#and he's like “I KNOW!!!!!” cradles head in hands despairingly

[chelshiart]

Fire and Hemlock!! Aka the one with like a gazillion recommendations for other books 😂

[mistiell]

Let me put my Lips to Something

Pairing: Spencer x Fem! Reader

Summary: After learning about his aversion to touch, you tone down the physical affection. Spencer finds himself missing your touch, and after weeks of yearning, he’s had enough. He decides it’s time to fix this.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Fluff, it gets pretty steamy towards the end but nothing graphic so I don't think this needs age restricting lmao

A/N: Part 2 to “I’m Starvin’, Darlin’”. The feedback on the last part motivated me to finish this in like, a single sitting lmao. Hope y’all enjoy! :)

P.S. My requests are open so if you wanna send something in for Spence, I'll do my best to get to it quickly!

Part 1 - Current - Part 3

Spencer hadn’t realised how much he wanted — how much he needed — your touch until you stopped. Where there was once that warm, tingly anticipation whenever he made you laugh, there‘s now a strange absence left in its wake. Where there used to have been a bump or a squeeze, there are awkward smiles and nervous glances. Like a line of dialogue without end quotations, left to hang in the balance while the author considers what should be said next.

It’s killing him.

He’s come to realise that this want extends beyond the bounds of anything that could ever be considered platonic. He wants more than your touch. He wants you.

He craves you, finds himself remembering the way your arms felt around him the last time you hugged him. Finds himself fantasising about how it would feel to be the one to take you in his arms. How it would feel to be the one to hold you; to cradle your face between his palms and lose himself in your kiss; to let go of his inhibitions and drown himself in the depths of your affections.

He wants your time and energy. He wants your attention and praise. He wants to be the one to make you smile and laugh so hard your stomach hurts. He wants to be yours, and he wants everyone to know it.

It’s only been three weeks since that night at the bar, but even so, he feels like if he doesn’t figure out how to tell you how he feels, he might very well lose his mind. You’re right across from him all day, five days a week. It’s torture. Perhaps he’s being dramatic, but at this point, he’s well beyond caring.

The problem is, how on earth is he supposed to go about confessing to you? He’s never been suave or charismatic. He’s awkward and dorky and breaks a sweat every time anyone even remotely attractive looks his way. He’s never felt this intensely about anyone before, never desired anyone this way before. Sometimes, late at night when he’s finally tucked himself into bed, he attempts to calculate the probability of you ever wanting him in the way he wants you.

In his pessimistic mind, that number is despairingly low.

“Spence?” He startles at the sound of your voice, snapping his head up to look at you.

You’ve worn a different lipstick today. It’s a little darker than your usual colour, a rather glossy, rosier shade of mauve. He thinks he’s seen it somewhere before, and the name pops up from somewhere in his memory.

“Rum raisin.” He mumbles, staring intently at your lips and wondering briefly if it would transfer if he kissed you.

“What?” You cock your head at him with an amused sort of confusion.

He blinks once before clearly his throat, “Oh, um, your lipstick.”

You raise your hand so your fingertips hover over your bottom lip as you smile at him, “How’d you know?”

“I saw it in a drugstore once.”

You chuckle and shake your head, “Your memory never ceases to amaze me, Spence.”

His heart swells as he smiles sheepishly, “Thanks.”

You hum before gesturing to two big boxes of files that are sitting on your desk, “Could you help me run these down to records?”

“Oh, yeah.” He’s quick to cross the short distance to your desk and purposely picks the heavier of the two boxes.

The trip down to records is a rather tedious one as of today. The elevator is out of order so you have to take the stairs from the sixth floor to the third.

“Do you like rain?” You ask, and it takes him a moment to realise you’re looking out water speckled windows at the stormy street below.

“Yeah.” He leaves out the part that the possibility of power outages and the darkness that accompanies them unnerves him greatly.

You turn your head to smile at him as you reach the records room, “Me too.”

He opens the door for you before you have the chance and lets you go in first, letting the door shut behind him. He follows you into the room, weaving between shelves and stepping over boxes that have yet to find their places. He watches you skim over the yellowed labels, your lips twitching as you read them off in your head.

You find the spot you’re looking for and make a sound of satisfaction before bending at the waist to slide the box into place, your skirt sliding a little further up to press against the plush flesh of the backs of your thighs. His gaze wanders up the length of your body and stops at your chest. From this angle, he’s able to see the curve of your breast and he swallows hard. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head, feeling ashamed for ogling you like that.

Behind the darkness of his eyelids, he sees the lights flicker and when he opens them, he finds he’s not able to see much more than when he had them closed.

Shit.

“Damnit, the power’s out.” You curse, taking the box from him and slotting it in next to the other.

He takes a deep breath. The dark isn’t as frightening with you there in front of him, but that familiar anxiety pricks his chest and settles heavy in his gut.

“Spence?”

He wonders when the emergency lights will come on. Maybe they’re already on in the hall. He feels along the wall and shuffles back over to the door. When he tries the knob, he finds it locked. Now he’s panicking a little.

Well, maybe a lot.

There’s a clap of thunder outside that’s so powerful that he feels it in his chest and he jumps, breath catching in his chest as he screws his eyes shut as if it’ll make a difference.

“Spence?” You call again softly, “Are you okay?

“Y-Yeah.” He stutters.

“You don’t like storms?”

He shakes his head before realising you can’t see him, “No, not really.”

“Me neither.” You whisper, and he hears the shuffling of your clothes as you shift your weight between your feet and huff a breathy puff of nervous laughter, “I don’t like the dark either.”

“Me neither.” He echoes, wetting his lips briefly as he considers how to comfort you despite how anxious he is himself.

Carefully, tentatively, he reaches for you in the dark and takes your hand, just barely brushing his thumb over your knuckles. Your skin is soft and warm, and he attempts to find your face in the dark as he murmurs ever so softly, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” You reply just as softly, squeezing his hand.

It’s a little unsettling not being able to see you. He can hear you breathing, and having your hand in his feels so nice, but he wants you closer.

“Can I…” He trails off, but tugs at your hand so you’ll step a little closer. He swallows his nerves, “Can I distract you?”

It’s a lame excuse, but it’s all he can come up with on the spot.

“Distract me how?” He can hear the smile in your voice and it encourages his steadily growing confidence.

He pulls you closer, and you step further into his space. He places a hand on your waist, and you don’t recoil. In fact, you come a little closer and set a hand on his chest. You slide it along the length of his shoulder and up the back of his neck to thread your fingers in the hairs at the base of his skull and he shudders, lips parting to sigh softly. Your thumb settles just behind his ear and strokes the skin there tenderly and he can’t stop himself from leaning down to gently bump your nose with his, giving you plenty of time to pull away, to tell him you don’t want this.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask so innocently, breath fanning over his lips in a steady rhythm as his eyelids flutter shut.

“Please.” He breathes, leaning in to meet you halfway.

Your lips meet his timidly and his heart stutters in his chest. There’s a second where you pull back to let him breathe, let him get used to the feeling. His eyes open a sliver, just enough to make out the edges of you in the dark as his brain catches up with his body. And then the shock passes.

And he devours you.

The hand that was on your waist comes up to cradle your cheek as he brushes his tongue against your bottom lip in a silent request. You grant it, opening up to him to let him roll his tongue against yours. You stand on your tiptoes and lean further into him, returning the kiss with a fervour he wasn’t expecting but welcomes happily. He can taste your lipstick and is pleasantly surprised to find it tastes a little like vanilla.

There’s a push and pull of tongues and teeth and soft little sighs as he dares to slip his hands down and pull you flush against him by your hips, revelling in the breathy moan that slips from your throat and meets his mouth. He pulls away only to kiss sloppily at the corner of your mouth and down your jaw. He nips at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, smiling against your skin when you gasp and tug at his hair. Mouthing at your skin, he searches until you whine and shudder after he drags his teeth over a particular spot and focuses his attention there.

He sucks a nice bruise into the spot, some primal part of him driving him to mark you up and claim you as his while he has you here. He bites a little too hard and you hiss, making him pull back and search for your face in the dark.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Mm-mm.” You hum before immediately capturing his lips again, slipping your tongue into his mouth and swallowing the moan that escapes him.

He guides you by your hips until he has you pressed against the door, sliding a hand down the length of your thigh before slipping it up past the hem of your skirt to grab greedily at your flesh. He hikes your leg up by his hip and you hook your knee around it to pull him impossibly close.

His touch is tender even as he practically swallows you whole, thumb stroking the side of your thigh where your skirt has ridden up. He rolls his hips up against your experimentally and you whine, urging him to do it again. This is what he’s wanted — craved — for so long. You’re warm and soft in ways that his imagination could have never replicated. He’s dizzy, drunk on your kiss, on your touch, on you.

He’s attached himself to your neck again — the other side this time — when the lights flicker on, startling you both into looking up at the ceiling.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of your combined laboured breathing, and when he looks back at you, he finds your face flushed and your lipstick smudged. You look back at him and he notices your pupils are blown wide as you suddenly smile and start giggling.

“What?” He chuckles, letting go of your thigh so that you can stand on your own two feet again.

“Rum raisin looks good on you, doctor.” You laugh, thumbing the remnants of your kisses off of his bottom lip.

He kisses you once again, smiling against your lips.

You tug him back and laugh again, “You’re making it worse!”

He does it again, and again, and then peppers kisses over the side of your neck until you’re giggling something awful and have to scrunch your shoulder to your ear to keep him from tickling you.

“Spencer!” You squeak as quietly as you can and he pulls away laughing.

Your giggles die down, and then you’re both left in a silence that isn’t awkward, but isn’t quite comfortable either. He has to say something, but what?

“Hey, would you, um,” You start, glancing down at his lips and biting at yours nervously, “Would you like to go out with me sometime? Just us?”

He blinks, wanting to pinch himself to make sure this is actually happening, “Like, a date?”

You nod. He blinks again before practically beaming at you.

“Yeah.” He nods, attempting to correct the smudged edge of your lipstick with his thumb, “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Saturday? Five o’ clock? We can do whatever you want.”

He nods again, “Sounds good.”

“Good.” You smile, leaning up to kiss him, your touch so saccharine and gentle that his legs feel like jello beneath him.

The doorknob jiggles suddenly and he instinctively reaches to help you button up your blouse a little more while you fiddle with the collar until it covers the rather obvious hickey on your neck.

“Hey, are you two still in there?” Derek calls from the other side as you attempt to help Spencer fix his hair to no avail.

“Uh, yeah!” He calls, clearing his throat after his voice cracks up an octave, “We accidentally locked ourselves in.”

“Here.” You bend to slide the key under the door, and this time, he stares unabashedly, “That’s the key.”

The knob jiggles a little more before the door opens, and when it does, Derek eyes the two of you suspiciously, “You guys okay?” He locks eyes with Spencer and smirks, “You seem a little winded.”

“Yeah, we’re okay.” You smile, hastily walking out, “The boxes were just heavy. Plus, we had to walk all the way down here.”

“Yeah, okay.” Derek says, though it’s clear he isn't convinced. When you get a little further ahead of them, he claps Spencer on the back with a bright grin, “About time, loverboy!”

“Shut up.” Spencer shoots back, though he can’t help the smile that creeps up on his face.

This is not how he expected his confession to go, but — as he watches you walk down the hall a little ways ahead of him with a renewed pep in your step and your hair a little dishevelled — he is so glad it went the way it did.

———————————————————————

Edit: I had a couple people request a part 3 (Possibly smutty, but we shall see), and I'm curious about whether or not y'all would want that? Just let me know in the replies/reblogs. :)

Update: Part 3 is posted and linked at the top of this post :)

Taglist:

@louderfortheback @theblaxkbird @marimorena06 @special-forces7 @lolilkkk

[windsweptinred]

Metamorphosis (Part 2)

(Part 1) Warning: Angst, so much angst. The author cruelly torturing the characters for your entertainment. (I promise happiness and rainbows are to come... But first, the angst)

Dream leaned into Hob's touch, taking a moment to pull courage from the gentle strength it offered. He turned his head, pressing a reassuring kiss to the centre of the left palm, then the right, before drawing free of their caress.

His attention shifted to his sister, still watching them from a distance. Her eyes shone with sorrow, though she fashioned an encouraging smile for him. Warm, yet dim in comparison to her usual beam. Dream held her gaze imploringly. His sister was her own, with her own rules. Perhaps, he had merely to ask? Oh but if that could be the case. 

"Sister, I am aware how many must have pleaded their case to you. And I know  I am no more deserving than the countless others you have denied. Your gift is a blessing. And I hope one day to joyfully be bestowed with it… But." He cast a quick look at Hob, then stared into the distance at his ravaged realm." I desire to live, truly, for the first time since…" He brought his hands up before him, staring at them intently before steadying himself with a breath. "I have found happiness, as you wished me to. May I not keep it a little longer?"

Dream watched as a tear spilled from his sister's eye, and felt his stomach descend along with it. Anxiously, he pulled away from Hob, stumbling slightly, ignoring the panicked protests from Hob and the frantic hands that tried to pull him back. Moving closer to his sister, he dropped into a wobbly kowtow before her, instinctively flinching back violently when she made to pull him up. He knew the deep hurt this would cause her, and guilt twisted within his gut like a volatile serpent. Yet he could not help but keep his distance. She pulled away haltingly a deep great weight about her. 

"If there is any way I may offer recompense, rather than my life. I will pay it, I swear this! But please, my sister, I beseech you! Grant me a little more time." 

He watched as her face crumpled in anguish, another tear slid free. 

"Oh Dream…" Her voice broke with a wretched sob as she wrapped her arms about herself in an obvious gesture of self comfort. "It's too late." 

With a look of intense reluctance she waved her hand in a come hither gesture. Cirrus and cumulus wove their way from the clearing skies above, before delicately settling within Dream's arms. Slowly, they formed a figure, as soft and white as they, and when the last wisp dispersed, there lay a young man draped across Dream's lap, body lax in an unconscious state. Head cradled safely in the bend of Dream's arm. Dream ran a finger over the youths soft, boyish cheeks, recognising instantly who this was. He felt his heart shatter. 

He heard Hob crawl to his side, anxiously taking in the new arrival laying in his lover's lap. He wove an arm about Dream's waist which seemed to calm him somewhat, having Dream back within his reaching distance. Dream immediately leaned into the support it offered. He would savour it while he could. 

"Dream. Who is this?" 

Dream closed his eyes, turning his face away, utterly defeated. He answered, voice flat, devoid of emotion. "This is… Dream of the Endless." 

Hob face contorted in confusion, glancing from Dream to the figure in his arms and back again. 

"Darling, I don't understand." 

Dream's throat worked as he attempted to explain, but he found he could not. Bile began to surge every time he tried. He shook his head despairingly.

Death cleared her throat before placing a hand on the youth's head of white curls, which draped over Dream's arm and splayed about the ground beneath him. 

"This 'was' Daniel Hall, the mortal child conceived of the Dreaming. Born with the sole purpose of inheriting the mantle of Dream from my brother."

Dream let out a breath, though it sounded more like a pained whine," How is this possible, when I still live?" He huffed a self-deprecating laugh. "Or am I already considered naught but the walking dead?" 

Hob and Death immediately let out cries of protest. Hob moving to tuck Dream under his chin, mindful not to jostle Daniel as he did. Death reached out towards her brother, stopping short. Her face was a picture of pure anguish as looked at him. Desperate to provide comfort. Dream, yearning for the familiar warmth of his sister's embrace, yet still unsure of its safety, clenched Daniel closer to him in her stead. 

"The transition of power has already begun. In the Waking, the child Daniel is dying, in the Dreaming, your power fades little brother. At the moment there are two Dream's of the Endless, and at the same time, none. The universe has halted in a state of flux and seeks to right itself. Destiny holds the page aloft. He will not turn it for as long as he is able. But it cannot stay that way indefinitely."

Hob placed a sturdy hand on Daniel's shoulder. As if attempting to offer comfort to him despite his slumber." Can you not reverse it?" 

Death's demeanour drooped further. "There's barely anything of the human child left for him to return to. If the process is stopped…" She carefully regarded Hob then Dream, before finally settling upon Daniel in contemplation. "I could offer him my hand in the place of my brother." Her expression quickly morphed into one of contrite self loathing at her own words. "There can only be one Dream. There is nothing more I can do."

To that, Dream gave a tortured grimace. A sweet offer of reprieve that rang more like a death toll. "So it is him or me? That is the truth of it?" He asked in a despondent tone. Any last vestiges of hope abandoned him. That was no choice at all. He was to die then. So be it. 

Hob whipped his head towards him, clenching Dream's side tightly, as if that alone may anchor him to living. "Dream. No!" 

Dream placed his free hand on Hob's forearm, and attempted to adopt an outwardly calm demeanour. He would not have Hob's final memories of him be his terror and distress. 

"He's just a boy. He has barely begun his first decade of life. I have had since time immemorial." 

Hob clenched his eyes shut, letting out a frustrated howl. "You think I wish to send this poor child to an early grave?! You think I don't…No. Not even if it would save you. Though god I wish right now I was still the man who could." He choked on his words. Running a hand over Daniel's brow. Subconsciously, he pulled both Dream and Daniel to him. Dream would have smiled had the situation not been so dire. Always the defender. "But I cannot, 'will' not lose you! There has got to be another way." 

Dream stomped down the hope Hob's words inspired before it had a chance to flourish. Instead, he let his fear feed irritation, fester to anger. Why was Hob making this harder than it already was? "You are being selfish." He spat. 

"Yes, yes I fucking well am!" Hob roared back. "For the first time in my goddamn life when it comes to you."

Dream recoiled at his words, chastised by the truth in them. His eyes burned as he pushed his face wordlessly into Hob's shoulder in silent apology. Breathing in his scent, basking in the feel of his skin. Committing it to memory. He placed a reverent kiss on Hob's neck. I'm sorry, I am frightened. Hob brought the hand that clutched his waist up and stroked through his hair tenderly. It's alright, I know. I am too. There they sat, locked in a solemn embrace, Daniel cradled between them. Until Hob broke the silence. 

