be back until much later or maybe not until tomorrow. He had no qualms telling you that but he knew you would ask why and he would have to tell you what was really happening but what he didn’t want to explain that the thought of you going back and his men seeing you desperate to be fucked and possibly you even begging them to fuck you made him jealous in a very un-Jedi like manner. As he was debating you started pressing closer to him again a small whine of his name falling from your mouth, followed by you repeating your last question, and he knew he had to tell you even if you would become aware of his feelings for you. “They won’t come because I told them not to, that we may not be back tonight” Your eyes snapped to his face and a confused look crossed yours. A pathetic little ‘why’ left your throat and he shifted uncomfortably. His hands resting on your waist squeezed slightly as he simply responded, “because we’re under the influence of sex pollen.”

There was a long moment where neither of you moved or said anything. Your brain had stopped processing at his words and you had pulled forward attempting to gather your thoughts. Unfortunately, all this managed to do was allow the heat to creep back into your body, slowly at first but once it hit you it flooded your senses. You pressed your thighs together as slick started to leak out of you unprompted, your hands itched to touch yourself and your breathing started to pick up again. Noticing this Plo eases you back into his body hoping it would help you, however this backfires as your ass pressed firmly into his cock. The Kel Dor groaned as you started to roll your hips against him, his hands flying to your hips to stop you with a bruising grip. He let out a warning growl but all that did was excite you more, your whole body was on fire at this point and you needed contact - so your hands rose to your chest, teasing your nipples over your dress. You felt Plo’s hard length twitch against your ass and you moaned his name loudly. He let go of your waist with one hand to capture both of your wrists in his large hand, muttering something about ‘inappropriate relations’. Whining you desperately tried to pull your hands away but he held firm. You tried to grind against him but he put a firm end to that by harshly wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulling you tight against him.Unable to get the friction you needed you started thrashing in his hold, crying out ‘please’ over and over. His grip on you only tightened and there was another growl right by your ear before he pleaded with you to stop moving and a reminder that you weren’t in your right state of mind. Sweat gathered on your brow and tears filled your eyes as desperation overcame you and you cried out “Plo I want you so badly!! I want to fuck me!” A moan, low and gravelly, came from Plo and he bucked into you before pushing his instincts down. “You’re only saying this because o-” “No! No, I’ve wanted you like this since I saw you Master!” You cut him off and his grip on you weakened at this confession. Seeing your opportunity you launched forward to free yourself and landed on your hands and knees in front of him.  

Before he had time to react you had spread your legs allowing yourself to lower your upper body so you could reach back to hike up your dress around your hips. Your face pressed into the forest floor but you didn’t care, not when you had eagerly shoved your panties to the side and were now rubbing tight circles around your clit, the pleasure crashed into you wiping the world around you away. A plethora of moans, whines and pleas were steadily streaming out of your mouth and you heard soft moans from behind you reminding you that you weren’t alone. Sinking two fingers into your dripping pussy you called out to your master, “Plo please, please come fuck me Master!” You heard a noise in protest but before he could speak you slurred out, dizzy with pleasure, “I want this, I want you! Look into my mind, I’ve been longing for you!!” 

Desperately you called forth all the images of you pleasuring yourself while moaning your master’s name determined to show him that it wasn’t just from the pollen. Plo’s own moans grew louder and you hoped he was touching himself as you felt him gently probing your mind. You fingers were pumping in and out slick starting to drip down your thighs as your pleas grew desperate. As the fire inside you built you couldn’t help the words thoughtlessly flowing from your mouth, an endless stream of his name and master, but Plo remained firm where he sat (though he was frantically stroking himself, having desperately opened his pants).  It was only when you slipped up that the Kel Dor finally lost control.A wild desperate cry of “Daddy please!!” escaped your mouth as you added a third finger to your pussy.  Your hand was pulled away shortly after and you felt something hard pressing at your entrance as hands gripped your hips harshly.  Another cry of ‘daddy’ flew past your lips as your hips arched higher, desperate for friction. A deep chuckle met your ears as Plo stroked your sides softly, before cooing “Are you going to be a good girl for Daddy, little one? Will you let your master take care of you?” You nodded frantically while whining out yes and rewarding you he pulled your hips back as he pushed forward slamming his cock into you to the hilt, easily sliding in with how soaked you were. A groan left his body as you enveloped him and loud cry, verging on scream, flew past your lips as you clenched hard around him in orgasm. You had been on edge and his cock stretched you in a way that your fingers couldn’t, filling you deliciously and forcing your orgasm. While you were cumming Plo set a fast pace hips bouncing off your ass, strained moans echoing around you. You were vaguely aware that more cries of ‘master’ and ‘daddy’ were trickling past your lips but it was so hard to focus with the harsh pace Plo had set keeping you on a pleasure high.  A deep hum came from Plo’s chest as he murmured “My padawan is such a little slut, isn’t she?  Cumming for me when I’ve barely touched her”

“Yes! Yes daddy I was so desperate for your cock, you feel so much better than I imagined!” Your core clenched hard at his words as you cried out your response, already fluttering on the precipice of another orgasm. Plo purred and one of his hands moved to bury in your hair, tugging your upper body up off the ground so his other hand could slide under your dress to grope at your tits, “Oh my little padawan, you take my cock so well.”  

His fingers took their time grazing and gently pinching your nipples, talons lightly brushing over them teasingly, before he continued, “Would you like to come again?” His hips slowed until he was seated deep inside you stretching, teasing. Frantically you nodded tears filling your eyes. A pleased purr echoed through Plo’s body, and his words had you clenching around his cock again, “Beg, my sweet girl” You gasped and turned your head as best you could so he could see just how much of a mess you were, voice wavering and tears trailing down your face as you began to beg. Simple cries of ‘please, Plo’ flew from your mouth but his head only tilted and a small sob tore its way out of your throat. You desperately tried to thrust your hips but all that got you was Plo pulling out and one hand moved to press feather light onto your clit, the just teasing touches caused your walls to desperately flutter around nothing and you cries and please got louder until you were babbling, “Please, please Master! Fuck me, I need your cock, you make me feel so good! No one else could ever fuck me like you daddy!!”

With that he plunged back into you setting a rapid, hard pace, finally placing pressure on your clit, his other hand supporting your upper body as your orgasm washed over you. Your whole body went rigid as pleasure made you incoherent, fingers digging into the forest floor. Plo fucked you through your orgasm whispering out soft praises of how good you felt, that you were such a good girl for him and moved his hand up to softly wiping away your tears while stroking your face. After you came down your energy left you and you went limp in Plo’s grasp, when his hips paused you whined slightly and uttered out for him to keep going - knowing how desperately he needed release, and the heat in you starting to rise again despite how hard you had just cum twice. 