"What's wrong with him?" 

Dream lifted his gaze to see Hob, brow drawn with concern, frowning down at Daniel. Following suit, he took in the youth in his lap. For the first time noticing the slight crease in his otherwise unmarred forehead. The strain about his eyes. The perpetual flutter of white lashes against equally pale skin. The tightness of his lips. He ran a gentle stroke down Daniel's face. Attempting to sooth his whatever plight troubled him so. 

"He suffers in his slumber."

"Dream." The authoritative tone in his sister's voice made him instinctively snap his attention towards her. "Leave him as he is. It is kinder."

Dream shook his head at her in perplexion. "My…his gift should not bring him pain." 

"Dream don't! For your own sake."

Dream looked from his sister, then to Daniel. Watching as the boy unconsciously buried further into his arm with a soft whimper. He shot Death a look of determined defiance, which she countered with a desperate shake of her head. Undeterred he placed a finger gently between Daniel's white brows and tapped. "Wake now, little prince, let the first memories of your function not be one of hardship."

Two emerald green eyes fluttered open, staring blindly at the skies above. And for a moment, Dream took stock of his successor.  Sweet, fair and glowing with youth. Eyes that shone with the promise of life and renewal. He would be a beautiful Dream for the universe in his stead. From that, he would take some comfort. 

Daniel's eyes rolled towards a Dream and their gazes locked. This was the face of his death, he thought. Yet it looked on him with such reverence. Daniel made to raise a slight pale hand towards him, before it halted mid ascent. His breath hitched and his eyes glazed, face contorting into one of abject suffering. Flinging his head back, the column of his neck taut, his slim body followed suit, going entirely rigid in Dream's arms. He parted his lips, clenched his eyes tight, and let out a blood curdling scream. 

Both Hob and Dream reared in fright, causing Daniel to fall free of their grasp, tumbling into the rocks below. He curled inwardly for a moment, before savagely clawing at the ground, as if desperately searching for purchase to offer him respite. He mewled and whined and then arched, mouth opening in a soundless cry, then another…until finally, he scratched violently at his throat and wailed. 

Despite his overwhelming urge to leap to Daniel's aid, Dream found he could not will his body forward. Indeed, he could not move at all. Each cry sent shards of ice that tore through his nerves. Each scream swirled about him like molten fire. Undiluted horror overwhelmed thought or reason. He could do nothing but watch the young man twist and turn, crying then howling. What surely must have been a soft and peaceful voice now piercing through the air, as Nightmares otherworldly screech bled through his screams. 

Hob however, was up in seconds. Scooping Daniel into his arms, holding him in a steady, secure grip. Flailing arms locked tight within his own. Writhing body supported against his chest. Whispering soft, urgent utterances into his hair. "I have you, I have you little one. It's alright." 

Death quickly followed suit, flinging herself at them, pressing her hands to Daniel's, face, neck, arm. Futility trying to offer comfort as he wailed. 

"Death, what is happening?! 

Death pressed Daniel to her breast, creating a protective frame about him alongside Hob. His white clad feet kicked violently against the ground and he bucked in their hold, as if attempting to escape it. 

"His mortality burns, the Dreaming is being torn asunder, thus so is he. Until his transformation is complete, it will not stop. He remains trapped between the two torments."

Frightful memories swamped Dream at Death's words. Torn asunder, torn asunder, torn… No, no, no, no.. "No!"

With everything he had, he crawled unsteadily on hands and knees towards them before stopping, heaving himself upward with what little control of his body still remained. With one last desolate look at Daniel's suffering face, he thrust his hand determinedly towards Death. It quivered, betraying his nerves, yet his arm stayed held aloft, sure and strong. He set his shoulders, raised his head. She startled, staring first at the hand, then assessed him with a look which betrayed nothing. He took a breath, then said in a firm, assured voice. "I take your hand my sister." 

Death did not move. 

"Please sister, I am sure." 

He felt a large hand clamp about his wrist, locking in place and squeezing. So hard his bones sang and his hand spasomed in response. 

"No!" 

He looked at Hob, and wished he hadn't. He felt his resolve already starting to chip and fray. 

"Would you have me turn blind eye and deaf ear to his agony, my love? When the fault of his suffering is mine?" 

The unspoken 'again' hung heavy and deafening. 

"Hob?" Hob turned his face away, willfully refusing to meet his eye, gently readjusting Daniel as he squirmed. His face was set in a stern frown and angry tears gathered in his eyes. Dream let out a broken sob. "Hob." He tried again. Reaching out with his free hand to cup Hob's cheek. "Will you not look at me?" Hob's eyes flicked, first to his chin, then upwards to meet his eyes. A tear broke poured from his eye, flowing down to pool in Dream's palm. "I love you Robert Gadling...so very much! Know it, remember it always. If the choice was mine, if the time was mine….I would not leave you. But fighting the inevitable brings this child insurmountable pain. And it is within my power to stop it! I.. I would go easier with your blessing." 

Hob's face remained steely and resolute, " If this was Robyn laying in my arms," He stated flatly, "You would still not have it."

Dream face fell, distraught. He clenched Hob's jaw, running a thumb frantically across his cheek. "Hob please! Don't let this be our farewell."

Hob jerked free of his touch. In his arms, Daniel clenched his shirt and groaned. He looked at Dream, eyes alight despite his evident rage and heartbreak. In his mind's eye, Dream observed the same man, centuries ago. Filthy, ragged, starving…Are you crazy? 

"This is not farewell! I can fix this, I can… Just let me think, give me time!" 

Daniel let out a frantic wail. 

"Hob please, let me go!" 

"I just need time." 

"Hob!" 

"Ju… just… STOP! 

[erabundus]

@mundanemiseries &&. said... " h-hey!  what’d you do that for ? " (if it's not too late to send smth in from this meme, from @/fxrina!)

the  wind  curls  around  him,  lifting  the  wanderer  as  if  he  is  cradled  amid  an  invisible  set  of  hands.  it  deposits  him  gently,  shoes  tapping  lightly  against  the  railing  —  clothes  still  swaying  hypnotically  in  the  breeze.  though  he  has  his  back  turned,  he  shoots  her  a  glance  over  his  shoulder.  a  rare,  mischievous  smirk  pulls  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  ren's  eyes  seem  to  glitter  like  polished  gemstones  with  unapologetic  delight.  in  his  hand,  he  clutches  his  prize  —  a  hat,  and  one  that  ( in a surprising turn of events ) most  certainly  doesn't  BELONG  to  him. strange; usually he's on the receiving end of such antics. it's a bit cathartic to take initiative for once.

❝  hmm?  ❞   the  wanderer  feigns  IGNORANCE.  it's  painfully  obvious  he  knows  exactly  what  he's  doing.  ❝  i  was  curious.  ❞  and  he  was  —  truly.  his  manner  of  expressing  as  much  merely  happens  to  resemble  that  of  a  magpie,  plucking  up  whatever  shiny  bits  and  baubles  that  happen  to  catch  his  eye  —  presumably  to  line  a  prospective  nest.  ren  glances  down  at  the  hat,  tilting  it  to  and  fro.  it's  a  fine  creation  —  richly  colored  and  lovingly  detailed.  the  fabric  feels  pleasant  beneath  his  fingers,  and  he's  awfully  picky  about  TEXTURES.  he  can  see  why  she  might  be  a  bit  irritated  to  have  it  SNATCHED  AWAY  unceremoniously.   ❝  this sort of thing is still popular around here? ❞   the  wanderer  muses aloud, with a quizzical cant of the head.  ❝ ... fontaine fashion truly is something else.  ❞ so  complex.  so  detailed.  aesthetics aside, he  oft  finds  himself  wondering  how  anyone  manages  to  move  with  so  many  ruffles  and  buttons  galore. barring a despairingly formal setting, it seems a bit impractical.

❝  you can relax. ❞ he continues. ❝  if  i  had  any  intention  of  STEALING  IT,  don't  you  think  i  would  have  flown  away  by  now?  ❞  out  of  curiosity,  he  slides  the  kasa  from  atop  his  head  —  replacing  it  with  the  other  hat.  perhaps  he's  pushing  his  LUCK  a  bit,  but  ren  can't  bring  himself  to  care.  he's  been  entirely  transparent  with  his  intentions.  is  there  really  any  point  in  making  such  a  fuss  about  it?

❝  ... how  does  it  look?  ❞  he  doesn't  have  a  mirror  on  hand  to  check;  such  a  shame.  (  or  rather,  it  would  be  if  he  didn't  find  his  own  reflection  a  bit  UNCOMFORTABLE  to  look  at.  )

MORBID CURIOSITY

[mamabearcatfanfics]

Out of the Dark

I coloured a sketch this morning, and then this evening after work I decided to write something to go with it. This kinda turned out angsty. Lockdown is obviously getting to me a little. But as always, a happy ending. I'll probably put this in my AO3 one-shots series in the morning.

💜

Inuyasha felt like he was going to die.

They’d been battling a mole youkai, the normally small mammal enlarged to ridiculous proportions by a jewel shard. Everything had been going well until it had somehow caused a landslide. He’d heard Sango and Miroku’s warning yells from high above from their vantage point on Kirara, and Shippou’s wail of fright from over near the trees just moments before the ground gave way, sending both him and Kagome plummeting downwards.

He’d tried to grab her as they went down, her high pitched scream ringing in his ears as their fingers clutched at each other frantically, but it had been no use. She’d been dragged away from him by the landslide, and as he’d concentrated all his efforts on reaching for her he’d lost grip on his fucking sword.

Now he couldn’t hear a thing, all he could smell was damp earth, and he didn’t know which way was up. The pressure coming from all around him felt like half a hillside had fallen on him. He needed to find Kagome and save her, but he was pretty much deaf and blind to what was going on. Useless.

He couldn’t breathe. Squinting his eyes open only exacerbated his fear because he could see nothing but darkness. Feel nothing but darkness. His numbing fingers scrabbled in the earth, but he had no idea if he was digging upwards or downwards. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest, and overwhelming panic sucked at his sanity.

He’d never told anyone, but ever since he was small he’d had an overwhelming fear of small tight spaces. A fear of being trapped in the dark with no way out.

Even though his mother was technically widowed after the death of his father, meaning she could never be forced to remarry, that didn’t stop male members of the court arriving at their home to remind her of how her position had fallen. They came to gloat, to make her beg and scrape for the meager allowance she was provided by her father, who had grudgingly allowed her and her ‘son’ to live in small lodgings on the very edge of his estate. If visitors saw him when they arrived, it never ended well. He was often held up as an example of her ‘disgrace’, mocked and sometimes beaten, with his mother pleading for mercy and trying to stay their hands to no avail.

Eventually she’d managed to create a cubby hole under their floorboards to keep him safe from visitors, knowing she couldn’t physically protect him herself, and it had terrified him. The small tight space. The stench of her panic and fear feeding his own. The knowledge that there was nothing he could do but wait until she let him out again. He would have rather been beaten.

He’d almost forgotten, pushing the memory of that fear to the back of his mind. He’d always made sure he was never in a position where he would be trapped again in the dark. Now that fear had him by the throat, threatening to take away his sense of self. He groaned, struggling to keep hold on his consciousness as his youki swelled in an instinctive push to protect him without the quelling presence of his father’s sword. He needed to hold on. Because letting go would mean death – not his, but someone else’s. And what if that someone was dear to him? He couldn’t bear it. He was already buried. Better to stay that way and die himself than risk anyone else.

But it seemed his instincts didn’t agree with him, overpowering him. He thought despairingly of Kagome as he blacked out, frantically chanting her name, trying to commit her face to memory.

“Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her.”

When he came to, the sunlight was bright around him, and he was taking in great heaving breaths, his heart stuttering in his chest as he knelt on the ground. Tessaiga was clutched tightly in one fist. Blood. He could smell blood. He threw back his head and howled in despair.

But then soft hands cradled his cheeks.

“Inuyasha, it’s okay! You’re okay! Everyone is fine, you didn’t hurt anyone!”

“Kagome”, he whispered brokenly, his eyes still blurry with tears. “Kagome.”

She was crying, shifting her hands from his cheeks to cling around his neck, hugging him tightly to her. Miroku, Sango and Shippou were standing off to one side, quietly waiting.

He sniffed again, realising the scent of blood came from some cuts and scrapes on Kagome caused by the landslide, and from his own hands, the nails cracked and broken.

“You dug me out Inuyasha. You saved me. You didn’t hurt me at all.”

All he could do was hold her tightly and repeat her name, his nose buried in her neck, smelling her sweet smell and feeling her pulse beating steadily in her throat, proof that she was alive and mostly unharmed. Proof that somehow, even when he’d lost himself, he hadn’t lost her too.

It was a quiet and subdued walk back to the village. Miroku and Sango had finished off the mole youkai and retrieved the shard, which was now safely added to the little bottle around Kagome's neck.

He and Kagome had rinsed off the cloying dirt from the landslide in a nearby stream, their clothes drying quickly as they walked in the warmth of the afternoon sun, but Inuyasha still shivered slightly as if he’d caught a chilll. He was having trouble shaking the combined after effects of feeling trapped and losing himself, his mind whirling. Kagome’s tight grip on his hand was helping, but he still didn’t feel like himself, still didn’t feel comfortable in his own skin.

When they arrived back at Kaede’s late that afternoon, he watched the others walk through the door way into the dark interior of the small hut, and stopped short, his hand pulling abruptly at Kagome’s.

“Inuyasha?”

“Gonna stay out here”, he said, turning his head away from Kagome’s gaze as he watched the sudden realisation in her expression as she made the connections. He felt embarrassed and ashamed, but he knew there was no way he’d be able to go inside at the moment, not until he had a better handle on his emotions. Kagome squeezed his fingers.

“Do you mind if I stay out here with you?” she asked gently.

He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say he didn’t care one way or the other, even though he desperately wanted to beg her to stay close by. She tugged on his hand, leading him over to the trees beside Kaede’s hut, spreading out her sleeping bag like a picnic blanket, patting it to invite him to sit down beside her.

As soon as he was seated with Tessaiga still firmly within his grasp across his lap, she leaned against him, taking his other hand in hers, examining the healing fingers.

“Do they hurt at all? Do you need me to bandage them?”

He shook his head, not really trusting himself to speak at the moment.

She hummed, stroking her hand over his fingers, resting her head against his shoulder.

“You know, I’m afraid of deep water."

He sighed, shoulders rising stiffly as he tried to keep himself still, wanting to run away from where this conversation was going, but also wanting to stay close to her.

“Kagome...”

"I fell in a friend’s pool when I was a little girl before I knew how to swim properly. I nearly drowned before Papa saved me. I’m a good swimmer now, but I still feel frightened by it sometimes, especially if I can’t see the bottom.”

He didn't say anything. He knew what she was doing, but he couldn't speak. Couldn't trust himself to talk at the moment.

“Those kinds of fears don’t mean you’re not brave”, she continued softly. “Sometimes things happen that you can’t control and your mind remembers that feeling of powerlessness, of fear, and it holds onto it. It can get better over time, with help.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, turning her head to glance up at his face. “But it’s never anything to be ashamed of Inuyasha. You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to. But if you ever do, I’m here.”

He nodded stiffly, then tried to stifle a yawn. He was exhausted.

“We’ve still got some time before dinner. Why don’t you take a nap with me?”

“It’s not dark yet.”

“So? C’mon. Lay down next to me. I promise I won’t bite”, she giggled, tugging on his hand and kicking off her shoes.

“If I do, will you be quiet?”

“Yup!”

He lay down on the ground as she stretched out on her sleeping bag, one hand still tightly clutching Tessaiga, the other reaching out to gently stroke her cheek. It wasn't only him that had a difficult day.

“I really didn’t hurt you?” he murmured, his voice catching a little. Her eyes were overbright in the late afternoon sunshine as she pressed her cheek into his hand.

“You really didn’t. You knew who I was. I was so scared and then you came for me Inuyasha. You pulled me out of the dark.”

“I’ll always come for you. You know that don’t you?”

She sighed gently, closing her eyes as he struggled to keep his own open, to keep watch, keep her in sight. Finally he gave up, letting his mind drift, knowing she was close by and safe, feeling her slowing breaths drift across his finger tips.

“I do.”

[guqin-and-flute]

In Your Hands--Ch. 5 [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4]

[This whole fic is the second chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

[CW: Vague mention of abortion, discussions of not-actually-happening spousal abuse, canon typical classism and anti-sex worker rhetoric, very mild emetophobia warning (nothing actually happens)]

She has a single moment for her sleep-slow brain to think; Madam Jin? Why on earth is she here without sending word? Is there an emergency? Has something happened to Jin Zixuan? before He Si’s voice comes again, more frantic, saying, “Oh--Ah, furen, I don’t think--!”

The door flies open with a bang and Yanli jumps, clutching the makeup removing cloth to her chest. All at once, Madam Jin is here, in her room, ashen and wind scattered, sweeping over in a flood of gold and a thick perfume, “Oh Gods, look at you,” she moans despairingly, gathering up Yanli’s free hand in an iron grip. “How far along are you? No, it doesn’t matter--these things can be dealt with when we return to Koi Tower. You,” she snaps, turning to He Si who is hovering anxiously in the doorway, hands at her mouth. “Begin packing her things.”

What? ...What?

He Si shoots her a furtive look before scurrying to her wardrobe. But her voice is held hostage by her fog-slow mind and she can only blink, stunned. It’s being bowled over by an unstoppable wave; Yanli is towed, bewildered and spinning in its undertow, still scrambling to understand. Madam Jin, however, is rolling right along, petting the back of her hand with her soft, sky-frozen fingers. “Oh, you look awful. I’ll have him gutted, I’ll have them all gutted, how could they do this to you? Men,” she spits the word like a curse, her features twisted into a snarl that reminds Yanli so much of her own mother in a temper. “I came as soon as I heard what my brute of a husband had done, but I nearly qi deviated first. You don’t have to worry, A-Li, I’m going to fix this; he is never going to touch you again. Look at me, child, let me see you.” Every line in her face is etched like agony, like fury as she presses her hand to Yanli’s cheek. “Has he hurt you?”

He? Sect Leader Jin? She hasn’t seen him since the wedding.

In fact, she hasn’t seen or heard from Madam Jin herself since before that, during Yanli’s stay at Koi Tower during the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign. She hadn’t attended her wedding.

That had hurt her, for she had always been a dear friend of her mother’s and an auntie to Yanli, always taking an interest in her--though she had always assumed some of that had been as a future mother-in-law. She had wondered if Madam Jin was upset with her for how the engagement had gone and if her absence was her showing disapproval. (Yanli had had to shake herself free of that gnawing guilt whenever she thought about this, reminding herself that it was Jin Zixuan who had rejected the engagement and that even if she could somehow be in trouble for marrying A-Yao, she would never regret it.) When she had diffidently asked after Madam Jin’s absence, Sect Leader Jin had merely smiled widely and waved a dismissive hand. “Ah, she’s out traveling, visiting distant relatives and old friends. Socializing. You know how women are.”

Yanli had thought that she had a much better idea of how women were than Sect Leader Jin might, but had smiled politely, bowed, and accepted this.

Now, she watches helplessly as He Si drags a trunk out from a corner and begins layering her robes into it, sneaking frightened looks back at her mistress. “I don’t....” Yanli manages, voice cracked and thin. “Jin-furen, I’m not--I don’t--”

Madam Jin nods, her smile wobbly and proud, as if Yanli is being very brave. “It’s alright, dear. I’m here now. I’m here to take you with me, A-Li, you don’t have to stay here another minute.”

What? As she opens her mouth to protest, to ask what on earth is going on, all that Madam Jin had said finally manages to squeeze itself into her sluggish brain. Cold rushes over her like ice water.

Madam Jin hadn’t known about the marriage. Sect Leader Jin hadn’t told her, he had done it behind her back. She thinks Yanli was forced into this. She thinks A-Yao is hurting her. She thinks she’s rescuing her. The frantic speeding of her heart spins her head, as if the room is revolving around her, her thoughts a jumble. “No, Jin-furen, you don’t--you don’t understand--”

“Shhh, A-Li, I understand more than you know. The way the world uses women is not new to me. You’re not alone in this.”

“No, I--I know that I’m not--”

Madam Jin nods gently, encouragingly, sending the beautiful golden pendant from her hair stick swinging as she strokes Yanli’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. “Yes, exactly, you’re not. I’m here for you. I will make this right.”

It’s making her head throb, this feeling closing in around her; being surrounded by her familiar floral perfume, being talked to as if she were young and foolish, as if she has no idea what is good for her. She feels herself getting smaller and smaller until she's barely there at all, her voice barely heard. Pitiful. They never say as much, but that's what they must think of her. Pitiful and silly. A child again.

She hadn't even realized how real she has been feeling these days until she finds herself back in this sad little grey box where all she can do is sit and be rescued and planned for. Planned around. She feels the scattered beginnings of her own indignation wilting like unwatered flowers, greying, quieting. The words cowering in her throat. She can feel herself folding as she always has, as she's been taught, to stern women who know better.

She mustn't. Curling her fingers, she grasps Madam Jin’s hand back, willing her to hear and believe her because the story she seems to have written inside her own head sounds too awful to bear. “No...no, Jin-furen, you must understand--I chose him, I agreed, I’m--I’m--”

“Oh, child, I’m not blaming you, there is no way you could have known.”

How many times can she say no and have it fall like insignificant little drops onto a blazing inferno? How many times can it not matter before it’s no use to even speak at all? Trapped between her traitorous, cowardly tongue and the force of nature that is Madam Jin. She tries again anyway. “No, he’s wonderful, he takes care of me--”

But Madam Jin’s eyes have fallen to her wrist and a swell of rage-filled-power rises from her like simmering heat. “Is that what this is?” she hisses, and for all that she looks about to spit sparks, her hands are careful when she cradles Yanli’s hand and pushing her sleeve back to bare the faint bloom of muddy purple that rings the thin skin of her wrist.

The wrist that A-Yao had caught when she had lost her balance during their dance.

She hadn’t even noticed it bruising--it hadn’t hurt, it hadn’t. Her skin has just always been easily bruised, ever since she was a child. The panic is climbing her throat at the way this all seems to be hurtling down a cliffside with the trajectory of a bag of rocks, squeezing it almost as tight as her chest and she has to fight the urge to snatch her wrist back. “Furen, no, he didn’t hurt me--I tripped.”

He Si is frozen, one of Yanli’s gauzy over robes squeezed in shaking hands. Her eyes are darting between them, the ends of her pink ribbons quivering.

Madam Jin is bristling, the ozone tang of her rage on Yanli’s tongue, vibrating her skull like the tongue of a bell. “This is a handprint! A-Li, look at yourself! Look at what he’s done to you! You look like you’re on the verge of death!”

“I’m not, I’m--it’s my own fault, I drank too much yesterday, I pushed myself too hard!” she cries because she knows how she looks when she’s sick and hungover, but it is not her husband’s fault. “He would never--”

But no. Madam Jin’s eyes have darkened to thunderous “Absolutely none of this is your fault, A-Li, do you hear me? None of it.”

“It was an accident! He didn’t mean to--”

“You think no woman has ever thought that of a husband? That she has never blamed herself? There is no such thing as a decent man, A-Li--no less one that’s a bastard whoreson.”

It rings in her ears. Stealing the breath from her parted lips, winding her more utterly than her rage had. A knife in the ribs, clenched in her insides. If these words hurt A-Yao half as badly as this hurts now, Yanli has no idea how he is still living after all these years. They are horrid. As if he is not human. She should have felt angry; instead, she’s just betrayed.

I didn’t know you were like this.

She stares at the contempt for her husband coloring her auntie’s familiar and beloved face, unable to find the words she needs. Madam Jin softens, the press of her power abating as she strokes her hair. It raises ugly goosebumps down the back of her neck, this touch. She hates the way she is crowded close, stroking and coaxing and soothing--hates it in a way she never has before.

“You've always been so filial but there is no way your mother would have allowed this to happen if she were still alive. She would have never wanted this for you, A-Li, you know that.”

More pain. Swimming, nauseating pain because, yes, she knows--her mother would have said such terrible things about her A-Yao. Out of concern and propriety and love but they would have been vicious, just like when she had talked about A-Xian. Worse, even. She’s hearing their echoes now, through time, from Madam Jin, of one mind and memory.

If her mother was still alive, A-Yao would not be her husband. She knows this for a fact.

Madam Jin seems to take her struggling silence as encouragement and continues with new insistence, like she thinks she’s getting through to her.

“And this is not what I would ever want for you either, child, whether you decide to marry my idiot of a son or not. I love you like my own daughter, and you deserve so much more than gutter trash. You don’t have to force yourself to suffer through--”

Sudden, molten rage spurts up from Yanli’s stomach up her spine and to her head until she feels incandescent with it. “He is not trash,” escapes her, low and trembling. Her hands are balled into fists in her lap, despite Madam Jin’s gentle hand around her wrist.

Pity floods Madam Jin’s face. Yanli could scream. “Shh, shhh, shhh, A-Li, it’s alright. Oh, you never could say a cross word about anyone. He can’t hear you. Neither can your brother or that awful Wei Ying. It’s just us. You don’t have to be brave anymore.”

Her pulse is throbbing in her head, her chest, the tips of her fingers, the soles of her feet. “I’m not. A-Yao is kind, he is good, he is--”

“Oh, A-Li, please, don’t you see what Guangshan was doing? It was an insult, him being sent here. He sent you this--this beast instead of taking you in and giving you the protection you deserve and that idiot of a brother of yours accepted and I will never forgive them for it. You were supposed to be--”

A-Yao, Xianxian, and now A-Cheng. No. No more. She will take no more. “Jin-furen,” she says, slowly, staring at the white hills of her clenched knuckles. “Please don’t talk about my husband that way.”

Madam Jin insists, “You don’t want someone like this in your line--he’s probably diseased! Think of your Clan! Think of the children! Your mother tolerated Wei Ying because of his parentage, but she would draw the line at--”

“Jin-furen,” she says, her voice ringing now, raising up her gaze to stare into the woman’s startled eyes. “Please do not ever talk about my husband that way. Or my family.”

Finally, Madam Jin falls into intent silence, watching her from dark circled eyes. As if she’s trying to find a way around her words. Find out how she’s lying or hiding or being bullied into this.

And it makes Yanli burn.

“I love him,” she says with a conviction that sings down through her chest like the Jiang clarity bell that is laid out carefully on the edge of her makeup table, waiting to be worn. Shining.

Because she had been wondering before and is certain now. Because there is no fear or doubt when she says it, because it is as easy as breathing and feels just as true--she loves him, not just because he needs it and deserves it but because he is hers and she is his. And she’s so angry that it’s Madam Jin and not A-Yao who is the first to hear it.

Madam Jin lets out a disbelieving sound through her nose, eyes pitying again. “Oh, A-Li, this isn’t love. Not with someone like him.”

He has never made me feel as small as you are now. And I don’t need to convince you.

Yanli stands, though her head swims and her knees buckle, vision sparkling at the edges with fury and vertigo. Madam Jin also stands, grasping Yanli’s elbows with worry crowding her face when she sways. “Child--”

“Jin-furen, I think you have misunderstood what is going on here. I’m not leaving.” She looks to He Si, who is still by the trunk, watching with huge eyes. “Please put those back.” The maid slowly opens the wardrobe back up without looking away.

“A-Li, be reasonable.” Madam Jin sounds alarmed. “Is it because you are with child? Is that why you’re being so--?”

“I am not.” It is none of her business whether or not they have indulged in their marriage bed or if they ever will. It is absolutely no one’s business at all. This current is coursing through her like a clear river--higher than rage, higher than panic, brighter than the sun. It is fast and her ears ring and she feels flushed and close to collapse but she is finished with this entire conversation. She is the Lady of the Jiang. She is one of Lotus Pier’s hosts. This is her room. She turns her gaze back to Madam Jin, sees her distress and can’t find it in herself to feel guilt. “I thank you for your concern, Jin-furen. But this is a Clan matter.” She keeps her voice chill and polite.

“A-Li, you’re being too kind for your own good.”

“Thank you, furen. I’m not.”

“I’m not going to let you do this to yourself!”

Yanli straightens her spine, lifts her chin, and says with the most arctic voice she can manage without being blatantly rude, “On the contrary, Jin-furen, it is already done. And I have never been so happy.” Before Madam Jin can respond, she continues. “You must be tired from your trip. We will find you a room so that you can recover for your departure tomorrow.”

Madam Jin is standing stiff, staring at her with ill concealed frustration and concern. Then, she announces to the room, “It has been years since I’ve visited Lotus Pier. I will stay a while and make certain that Ziyuan-jie’s home and family are being cared for properly.” Her gaze never leaves Yanli’s face. She looks as though she is planning a kidnapping behind her eyes.

Yanli cannot make her leave; this fury would only go so far when her body is already about to fail and when being obedient and filial were the quenchants of her forging. Madam Jin is her elder and the wife of an allied Sect Leader. And so she merely gives a jerky curtsy and glances aside at He Si. The girl nods and bows, gesturing past herself to the door with a nervous smile. “This way, furen?”

Madam Jin sweeps out and down the hall with stung dignity, head held high. Yanli manages to totter over to the doors on shaky legs to close them, but ends up leaning on one to catch her speeding breath. Her entire face is buzzing, sweat beading at her hairline. There are 2 lotus petals still stirring in the eddies from Madam Jin’s wake in the corridor, their delicate little curves swirling like boats in a breeze. The little things her own auntie had said kept washing over her; the way she had assumed Yanli’s hypothetical pregnancy would have been a problem she had the right to ‘take care of’; the immediate and easy dismissal of Yanli’s truth; insulting her brothers. She feels like throwing up.

The only person she had spoken highly of was who she thinks Yanli is. And within those confines, Yanli finds herself twisting. She has always wanted to be good, to be loved. But not like this, some poor doll in need of a rescue. Not as some prize that had been gifted to the 'wrong man' when all that made her good and whole were her people.

Her people. Madam Jin has just shown herself to no longer be trustworthy enough to be one of them. The severing leaves her watery kneed, but fierce in her conviction. She has lost nearly everything, before. She will never allow herself to even come close again. It is a small price.

“Shijie?”

At Xianxian’s voice, she looks up, finds him striding down the hall, face creased in worry. She manages a weak smile and reaches out when he comes near enough, letting herself lean heavily into his arms with a gust of breath. “Xianxian. I’m alright, I’m just...need to sit down.” Things are wavering, as if they’re underwater, her head pulsing with pain.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Are you sure?” he asks, alarmed as he dabs at her face with his sleeve, bearing her weight as she shuffles back toward her chair. “You look like you’re going to pass out. Here, over here, sit. Was it dinner last night? You don’t usually drink.”

She does sit, more heavily than she would have liked, and closes her eyes as he takes one of her fans from her drawer and crouches before her, wafting cooler air over her face. After a moment to catch her breath, she looks at him and gives a small smile. “Aren’t you supposed to be out with A-Yao?”

He reaches up with his other sleeve to gently blot her forehead again. “We got back a while ago. Yao-ge told me to find you because you were upset. Did I just pass the reason in the hall? Shall I go chase her out for you?” He gave her his impish smirk, the one that makes her laugh. But she hears the weight of the offer behind the joking.

As gratifying as that might be to her right at this moment, with this indignant anger still gushing through her, she knows better than to let herself get swept up in petty revenge. And she knows A-Xian’s temper. Better not tell him at all how much Madam Jin had upset her. She shakes her head and takes his free hand, holding it in her lap like an anchor as her heart slowly calms. “No...no, I’ll take care of it.” She simply breathes for a moment as she settles back, then pets his cheek when she sees him eyeing her doubtfully.

“Shijieeee,” he whines. “How can I help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong? How can you leave Xianxian in the dark?”

There is no need for anyone else to know the vile things Madam Jin had said. She will get better at this, hammering herself into a shield for them--for all of them. “It’s nothing worth repeating, nosy Xianxian.” As she speaks, she pokes his nose gently and he scrunches it up.

“Was it about Yao-gege?”

He knows her too well. She sighs. “It was.”

It’s beginning to dawn on her how blind she has been to A-Yao’s plight. The way no one from the Jin had so much as written to him in the month or so that they have been married, as far as she knew. The way Jin Guangshan had talked around him during the arrangement of their engagement, as if barely worth mentioning. And now Madam Jin had surely never shown him any kindness, if they had ever met. No mother, and his father’s family disdainful, shoving him out as soon as they gained him.

And so who in the world has A-Yao had to stand with him? No one? No one at all? Where are his sworn brothers, Chifeng-zun and Zewu-jun? Where is Nie Huaisang, if they had been so close, as A-Cheng had claimed? The very thought has her stomach rolling. This is unacceptable. She is going to fix this.

“A-Xian, we’re a family,” she says, fiercely, leaning forward to take his face in her hands. “You, A-Cheng, A-Yao, and I. We are never going to be parted from each other. We’re all we have left in the world. We have to be there for each other.”

He blinks, fan freezing. Then he nods, slowly. “Sure, Shijie. Of course. Always.”

“I’m not ever going to let anyone hurt you.”

His smile flicks on. “Wow, whatever Jin-furen said really got you upset--you sure you don’t want me to kick her out for you? I’ll do it, you know, no problem. You know how I feel about upstart Jin’s annoying you.”

His familiar teasing eases her stinging soul until she smiles again, brushing back one of the wisps of hair that frames his face. “I know. But no. Just...just be kind to A-Yao around her. Be respectful.”

“I’m always respectful!”

Tugging his hair, she says, “Of course, of course, that’s why he was afraid you were going to try to push him in the lake.” When he ducks his head with a sneaking grin, she plucks the fan from his fingers and bops his head with it. “I need you to get my letter writing set for me, can you do that?”

He rises, rubbing the spot as if it had hurt--but he eyes her dubiously. “Shouldn’t you sleep, Shijie? Get some food? I can make you soup!”

Her head was indeed still swirling and pounding, and at the mention of food, it twinges--though she’s not certain if it is with hunger or further nausea. So she shakes her head mournfully, sweeping the fan slowly beneath her chin. “I don’t think my stomach could take the spice of your cooking right now, Xianxian. But I would love it if you brought me some tea when you come back.”

And because he is wonderful he does, a pot of chrysanthemum tea that has clearly been chilled by one of his talismans, because it still tastes fresh, fully steeped, and delightfully cool. He also has added a bowl of lotuses floating in water on the tray he sets before her, presumably from his adventure.

“Did you have fun ‘playing’ with A-Yao?” she asks as she unloads the tray onto her desk.

“Oh that,” he rolls his eyes performatively, collapsing on his back onto her bed. “Yeah, we talked a bit, picked those. But he wouldn’t get in the water, even though it was ridiculously hot. Really, Shijie, your husband has no idea how to play!”

“Well,” she smooths the paper out before her with the slim bars of boxwood, carved in relief with cranes and bamboo--another present from A-Yao. “Then you will just have to be patient and teach him how.”

And she begins to write. Xianxian doesn’t last longer than halfway through her first letter before becoming bored and wandering back out with a cursory, “Call me if you need me, Shijie!” Condensation slowly beads on the teapot and cup beside her, and the water of the lotus bowl sparks amber in the sinking sun through her windows. Even though she has only been conscious a scant few hours of the day, she feels exhaustion through every ounce of her body and brain, sleep calling her back to her bed. But she fights it, lights the lantern on her desk, and keeps writing.

Just as she’s finishing the last letter, the door opens. She brightens and turns, mouth open to greet A-Yao--but it’s He Si, slinking in the door, looking shamefaced. “Furen.”

“Oh, A-Si. How did it go?”

Strangely, the girl's eyes well with tears and she falls to her knees. “Furen, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do, I panicked, I just--!”

The edge to her voice is sending spikes of pain through the backs of Yanli’s eyes and she winces, putting a hand to her temple. He Si sees and claps a hand over her mouth, eyes huge. “A-Si, it’s fine, truly. I felt badly having left you with her when she was bound to be upset. Are you alright?”