Pulling out he gently picked you up as he slid back into his original position of sitting propped against a tree. He moved your limbs, as you had become fairly useless in your blissed out state, so you were straddling him and lowered you gently back onto his aching cock. You practically sobbed at the feeling of his thick ridged length sliding back into place, he held you there for a minute not moving while you grasped at his shoulders whimpering. Your walls were twitching around him and though you were exhausted after two intense orgasms you felt your lower body heating again, the familiar coil starting to build. Plo seemed content to keep you there sitting on his cock and he buried his face best he could into your neck, hands running softly up and down your back. When you started to weakly rock your hips back and forth on him a raspy chuckle met your ear sending a shiver down your spine. He pulled you close to his chest before cooing at you, “It’s alright little one, let me take care of us both”

You weakly nodded at him and his hands moved down to your waist, gripping tightly he started to buck his hips up into you. You moaned burying your face into his shoulder as he easily lifted you and brought you back down onto his cock in time with his thrusts. Plo was close, you could tell as he was become more vocal and his grip on your waist grew tighter; his pace was also speeding up and you snuck a hand down to rub at your clit. Gently your hand trailed up to cup the back of his head and you hazily lifted your head to press your forehead to his. You were aware he was praising you, calling you his good girl, but you couldn’t focus on anything other than how fast you were bouncing on his cock and they way his breathing hitched when he slammed back into you. You keened as you pinched your clit lightly and your third orgasm hit you - you couldn’t tell if this one was weaker or if your brain was just so muddled you couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Either way the fluttering of your walls around him caused Plo’s own release to shoot deep inside you, a loud groan leaving his body as he filled you with his cum. You closed your eyes, foreheads still lightly pressed together as a weak cry of ‘Master’ left your lips. His hands trailed up your back to cup your head and you pressed the softest of kisses to his antiox mask, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion took over your body. 

Plo started to move you off of him but a pitiful cry left your lips and you murmured out “please, let’s just stay like this for a bit” nodding in response Plo guided your head to his shoulder then gently moved your legs to a slightly more comfortable position. You fell into sleep rather quickly, something he was glad for - it meant the effect of the pollen was wearing off. He could still feel the heat in his body but with you perched on his cock and pressed into him it was enough to hold any urges back. His hands held you close, one absently stroking your back and the other stroking your hair, as he leaned his head back against the tree to join you in sleep. Bonus: you had just finished a debrief on the info you gathered from the recon (at least the pollen hadn’t started taking effect until after you got what you needed). Commander Wolffe had turned around to study a map when Plo gently touched your elbow. He had taken care of you when you both woke up and made sure you were able to sneak into your room and clean up before the briefing. Even though you had both slept for hours it was clear you were still exhausted. A kind voice met your ears as Plo suggested you go rest before the attack his hand gently rubbing your arm. You tiredly yawned and nodded, absently replying “Yes daddy”. His hand tightened on your arm and you froze once you realized your mistake, eyes shifting to look at Wolffe - he had shifted his weight slightly but had shown no other sign of hearing you (though if you had been able to see the front of his face you wouldn’t be able to miss the heat coloring his tanned complexion and shocked expression). Plo purred softly and gave your arm a squeeze, you just knew if he had a face like yours there would be a smug smirk on it, and he bent down to whisper, “Oh kitten, such a good girl but let’s save that talk for later, hmmm?”

[mr-walkingrainbow]

sick/ill abimel please <3

Sick/ill

Aka Abby and her weird ass demon genes

“YOW!” Macy yelled, yanking her arm back as if it was on fire.

Everyone shot her a confused and concerned look.

“My love, are you ok?” Harry questioned nervously.

“Don’t look at me,” she exclaimed, pointing her free hand at Mels girlfriend, “Look at Abby! She burned me!”

“Now wait a second,” the later bristled, “I did nothing of the sort. I only bumped into you.”

The eldest rolled her eyes, “Yeah sure, Miss Overlord-I-have-fire-powers-and love-pain.”

Mel growled, stepping forward, “Macy. If my girlfriend said she didn’t burn you. Then she didn’t burn you.”

“Well then what do you call THIS?” Macy held up her arm, sleeve rolled up to show a reddish mark.

Yeah... that was definitely a burn she couldn’t argue against that.

“Abby?” She whispered discreetly, slinking up to her taller girlfriend to wrap her arms around her, “Is it possible you accidentally- OW!”

Mel also took a step back, waving her arms frantically to numb the sting.

“I TOLD you!” Macy accused mercilessly, “She’s doing it on purpose.”

“Now wait a minute,” Maggie piped up finally, “Macy don’t you think your being a tad bit unfair? Mel is Abbys girlfriend, she wouldn’t hurt her on purpose.”

“N-no! I’d never!” Abigael sputtered out, “I-I’d rather die then hurt her. Bloody hell. Mel did I hurt you?”

Her voice had turned so vulnerable and desperate, that it nearly hurt her to hear.

“No,” she smiled soothingly, “No of course not. And even if you did I know it was just an accident.”

“Well then why did Abby burn us if it wasn’t on purpose?” Macy was being a bit more cold then usual, but she never handled pain well so Mel hoped Abby didn’t take it too seriously .

It was then she got an idea, a hunch more like it. And she didn’t exactly like it.

“Hey sweetheart?... Do you feel ok?”

Abbys eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah, why?”

“Well,” she started slowly, “You’d only get this warm if you burned us on purpose, which I know you didn’t, or, you were running a fever. You naturally have a higher temperature cause of your demon side, but if it was enough to cause pain then your temperature must be up.”

“Huh?” Abby reached up to feel her forehead. Once her skin made contact with her hand, it hissed, light steam wafting up.

“Um, that’s new?” Maggie commented.

“Odd?” The Britt muttered, “I usually know if I’m feeling -Oh.”

Their was a moment where she stared into nothingness, before her eyes locked onto Mels.

“Lovely, I think you better get close to me.”

“Why?” She questioned nervously. It’s not that she didn’t trust her girlfriend, but Abby wasn’t the most private of people, and Mel was nearly afraid she’d turn on some sexual prowess.

Abby scoffed, “Because I’m about to pass out and I don’t want to hurt-“

-In the next second her body went slack, Mel diving to catch her before she hit anything.

“Carino??? CARINO?!?” She yelled frantically, ignoring the sting of the body’s searing temperature.

“HARRY?!”

“ON IT!”

The whitelighter orbed the few feet towards Abigael, leaving Maggie to comfort a distraught Macy.

His hands glowed bright as he kneeled, wafting them over Abbys unconscious form.

Harry tisked lightly, glancing at Mel with unease.

“Harry whats wrong?” She demanded.

“Em, she’s running a bit of a fever.”

“Yeah I got that.”

He wrung his hands a bit nervously, something seemed to be more wrong then usual.

“What’s wrong?” The Latina panicked, “What does she have???”

“A cold.” He stated simply.

Oh their was about to be a murder on elm street,

“A COLD??” Mel screamed, “YOU HAD ME SCARED OVER A COLD?!”

“Now hold on,” he raised his hand, “This is not a normal cold.”

“Yeah,” she scoffed, “My girlfriends a demon hybrid, I could have told you that.”

“No it’s not just that,” Harry continued, “This is different from her other colds. Which is why it happened so suddenly. And without her knowledge.”

“But what could be so diff-“ the Latina broke off. Realization dawning on her.

“Her demon side.”

Harry nodded grimly, “Sadly, you are correct. It seems her demon form attempted to hit her with a cold so severe, and so rapidly, that even her natural demon tolerance wouldn’t be able to fight it off.”