Giving a watery nod, she clambers back up to her feet, wiping at her eyes. “Yes, furen. She just wanted me gone, so I went and organized the reception of her luggage and maids that came later. I meant to be back sooner,” she adds miserably as she begins to unload the abandoned trunk. “Everything the Jin do is so complicated. Is there anything you need? Something I can get you? Medicine?”

“I’m going back to sleep soon, so maybe something for pain, please. When you’re done, you can take these letters to be delivered and...well….” She adds, shyly. “Maybe my husband? I thought you were him, coming in. I thought...he would have returned by now.”

The maid pauses in her hanging of a lavender robe and thinks. “I believe I saw him in his office working as I was coming back. Should I go get him?”

“Oh, no, if he’s busy, I can wait. I was just...I miss him.”

Timidly, He Si offers her a smile. “If I may...you were so brave today, furen. I never would have been able to talk back to Jin-furen like that. Defending your husband’s name….” She sighs, eyes dreamy. “It was so romantic.”

Yanli hides a smile behind her sleeve. “Ah, well....thank you, A-Si. I don’t think you need to be told that what was said in here is not to be spread to anyone else.”

In response, He Si pretends to close a padlock at the corner of her lips and mimes throwing the key over her shoulder. “Not a word, furen.”

The girl had proved herself to be discrete in her service so far. And so a corner of her heart feels placated. But something is starting to tug from the back of her mind, like she has forgotten something or overlooked it. It niggles there, like a fretful worm, even as He Si finishes returning all her displaced clothing and spirits the letters off. It starts to seep in when she strokes down the smooth lotus petals idly with her finger. A-Xian had said that A-Yao had sent him because she was upset. How had he known? And shouldn’t he have visited her before now, since he had been so worried?

Lotus petals...there had been lotus petals just like these on the floor outside of her room. It was not unheard of, on some windy days, but these had been fresh, as fresh as these very flowers on her desk....Oh. Oh no. Worry clutches her stomach in its sick claws and she hides her face in her hands with a low groan. Her stupid, slow mind. She had just said she would fix A-Yao’s loneliness but then had left him to it without knowing. How much had he heard? Or how little? He Si hadn’t mentioned seeing him in the hall when she left with Madam Jin--had he gone before her declaration? Had he only heard her half hearted attempts of defending before she got her proverbial feet underneath her? Just her horrible, stunned silence?

No wonder he isn’t here with his poor, tender heart. It might just be crushed in his chest with how poorly she had managed to defend him. She hastily tucks her feet into slippers and totters out.

The walk to his office is thankfully fairly short, if dizzying. Two passing servants hurry to support her elbows when they see her hesitating at the courtyard entrance, where there are no more walls to support her. She releases them just outside his door, where she can peer around the crack. At this, she scolds herself for being so childish and cowardly--but she needs to know how to approach. A-Yao is slippery when he’s hurting and she wants him to actually hear what she has to say.

In the warm lantern light of his office, he is stoic and straight backed, reading something on the desk while he himself is unreadable. His eyes are dark, his mouth a straight line. Hidden tension. He doesn’t look shattered and betrayed. But then, he never does. If he has truly heard all that she thinks he has, she would have almost (almost) preferred to find him bereft, to fully see the depth of what sort of devastation had been brought to her love so she can soothe it all. She knocks uncertainly, sees him raise his head, face unchanging. “Come in.”

When she opens the door, he smiles--and for a moment, hope pokes its little head up. Maybe he hadn’t been there at all, maybe she’s mistaken and he had been protected from Madam Jin’s vitriol.

But no. That smile is empty, just like his eyes. There is no warmth, no blooming before her as there has been. He is hiding. He opens his mouth to say something, but she blurts out first, “I’m so sorry, A-Yao.”

He blinks, closes his mouth and settles back, as if curious. “Whatever for?”

“For what you heard.”

That smile twitches at the corner, briefly and she can almost see him weighing the option of pretending, of asking what she means. Instead, the smile widens into dimples and he shakes his head, as if rueful. “I’m the one who should apologize. I never meant to eavesdrop, I was returning after my outing with Wei Wuxian and I happened to have abysmal timing. I promise that I don’t make a habit of listening outside of doors, I would hate for you to think that of me--”

Her heart aches. “A-Yao--”

Doggedly, he continues, smile unwavering. “How are you feeling? I’m surprised to see you up, you said you would sleep most of the day.”

“I did, I just...I had to come and see you.”

“Do you need anything? I can send someone to stand watch by your door all night in case you do. You would only have to call them in.”

That made it sound like he wasn’t planning to come to bed at all. This morning he had to be pushed to leave her side. Is he mistrusting her? Does he think he is unwanted? Is he isolating himself? “No, A-Si is bringing me something that will help me sleep. A-Yao, I need to know, are you alright?”

“Perfectly. Do we know how long we will be accommodating Jin-furen?”

“I...no, hopefully it’s not very long.”

“I shall have to tell the kitchens to make some Lanling delicacies, then.”

“A-Yao…” Her declaration is laying on her tongue, heavy, wanting to be given to him like a treasure. But she sees his shiny eyes and his shiny smile and the way he is doing his deft little flicks of conversation away from himself. Knows that he would probably take it as pity or placation and not truth. He will not believe that she loves him if she tells him now. “How much did you hear?”

“I feel terrible even mentioning it, Jiang-furen, it was a lapse in judgement.”

A pang in her chest, right where the knowledge of love had tolled earlier and even though it is still almost stiflingly warm, even after sun down, she suddenly feels very cold and alone. “Don’t,” she says, softly. She manages to kneel before his desk (he had tensed to rise, to help her, she had seen it) and takes one of his hands where they are placed just so on the desk before him. “Don’t leave.”

He blinks, some of that shell shifting in surprise. “I would never.”

“Don’t pull back like that. Please. I’m A-Li.” She lifts his hand, puts his palm to her cheek. “I’m not Jiang-furen. You know that.”

He is quiet, face...held. Held on, held together. Considering. “A-Li,” he repeats her, not quite a question, not quite a confirmation. His fingertips shift, flexing slightly against her cheek, his thumb gentle at the corner of her eye.

“Yes. A-Li. I want...I want to know how much you heard so I can know how much to explain, I….”

Something flickers in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain,” he says, voice low. “I shouldn’t have listened. It was a private conversation.”

“That’s not at all what I’m worried about.”

“...Then what are you worried about?”

“I...that you have been hurt. That you feel like you somehow need to stay away from me. Because you don’t and--and I don’t want you to.”

He is silent, dark eyes completely opaque in the glow of the lantern light. But his mouth has thinned. Has she struck something? Yanli grasps at this like someone drowning. “A-Yao, what she said was horrible and she is wrong. I don’t agree with a single word. You’re not...I can’t even repeat what she said, but you’re not any of those things. And I never--I never meant to be silent, I just….I’m not good with words and when I’m tired like this...I get...foggy.” Her tongue feels slippery and out of control, like she’s trying to shove the words out as quickly as she can, to get them into this sliver that has opened in him before it closes again. “I don’t know when you left. Did you hear me say that I’ve never been so happy? Did you hear that--” It’s sliding around her mouth, bumping her teeth because she wants him to have it, to be able to hold it. “I said I love you. I love you, A-Yao.” It spills.

And he freezes.

And she knows it’s a mistake.

He smiles with dimples. Closes. Whatever part of him had been listening and believing her was gone, retreating entirely. He turns his hand from her cheek, drawing hers down to the table to squeeze and release. “It’s alright, A-Li. I’m not upset. You don’t have to do that.”

Lie, lie, and lie. “A-Yao, I mean it,” she whispers desperately around the lump in her throat, her fingers in an artless tangle across whatever missives he was reading. “I do.”

His smile widens and his eyes do not join it, over bright and frozen. He swallows and says nothing. Tears crowd her eyes, hot, blurring. She swipes uselessly at them with her sleeve. It’s not that she’s hurt by his reaction. She doesn’t blame him at all. It’s not that she thinks he doesn’t care for her. It’s not rejection, they have both come too far and shared too much for her to believe that, even if she might feel its blade.

It’s just that it’s so much at once; having a horrible pain day and Madam Jin and A-Yao hurt and she can’t take it back and give it to him at the right time and she’s so tired. She had first said it in anger, and now desperation. This isn’t at all what she had wanted.

She’s doing it again. Never enough at the right time to protect those she loves. Never able to voice what was needed. She should have been able to prevent this. His hands are fists in his lap and his lips have whitened, smile now a sick thing that isn’t even trying to be convincing as he stares at the table. “A-Li--” he says in a croak and she has to save him, he has been hurt too much for today.

So she talks over him, trying to school her breath not to catch. “D-do you think you’ll be coming to bed tonight?”

“I have...work.”

Nodding, she begins to push herself up to her feet with great difficulty, now that her legs are pins and water. He’s up in an instant beside her, looking concerned, but the way that he hesitates before touching her breaks her heart--so she reaches out and takes his hand. It’s a moment before she steadies, leaning against his chest and it strikes her again just how nice and warm he smells. She wishes he would come and let her snuggle up to him to sleep. She wishes he had never heard such horrible things.

Does she beg him to stay? Or does she let him come in his own time?

“Will you walk me back?” Yanli asks in a small voice. “I don’t think I can make it on my own...my knees….”

“...Of course.”

The walk back to her room is just as slow as the walk from it. Yanli wishes that it was anything like the lovely drunken stroll they had had the night before--when she had laughed at the stars and basked in his affection. He’s closed up tight, now, and she doesn’t know if she will ever be able to pry him out of his shell again. She has to believe that she can. That his fragile trust wasn’t irreparably broken. All she can do is stand with open arms and hope he knows it’s safe to return to them.

He supports her to their bed and helps her sit. And he pauses, gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips, and for a breathless, hopeful moment, she waits. And then he bows--not a full salute, but an inclining of his head, his hands fisted in his robes. “Goodnight, A-Li.”

Her heart drops down into mush. “Goodnight, A-Yao.”

She will not push him before he’s ready. She can wait until he trusts her words again and she will tell him as many times as he needs. They have time.

They have time.

“A-Yao?”

He pauses at the door, head turning until she can see a sliver of his profile, still and closed.

“Don’t push yourself too hard. I’ll miss you.”

His fingers scrunch up in his dark blue sleeve, the corners of his lip pulling down. But he ducks his head wordlessly and disappears around the doorframe.

Luckily, He Si returns with her pain medicine only minutes after A-Yao has left, because her legs and head are throbbing. Luckier still that the girl seems to have the good sense to not ask why she’s desperately and unsuccessfully stifling tears.

[nanasparadise]

“Dream Invader” Yan! Abbacchio x gender-neutral reader (Soulmate AU)

Hello everyone! I hope you are doing fine. I don’t know if you have read my previous post, that talks about a dream I had, but I decided to turn some elements of it into this piece of writing. This fanfiction is set in the soulmate universe. I really hope you enjoy it, because I decided to write this instead of studying for my French essay I have tomorrow (please wish me luck, God knows I need it) :D. And for the requests: I haven’t forgotten you, please remain patient. T-T I’ll write my last test on Thursday, after that I have holidays, so I’ll definitely catch up on them!! Thank you for sticking around. <3

Summary: Your soulmate keeps visiting you in your dreams, but you don’t feel comfortable around them…

TW: noncon touching, toxic relationship, angst, reader gets hurt physically, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI

 I do not condone any yandere behaviour in real life.

 Word count: 2626

It had happened yet again. You had dreamt again of this man, one of many countless dreams. Breathing heavily, you abruptly opened your eyes and wiped away the sweat that was accumulating on your forehead with the back of your hand. “Does that really mean…?”, you mumbled softly. Most people would be happy to find out they had a soulmate and finally had met them. But most people’s match certainly wasn’t someone, who conveyed a deep obsession and possessiveness towards their beloved. Still mentally in your dream, your body started to tremble slightly. What were you going to do now? At first, you had brushed off the dreams, convincing yourself that they didn’t mean anything. But you knew the gist of it. You knew that when a certain person kept infiltrating your dreams, that they were your soulmate.

Sighing deeply, you turned around in your bed, your left cheek resting on the soft pillow. The clock on your bedside table revealed that it was 4:30 a.m. You certainly couldn’t fall asleep again, but it was still too early to wake up for work. So you remained there in the quiet, your shallow breaths being the only sound in the dark room. Despite your efforts, your racing thoughts kept returning to your dream. “Who is this man?”, you whispered as you looked down on your fingers, which seemed to still hurt.

 Every time he had shown up, he had never revealed his name to you, wanting to keep it to himself. “I‘ll tell it to you once we see us in real life, amore”, he had told you, a certain spark igniting his admittedly gorgeous yellow and purple eyes. Truth be told, your soulmate was nothing short of beautiful. Long white hair with a purple hue graced his stoic face. His athletic body was adorned with a dark bodysuit, accentuating his muscles. All in all, he reminded you of a vengeful Greek god, breathtaking but dangerous. Dangerous… You began to feel threatened by the presence of your mysterious dream visiter. Since he had never offered you his name, you hadn’t given him yours either, sensing there might be something off about him.

 Still, he had found it out. This night in your dream, you two had been on the flower field you had met for the first time. You had felt dizzy, as if your head had been caught in the clouds. This light atmosphere had convinced you that this had been truly a dream, since a sense of haziness always accompanied your nocturnal adventures. The summer sun had been setting, turning the sky into a colourful spectacle of orange and pink. This would have been a picturesque and maybe even romantic moment if it hadn’t been for the feeling of dread building in your stomach. A small smile had formed on his purple lips when he had perceived your form. Quietly, nearly inaudibly, the stranger had murmured your name into the warm summer breeze: “Y/N.” Immediately, goosebumps had formed on your arms. 

“How do you know my name?”, you had replied, visibly shaken. Had he somehow managed to get some information on you? 

“It’s such a fitting name”, he had mused contemplatively, ignoring your question. “Y/N…” His unique eyes had been fixed on you the whole time, analysing every detail of your face. Fear had started to take over your body. The slight shivers had transformed into noticeable trembling. Your breath had shortened as you had desperately searched for a way to get out of that dream. 

„Why are you doing this?”, you had shouted out, panic manifesting in your voice. “Why do you keep entering my dreams, just to behave like a creep? How should I trust you when you don’t even tell me anything about yourself, yet you somehow know my personal information?” The man in front of you had sighed at your outburst. Sparks of sympathy had danced in his eyes, making them appear even brighter. Slowly, he had reached for your hands, holding them in his larger ones. You had tried to pull off from his grasp, but your fighting had been futile against his stronger form. So you had been forced to remain there, listening to the dream man’s words. 

“I know this is confusing for you,” he had said while rubbing circles on the back of your hands with his thumbs, “but I can’t give you any information yet, my job makes it hard. I need to see you in real life and I promise, I’ll tell you everything then.” Tears had pricked in your eyes, clouding your vision. Why had he assumed you two would meet? The thought of the stranger knowing your address had turned your initial dread into hot anger. No matter if he was your soulmate, you were still your own, independent person! He couldn’t just stalk you, talk to you as if you were a couple and leave you in the dark about his own identity. The dream man still had held your hands, expecting some kind of reaction from you. 

“No”, you had simply answered, refusing to meet his intense gaze. 

“No what?”, he had replied, impatience swinging in his voice. He had been in your dreams endless times, reassuring you of his love and loyalty for you. Why hadn’t you been reciprocating his feelings? He was your soulmate after all! 

“No,” you had repeated while your eyebrows had furrowed, illustrating your resistance,”we’re not going to see each other.” The grip on your hands had suddenly become stronger and hurtful, nearly crushing your fingers. For a second time, you had tried to take away your hands from him but without success. The stranger’s orbs had fixated you, darkness swirling in the iris of the same colour as the flowers on the field. Terror had made itself visible again in your body and mind, amplified by the man’s sombre look on his handsome face. Yes, he looked just like a statue of Ares, so enchanting and yet so enraged. And dangerous… 

“So you don’t want to meet your soulmate?”, he had stated calmy, which only had increased your anxiety. 

“Please, let go, you’re hurting me”, you had pleaded despairingly. The man had squeezed harshly one last time your hands before he had eventually released them. Protectively, you had cradled them against your chest, trying to soothe the pain by softly rubbing your fingers. “What kind of person would do this to their soulmate?” you had thought in disgust and fear. Hesitantly, you had looked up to him, his face remaining a stoic façade. 

“You still haven’t answered my question, Y/N”, the dream man had said coolly. The fact that he had addressed you with your name again had put you in a state of fear once more. Nevertheless,  you had gathered all your courage to reply to him. 

“No, I don’t. Someone who hurts and stalks me can’t be my soulmate, no matter if they enter my dreams. And even if you are, I still don’t want to be with you. Please, I’m begging you to respect and accept that.” 

The Italian – you had guessed that this was probably his nationality since he called you Italian pet names –  man’s gaze had immediately softened at your words. He had known he’d got carried away with his rage. Of course, your words had pained him more than any weapons ever could, but he had to be patient with you. He could only imagine how he had come across to you, especially now that he had hurt you. No, he couldn’t pain a loved one again, not you… 

“I’m sorry, cuore mio,” he had said remorsefully, regret manifesting itself, “I really shouldn‘t have hurt you. I promise it won’t happen again. I just want to see you, really see you, and hold you in my arms. I know, I might not be the best man to have existed.” His face had abruptly twisted into a pained grimace. This had been the first time he had ever been that sincere to you. Your feelings had begun to transform into a mix of sympathy, fear and confusion. He had really appeared to feel bad about his actions, maybe he had lived through a trauma to react that way? Your pondering had quickly come to a halt. No, you really couldn’t start to show empathy for the man. After all, he had stalked you, hurt you, crossed too many lines. Nonetheless, your dream invader had kept up with his speech. “I don’t know if I deserve your love, but I really want to believe in it. You are my soulmate and I am yours, we can make it work out if we try. Please, give me a chance and I will do everything in my power to show you I am worthy of you. Just don’t reject me already.” He had paused for a moment, a slight tremble in his voice making itself visible. You had stared at him with big eyes, not knowing what to do or how to feel about this situation. “I’ll be truthful with you. I’ll tell you everything you want to hear.” The man had tried to grasp your hands again but had immediately stopped when he had seen, how you had flinched away. His lips had formed into a thin, bitter line while seeing your reaction. Was he a monster? “I see that my words don’t seem to get through you” he said stoically. “I’ll show you what I mean, that might help. We’ll be seeing each other soon enough.” His last sentence had sent you a cold shiver down your spine. You had had the feeling that he hadn’t referred to another dream… An expression of horror had slowly crept on your face.