“Wait but that means.... Harry. You have to wake her up.”

The later just stared at her.

“HARRY! Wake her UP!”

Mel was turning frantic, gripping her girlfriend tightly even though it burned.

“Harry I swear if you don’t bloody wake her up now she won’t be the only one unconscious.”

That certainly got him to move, clearing his throat a few times, the whitelighter allowed his hands to glow once again. Drifting them over Abigaels body till they rested on her forehead.

“Ugh!” Harry panted, gritting his teeth. Whatever was happening to Abigael was taking a lot out of him. The motion evident by the exhaustion on his face.

He was pushed back lightly, hands whirling to break his momentum. The man looked utterly spent.

“Harry?” Mel questioned nervously, “Did-did you do it?”

“Mmmel?”

The Latina gasped, glancing down at her lover, Abigeals eyes fluttering open.

“Oh! Oh dois mio! Mi amor your ok!”

“Well,” the later laminated, “Ok seems a bit of a stretch. God. Bleeding Mary, what did I drink? I feel as if I’m both dying and being born simultaneously.”

“It’s gonna be ok Cariño.” She soothed through a concerned smile, “Just relax ok?”

Mel then smoothed the hair plastered to Abbys sweaty forehead out of the way. Resorting to stroking it just how she liked.

Abby closed her eyes instinctively, humming in content.

She glanced towards the tired Harry slumped against the wall, eyes practically begging to know why Abigael felt this way.

“I’ve curbed the worst of it,” he eventually stated, breaths coming in deep and slow, “From now on, you just have to treat it like one of her regular demon colds.”

“Oh thank the Latina lesbian goddesses,” she praised under her breath, glancing at Harry thankfully.

“Harry, I can’t.... I can’t thank you enough for what you just did.”

He smiled warmly, “Anytime Melanie. It might take a bit out of me, but I’d gladly do it again if it meant she turns out healthy and well.”

Her gaze traveled back to the woman resting in her lap. Wondering just how she was gonna transport to the couch.

She felt someone tap her on the shoulder, and her eyes met her older sisters.

“Let me.” Macy stated kindly. It seemed she had read Mels mind, (and wanted to make up for her earlier attitude)

With a gentle flourish, Macy lifted Abigael telepathically, and carefully set her on the couch.

“Their.” She smiled, “Now, I’m gonna help Harry get back in sorts, but afterwards I’ll help Maggie with the Vera famous chicken noodle soup.”

Mel grinned back, looking at her with a new level of appreciation.

Macy blushed lightly, “I was kind of a jerk earlier. Abigaels changed and I can’t keep holding her to her earlier persona. Besides.”

She glanced at the semi lucid form on the couch, smirking.

“This persona seems to love you very very much.”

It was the Latinas turn to blush, mumbling something in thanks before rushing over to her sick girlfriend.

“Hey there.” She crooned softly, resuming her earlier motions on the laters forehead.

Abigael hummed once again, making a noise in acknowledging.

“You should get some sleep, “ Mel stated, “Were gonna take good care of you.”

“Mmel?” Abby groaned suddenly , eyes blearily looking at her, “Don’t go?”

She smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her warm temple,

“Of course Cariño. I’d never leave you.”

With that verbal affirmation, Abigael squirmed lightly, making some adorable noises along the way as she got more comfortable. In the end, she was practically curled around Mels form, wrapped in her favorite blanket they kept out on the couch just for her.

The Latina continued to stroke her girlfriends forehead lovingly. Making sure the blanket was efficiently tucked in around her.

“Sleep well, Mi amor.”

HAHAHHAA BASKOOSH WHADOOSH! HOW YOU LIKE THAT AYE-NON??? Yo be a dear and reblog this for me. this deserves at least 10 likes don’t y’a think?

[stab-the-son-of-a]

And We’re Live

“This ought to be fun.”

The man, the being, the figure, doesn’t introduce himself, of course not. He needs no introductions, not because he’s notable or particularly renowned, but because he refuses to. You may call him the announcer, capital and article optional, as that’s what he is, and all he will be. 

The Announcer adjusts the display on the screen for the optimal viewing experience. On it is a dim, possibly damp even, basement, with a small crowd of people huddled inside. Three is company, but four is a crowd, and this collection of people is certainly a crowd crammed inside. 

Three men, one woman, but only one of the men stands. He’s one of the only ones who can, as one man is clearly too weak to, and the other, the older man, has a broken leg. The woman could stand, but her faint wavering even while sitting down belies the fact her balance is not yet restored from the head injury that left a streak of blood dried in her hair.

“You recognize these, don’t you?” The Announcer asks. He asks you, in fact. You can’t recall the color of his eyes, the tone of his skin, or anything, though you can recognize his attentions on you even through the screen. “Yes. You. It’s been some time since you’ve last seen or heard from them, but I’m sure you remember.” 

The Announcer smiles. It appears, a flash of expression, but you can’t remember the emotion behind it or recognize any other feature of his before he fades away in your mind again to nothing more than a vehicle of your entertainment. He knows this. He is not the star. Your gaze slips back toward the more interesting people. Thom nods off, cradled against Dale’s side opposite to Jaden, and Summer is half hidden behind Dale’s bulk. Half, because her focus, even as fuzzy as the concussion leaves her, never wavers from Jaden. Focus, and wariness.

“When last you saw the unfortunate guests of the Pierce couple, they were not enjoying their stay. I’d wager they enjoy it less and less as the days pass. How long?” The Announcer laughs. It’s as unremarkable, and unmemorable as the rest of him. He answers his own question. “Long enough, let us say. Such trivial matters don’t lessen your enjoyment of the main event, does it?”

You feel like maybe the announcer winks, inviting you in on some inside joke or exclusive club.

On the screen, Jaden Pierce towers over a floor-bound Dale Gibson, an ugly smirk on his features, and dangles a water bottle in front of them. 

The Announcer speaks a final time. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your show, my whump aficionados.”

Jaden slowly uncaps the bottle, the seal crackling being the loudest thing in the room. Preening under the cumulative weight of his captives’ stares, he asks, “Aw did you guys want any? There’s only one bottle and really it’s like, unsanitary as hell and super nasty to share so. Take your pick, babes, which of you is desperate enough to earn it?”

“Go to hell you bastard,” Summer croaks. Clearing her throat, she glares, as if that would cow him. Instead, it seems to encourage him, a smirk growing on his face.

Jaden rolls his eyes at the display. “Ooooh I’m so scared.”

“Please. You can’t mess with this like you have our food,” Dale reasons. “We can’t last as long without water. I’ll- I won’t eat. Just please, they need water.”

“Pretty sure you’re showing every sign of dehydration too, so why aren’t you arguing for more water for all of you?” Jaden shifts the bottle to hold it in the crook of his arm before he crouches down and cups Dale’s chin, forcing their gazes to meet. “Oh that didn’t occur to you, did it? Look at those eyes. Anyone ever tell you that you got eyes that tell a story?”

Dale doesn’t justify that with a response, setting his jaw and silently returning Jaden’s curious stare with a furious glower. 