“What do you mean?”, you had blurted out loudly, “you mean in our dreams, right? You don’t know where I live, do you?” But the stranger had cruelly decided to stay silent, staring at you ominously instead. Suddenly, the light atmosphere around you had changed. Heaviness had taken over you, the scenic landscape had turned black as you had woken up.

 You took another look at your clock. 5:15 a.m. Did you really spend so much time recalling that dream? Deciding that you already wasted too many thoughts on that man, you stood up from your bed and took a shower, even if it still was early. “Some distraction will do me good”, you sighed, exhaustion manifesting in your voice. Your dreams involving the stranger were always so vivid that the next morning you woke up completely tired and drained. As you entered the shower and felt the warm water hitting your skin, you finally managed to relax a little, even if that tiny voice of fear kept reminding you of the dream man’s words…

 Weeks had passed since your last encounter in the dream world with your so called soulmate. A sense of hope blossomed in your chest. Maybe he had finally come to his senses and realised that it would be best to leave you alone? That was at least what your friends had told you. They had reassured you that it happened often, that your soulmate could be invasive, they had heard that before from other acquaintances. But in those cases, it had always ended well, none of the people had been harmed. You had chosen to blindly accept that explanation. Truth be told, you did need comfort right now. Because, what your friends didn’t know was, that you felt a pair of eyes burning holes into your back every time you left your home. Yet, you never saw the person behind the gaze. Foolishly, you clung onto the sense of security your friends provided you with, even if it was but wishful thinking…

 As you returned home one evening after your work, you already perceived intuitively that something was wrong. Why was there a light on? You always did turn them off��� Cautiously, you entered your bedroom, as that was where the light source came from, with your phone in your hand with the emergency number already typed in. Your palms grew sweaty and your breath heavy as fear flooded through your veins. Only now, you thought that you should have maybe taken a knife from the kitchen as protection. But alas, it was already too late. When you saw the person sitting on your bed, you were surprised to see a familiar face.

The man from your dreams quickly stood up when he glanced at your form. His eyes first landed on your horrified face, then on your phone. Without a second thought, you quickly tapped on the call button and placed the device next to your ear. The man knew exactly who you were planning on phoning. “Please, take the phone away Y/N, I’m not going to harm you”, he said lowly. Even though he promised to not hurt you, his dark expression on his face made you think otherwise. Of course you weren’t going to hang up now. You heard the Italian sigh at your act of defiance. After the second beep sound, a voice appeared on the line. 

“How can I help you?”, the person on the other side of the phone asked politely. Before you could reply, an to you invisible force ripped the device out of your grasp and slammed it onto your wall. The screen of your smartphone turned black and cracked into thousand pieces. With eyes as big as saucers you stared incredulously at it. 

“I’m sorry for that”, the man simply uttered. Though you couldn’t hear a hint of actual remorse in his voice. “I’m gonna buy you a new one.” 

“What do you want?”, you managed to voice, “I thought you had left me in peace.” 

“I’ve told you at our last encounter that we would see each other again, fiore mio”, the man replied with softness. “I can’t believe you’re really here physically”, he kept on musing in a dreamy tone, eyes lighting up. He took a few steps towards you, a hand reaching out to you. You instinctively took a few steps back until your back hit the door. 

“Please, don’t come near me”, you begged, feeling completely helpless and exposed. 

“It’s fine Y/N, really. I promised I’d you show that I won’t ever hurt you again.” He was now in front of you, your faces so close, you could feel his breath fan over your nose. Tears welled up in your eyes and threatened to stream over your face. What were you going to do now? You were scared to react in a sudden way, scared it would trigger the Italian and his dangerous invisible force. Gently, the man shushed you and placed a hand on your cheek.  A calloused thumb brushed away the tears that had finally escaped. “I know that I have done bad things in the past,” he whispered quietly to you, “but I, Leone Abbacchio, swear I will fix it. I will be a better person for you, Y/N.” Your eyes widened at the revelation of his name. Abbacchio basked in your innocent reaction. He took a mental note to replay it with Moody Blues later. While one hand kept caressing your cheek, the other one grabbed into his pocket to take out a yellow flower, matching perfectly with the man’s eyes. Your gaze fell upon the plant, recognising it from the flower field of your dreams. Abbacchio softly tucked it behind your left ear while admiring your face. You hiccupped anxiously at his obsessive staring. “We will have a beautiful future ahead of us, I’ll make sure of it” the Italian murmured in your ear. 

“After all, we are soulmates.”

[juniorgman187]

Little Did I Know (Spencer Reid Imagine Part 2)

Summary: Spencer confesses his true feelings to Reader right before her wedding.

A/N: *gif by @hisirishsoufflegirl * Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Soft Angst Word Count: 1k

PART 1 HERE!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

My sheer pink nails dug into the palms of my hands when I clenched my fists and paced around the room.

“Y/N? You okay in there?” Tara yelled through the door. 

“Yep! All good!” I lied. 

“Okay . . . well, JJ, Penny, Em, and I are all right outside if you need us.” She added. 

I took a long-drawn exhale in an effort to subside the sick feeling in my stomach as I stared at myself in my dress and veil. 

It was so strange to see my reflection. 

A girl with rosy cheeks stood in front of me. Clad in a sleek satin dress, atop her head lied a beaded veil that trailed down all the way to her white heels and matching her white-painted toenails. 

Looking at me, I was looking at someone else. 

I knew it was my anxiety making me self-reflect at such an extreme level, so I desperately needed to walk away from the mirror. 

“Tara?” I called out to her as I neared the door, which was arguably the furthest location in the room from the mirror. 

But there was no response. 

“Tara?” 

I hiked up the front of my dress to march over to the door. Opening it revealed the absence of Tara, but the very unexpected, but not unwelcome, presence of Spencer. 

His fist was frozen in the air almost like he was about to knock on the door before I opened it. Meanwhile, his eyes trailed from the hem of my dress all the way to the top of my veil. 

He went speechless for a moment, but I made up for it with my quick words. 

“You came.” I smiled delightfully, pulling him into a hug that I despairingly needed. 

I was surprised that he was there considering we hadn’t spoken since last night, but if I was being honest with myself - he was exactly who I needed to see right now. There was simply no use fighting with him again.

I shut my eyes when I felt the bridge of his nose resting on my shoulder. His hands were warm and simultaneously chilling to the touch when I felt them on the backless part of my dress. 

I’d never felt more at home than right now in his arms. 

“I’m so happy you’re here,” I repeated. 

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” He drew back, but maintained his hands’ position on the small of my back. 

Slowly eyeing me down and all the way up, he shook his head in disbelief. “Wow, you look . . . you look . . .” He chuckled at himself for his loss of words. “Rafael is a really lucky guy.” 

I pulled him back into the hug, this time a grateful one, which he was happy to partake in. 

With my eyes now open, I could see into the hallway from where I was standing. Naturally, I noticed Tara, Em, JJ, and Penny weren’t there, which didn’t make sense because of all the commotion I heard previously. 

“Were you pacing just now?” I asked, wondering if the antsy footsteps I heard earlier weren’t just my own. 

“No! What? No, no, no,” He paused. “Yeah, yeah. I was.” 

I had to chuckle. “So what are you doing here?” 

His goofy expression softened to a face of seriousness, and I wasn’t too certain that I liked it. 

“I came to apologize for how I acted last night. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

I nodded. “I appreciate that, Reid.” 

A moment of silence passed. 

“So is that all?” 

He was about to say something, but then he consciously stopped himself. “No, you know what? Can you shut the door? Because if I keep looking at you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to say what I need to say.” 

With morbid curiosity and intense reluctance, I did as he asked, hoping it would make sense once I did. I shut the door and waited patiently to hear his voice again. 

“Y/N, what I did last night - that was stupid,” He laughed at himself. “That was really, really stupid. And I am sorry. But I’m not sorry about how I feel about you.” I heard him take a deep breath. “I care about you. A lot. Sometimes, too much. And what I said, it was out of line, but it was also out of love. I meant what I said. He’s not the one, Y/N. He isn’t . . . wanna know how I know that?”

The head rush I’d gotten led me to rest my forehead on the door pensively.

“Because there is just no way that he feels what I feel for you . . . You mean more to me than any other person. And I was scared to tell you that last night, and I was scared to tell you that all the years that I’ve known you, and I know it’s not fair to tell you today, but if there’s any chance that I can change your mind, I needed to take it. Before I lose you to him forever . . . So please, if you have any doubt right now - don’t marry him.”

Everything went silent as my world began to crumble.

“Open the door, Y/N.” 

His eyes were trained on mine as soon as the space between us went away. 

“I thought I needed that door close so I could find the courage to say what I needed to say, but I realized I need to see your face when I say this: Moments with you. That’s when I wish I could stop time. You give me this feeling that I can’t accurately put into words. And I just . . .” He sighed like he was finally surrendering to his own feelings.

“I just wanna be with you. Because I really,” He took a step forward. 

“Really,” Another step. 

“Love you,” His hands cradled my face and his lips formed a smirk as they ghosted over mine. 

“And not just as a friend.” 

I willingly and eagerly shortened the space between us. His ginger kiss was soft, yet firm and needy. He kissed me so passionately, I started seeing stars when I closed my eyes. The way our lips moved in harmony and the feeling of all these years colliding into one second made my heart skip a beat. 

I got butterflies, and I didn’t even know what they felt like until now. 

He pulled away, biting my lower lip. 

“Don’t marry him.” His husky voice uttered in a hushed tone.

And truthfully, that day, I didn’t. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

@thelovelyrose​

[drwcn]

Discordance!verse part 2: there are consequence to loving someone you shouldn’t. 

in which wwx is lxc’s husband through political alliance, and there is an affair. 

[8] | [7] | [6] | [5] | [4] | [3] | [2] | [1] [synopsis]

Objectively, massacre was not the correct term to describe the sight before him, but it was the only word that came to mind as Lan Wangji stepped dazedly across the threshold into the courtyard of Songfeng Shuiyue Pavilion.

At some point during the hour before Nie Huaisang arrived and broke him out of jingshi, it had begun to rain. 

The swoosh of the discipline whip being wrought through the air howled louder than the easterly wind, and like lightning it came shooting down, delivered with a thunderous crack as it made contact with a young man’s back. 

Two ninety nine. 

Technically I’m your brother too now... Let’s be friends!

But there was no light, no brief moment of wonder in the aftermath, just the echo of a sickening splatter. The cotton under-robe between whip and skin, once pristine white, had been reduced to strips and tatters. Drenched red, it was nearly indistinguishable from the raw overturned flesh.

“Er-gongzi!”

We can’t - I can’t... I’m your, we’re - Lan Zhan, mm, Lan Zhan please - 

In the periphery of his awareness, Lan Wangji heard disciples yelling his name, ghostly hands pulling at him from all directions, but it was beyond his capacity to heed those warnings now. Transfixed, he gravitated towards the man under the whip, who made not a sound even as his body convulsed with every merciless stroke. 

Three hundred.

I’m not afraid. The future doesn’t frighten me. I have you. Nothing else matters.  

Wei Wuxian laid face down along the surface of a flat long bench, stripped of his outer robes and deprived of his guan. His hair, swept over one shoulder, dipped into a puddle of rain water, cloudy and pink from the blood that dripped down his chin. 

Inside the dry refuge of the pavilion hall, Uncle and the Elders sat in witness. No one showed any inclination to stop this insanity.

Three hundred and one. 

Don’t panic, let’s not panic. We will explain ourselves. Everything is going to be fine. Lan Zhan, look at me, do you trust me? 

As he drew close enough, Lan Wangji saw the thick strip of leather clenched between Wei Wuxian’s teeth and bound back at the base of his skull. But it was hardly the gag that kept him silent - Wei Ying was barely conscious. 

There was water running down Lan Wangji’s face. Whether it was rain or tears, only the gods knew.  

The whip sailed through air again, cutting off raindrops in their paths, but -

Clang! 

Nie Huaisang’s saber swung into the disciplinary weapon, knocking it out of the hands of the disciple.   

“LAN WANGJI!” 

I’m not afraid. 

I have you. 

I have you.

You do have me.

That single thought thrust him back into the present, freed from that far away place suffocating him inside a thick fog of utter hopelessness. 

“You cannot wield my saber. Your meridians are locked. Your core is muted. But take it anyway. At the least, it’ll intimidate. But remember, if you really try to use it without spiritual energy, it will damage you.” 

So be it. 

The rain pelted down around them, and Lan Wangji found himself surrounded by eight senior disciples pointing their swords at him and at the saber in his hand. Without his cultivation, the early spring downpour felt like ice against his skin, and Qinghe’s first class spiritual weapon weighed more than gold. 

"Lan Wangji! Remember yourself!" 

His uncle had stepped out under the eave, along with five other Elders. 

“Stop this.” Lan Zhan demanded, as if he had any rights to make demands. As if he hadn’t been defiling the sanctity of his brother’s marriage behind his brother’s back, as if he hadn’t broken the trust of the one person who had always, always been there for him. 

His uncle was so angry he couldn’t speak, but Elder Zonghui beside him, the most senior and respected of the thirty-three did not have such a reactive temper. 

“Put down the saber, Wangji. Your sense of righteousness is misplaced. Nothing is happening here that isn’t deserved and agreed upon.” 

“Agreed upon by whom?” Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, seething. 

“By all parties involved, of course. Requested even,” said Lan Zonghui, his unaffectedness towards the violence being committed before his very eyes chilled Lan Wangji to the core.  

“Wei Ying requested to be whipped three hundred times?!”

“Four hundred times,” corrected Lan Qiren, cutting into the conversation. “Your actions have violated a dozen precepts of our clan, but for the four most salient transgressions we issued fifty lashes each, totaling two hundred. As you are both participants, you were both to receive them, but Wei Wuxian offered to bear the entirety of the punishment.”

At his uncle’s words, the pain that tore through Lan Wangji was akin to being gutted by his own Bichen. 

“Take Lan-er-gongzi back to his room. He is not in his right mind."

“Do not move!” Lan Wangji commanded, as loud as his nature allowed. “I am not leaving without Wei Ying.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Nhn....” 

Wei Wuxian clung perilously to the edge of consciousness and pleaded at him through hooded feverish eyes. From where he clutched at the front edge of the bench, a trembling hand reached out and tugged on Lan Wangji’s robes. 

Just like that, like a taut string on his guqin plucked with a force too great, the tension inside him snapped, and all the fight that kept him going melted from his bones. Lan Wangji lowered his arm. Qinghe’s saber slipped from his grip and landed on the ground with a splash. 

“Wei Ying...” He fell to knee, uncaring of the eyes judging them as he smoothed back Wei Wuxian’s wet, matted hair and caressed his face, undoing the gag in the process. 

The rain had stopped, but Lan Wangji continued to cry. “Why...”  

Wei Wuxian reached for his cheek, brushing the teardrop collecting at the groove of his nose with his thumb. He smiled, a chasm of crimson red. 

"Lan Zhan...”

“I’m here, I’m here. You have me.” 

“No, no...shouldn’t be here.” Wei Wuxian shoved at him weakly. “My penance... I deserve it." 

But Lan Wangji could not stand another second listening to such words, such lies. He removed his outer robe and laid it across Wei Wuxian’s ruined back. Then, as carefully as he could, he rolled the other man over and into his gentle embrace. 

Strengthened by resolve, he turned to the mixture of faces that watched him with anger, mortification, and disgust, and said, “It takes two for a sin like this. If Wei Ying is culpable then so am I.”

"No.” gasped Wei Wuxian, struggling in protest. “Go, go -” 

“Three hundred and one. There are still ninety nine lashes left, aren’t there? I am here, and I submit before the ruling of the Elders and the Lan family precepts.” 

His Uncle shook his head, sweeping back his sleeve and sighed long and loud, as though all his anger had been defeated by a sense of profound disappointment and resignation. 

Lan Zonghui stepped forth, down the steps towards them. His eyes cut like frozen glass as he examined the spectacle. 

"Even your mother knew decorum,” he said, glancing from Lan Wangji kneeling the on wet ground to Wei Wuxian cradled against him. His gaze lingered there. “Or, perhaps not. The fruit does not often fall far.”  

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure if Zonghui had meant his mother the murderess, or Cangse Sanren the sectless wanderer, but in his arms, Wei Ying seemed to hear the connotation behind those callous words. He took shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and turned his face into Lan Zhan’s chest.

The fist that grasped at the front of his lapel trembled, tight knuckles blanched as white as his robes. 

Lan Wangji felt ill. What could Elder Zonghui have possibly insinuated for Wei Ying to hide himself away like this? As if what was said was too cruel for him to brave, as if the three hundred or so lashes he endured were nothing compared to this carefully chosen insult. 

“Words are unnecessary. You know what you know. We have nothing further to say.” Lan Wangji curled around Wei Wuxian, covering him as much as he could. 

“I’ll take the whip.”

“Your meridians are locked,” countered his uncle, a trace of worry lacing his tone. 

But Lan Wangji could not be dissuaded. “The whip, if you please.” 

Too weak to protest further, Wei Wuxian stared up at him despairingly, dark doe eyes brimming with tears. He was frightened, despite having shown no signs of fear just moments ago. Releasing Lan Zhan’s robes, his cold hand curled around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing him closer. 

Lan Wangji went willingly, eyes falling shut, and let the press of their foreheads together anchor him to what was real, what was true. 