“Get your disgusting hands off him,” Summer snarls. Jaden’s attention flickers to her, and Dale immediately moves to reach out for Jaden’s face, cupping his cheek and bringing their gazes together once more. Or at least, it did, but surprise has Jaden jerking back from the contact, eyes wide and jaw clenched. Unsure of what to do with his hand, or if his impulsive action just ruined any hope of good will from their captor, Dale slowly withdraws his hand back to cover Summer from Jaden’s potential retribution. 

After a few more tense moments, he seems to find whatever he was looking for, or come to some sort of decision.

“Jesus H Christ but you’re boring these days,” Jaden grumbles half-heartedly, but he does shove Dale back. The older man tips, just barely catching himself from dragging an semi-conscious Thom to the floor with him. Noticing the fact Thom barely reacted to the motion, the young man stands back up and takes a few curious steps to the side, an odd expression on his face as he studies his collection from a new angle, and especially the branded man. “So… Uh. What’s up with Thommy boy? He seems a little... not poggers.”

“You branded him,” Dale points out evenly, forcing his panic down. “He needs proper medical attention.” 

“Well, yeah, he got branded sure, but Sunshine there looks right as rain after her little Jack and Jill impression down the stairs, and she didn’t even need anything. So why hasn’t he gotten over it yet?”

“He’s starving,” Dale explains, right as Summer snarls, “Are you really that dumb?”

That’s the perfectly wrong thing to say, as Jaden flips- his eyes dark and hateful, lips twisted into a sneer, focus entirely on her now. Dale flinches back on instinct, free arm extending to block Jaden’s path to Summer. Dale knows, Summer knows, Jaden knows, that it won’t do anything concrete to stop him, but the younger man still does not advance.

Silence descends on the room, heavy and oppressive like the midday heat leaching into the basement.

Though Dale pushes her back, bodily places himself between Jaden and his two charges, Summer continues. “How could you be this... stupid? I can see your report card now. ‘Dear Mr. and Mrs. Moron, look into McDonald’s applications’.”

Emboldened by the silence, and undeterred by the way Dale whispers for her to stop, Summer adds, “Now I know we’re going to go free. You’re going to forget something so fucking simple and get yourself in trouble. And the whole world will forget all about you, you miserable mistake of a human being.”

At the almost petulant look on Jaden’s face, Summer bursts into short, sharp laughter. “I can’t be the first to point out you’re a failure! You’re going to ruin your worthless life-”

“Be quiet,” Jaden orders. Growls. His grip on the water bottle has the plastic bloating and deforming, the flimsy packaging crinkling. “Shut your mouth before I shut it for you. Do not test me.”

“You’re too incompentent to make me do anything, idiot,” Summer fires back.

“Fucking BITCH!” His shriek ends with an abrupt and solid crack.

Dale hurries to gather Summer in his arms, to check her neck and her head. A heavy, purple bruise blooms on her face and jaw even as the swelling shuts her eye. “Come on, Summer, come on,” he whispers, “just open your eyes and look at me.”

Thankfully, despite the lurid color, she is only a little unsteady and dazed and forces her clumsy arms to prop herself up properly. Swallowing a furious sob, Summer screams at Jaden’s retreating back, “You’re fucking pathetic!”

-

Three hours later, Lab Coat Lady entered the basement, flanked by Jaden bearing that damned pistol. When Dale tried to get his attention, Jaden silently raised the gun to the center of the older man’s forehead. Only when Dale slumped and allowed the woman in pink access to Thom, even as his heartbeat climbed ever faster and higher in his throat, did Jaden lower his threat. 

Sluggish and flushed with fever, Thom struggled to cooperate as the woman ordered, except for her last demand- to remain still- as she readied to pour a faint yellow liquid down his throat. She glanced up at Dale, then Summer. Quietly, she offered little explanation (“Hydrocodone”) before tipping it back, and, when Thom realized what had hit the back of his throat, she expertly covered his mouth and nose and held his jaw shut. 

Dale watched it all, feeling like Judas.

Only after his motions slowed and his eyelids drooped did the woman in pink release her hold enough to settle him onto his back. 

From there, she debrided his burn, slathered a generous amount of antiseptic cream, and bandaged the wound with a silvery material, all under Dale’s watchful eye. 

The woman approached Summer next- and again, as soon as either she or Dale moved, Jaden leveled the gun at Thom’s head. Both captives froze, a single, too long moment of realization that despite this effort, he might still decide to blast a bullet into Thom’s skull; blissfully unaware, Thom dozed in a drugged haze. 

He kept the gun trained on Thom the whole time the lab coat lady attended to Summer’s head injury, cleaning out blood from the wound and her hair. Summer, even if only for a moment, leaned into the rhythmic sensation of fingers gently carding through the freshly detangled locks. After that was settled, the pink coated woman checked her pupils and eye tracking, and apparently gave her a clean enough bill of health. Her carving on her lower stomach received the same treatment Thom’s branding had. 

The silence began to itch, like a week without a shower, and Dale clenched his fists as best as his broken wrists allowed. He just wished someone would speak and explain this abrupt change. Was it because of what Summer said? Had they gotten through to him somehow?

Dale stared at Jaden, expecting him to say something, make some sort of joke or verbalize his threat or name what they owed for this kindness. Jaden acted like Dale didn’t exist at all. It was unnerving, the same way it was unnerving to see teachers outside school hours, or parents when they were children- someone with a previous persona acting entirely differently from what one could expect of them. Unexpected was never a good sign when it came to Jaden. 

“On your back,” Lab Coat Lady directed him, pushing him back, powerless, helpless in everyway. He couldn’t defend himself on a good day, let alone stuck supine. He couldn’t even fight back as she pushed down on his chest and drew his hands away from his body. “Cooperate. Things will go smoother.”

They did. His wrists were rebandaged, and his leg braced. That simple act alone brought tears to his eyes, both from the metal pressing against the swollen flesh, and the relief of loose bone finally finding stability. Again, he tried to find Jaden’s gaze, to lock eyes and try to understand, but the man didn’t glance in his direction at all, though he had to feel the weight of his stare. 

Wiping her hands down with sanitizer again, the pungently clean smell permeating the poorly ventilated basement, Lab Coat Lady pulled out three prescription bottles. Haphazardly, Boomer, Thom1, T2, and a sun were written on the bottle lids in sharpie. The lids themselves had timers on them, presumably counting down to the next doses. Next to emerge from the bag was four more water bottles. Just as silent as Jaden had been the whole time, the pair left the basement and latched the door behind them.

“What the hell was that?” Summer whispered after a few minutes. 

“I don’t know,” Dale admitted, struggling to sit back up, even as Summer reached over and helped him to change positions. His gaze dragged back to the locked door, and his mind to the man who had walked out. He didn’t know that man at all. He hadn’t considered that sort of behavior in Jaden’s abilities. His palms began to sweat and shake as he checked the bottles left behind. 

Thom’s was more hydrocodone and an antibiotic. The instructions were clearly detailed on the side of the bottle. The same for Summer’s, another antibiotic. Dale had been… not prescribed, but given, pain relief. Tylenol-3, codeine. The bottles were light, and almost more full of air than medicine, but they contained an unimaginably heavy question within: Why.

[hullabalooshoneybee]

IDV — MY ANALYSIS OF ANN’S LORE & DEDUCTIONS (W/ THEORIES)

CW: death, throw up, murder, illness/plague, abuse/harassment, religion (Christianity), (implied to be forced) conversion, brief self harm mention (only one quote)

written by @hullabalooshoneybee

        When she was a little girl, Ann was diagnosed with an illness. Whether she was born with it or developed it is unknown, but the disease caused her eyes to change color to a piercing yellow— like a cat. Coincidentally, a plague had struck her region at the same time she was diagnosed (or at least developing the physical symptoms of her illness).

        It was stated by the Identity V devs that the contagion and her illness were not the same. In addition to this, the symptoms from the plague listed in the first deduction ( “... vomiting, spasms, high fever, etc.” ) also prove they are not the same illness since Ann was never mentioned to of demonstrated these symptoms. Regardless, those who knew of Ann’s illness had assumed the diseases were one and the same; blaming her and accusing her of being the one to bear the regional pestilence.

        Bear in mind that Ann’s backstory is based around the Black Death and the Salem Witch Trials, meaning majority of the logic behind the diseases were roped back to the Christian God. Because of this, Ann’s neighbors had accused her of being the “eye of evil” or the devil’s eye, saying the epidemic was not a punishment from God as the Bubonic Plague had been, but a curse brought about from (a ‘possessed’) Ann herself.

        However, young Ann and her family were shown to be of a separate faith; when her mother fell ill in the second deduction, Ann’s father had prayed to a cat-shaped idol on a shrine. Shrines are regarded as holy due to their associations with divinity, a sacred person or relic, which implies that Ann’s family had worshipped a deity other than the Christian God (considering the Christian God has no known affiliations to cats.) Since those of other faiths were notoriously shamed and harassed by Christians, this could also be a supporting role as to why Ann was blamed for the pandemic.

        In the second deduction, Ann is detailed to be crying at a woman’s bedside— likely her mother. This implies that her mother had either fallen ill or died, but it was likely only the illness at the time since Ann’s father was praying rather than mourning or dismissing of the body. However, come third deduction, it is revealed that Ann’s parents had eventually passed away on different occasions (the mourning clothes were worn several times— this could also imply that others in Ann’s family fell ill and died too).

        So, what became of Ann? Well, in the fourth deduction, it shows that Ann had inherited her parent’s land and houses (yes, plural; the deductions heavily imply that her parents were wealthy) through her parents’s wills. But the community wasn’t happy, which led to a copious amount of unwanted attention, often in the form of death threats. Not only were they convinced Ann was a creation of the devil and a bearer of plague, but now they held deep jealousy for her inheriting such wealth— such wealth they felt she didn’t deserve.

In the fifth deduction, a priest details in a letter that he was praying for Ann’s family, which had likely also fallen ill from the epidemic. In the letter, he claims that as long as Ann is alive, her curse will continue to infect others.

I theorize that the priest’s letter could’ve been to someone well known in the area, for the following deduction is an example of the harassment Ann faced; a rock with a poorly written message on it, blaming her for the plague and the death of the author’s mother.

Another reason the priest’s letter could of gone to someone higher up or with more influence (or if it became public) has to do with Ann’s death— The town wanted Ann dead since she was a little girl, but the priest’s letter was written closer to Ann’s adulthood (and was likely an influence on her diagnosis in deduction seven, more on this later). If this letter— which essentially claimed Ann’s death would free them— fell into the wrong hands, it could easily be used as motivation for Ann’s murder.

Back to the lore; Not long after the events of deduction six, Ann was given a quite religiously influenced diagnosis. The description of extreme stress and hallucinations lead me to theorize it being a severe case of anxiety or paranoia, but that is heavily up to debate (especially since I am not a licensed professional). Ann was told that her only treatment was to convert; turn to God and pray for salvation, which is why her diagnosis may have to do with the Priest’s letter from the fifth deduction.

So Ann abandoned her faith of the cat-shaped idol and became a nun, pursuing God’s cure ( “An infinite approach to the sun...” ) despite the hatred she gained from it ( “... is equivalent to infinitely hurting yourself” ).

But.. Why did Ann become a nun? Why did she change her faith now, of all times? In the original lore given to us by the Identity V twitter, it explains how Ann had eventually believed the town’s rumors of Ann being a seed of evil. So, since she was convinced she was a horrible person, she was likely desperate for a reason to change and fix herself— especially if it would get her abusers off her case. She likely believed God was her only solution, converting out of desperation for salvation.

During her time as a nun, her eyes had never (returned/became) normal, and the harassment she received had never stopped. She struggled to find the solace she yearned for, which inevitably led to her demise. On the night of a new moon, which symbolizes new beginnings (more on this later), she had made her way to the sanctuary of her Church. Unfortunately, she never made it to the Church since she had been impaled through the heart by a wooden cross— which is likely the cross she bears as a weapon at the Manor.

As she bled out, a cat-shaped shadow had approached her claiming, "I can make your wish come true, once you've sacrificed your last bit of faith” . The figure, theorized to be her family’s original deity/honored spirit, was likely telling her to give up on Christianity and revert back to her original faith. By doing so, Ann would get her wish; her cure.

And so she did. Ann turned her back to the “sun”, and was given her cure; revenge. Ann was risen from the dead, and brought about a new pandemic— a lethal one that targeted not only her region, but only the specific people who harassed and/or murdered her.

The reason her death being on a new moon is so important is due to it’s symbolism, which further enriches Ann’s lore. A new moon represents not only new beginnings, but reflecting on the past. This pairs well with the timing of Ann’s demise since it implies her revival was a new start, much like the moon’s implication. Not only that, but Ann was forced to reflect on her time as a Christian and the treatment she was given, which led to her ultimate choice of revival— and revenge.

There are several theories on Ann’s lore, one of the most notorious being who the cat-figure really is. The most popular theory is that it’s her family’s deity/honored spirit, but other theories suggest the cat is either the devil, or an illusion from the manor. I personally am unsure on what to believe, but all the same I find it interesting how the cat could represent a diverse range of roots.

A theory of mine, however, has to do with the cat and how Ann got to the manor. We know why survivors come to the manor, but what about hunters? Like Dead by Daylight, it seems to be implied that some of them just.. End up there. Appear and exist. But with Ann, I theorize a different case. The cat spirit could of made other deals with Ann, one of them perhaps being that Ann would forever be able to, “...punish those who want to approach the truth” if she agreed to come to the manor and play the Baron’s games.

Ann is one of the most intricately woven characters of Identity V lore, and the fact her background is not officially tied to any other characters makes it all the more difficult to decipher her history. All the same, I hope my analysis helps provide clarity as well as clears up confusion with Ann’s upbringing. All of my sources come directly from Identity V, be it their YouTube, Twitter, or in-game text such as Ann’s deductions.

( If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me! I’d love to discuss theories and whatnot with you all <3 )

[bird-in-a-cage]

Cocktober Prompt #3 - Freaky Friday

The plaid walls were a dead giveaway something was wrong. The soft sheets and too many pillows were another. Billy blinked at the ceiling a few times, tried to place where he’d woken up this time. It wasn’t anywhere he recognised. And he hadn’t had more than a beer the night before so couldn’t blame alcohol.