He heard the whip before he felt it, and when he did -

He always knew the discipline whips were painful. They were created for such purposes, charmed by the most clever and fickle of their spells. It did not kill, but it tortured. And now he understood. 

Excruciating. 

The pain was excruciating. 

The second hit followed soon after the first, and when the impact exploded along the column of his back, he felt Wei Ying quiver against him and heard the sob strangled in his throat. 

Lan Zhan did not envy his position, for he understood completely now that although the discipline whip hurt, it would hurt him more to know that it landed not on himself, but on the man he loved. 

The third hit never came. 

“That’s enough!” 

All eyes turned to the source of that outraged bellow, a seldom phenomenon within Cloud Recesses. 

Lan Xichen stood under the courtyard doorway, the wind at his heels, long hair flying about him, seemingly descended from the sky. Behind him, Nie Huaisang peeked out nervously, pointing to the saber on the ground.  

“Uhm - if I could just -” 

“Xichen -” Elder Zonghui started. 

But Lan Xichen did not allow him to finish. “When has it become acceptable at Cloud Recesses to abuse the Sect Master’s heir and husband without the Sect Master’s knowledge or consent?”

He stepped up to Wangji and Wuxian and physically put himself between them and the congregation of clan elders who had all come out to greet him upon his arrival. 

Uncle sighed, for what seemed like the umpteenth time that afternoon. “This is not abuse, this is punishment.” 

“Oh?” Lan Xichen tilted his head, eyebrows rising innocuously. “For their sexual relations, I assume?”  

This was perhaps the first time ever in Gusu Lan history that a Sect Master had rendered the Elders so utterly speechless. 

Lan Xichen turned to the senior disciple still holding the whip in mid swing. “Put that away before you hurt yourself.” 

"We have not told them to stop,” objected one of the Elders in the crowd, as though he was unable to fully process what was happening.

The glare that Lan Xichen cast over his shoulder was cold and pointed. Without raising his voice, he said, "But I have. And the last time I checked, Wei Wuxian is still my husband and I am still the Sect Master of Gusu Lan and the head of this family."

“Xichen-” Uncle interjected then. “You don’t understand -” 

“On the contrary I understand perfectly. Each year, I, as Sect Master, am granted one allowance to veto the council’s decision. I have never in my life used that privilege before, because I have trusted in the wisdom and guidance of my Elders. However today, forgive me Uncle, Elders, for saying that you are all mistaken.” 

Not waiting for a response, Lan Xichen knelt down beside the two young men.

Lan Wangji stared at his brother with wide, anxious eyes and held Wei Ying closer. He could face his uncle, he could face the Elders and all the world, but for his brother Xichen, the subject of his betrayal, he did not know how to begin to atone or what he would do next.  

“Xiong-zhang, I -”

“How is he?” His brother’s brows were furrowed tightly as he scanned Wei Ying up and down. 

Of course, thought Lan Wangji. Of course his focus would be on Wei Ying. Xichen was not like Uncle, not like the Elders; he knew better. He knew Wangji. And because he knew Wangji, he would know that the one to blame in this wretched situation was not Wei Wuxian. 

Lan Wangji hung his head. His whole face felt hot with shame, and he could not bear to look at his brother anymore. 

“Not good.”

Nestled against him, Wei Ying swayed in and out of consciousness. With the adrenaline of Lan Zhan’s punishment fading, the effects of the freezing rain and his earlier punishment were quickly catching up to him.

“How many?” 

“Three hundred and one.” 

Lan Xichen cursed under his breath. 

A stream of pale blue light flooded into Wei Ying’s left temple. Lan Wangji let out a breath of relief. His brother was strong, of cultivation and of heart. He was kind and forgiving, and undeserving of all that Lan Wangji had done to him, but at least...at least he could forgive Wei Ying, if not his little brother. That was mercy enough. 

The infusion of spiritual energy jolted Wei Ying awake. Sucking in a sharp breath, he grabbed onto Lan Xichen’s wrist. 

Lan Wangji watched with twisted pain and guilt as Wei Ying turned those doe eyes on his husband, “Zewu-jun -” 

“Wuxian, conserve your energy. All can be said later.”  

"No, no, Zewu-jun.” Wei Wuxian shook his head, “Don’t save me. If you do... Please...don't send me back to Yunmeng. I can't go back like this. Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang - I can’t. I know what I have done. I know I deserve everything - anything - but please I beg you, I am willing to die, but let me die here at Gusu. Please the disgrace on my family, on Yunmeng -"

Lan Xichen dabbed his clammy forehead with the edge of his sleeve. "Shh, enough of that. You're delirious, A-Xian. You know not what you speak. No one is going to die, and I will not send you back to Yunmeng." He laid the back of his hand against Wei Wuxian’s temple. “Heavens, he’s burning up - Wangji!” 

Lan Wangji did not realize he had faded off to that hazy place again until his brother shook him by the shoulder. A cool hand pressed against his forehead. “Dear gods, you too. What - what happened to your -”

“It’s been locked,” piped up Nie Huaisang, clutching his saber. Amidst the chaos, no one seemed to be questioning his presence and what he was still doing there. “I tried but I couldn’t -” 

“No, you wouldn’t be able to. The spiritual seal of Gusu Lan can only be undone by the natural momentum of the cultivator’s core. It’ll take time. Come help him, Huaisang.” 

Nie Huaisang threw an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulder as Lan Xichen lifted Wei Wuxian into his arms. 

Together, they rushed towards Hanshi. 

Update:

[part 3]

[worldwidemochiguy]

Burnt (Jungkook x Reader)

"what’s that i smell burning?” 

“just my desire for you, baby” 

“jungkook the kitchen is on fire” 

(not a quote but like it might as well be skksdsjshkdj)

➵ in which you burn dinner and jungkook is obnoxiously in love

➵ Warnings: Fire Hazardry, Reader is kind of insecure :/, mention of Sex but no actual Sex. just cuddles :)

➵ Word Count: 1K 

➵ Masterlist

As you stared down at the blackened mess crumbled across the plate — you had attempted to arrange the alleged “food” in a way that would hide its flaws but, well, there’s not much you can do to make a few lumps of glorified charcoal look aesthetically pleasing — you couldn’t help but wish you had let your boyfriend take care of dinner instead of choosing to do it yourself for once. 

You had just wanted to do something nice for Jungkook, your wonderful boyfriend, who was ridiculously perfect in every way, but you couldn’t even do that right. You stared at the ruined meal despairingly. Jungkook had worked so hard all day and now he wouldn’t even get to have the comfort of a nice meal. What a useless girlfriend you were. 

Without your permission, a sob tripped out of your throat, shattering the quiet atmosphere of the apartment. You held your breath, not trusting yourself to respond to Jungkook’s hesitant call of ’babe?’ without giving away the fact that you were trying very hard not to cry. 

Trying and failing. 

But of course, with Jungkook being the perfectly attentive and caring boyfriend that he was, your lack of response was enough to prompt investigation. And when he found you hunched in on yourself, hand clenched over your mouth and twin trails of glistening tears running down your cheeks? Well, you were lucky he didn’t tackle you to the floor with the force of his hug. 

“Oh, baby, no,” He cooed, cradling your head delicately, pressing it against his shoulder despite your teary protestations that you didn’t want to ruin his shirt with your snot. “What’s wrong, my love?”

“I-“ You mumbled, embarrassed as your voice cracked after one measly letter. You continued on valiantly, hiccuping over your tears in between words. 

“I was trying- hic- make din-ner, but I -hic- can’t even do tha-at!” A sob tugged your last word into two syllables, dragging the word into a miserable whine. Jungkook was there right away, pulling back to cup your wet cheeks between his palms, brushing his thumbs underneath your eyes as he fixed you with a gaze that was both penetrating and unbearably tender. 

“Baby, I am so grateful you made dinner for me. Not because I expect you to or anything-“ Jungkook quickly added when you tried to interrupt him, “-but it was a really kind gesture, and you did it because you wanted to take care of me, just like I take care of you. You did it because you love me as much as I love you and, since love’s the best ingredient, I’m sure this meal will taste better than anything else.” 

“Gross.” You mumbled, another traitorous tear falling down your cheek. “That was so cheesy.”

Jungkook laughed, picking up the plate with one hand and using the other to pull you out of the kitchen and to the dining table. Despite your protestations, you blushed in a pleased little way when he tugged you onto his lap, arranging you so that you were sitting sideways and could easily press yourself against his chest if you felt like it. (in all your months of dating, you had never not felt like it)

You watched fondly as Jungkook forced himself through each charred mouthful of the dinner, refusing each time you asked him if he wanted to order takeout. When you asked if you could take a bite, mainly teasing him — though you did truly think that if he was going to make himself eat the mess you had created then you should at least help — his face had gone stark white. 

He finished the plate in less than a minute, smiling sheepishly at you as he said there was none left for you to try. After that, his face transitioned from white to a more unsettlingly green hue.

“You were right.” Jungkook said eventually, once his face looked slightly less like a bunch of unripe bananas. “You did ruin dinner.” 

“I’m sorry-“ You immediately blurted, but he shushed you. 

“You know how you can make it up to me?”

“...”

“Oh- not that-” He muttered when you started blushing furiously. “-though, like.” He paused thoughtfully, “If you want to, I would definitely-”

“Jungkook!” You squealed, burying your face in his neck. 

“Okay, okay, my cute baby,” He laughed, stroking your back comfortingly, “I was just talking about cuddles!”

You shifted in his lap, starting to whine a little, “But it always gets so uncomfortably hot-”

“Oh, hot like how you burnt my dinner?” 

You pinned him with an unimpressed look. “How long are you going to use that?”

“Oh my god, it literally just happened. Plus, you know you’re gonna end up giving in and cuddling me anyway, so just give up now, baby, please?”

He fixed you with his pout and wide doe eyes, and… well, you never could resist Jeon Jungkook. 

“Okay-” You started to sigh, and he scooped you up abruptly, his excited whoop overpowering your yelp as he practically skipped to the bedroom, carrying you effortlessly. “Why are you so excited to cuddle? We cuddle all the time!”

“I know!” He replied, eyes crinkling at the corners, “Isn’t it great?” 

[kabira]

06 | disguise

pairing — spider-man!vernon x ofc

featuring — joshua, yeji (itzy), felix (skz), yangyang (nct)

word count — 2.5k

genres — spider-man au, marvel au, fluff, action, angst, humor

warnings — none

go to fic masterlist | main masterlist

Joshua walked into the cafeteria alert, his head held up and gaze searching for a familiar brunet head amongst the thick crowd in the room. Usually he’d be late, probably held up talking to a teacher or waiting for Vernon, but after the experiences of the past week, he knew better than to wait up for his distracted friend.

“Sorry!” he yelled after almost colliding with a girl and making her spill her banana milk down the front of her shirt. She glared at him as he gripped his tray tighter and winced, quickly shouldering through the group before him to get to his table and as far out of her reach as possible. “Coming through!”

He reached the empty table as the same time Vernon did, both of them putting down their trays at the same moment. Joshua raised his eyebrows, letting a small smile form on his face as he slipped into the seat next to Vernon’s. “The prodigal returns,” he announced. “Where have you been, dude? I’ve barely seen you all week.”

Vernon shrugged, tapping his fingers on the table. He seemed distracted, eyes darting around the cafeteria as if waiting for something, or someone, to appear. Joshua knew that look—it was the one that indicated that something bad was about to happen, most likely within a ten-meter radius. “Um,” the blue-haired boy muttered with a small frown, “I don’t have to worry about that Rhino guy busting down the door, do I?”

“What?” Vernon glanced at him with wide eyes, as if only just having noticed he was here. “Uh, no. At least, I don’t think so.” He smiled sheepishly, hands sliding over the tabletop to grip his tray again, though Joshua guessed it was just to stop them from moving. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Joshua sighed, placing a fingertip against the bridge of his glasses and sliding them up his sweat-slicked nose. It wasn’t even hot out, but being in a room packed with sweaty, hormonal bodies will do that to you. “I was asking you what you’ve been doing to keep busy in the last few days.”

“Nothing much,” Vernon said, twirling his plastic fork. He looked distracted, maybe a little tired, but despite the dark circles under them, his eyes were alight. “Because of the new team, I have to do all of these S.H.I.E.L.D. training projects with them, and they keep giving up these random hero assignments like stopping robberies and rescuing cats from trees. You know, the usual.” He shrugged. “It’s kind of annoying that I have barely any creative freedom with my fighting these days.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Joshua quipped. “If you call flying solo creative freedom.”

His best friend grinned. “Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you,” he said, suddenly excited as he leaned forward on his elbows, eyes glittering. “I got a job in Dr. Connors’s lab.”

“That biotech guy who worked with your dad?” Joshua raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. “When?”

“Last Tuesday.” Vernon’s eyes had taken on an almost dreamy quality as he talked about his new job. “It’s just the post of research assistant, pretty basic stuff really, but he lets me take part in some of the data collection sometimes. Man, you should look at all the amazing equipment in his lab. He’s got a BOD incubator, an electrophoresis chamber—”

“Vernon.” Both the boys looked up at the source of the voice, which stood before them in the form of Felix Liu (or, as he was better known, Felix Lee). The boy’s eyes glazed over Joshua as if he wasn’t even there before coming to rest on Vernon’s with a kind of communicative intensity. “You’re wanted in the principal’s office.”

Vernon stared at the boy for a few moments, looking confused, and Felix raised his eyebrows, glaring at him meaningfully. Joshua glanced between them, wanting to say something but a little apprehensive of doing so. “The principal’s office?” Vernon echoed, a defiant note in his voice. “Why?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Felix asked, scowling. “Coulson himself stopped me in the hallway, so it must be urgent. You should probably go talk to him.”

Something like realization flickered across Vernon’s features. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, right. You’re right.” He got up suddenly, casting an unsure look at Joshua as if he’d just remembered there was a witness to their exchange. He glanced at Felix with a conflicted look in his eye, clutching the back of the chair uncertainly. “Uh, there’s something I should tell you—”

“Tell me later,” Felix cut him off impatiently, waving him away. “Just go.”

Vernon glanced at Joshua again, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. He opened his mouth, looking like he was about to say something, then stopped himself. He shook his head, chest deflating as he let go of a long breath, before turning around and making his way towards the exit.

Joshua kept his eyes on his retreating back as he went, not turning even when he felt Felix pull up a chair opposite him. Only when Vernon finally disappeared behind the double doors did he turn to his food, which lay untouched on his plate. Something was up, and he had a good idea about what it was.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” Felix asked, making Joshua look up at the sound of his voice. The boy’s cheeks were puffed out, mouth already filled with whatever they were supposed to consume by way of food for lunch. When Joshua didn’t answer, he cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”

“I don’t feel like eating,” the blue-haired boy murmured, but unwrapped his sandwich anyway. The new kids had started eating at his, Luce’s and Vernon’s usual table in the past week, which Joshua was completely okay with—except he usually had at least one of his old friends to keep things from becoming too awkward. Between the three of them, Joshua was probably the one with the worst social skills.

He took a tiny bite of his sandwich, and glanced despairingly at the door, waiting for Luce to show up. Heck, even Yeji or that other guy—Yangyang?—would have been welcome. Felix had always struck him as the silent type, but he didn’t yet know if it was a strong silent or a sensitive silent. Eating this way was awkward, to say the least, but the only topic of conversation Joshua could think of was probably not fit for discussion in public.

Ah, to hell with that. “You’re Iceman, right?”

Felix looked up so quickly Joshua heard something crack in his neck. He felt a sudden, sharp, bite-like pain in the back of his right hand, which had been lying much too close to Felix’s tray. “Ouch!” Joshua pulled back his hand with a hiss, cradling it against his chest. “What the hell was that for?”

“Sorry, I—” Felix stopped with a small scowl. “Hey. Don’t go around saying stuff like that!”

“So you are Iceman,” Joshua said. “Can’t really deny it now.”

Felix blushed at the statement. The color that flooded his cheeks was startlingly bright against the pallor of his skin. “Who told you that?” he demanded. “Was it Vernon?”

“No, I kind of figured it out by myself.” He lightly touched the back of his hand again, making sure the feeling in it hadn’t been stopped entirely. “Between three new superheroes showing up with Spider-Man and three new kids dropping right into the middle of the session less than a day apart, it wasn’t hard to guess,” he said. “You were sent here by the biggest super spies in the world and the best disguise they could come up with was hair dye and a last name change?”

Felix didn’t snap at him again, but the look he was giving him was definitely hostile. “You have a better idea?” he countered. “In case you haven’t noticed, no one in the school has realized my identity yet.”

“Except me.”

“Except you,” he added, though a little sourly. “And that’s probably because you already know who Spider-Man is.”

Joshua considered this. “Well, that is true,” he admitted. “But it’s still kind of surprising that none of the kids that go here have figured it out yet.”

“They probably don’t want to believe there’s a mutant in their school,” Felix muttered. Joshua noticed how his face darkened as he continued staring at his food, stabbing the mashed potatoes with his plastic spoon. “People believe what they want to see.”

Joshua studied the boy, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the probably unconscious crease in the middle of his forehead. “Are you…” he started, then hesitated. What was he supposed to say?

Felix waved the half-question away, and spooned in a huge mouthful of his potatoes, indicating that the conversation was over. Joshua took another bite of his sandwich, wondering what was going through the blond’s head. Not having a secret identity, he didn’t know what it would feel like to have a common high school kid figure it out within days of meeting you. Something bad, probably.

There was a metallic clunk as someone placed their tray on the table. Luce swung her bag off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor, and took a seat next to Joshua. “Sorry I’m late, got caught up in a meeting,” she said, seemingly oblivious to the tension at the table. “What’d I miss?”

Joshua cast a furtive glance at Felix, only to find the boy’s eyes already trained on him. He hadn’t noticed before, but Felix’s eyes were brown. Joshua had never taken a close look at Iceman’s eyes, but somehow, he knew the brown eyes were a result of contact lenses.

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all.”

Running in the hallways wasn’t allowed, but when you were going to the principal’s office, Vernon guessed it was an exception.

He sprinted all the way to the room, equal parts concerned and annoyed by the summons. If Coulson had called on him in school, then it was probably something important—but on the other hand, he hadn’t asked for Felix. Maybe it was a specifically Spider-Man related emergency.

When he burst through the door into the office, Coulson was leaning against the side of his desk, arms folded over his chest. The only other person in the room was Yangyang, who was seated on one of the chairs before the principal’s table, picking at the stuffing peeking out of the worn-out arm of the chair.

Vernon let the door shut behind him before stepping in, glancing between the two in confusion. The atmosphere definitely didn’t feel urgent. “Agent—I mean, Principal Coulson,” he said, wincing slightly at his slip-of-the-tongue. “You asked for me?”

“I did.” Coulson uncrossed his arms, placing the heels of his hands against the edge of the table. “Take a seat.”

Vernon crossed the room hesitantly, slowly sitting on the unoccupied chair. “Uh,” he said, glancing at Yangyang’s lounging figure with a frown. “Is this about something important?”

“It is indeed,” the agent confirmed, straightening. “If you consider the Shocker important.”

“Shocker?” Vernon repeated. “Isn’t he in S.H.I.E.L.D. jail or something?”

Yangyang snorted, and Vernon shot him a murderous look. “Unfortunately, no,” Coulson answered. “We’ve been trying to apprehend him, but he’s been laying low for a while.”

“Shocker, laying low?” Vernon raised an eyebrow. “Not something you see every day.”

“Yesterday, he robbed a bank on Madison Avenue,” Coulson continued, ignoring him. “I didn’t call you in then because you had a pop quiz in history going on, but—”

Yangyang groaned. “Seriously? Man, I could have used the distraction.”

The agent gave him a sharp look, before facing Vernon and speaking. “He’s out again today, terrorizing citizens in Central Park,” he said. “Usually, I’d prefer for other professionals to take on him, but orders are orders, and you, Vernon, have the most experience with him and will probably be able to take over him the most quickly.” He looked almost regretful, probably about them having to miss school hours. Damn, he was really getting into his role as the principal. “You are to leave immediately.”

“Wait, what’s he doing in Central Park?” Vernon frowned. “That’s not the most lucrative venture for a small-time villain.”

“Terrorizing citizens.” Coulson raised his eyebrows. “As I said.”

“Terrorizing citizens…?” Vernon muttered, sitting up a little. “That’s strange.”

“What’s up, Parker?” Yangyang asked with a mocking grin, uncrossing his legs and getting to his feet. He stretched, flexing his shoulders. “Disappointed in your little pet project?”

“Shut up, bucket head,” Vernon murmured. “It’s just not his usual style, but I guess he’s branching out.” He pursed his lips. “Still, I can’t imagine why.”

“And I can’t imagine why the two of you would stand around bickering and wasting your time when there’s a dangerous criminal on the loose,” Coulson said firmly, giving them a very teacher-like look. “Get going already.”

Vernon blinked. He glanced at Yangyang, who stood by the door looking at him expectantly, and then at Agent Coulson. “Wait,” he muttered, brow creasing as it slowly dawned on him where this was heading. “What about Tiger and Iceman?”

“They’re not needed for this simple mission,” Coulson said. “I’m sure the two of you can handle this problem by yourselves just fine.”

“Unless you’re scared of old Shocker, that is.” Yangyang gave him a lopsided smirk. “In which case, I’m sure Agent Coulson wouldn’t have a problem packing you an extra pair of underwear when you wet your pants.”

Vernon glared at him, his grip tightening on the armrests as he refused to get up. His gaze swiveled to the agent, eyes going round and pleading. “What about sending me with White Tiger instead?” he asked imploringly. “I’m sure we could take Shocker down more efficiently since we’ve had more time to practice our maneuvers together—”

“Go. Now.” Coulson was definitely not taking no for an answer as he gave him a stern look. Vernon stood up slowly, not taking his eyes off the man, just in case he got a last-minute break, but he was unrelenting. “Today would be good.”

“What are you going to tell your teachers?” Vernon asked desperately as he reluctantly made his way towards the door, where Yangyang was still waiting for him. He gave the boy a disbelieving look, surprised that he was willing to go along with all of this. Their animosity was, on most days, mutual. “We have bio lab later, and we’re both partners, and if I miss this class I might—”

“Don’t worry about that, leave it to me,” Coulson said, now simply looking impatient. “And stop making excuses to get out of the situation. Every little second you waste here doing that means another second of those innocent civilians being in danger. What happened to all your preaching about responsibility?”

Saying this, he pushed the two boys out of his office and shut the door in their face. Vernon stared at it glumly, finally accepting his fate.

“Come on, then, partner,” Yangyang said. He stood next to him with his arms crossed over his chest, grinning like a cat after a catch. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

[dearcat1]

Bastardology

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Event: KHR Rare Pair Week 2020

Pairing: Naruto Uzumaki/Xanxus

Summary: Naruto eats Xanxus out of house and home and casually talks no jutsus him. (Not that she realizes, there are more important things to think about, like ramen.)

Story:

"Seriously?" Nobody answers her but Naruto hadn't been hoping for a reply anyway. Kurama's mocking snickers were more than enough, thank you. "Can't a girl have 15 minutes to eat some ramen?" 

That question, too, was rhetoric but it receives an answer regardless. "Hmm, sure?" The guy is a brunette, small and adorable and with a head full of fluffy hair that she has a hard time resisting. The urge to pet him is almost too strong. 

Beside him sits a white-haired man, eating marshmallows leisurely. Naruto recognizes another pranking spirit on sight. "Ooh? And who would you be?" 

"Uzumaki Naruto," and she's too damn hungry to complete the usual introduction. "Where's the nearest ramen stand?" She can deal with the weird interdimensional jump later. Their blank faces are answer enough. Naruto shrugs, she'll find it herself and jumps down the table. "Oh yeah, sorry about your forest." 

So she had been a tiny bit startled when they'd pulled her from Ichiraku. And maybe, just maybe, Naruto might be a little Rasengan happy these days. It's hardly Naruto's fault.

As if on queue, a part of the wall crumbles, the forest after it flattened to the ground, and Naruto blushes, gesturing vaguely towards the door before she leaves, long blonde hair swaying behind her.

One of the guys falls into step with her. Dark hair, are those feathers? Red eyes, scars all over him and angst oozing out of every pore. Great, this one is a Bastard 2.0, Naruto can already tell. She's also a master of Bastard-Speak and the leading expert in the field of "how to socialize your bastard." 

She needs a better name for it. Bastardology? 

Better than anything her father would ever come up with, that's for sure. "Come on," Naruto herds him to where her nose is guiding her. "You're paying for my ramen." This one, at least, doesn't know better yet. 

Bastard 2.0 snorts, not even faltering. 

Naruto rolls her eyes right back. "Of course you will, you guys dragged me here. Take responsibility!"

All he answers her with is a one-eyed glare. 

But as mentioned before, Naruto is an expert in bastardology. "Save it, I'm not one of the fangirls." Bastards always have hoards of them. "They're your friends, believe it." 

To that, Bastard 2.0 grunts incredulously.

"Oh, get over it," Naruto pokes him on the stomach. Bastards need physical and verbal affection, it helps them with their regretful bastardy. That said, nobody needs to know that Naruto is purposefully annoying with it. 

This bastard, though, seems to be more in the lines of Sasuke after the invasion instead of Sasuke after the Fourth War. He pulls out something from his belt and Naruto reacts on instinct, she tanks the attack to keep the civilians behind her safe and barely manages to redirect the Rasengan she was about to ram into his gut. 

"Oh man," she slips his weapon into her pouch and looks despairingly at the crumbling building behind him. This universe is so breakable. So damn breakable. This one was even just a normal Rasengan. "All I want is some damn ramen, you bastard."

That did scorch her a little, though. Which contrary to popular belief, given Naruto's well... Narutoness, is actually pretty impressive. Of course, Kurama is already dealing with it. Speaking off, the energy… it felt like Kurama on a pissy day. 

Nowhere near Kurama's old levels of rage but like a human version of it. You know, instead of a centuries-old chakra monster. 

Bastard 2.0 is looking at her, eyes slightly widened and mouth parted. Damn him, really, are all bastards this pretty? Naruto props her hand on her hip and glares him down, doing her best Ino impression. She's dealt with Kurama when he was the King of Angst, he can deal with Feathered Murder over here. "Well?" 

The guy grunts, sending a pointed look towards her weapons pouch. Naruto, just as pointedly, ignores it. She rolls her eyes, snags him by the wrist and drags him behind her. "Now, you're absolutely paying for my ramen, believe it." She was going to be nice, too. Eat maybe three bowls. Now she's going to empty his wallet.

Not only does she empty his wallet, she pulverizes it. It's no like she set out to be mean about it, alright? She's just been helping with well… pretty much everything. Being a one-woman army has its downfalls. Between working and working and meetings and more working, Naruto hadn't honestly noticed how damned hungry she was. Just that she was.

Which, it turns out, is far too damn hungry. The place is no Ichiraku but the ramen is still good and the cook had no problem sending people out to buy more ingredients as soon as Naruto gave him Feathered Murder's wallet. 

The guy's surprise at Naruto handing it over had been hilarious. She can sort of see why Jiraya did it.

Still, she eats mostly the day away but once she's done, Feathered Murder's wallet back in her hands, she snags him again and decides against wandering. 

They find a nice rooftop with a view of the ocean. Or maybe, it's more accurate to say that Naruto finds it and drags Bastard 2.0 with her but he hasn't left. So there's that. "So… why are you so angry anyway?" 

"What is it to you, trash?" 

Naruto ignores the bite in the tone, ignores the insult. She's been called far worse, there's been more venom in the voices of people that now greet her with a smile of admiration. This is nothing to her. "Nothing, really. I just figured I'm as unbiased as you'll ever get, bastard." She is, after all from another dimension.

Bastard 2.0 watches her in silence for a moment and then drops down to sit by her side, close enough that Naruto can feel his heat. Unlike Sasuke, who ranted his fury at her, screamed it between punches, Xanxus tells her in quite even tones that sound of resignation.

For all that she loves them, Naruto thinks Xanxus would understand her better than Sakura or Kakashi. Though maybe not Sasuke. But they're both up there. But the more he talks, the less Naruto finds herself comparing the two bastards. They are both bastards, of course. 

But Sasuke is her rival, Gaara her best friend. Xanxus? She thinks that if she let out all those dark thoughts Naruto has long kept inside her, Xanxus would understand them quite well.

"You deserved to be Decimo," she tells him, frankly. Because he did. Would he have been a good one? That Naruto doesn't know but if the title was given to the sons of the current leader, adopted or not, Xanxus qualified. "But why did you want to be?"

Or did he ever? Because to Naruto, it sounds more like Xanxus was hurt that it was denied to him in the first place.

Xanxus makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat, something a little disbelieving. And Naruto wishes she could point him to the direction of the swordsman who has been following them since the beginning, discrete as he thought himself to be. But she asked and Xanxus answered so she grabs a hold of his hand instead.

"Growing up," she tells him, staring at the same landscape he's pretending to watch, "the villagers hated me. The demon brat. They would always look at me with those eyes and I hated it, you know?" 

Naruto drags her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. "The old man used to visit me at the orphanage. The one person who liked me in the entire village. The Hokage. The Third. But for me, he was the old man. Closest thing to family I had." 

"I love him still, and I forgive him," she ignores Kurama listening quietly as well. "But I'm not an idiot. My parents had friends, a student, but none of them approached me. Not once. To protect me, they said. I know now. He was the old man to me but he was always the Third as well."

There's resentment there that she refused to acknowledge to anybody else, "my father sealed the nine-tailed demon inside of me when I was born and since then, I was a container first and his adopted granddaughter second. For the rest of them, I was a weapon, something dangerous, to be wary of." 

Kurama feels worried and she smiles, sending him affection back. "I didn't know, of course. For a long time, I didn't know I was a container. The old man only told me when a traitor spilt the secret and I'll never know if he planned to tell me about my parents. He died before, you know?" 

"But even before I knew, I wanted to be Hokage. I wanted them to acknowledge me, I thought that it'll show them I'm worthy of them. I know now the old man told me that to keep me loyal, I'm not an idiot." No matter what people like to tell her. "But I want to be Hokage still. Just for a different reason." 

Xanxus is full in looking at her now, not even pretending otherwise. "Why? They're shitty people." 

A part of Naruto thinks: I know. "There are people in the village who used to spit at me and now won't stop smiling my way," Naruto tells him, somehow darkly amused. "I don't think I'll ever trust it. But the Hokage is the strongest ninja in the village and I need to be strong. If I am not, how will I protect the friends I finally managed to make along the way?"

And then, impulsively, she sends a smile his way. "I've decided you're my friend, too." Naruto points a finger to his face and watches him go cross-eyed as he leans back. "I'll protect you too, believe it. And kick your ass if you're being too much of a bastard!"

The fist closing on her shirt makes her smile gains teeth. She's expecting Xanxus to throw a punch, she's expecting a somewhat exasperated spar that will leave them both satisfied and her message received. So Naruto lets him drag her to her feet, lets him pull her close. 

What she's not expecting are chapped lips against hers, a hand cradling her cheek. Naruto makes a surprised sound and ignores Kurama's facepalm and mutterings about her tendencies to reform assholes everywhere. She presses closer, going up on her tiptoes to deepens the kiss.

[erabundus]

@monogatcri &&. said... fortunately i don’t mind a smushed cake, so long as it still tastes like cake.

❝  it's  not ...  ❞  the  wanderer  starts  to  say,  only  for  the  reply  to  FIZZLE  OUT  on  his  tongue  alongside  his  enthusiasm.  he's  always  been  an  emotional  creature,  despite  his  best  efforts  to  the  contrary  —  a  fact  that  niwa  is  no  doubt  well  aware  of.  (  even  better  than  most.  )  though  many  things  about  him  have  changed  over  the  years,  that  peculiar  quality  of  his  has  remained  —  eternal  as  ren  himself.  it  simply  chooses  to  manifest  in  a  slightly  different  way;  where  the  kabukimono  would  have  no  doubt  spouted  a  flurry  of  apologies  and  frantic  promises  to  fix  his  mistake,  the  wanderer  merely  buries  his  face  in  his  hands  and  groans  softly  into  palms  that  smell  nauseatingly  of  SUGAR.

that's  just  what  he  gets,  ren  can't  help  but  think.  pride  was  going  out  of  his  way  to  construct  some  elaborate  dessert  from  fontaine  —  and  the  fall  is  the  inevitable  failure  his  INEXPERIENCE  with  the  dish  brings.  he  should  have  tested  it  first  before  trying  to  show  off.  he  was  too  eager  to  impress  niwa  with  his  culinary  expertise  —  and  now  the  only  thing  he  has  is  a  mess  to  show  for  it.  punishment  for  his  sins  on  a  much  smaller  scale.

another  sigh,  and  the  wanderer  drags  his  hands  down  his  face.  he  peers  at  the  mess  over  his  fingers  —  just  for  a  moment.  it's  so  annoying  to  look  at,  he  finds  himself  squeezing  his  eyes  shut  once  again.  ❝  it's  not  just a  cake.  ❞  ren  clarifies,  voice  somewhat  muffled  behind  his  palm.  ❝  it's  a  souffle.  ❞  a  chocolate  one  —  albeit  with  a  ratio  of  cacao  more  centered  to  niwa's  sweeter  tastes.  the  center  was  meant  to  stay  molten,  like  a  rich  sauce  —  cradled  by  an  exterior  layer  of  fluffy  cake  and  garnished  with  berries  bright  as  little  jewels.  that  was  his  original  intention;  the  plate  before  him  resembles  a  crime  scene.  collapsed  in  on  itself,  somehow  simultaneously  undercooked  and  overcooked.  middle  too  liquid,  cake  too  dense.  niwa  may  only  see  a  dessert  as  a  dessert,  but  ren  cannot  possibly  serve  something  so  despairingly  under-representative  of  his  baking  capabilities.  it's  personal.

the  wanderer  shakes  his  head  and  pushes  the  failed  dish  to  one  side in disgust.  ❝  forget  it.  ❞  he  mutters.  ❝  i'm  starting  over.  ❞  second  time  is  the  charm,  right?  (  he  knows  optimism  doesn't  suit  him.  )  he  simply  needs  to  learn  from  his  MISTAKES  to  ensure  this  rendition  comes  out  as  perfectly  as  he  imagines.  shooting  niwa  a  stern  look  from  the  corner  of  his  eye,  ren  says,  ❝  don't  you  dare  try  to  eat  that  mess.  ❞

MISC SENTENCE PROMPTS

[awkwardbluefish]

Ominous

Summary: They were just going shopping. Just shopping. How the hell did it end up like this?

A/n: Blood and implied character death

“All I’m saying is that it’s ominous.”

Tim and Cass, the traitors, just share a look. Cass is smiling, lips twitched up in the faint sign of amusement and humour in his expense as Tim shakes his head despairingly.

It’s a hot summer day. Not only that but the sky is actually clear. It’s smelting and Tim has his hair tied back into that little knob of his as Jason has his everyday leather jacket tied around his waist. Cass has her hair pushed back with a cute yellow headband with a bow on the side. Ridiculously cute and misleading.

They’re walking to the bookstore, the one right next to the Gotham Gazette news paper agency. It’s Alfred’s birthday coming up and they all saw the book he was eyeing in the windowsill last week on their way back from grocery shopping.

Jason honestly wonders how he gets through them so fast. He’s only ever seen Alfred read during their book club and they mostly end up talking idly and snacking on pastries. When does that man take the time to read of all things? Jason wants to know his secret please and thank you.

“Jason,” Tim says and Jason wonders if he could get away with throwing a hand at him and telling him to read between the lines. Most probably not, Cassandra wouldn’t hesitate to bend his fingers back. “It’s the middle of summer, just because the sun is out doesn’t mean it’s ominous.”

Has he learnt nothing about this city? This city doesn’t do bright and happy, this city isn’t sunshines and lollipops and bright white clouds and smiling suns. The only rainbows and sparkles in this city is the shit coming from Dick’s ass.