Things just felt, weird. 

Usually when he woke the first thing he craved was a cigarette, to get out of the house as fast as possible, hopefully before Neil was up so he couldn’t be dragged into another one sided lecture about being a model citizen. But this morning he didn’t. His mouth tasted different too. Both toothpaste and mouthwash still lingering around. Not a trace of nicotine.

It was only when he looked at his hands getting out of this strange new bed did the panic set in.

They weren’t his hands. Not by a long shot. Far too slender and femanine almost. No rings. No bruised knuckles. Skin smooth and pale. He tripped over his feet finding a mirror in the closet and just stared wide eyed at what was in front of him. Moved arms and jumped and blinked to check the releflection was real.

The person staring back was Harrington. Every inch of him. Billy pinched this body he was in and it hurt, kicked his shin against the edge of the door hard enough to leave a bright red mark and that hurt too. So this was definitely real. Billy was frozen, looking at himself trapped in another form. Internally he was panicking. Of course he was, he’d just woken up in, presumably, Harrington’s house in his damn body like it was a Halloween costume. Logical thoughts weren’t exactly easy to make happen.

He was 100% certain he wasn’t going to work today though.

Billy ran his hands over his new body, walking his fingers over moles that dotted the skin, across his new stomach and over his hips and chest. Stretched his arms out in front of his new self. Nothing felt as thick as before, but there wasn’t a lot of weight difference. It wasn’t as if Billy felt he’d now be able to jump higher or dance or whatever. He feathered his fingers through his new hair and okay, it was soft. So so soft. Like touching through a cloud even first thing in the morning. No wonder Harrington always looked like he took so much time on it.

There was one other thing he needed to check. Just out of curiosity. Hidden under the boxers on his hips. Billy had seen it before in the showers but this was the literal sense of up close and personal. And if this was all the weirdest fever dream then it wouldn’t matter anyway, he’d wake up at some point and be back to his regular old self. And really, what else do you do when you wake up in someone else’s body? It's practically a step in the body swap handbook.

With a new grin Billy kicked the shorts off and stood naked before the mirror, turning slowly from side to side on the balls of his feet. He knew Harrington was hung but having it attached was something else. For a laugh he spread his feet a little in the shag carpeting and worked his hips, his new cock swinging back and forth like a damn bell. It wasn’t that Steve was bigger, Billy definitely had the girth, Harrington was just longer. And liked to keep his bush trimmed from the looks of it. Least that part made sense. The boy was so meticulous with his look everywhere else. The panic that had been bubbling up inside melted away as Billy moved back to the bed, licked over the new teeth in his mouth, and settled up amongst the pillows.

Let’s see what makes Stevie boy tick…

Billy spat on his palm before taking a hold of his new dick, slowly spreading the slickness up and down. It felt nice to hold, not as good as his own but still, nice. It responded in kind, quickly getting hard with the attention and every drag of foreskin down over the blush pink head and back. Billy hoped this wasn’t a dream anymore, he couldn’t go back to now knowing this was how Harrington felt when he jacked off in bed, how he looked. How he somehow still had space to grow until it was downright not fair. How his thigh muscles got tight when Billy stopped stroking long enough to give the balls some attention. He couldn’t help but grin around a moan that sounded so forgien but Billy would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he sometimes thought about hearing it. Of course Harrington liked his balls being played with. How very middle class. Every tug and squeeze sent pleasure rocketing through his spine and down to his feet. It quickly became a two handed operation, slipping down the bed until Billy was flat on his back, pumping his fist in earnest over his cock.

Steve was fucking sensative that was for sure. It felt like barely any time at all before Billy was right on the edge, that feeling never changing in theory but Harrington’s felt different. Starting down in his toes and creeping up inch by inch, making Billy’s brain foggy and his mouth slack as the room became engulfed in the sounds of heavy breathing and slickness from both spit and precome that was beading at the slit. Billy only really paused to look down, to watch Harrington’s cock weep and twitch and push out another wet pearl, practically begging for release. To be swallowed. Shit, oh he’d have to convince Harrington to do this again. If he ever got back into his own body. He needed to know what it was like to do this to Steve, now he knew some of his soft points. Places to give the most attention too. Bet the guy would fucking scream getting his balls sucked on.

Three more pumps and Billy came. Hard. it crashed through him like a tidal wave, taking over every inch, rendering everything else in that moment utterly pointless and unimportant. Yeah, he would definitely need to find a way to make Harrington feel that under his regular body. Somehow. Billy panted in the bed, his chest splattered with cum. He licked at a drop that landed near his lips. Steve didn’t taste too different, maybe a little sweeter from all that ice cream.

He had done Harrington a favour and cleaned himself up in the bathroom, which was about the size of Billy’s living room, put pants on, and was busy just looking at Steve’s face staring back in a mirror. Poking and prodding at cheeks, thumbing around the shells of new ears, tonguing over his gums, when the door suddenly popped open. Buckley was stood there, that girl Steve worked with in the mall, looking beyond stressed out and panting, holding onto the doorframe like she’d sprinted all the way across town to get here. It also appeared she’d gotten dressed in the dark. Mismatched shoes, almost comically high waisted jeans and a bright neon sweater that was definitely too big.

“Are you Billy?!” She demanded, cheeks red but eyes on fire. 

Okay well this day just, somehow, got even weirder. 

Billy just blinked at her reflection. Apparently that was enough of a confirmation for her to disappear down the hall and come back not even moments later and toss a shirt at Billy’s head.

“Put that on! We’ve gotta go!”

“Go where?” Billy asked, putting the shirt on as he was dragged out of Harrington’s mansion of a house he didn’t even have time to properly explore yet. There were so many cabinets and cupboards unrifled. He didn’t even have time to think about searching through Mrs Harrington’s jewelry box... 

Parked out haphazardly on the driveway was Billy’s camaro. He froze seeing himself sat in the front seat, hands gripping the wheel so tight they were white. Buckley tugged at Harrington’s arm to get Billy to move but he stayed stock still.

“What the fuck is happening?” Billy demanded. “Talk Buckley or I’m not leaving. How am I in my car?”

Buckley’s eyes darted around. She started biting at her thumb. Even though Billy had only been to Scoops when she was there a couple of times, neither of those things seemed like anything she would do. Billy took a moment to really look at her. Past the weird fashion choices and bird’s nest of hair. Past the no makeup and desperation plastered all over her face.

“Look, I… I kinda fucked up. I can explain everything just, can we do it in the car please?” She spoke in more hushed tones, still tugging at Billy’s arm to get him to move even another step. It wasn’t going to work like that though. Billy needed to know exactly what the hell was happening before he was about to be kidnapped by himself. He glared down at Buckley, or whatever his glare looked like now. Apparently it didn’t do the trick.

“God I look dumb doing that…” she muttered under her breath.

That’s when it all clicked. The penny dropped and shattered through the glass ceiling.

“Holy shit… Harrington?” 

Buckley blushed. It was clear even through the redness already on her face. Steve was stuck as Buckley. Billy was stuck as Harrington. Then by the process of elimination…

Oh shit, this would be fun.

Billy smirked and walked calmly over to his baby, engine still purring, leant down to look at himself sat behind the wheel. Fury was clear over his features, just staring straight ahead at the end of the culdesac and the turning spot to get out of Harrington’s fancy neighbourhood.

“Well, well, well...” Billy started. “The chick has a dick.”

“Get in this fucking car before I kill us all. Dingus is already hanging on by a thread, don’t think I won’t do it,” she spat out through gritted teeth. Apparently she didn’t know how to dress either, clearly just grabbing what had been on Billy’s bedroom floor before probably racing out of that house.

Billy couldn’t exactly blame her on that one.

With a shrug he climbed into the back over the passenger seat, Buckley got in the front, knees pulled tight together, hands not knowing what to do with themselves. The car had barely set off again before Billy couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Either of you two wanna tell me what the fuck is happening?”

Buckley went to open her mouth, his mouth?, but it was Hargrove that spoke. Practically roared over the sound of the engine working overtime because it was in the wrong gear. It was painful to Billy’s ears.

“This asshole found one of my mom’s spell books and thought oh wouldn’t it be such a fucking great idea to go saying incantations without knowing what the fuck he was doing?! So now I’m stuck as you, Steve is stuck as me and you’re stuck as him until we can get to my aunt’s place in Indy to fix all of this! And once she does I never want to see either of you ever again!”

Billy blinked a few times just trying to process all that information. It sounded weird being said in his voice for a start but, spell books and incantations? God the midwest was full of weird bitches.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think this would happen, did I?” Buckley spat back, peeling away from being pressed up against the door in shame for the first time.

“You didn’t think at all Steven! You never do love spells on a full moon without knowing what you’re doing. God if you weren’t me I’d punch you!”

The grin that grew on Billy’s face was palpable. A love spell huh. Maybe when they were all back in the right bodies that could be something to be worked on. For now they were pulling onto the highway towards Indianapolis, finally in the right gear. Billy just sat back and listened to them bicker like an old married couple. He’d enjoyed being Harrington for a few hours. And if it was true he was stuck like this because maybe Harrington had feelings well, Billy maybe wouldn’t say no to giving that a try too. After this, anything was possible.

[ethereousdelirious]

I’m baaack from my writing hiatus :P I come bearing gifts:

Fandom: The M.agnus A.rchives

Characters: M.artin, J.on (+S1 crew)

Pairings: Jo.nMar.tin

Tropes: standard “stubborn sick character, persistent caretaker”

Summary: standard “J.on gets sick at work and is stubborn about it; Martin is equally as stubborn about taking care of him”

Warnings/Notes: JM isn’t exactly my (wait for it) cup of tea (ba dum tsh) and I kinda lost the thread of where the story was going, so it’s a bit slice-of-lifey and kinda ends in a weird spot? It’s not Hurt No Comfort, though, I didn’t leave it hanging that much ;) I honestly wasn’t gonna post this but then I remembered the whole cake thing and thought you Jon Enjoyers might like it :)

In a half-daze, Martin watched the water in the electric kettle dance as it started to boil. He had bent at the waist so he could rest his chin on the counter, and it was starting to hurt a bit, but he made no effort to stand. He liked working in the Archives but sometimes the peace and quiet made him sleepy. 

"What are you doing?" Jonathan's voice came flat and annoyed from the doorway to the breakroom.

Martin straightened up, unable to stifle an exclamation of surprise. "Oh! Hi, Jon."

Jonathan only raised an eyebrow. He had been grumpier than usual today. Tim and Sasha had been grumbling about it all morning.

Remembering the question, Martin gestured to the kettle. "I was just gonna make some tea. I'm on my break, so. Thought I might make some for everyone." He gestured at the mismatched line of cups and mugs on the countertop, teabags already in place.

Jonathan's expression seemed to soften at the edges, though he didn't smile. "That's why I came in here, actually. My throat's a little…" He sighed. "It doesn't matter."

"Maybe you ought to take a break from reading statements?" Martin suggested as gently as he could. He knew how Jon got about his statements, snappish and possessive like a stray dog with a bone.

Sure enough, Jon scowled. He looked like he was going to say something, probably a pointed remark about Martin's work ethic, but instead he only swallowed thickly and placed two fingers to the base of his throat, like he could soothe the pain from the outside. He coughed experimentally.

Martin reached for one of the cupboards and started moving things aside. "I'll put some honey in yours. Did you know that honey actually has mild antibacterial properties?"

"Er, no," Jonathan said, but he didn't appear to be listening all that closely. He had moved out of the doorway and was poking through drawers and cabinets, their contents clattering as he examined them.

"What are you looking for?" Martin asked.

Jonathan sighed, like Martin's continued presence was such a cause for annoyance that he couldn't not express his irritation. "Painkillers. I've got a bit of a headache."

"Same drawer as the first aid kit." Martin went back to looking for the honey.

"That makes sense, I suppose."

They were silent for a moment, as Martin poured the water and carefully stirred honey into the mug he had chosen for Jonathan, while Jonathan took more than the recommended dose of painkillers and washed out his water glass in the sink.

"Hope you're not coming down with something," Martin said offhandedly, passing Jon his tea.

"Thank you," Jonathan said with barely-concealed venom. "I'm going back to work now. I suggest you do the same."

Martin tried to ignore the sting of Jon's words.

When he was feeling bored and restless yet again, Martin got up to collect everyone's empty mugs. Tim and Sasha were nearby, but Jon… He was sequestered away in his new office. Martin left the empty mugs on his desk and marched right up to the door. No time for anxiety, no time to brace for whatever barb Jonathan was going to hurl at him this time.

Upon getting close enough to look in the tiny window on the door, Martin stopped dead. Through the glass, he could see Jonathan, slumped over at his desk with his head resting in his hand. His eyes were just barely open, and even from that distance Martin could see Jon's irises moving, tracking his place on the statement he was reading.

Jonathan had never had the greatest posture to begin with, but this was abnormal, even for him. He looked like he was having trouble keeping himself upright and, Martin noticed with a pang of worry, the hand not supporting his head was clenched in the fabric of his shirt over his stomach.

For a moment, Martin was frozen, utterly unsure of what to do. He didn't want to just barge in while Jon was in the middle of a statement. He waited a moment longer. Luckily, Jonathan seemed to be finishing up. He sat up a little straighter and set the statement aside, speaking a few more words before finally turning off the tape recorder.

Martin didn't waste any time, practically throwing himself through the door before Jon could even think about picking up another statement from the impressive stack on his desk.

"What is it?" Jonathan snapped, not even bothering to try to hide the naked animosity on his face, the raw irritation at having his work interrupted. He didn't lift his head from where it was cradled his right hand, his thumb pressed firmly to his temple.

"I, um--" Martin faltered. "Well, I, I was just walking by your office and I happened to glance in and see you and I just thought--" Pause. Breathe. "You look really ill, Jon. Are you feeling okay?"

"Not really," Jonathan said, softening up a little. "But I have work to do, so." He looked pointedly at the door.

"You can take a day off, you know," Martin said back. He checked his watch. "More like a half day, now."

"I don't need to take a day off," Jon said, his voice flat and annoyed.

"A break, then," Martin insisted.

"I just had a break. So did you." As much as he was arguing, Jon was making no effort to hide the wince that distorted his features every time he swallowed or the way his ragged nails dug into the skin of his forehead. He shifted slightly when he saw Martin looking him over, uncomfortable under the analytic gaze."I'm fine," he said, a touch petulantly, and that was when Martin knew he had won the argument.

"You can barely even sit up. Come on." Martin offered Jon his hand, and Jon looked at it with ill-disguised contempt before standing up on his own. He was pale under the fluorescent lights except for the unmistakable flush of a fever on his cheeks. That was something. Though it wouldn't win him any points with Jon, Martin could always threaten to tell on him to Elias. If Jon was going to despise him no matter what, the least Martin could do was keep him safe.

But that was for later. For now, Martin would walk Jon to the break room and look after him.

Tim and Sasha were both standing, Tim standing with his lower back pressed against the counter and Sasha with her hand against the table. They were talking animatedly about something, but both jumped guiltily and went silent when they saw Jon.

The impression of guilt melted away when Jon barely even looked at them and collapsed heavily onto the small sofa, pale and sweating.

"You okay, boss?" Tim asked.

Martin refilled the kettle and turned it on. "He's a little sick."

"Looks a lot sick to me," Tim remarked with a quick glance at Jon. He had tilted forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees and was breathing heavily.

"Really," Sasha added. Jon obviously wasn't in any shape to be answering questions, so she looked to Martin. "Is he okay?"

Martin shrugged, trying to hide his worry for the sake of not embarrassing Jon. "I'm sure it's nothing a little rest can't fix."

"And tea," Tim said with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

"Obviously," Martin and Sasha said at the same time, and then they laughed.

This ended abruptly when Jon made a muffled noise and shot out of the room, nearly knocking into Sasha on his way out.

"Shit." Martin said.

For a split second, they stood in silence.

"Are you going to go get him?" Tim asked.

"I…" Martin blinked. "I'm not like his keeper or anything, I just work here!"

"Someone should make Elias send him home," Sasha said.

"You're Jon's favorite," Martin said with just a trace of bitterness. "Why don't you go check on him?"

"Because he's probably passed out in the men's room," Sasha said back. "You go get him. I'll tell Elias he needs to go home."

"I'll disinfect the couch," Tim said, fighting a smile.

Martin sighed. "I'll go get him. And talk to Elias if I have to. You guys… Enjoy your long break, I guess."

Tim patted him on the back as he left. "Good luck."

"You'll need it!" Sasha said cheerfully.

By the time Martin made it to the bathroom, Jon had made some effort to clean himself up and then collapsed by the sinks. At least he was sitting up and appeared to be conscious. His face was wet, dripping water. Martin wasn't sure if he had been sick or just been overtaken by the need for quiet, and he was equally unsure that Jon would tell him if he asked.

"Jon!" Martin rushed to his side and pressed a hand to his forehead without even thinking about it. "You're--"

"Burning," Jon said hoarsely.

Martin's hand travelled lower, to Jon's neck, and he pressed two fingers to the carotid artery. Jon's pulse was rapid and fluttery and he pulled away from the touch.

"Did that hurt?" Martin moved his fingers higher, to the lymph node.

"You're not a doctor," Jon said, pulling further back, seeming to shrink into himself.

"Sorry." Martin dropped his hand. "I really think you need to go home."

"It's fine," Jon said. "I have more statements to read."

There was an odd kind of desperation in his voice that Martin couldn't begin to understand. "Jon. I can tell you're in pain. If it hurts to talk, you shouldn't be reading statements. It's getting worse, isn't it?"

Jonathan said nothing, which was answer enough.

Martin stood. "Come on, I'll call you a taxi."

"Elias--" Jon started to protest, but cut himself off, one hand flying to the base of his neck.

"I'll tell him."

Unable or unwilling to talk, Jon nodded begrudgingly and forced himself to his feet.

The resentment in his eyes sent an ache through Martin's chest, but he only stood and held the door open for Jon.

"You're welcome," he said softly, watching Jon stalk down the hall without waiting for him. He sighed, and the door slammed shut behind him.

Martin wasted a moment staring at his shoes. He tried so hard and all he ever got back was vitriol from Jon and teasing from the others. After that brief wave of self-pity came the guilt for daring to feel so sorry for himself when Jon was seriously ill and seriously ill-inclined to take care of himself.

Martin sighed and shook his head. The sooner he found Elias, the sooner he could work on getting Jon to go to A&E instead of holing up in his flat or, god forbid, his office.

And then, as though Martin's thoughts had summoned him, Elias rounded the corner. He nodded in greeting and then paused, face darkening. "Everything alright, Martin? You look upset."

"Oh, uh." Even though Elias was always popping up like this, it was hard not to be startled. "Elias. I was just about to come find you, actually. It's Jon."

"Oh?"

"He's ill-- really ill; he needs to go home but I don't-- I'm going to call him a cab. Just wanted to let you know."

Elias nodded. "I appreciate you letting me know. And wish Jon well for me, would you? See to it that he gets well soon."

"Um, yeah." That certainly hadn't been what Martin was expecting. "O-of course. I'll just-- I'm gonna go." He turned away and attempted the impossible feat of rushing for Jon's office without seeming like he was trying to get away from Elias, which he very much was. He could swear he felt Elias' gaze on him even after he'd reached Jon's office and shut the door behind him. It was eerie.

"Martin." Jonathan looked like he regretted speaking even that one word. He made an abortive motion, reaching for his throat and then letting his hand drop. He had abandoned dignity alarmingly quickly and slumped over with his face on his desk. He had even undone the top few buttons of his shirt.

"Oh, Jon," was all Martin could say. "I can't let you go home like this."

Jon glowed at him but had evidently learned his lesson about trying to speak. He was breathing too fast, his shoulders rising and falling in unsteady cadence. Martin reached out to feel his forehead again and Jonathan jerked back so violently he nearly knocked his chair over.

"Sorry," Martin said. He really couldn't do anything right, could he? "I'm not gonna-- hurt you." Had someone hurt Jon before? Why was he so jumpy? He reached out again and Jon actually smacked his hand away. "Okay, sorry. No touching."

Jonathan nodded.

Martin sighed, unsure of quite what to say. He could waffle all he wanted about tenacity or dedication, but in the moment, there was no denying to himself that Jon was stubborn. He was stubborn to the point of being self-destructive and Martin would have to be careful.

"You really should go to A&E."

Jon shook his head no, then squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"Well, I can't just dump you in a taxi."

Jonathan nodded.

"No, Jon, I can't. Can you even stand up on your own? Don't--! There's no need to demonstrate. I get it."

Jonathan sat down and exhaled shakily through his mouth. It wasn't just his breathing, he was shaking all over and wincing every time he swallowed.

"Let me take you home."

Pause. Jon eyed him with suspicion and Martin felt compelled to elaborate, "Just to make sure you don't, you know, collapse on the pavement and end up in hospital anyway."

Jonathan, evidently having no other way to communicate his displeasure, stuck out his tongue. Martin couldn't help but laugh.

"Is that a yes?"

Jonathan nodded.