Cass suddenly raises a brow, smile brightening subtly as Jason blanches and coughs. Tim gives them an unimpressed look.

“It’s Gotham Tim. The sunshine doesn’t come out and play. It ain’t no naive kids drawing that’s for sure.” He says solemnly and Tim stares at him.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Why are you so dramatic. It is not that bad Jay!”

Jason would like to refute that and that’s exactly what he does. “It is though. It’s raining for six months and snowing the other three. Happiness doesn’t happen here.”

Tim begins to speak before blinking and shutting his mouth. A thoughtful expression crosses his face and Cass giggles and oh shit, he’s been caught now.

“Did you just quote ‘How to train your dragon?’” He asks, completely bowled over.

Jason does not flush in embarrassment and he doesn’t not start fast walking. Tim and Cass just got a bit slow all of a sudden. Yeah that’s it.

“What the hell ya’ talking about? I was sleeping during the so called movie night.” He replies quickly and he knows he’s doomed for when Cass does that smile and Tim raises a brow.

“Did,” Cass calls him out, looping an arm around his elbow and dragging him back in between the two. “Cried.”

Tim lets out an snort and Jason huffs, dragging his feet against the pavement to sulk before Tim and Cass heave his ass forward. His said fat ass blocking everyone else’s way. Rude.

“I don’t blame you though,” Tim says shrugging, squeezing into his side as a big hairy man rushes past. “I think I even saw Damian shed a tear.”

“Did,” Cass tells them again, bicep threatening to cut his arm off as he lets out a suppressed cackle that quickly turns into an ouchie. He winches and Cass just pats his shoulder in a small amount of mercy. “Dick too.”

Jason actually does snort and he pretends he didn’t just feel snot leave his nose. Not on his face, not his problem. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

A chuckle escapes from Tim as he shakes his head. “It’s a good movie. I think it’s an unsaid agreement that we’re watching the other two the next movie night.”

“Two movies? Alfred must’ve enjoyed it too then.” Jason says and lets the two turn him down another street. Okay so maybe he ended up in Metropolis once. No need to hold it over his head okay!

“Did,” Cass tells them, a small smile on her face.

Jason turns his head to stare at her. “Woman how do you do that? I know you can read us like we came with an instructional manual or somethin’ but Alfie? That’s impossible!”

“No it’s not,” Tim says this time and Jason decidedly ignores him. He doesn’t like the subtle indication in that sentence. Nope, not happening.

“Secret,” is all Cass says and that’s really not helpful to his situation. Her smile says it all. Well damn them then.

“You’re bullying me, stop bullying me. I’m leaving you.” He says and then he’s sliding from their hold and fast walking to the crossing ahead of him.

He can hear Tim’s amused snort and basically feel Cass’ amusement radiating of her but he’s making a point dammit so when the walking sign flashes green he’s striding across the road quickly.

Dogs nip at feet and toes are squashed but that is completely normal so everyone just pushes through. Literally. It’s shoulder shoving and half assed apologies until Jason is standing victorious on the other side of the street. Take that, looser!

A pinch on his fleshy parts make him yelp and he jumps, if ignoring the raised brows the amused looks from random strangers passing by. Cass simply gives him a smile and Jason blinks.

“What the heck?” He says incredulously.

“Secret,” she says again before they turn their attention back to the crossing.

They make eye contact with Tim and he rolls his eyes at them, halfway down the street and amused. The light is still flashing green and other people sprint across the crossing quickly.

“You’re as slow as a grandma!” Jason’s shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Hurry your ass up!”

Tim rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised whose talking with all that ass you have to carry you dweeb!”

“Fuck you!” Jason responds wisely. “Besides I didn’t quote the movie I just switched it up a bit!”

Tim opens his mouth and Jason is yelling then screaming, eyes snapping open and wide.

Pedestrians give him scowls and cover their children’s ears but Jason doesn’t give a fuck, his heart is in his throat and it’s hammering to an unsung song. Hes surprised he’s still standing. His legs feel weak.

A blue forward car is tearing through the street, crashing into other cars. It’s heading right for Tim and Jason logically knows there isn’t any time to move but fuck logic he say as he screams for Tim to just move.

Cass is running and stumbling before the car even makes impact.

There’s screams, a honk of a horn and the horrifying sound of crunching fills the air. The car makes impact and all Jason can hear is the thump of a body as glass from a window shatters and cracks.

Tim’s eyes lock with his and they’re wide, pained and then they’re rolling into the back of his head as his body rolls atop of the car. His body hits the boiling bitumen and Jason cries out at the cracks that fill the air.

It’s silent and then someone’s screaming to call an ambulance as the blue forward drive speeds off. People are surrounding his little brother and Cass is sliding to his side and her knees are bleeding but she’s cradling his bloodied face in her hands as she leans over him.

Jason can’t focus. He’s being pushed passed. He can’t stop seeing his brothers body flying, crashing into the car and slamming into the road. His arms are twisted and broken in multiple spots and legs should never look like that. Bike tickles the back of his throat.

Cass is slapping his face and then she’s crying. Jason doesn’t know if he’s screaming or if it’s her but someone is pulling her away as she thrashes and cries against them.

The tears are streaming as she makes eye contact with Jason as she’s cradled in another woman’s arms. She’s not fighting anymore. Defeated. She sobs and shakes her head and Jason feels like he’s being plunged into the icy ocean of Antartica.

He can’t move, not now when she’s shaken her head. He can’t move because Tim isn’t moving.

Why isn’t he fuckin’ moving?

[theworststoryteller]

The living dead (Post s4 finale sad ficlet.)

There’s one thing we did not think about” Hecate muttered softly.

Ada was lying in bed, an array of tissues scattered across the sheets which the brunette vanished every so often. Her eyes were red and puffy while grey circles were engraved below them. On her nightstand, next to her glasses stood a mug filled with tea which had long went cold as it was left untouched. Hecate resorted to casting warming spells despite knowing her beloved wife was not going to touch it.

“What would that be?” the blonde questioned, blowing her nose.

“It’s...Geraldine” Hecate sighed “Someone needs to tell her. She has a right to know”

“You’re right” Ada nodded.

Hecate stood from her chair “I won’t be long” she lifted her wrist

“No” Ada placed a hand on her forearm “She was my sister. I should be the one”

“Are you sure? You’re not in a state to-“

“I’m sure” Ada shot her a gaze that didn’t grant room for objections as she rose, fastening the belt of her pink robe. “Plus you’ll be there if anything happens” _____________________________________________________________

Geraldine shifted in the portrait that had served as her glassy prison for the last three years. She placed her palm against the cold edge of the frame, suction being her only assistance in remaining balanced.

She had been laying there for hours, isolated from the outside world without a clue on what had ensued since Agatha had flipped the photograph that morning. She had soon came to conclude that a silencing spell was muffling her protests. Thus, she adjourned herself to the corner of the frame, fighting to tame the agony that was gnawing at her loins with great intensity. Her mistress always had a good reason for every single one of her actions. She had to remain reasonable. And if waiting blinded and muted was how she would be best useful in this so be it. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to.

She had to trust her although she didn’t quite understand how being in this state raised any less suspicions than visibly occupying the space by herself. She knew that deep down, Agatha did that to protect her. To prevent her from taking the fall as well if something was to go awry. And to seal her from bearing witness to a tragedy. And that tragedy had occurred, albeit elsewhere.

As her world stopped spinning and she stood on solid ground again, she was met with Agatha’s ever so calming gaze. The momentary flatter of elation and relief in her heart seized upon the realization that this was in fact the jovial headmistress. Only she wasn’t so jovial this time. The panic started to race through her veins at the sight of the expression of defeat that befallen on the youngest twin’s features.

“No” she shook her head violently as Ada fiddled with her handkerchief, pondering for a second longer on how to force out the words that were caught in her throat, refusing to be spoken.

“No” she muttered out loud this time as Ada gave Hecate one last look, seeking encouragement. But of course, she couldn’t be heard.

Her eyes shifted to the annoying deputy who looked paler than usual, looking despairingly for a sign of anger. But her expression was rather solemn than murderous. Merciful even. Confirmation of Geraldine’s fears as to the kind of announcement they had come to make.

Ada swallowed hard, as in pain and wrinkles appeared on her forehead “Miss Gullet, as you are aware, last night my sister left her place in the painting. You also must know of her intentions to take the school over. What you don’t know is the outcome of her plan. Agatha’s actions brought great pother to everyone as the lives and well-being of multiple people, including children were put at stake. Thankfully, the situation was resolved, and no one was harmed. However, Agatha…she was subdued.” She brought the handkerchief to her eyes as a tear escaped. Hecate placed a hand on her shoulder in concern.

The former spell science teacher’s stomach twisted into a knot as she fought her own tears. “There’s no easy way to announce something like this” the older witch regarded the deputy who must have repeated these words many times before. Now her hand rested over Ada’s as the difficult part was now coming “But I’m afraid something terrible has happened. Agatha-“ a sob interrupted her words “She’s no longer with us”

A scream tore through the redhead’s lungs,who up to that point cradled onto the hope that she had got this all wrong. Her heart shattered into a million pieces just like glass before her as she threw her first against it,violently. Her knees succumbed to her weight, weak.

She felt the gentle sensation of a fixing spell that restored the damage and her ability to be heard as pink sparkles blurred her vision. “Geraldine, despite the many differences that set us apart, I am aware that we both harbor great love for Agatha and offered your support through hard times, even if in unorthodox ways. I also know that Agatha held you in especially high regard. If there is anything that I can do for you, let me know and I’ll see what I can do to help”

She knew what this was: forgiving of all ill evil after one has passed. Post Morten clemency. She had tasted the bitter flavor of it before, when her father died and suddenly, all the condemn he had received while among the living turned to sympathy. It was disgusting back then and remained disgusting now. They had never loved Agatha. Not for who she really was. Not like she did. They loved the Agatha they wanted her to become. A false idea of who she was.

She didn’t want their pretentious help “I just want to know one thing: How...How did it happen?” she asked, not lifting her gaze.

“She sent herself to vanishment” she heard the potions’ mistress stating bluntly before she could be stopped.

New waves of pain shook Miss Gullet’s body. Grief was now mixed with betrayal. Her mistress had chosen self-destruction. It wasn’t an accident or the result of a duel. It wasn’t a death sentence. There was no one to blame, no one to hate for it. No one to show fury towards. She was gone on her own accord. Without caring about her feelings. And the worst part of it was that she had chosen this instead of returning to her.

Was it her fault? Had she failed to show her how much she meant to her? What was she meant to do now? What was her purpose in life now?

“I believe we should grand you some privacy” Ada sighed, squeezing Hecate’s hand before turning around.

The taller witch studied her for a second, hesitating before a flick of her wrist resulted in a black handkerchief materializing in the picture in front of her.

“I’m very sorry for your loss”

“I don’t need your pity, Hardbroom” she spat bitterly as the other retrieved towards the exit.

The deputy stopped in her tracks

“It’s not pity. I just know what it’s like to lose someone. Someone that means the world to you”.

And with that she transported herself away. Read and review on AO3

[hidden-not-isolated]

Hidden, Not Isolated [C1]

He was shaking.

He was shaking.

He was shaking.

But he was relieved.

He had gotten to his desired location. 

After everything.

He’ll throw a party as he checks that off the list. 

Done, taken care of. 

All wrapped up and good to go.

…Now what? 

Sure, the idea of taking his complicated, daunting mission one-step-at-a-time certainly worked, however...for starters, he definitely couldn’t handle the idea of being anywhere near any other people; not to mention the strangers. The strangers. The strangers strolling around the proximity, doing whatever they want, you unbeknownst to their shenanigans that they do in the shadows. For all you know, one could be plotting to kill you next Sunday afternoon. One could be a kidnapper in plain sight, lacerating its victims. One could be scheming to expose your biggest secret to the entire world, directly or otherwise. Or to put it more simply, 

A town. 

Filled with murderers.

Which was where he was. 

Thoughts haphazardly crammed and rushed to his head as he forced the water threatening to raise behind his eyes to back off as his breathing firmly hastened and he glanced the area over, left and right, still contemplating of what may happen upon someone spotting him even if it was random...even if it was agonizing...even if it was the worst... even if it was the best...

The best.

As he pinched an eye shut, he grazed away the nearly cast tear with his palm whilst refocusing, and maybe distracting, himself boiled to the front of his mind instead of physically hiding from the insult-ready folk trapping him,

Find him. 

But if he was honest with himself and his Anthropophobia, his existence was still useless. How was he supposed get back on his feet if he had been unknowingly stapled to the ground in the first place? Guess he just didn’t know that until now. After all, he had no traces, no courage, no nothing. Essentially, instead of being something of millions of miles away from his objective, he was lost in his own, personal mind and apprehension. Literally no one could help him with this absurd disorder. He would have to deal with his pattern of heavy thought by himself. That’s just honestly cruel, isn’t it? After all, he didn’t even know who he was supposed to be anymore, would anything go his way? Couldn’t the universe just, you know, be considerate? Could it really not spare him even the smallest shred of luck? Surely it owes him, right? Out of everything he had gone through, wouldn’t it only be fair? Emerging from the whole “god doesn’t play the dice” stuff, guess not. In fact, with no sighting of his goal even now, perhaps he should’ve looked somewhere else, less filled with people. Perhaps he should've never come in the first place. Perhaps this was all an elaborate mistake. But there he was. About to die. He did that to himself. Hooray. Such advanced thinking. Clever. Really clever. See, it didn’t matter where he consciously made his way to, physically. After all, he had literally been hunting for this town for...a while...? So it wasn’t a matter of that. What else could it be? I mean, he could be anywhere in the world and it wouldn’t change the fact that he was having something of a panic attack.

His existence was fucking useless.

His frantic, terrified heaves of hyperventilation beginning to rapidly stutter once again, his neck instinctively tucks inwards, right hand tightly squeezing his left with a painfully tight grip uncontrollably in a nervous habit as his eyes remained wide and hysterically bouncing to the left and right, anticipating someone to maniacally sprint up to him with a melee weapon of sorts. The positions of his hands were over his mouth alongside the cloth that he automatically buried his lips with, trying to make sure the soft fabric didn’t slip--it made him feel a bit more safe. To be specific, it made him feel as if he was at his home...if he had a home, that is. He could only guess. That said, he still could barely muffle even the thinnest of heaves into the atmosphere. He couldn’t even ask somebody to call an ambience if he needed one, that’s how useless he was. Amazing. He had just gotten there and of course, he was continuously choking on his own worthless breath matching his personality over and over again. The sinister reality encircling him, he couldn’t imagine anything bad not happening to him and as if he could simply shut out the actuality ambushing him this easily, he locked his eyes shut as his hands and weave slipped to his chest whist the universe itself whirled in broad circles around him. He couldn’t focus. He needed to focus. He couldn’t relax. He needed to relax. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to breathe. 

B r e a t h e.

Taking several, large, expansive breaths, he thoroughly aired out his lungs as he forcefully commanded his throat. His lungs despairingly exhausted themselves panting all of the microscopic particles of dust elsewhere before he ultimately exhaled one final time, the desire to keep his eyes clasped amplifying by far the most that he had craved yet as exactly two total tears slipped from his eyes, one each, while he tucked his chin to the right side of his chest, shying his face away, effectively pinching the skin of his left hand.

. . . 

Swiftly, his hands sank into a posture near to his lower chest whilst he vigorously trembled uncontrollably, head slightly, unenthusiastically shifting towards the front of him and eyes tearing towards the town. His timid manner as he slipped his attention was visibly noticeable. He looked as if he just wanted to hide behind his hair and shun from any sorts of murderer-likely people who were exchanging discussions about how stupid he looked with one another as they sauntered beyond the proximities, snickering about how randomly sensitive and crybaby-like a grown man was acting for no apparent reason.

That said, though he was completely aware that peeping was daring, he was nearly swooped into a calmed status for a few moments, for exactly three parrots sang their chirps as they flew past his line of sight, the birds honestly startling him as they shuttled, him to instinctively adjust his attention and eyes to keep a tab on the flyings. 

As he traced the flutterings after they resting-ly perched onto a beam, he slowly twisted his neck left and right, not rushing to cautiously take in all of the scene that dauntingly made him feel oh-so-small in its surrounding-like style. That is, until he rabidly blinked a few times in wonderment as he took most notice to the vertical, coloured beams that fiercely shone directly into the atmosphere. They weren’t exactly bright enough to make one go blind even if they were to gaze for a prolonged amount of time but definitely enough to be seen from a mile away. And clearly striking. He found himself dumbfoundedly staring at the beams of colour, even after he instinctively roamed towards the lights in his glaze. Definitely something he hadn’t seen in years. The monument supporting the streaks of hue also persisted so causally, as well. Everything did. Everyone did.

The streets of this town square were far from being bustling or swarming with people this sunny day. They weren’t many folks out and about. So that was very good. Not a lot of people out and striving to kidnap him, throwing him into the basement that would also be the worst day of his day...which was a possibility to happen. So this was much better than any kind of crowd. Much better than any kind of crowd. Much better than any kind of crowd. He was very lucky. But then again, if he was very lucky...forget it. Why don’t we try to be grateful? Not much else has worked for this man, anyways. 

“I’ve always loved these beacons!” He violently flinched in his recently pacified status as a bloke abruptly ran around the structure, arms out immaturely. That’s what urged his self-preservation to immediately shoot his head towards the ground and began actively vibrating once again, cradling himself, praying that the individual would just go elsewhere if they didn’t pay much attention to them.

“Yeah, that’s why they call it ‘Beacontown,” He heard a woman return followed by barks of a canine, he believed. He also believed that a hastening shiver quickly jetted down his spine upon overhearing that another person was too close to him and, to top it all off, a dog that probably had razor-sharp teeth, ready to impound blood-cut stitches into his arm with a single snack out of his sensitive skin. 

No. 

Get away from me.

The fact that someone was in the proximity of him was all it took for him to frantically speed-walk to a distance, away from the characters, visibly quivering at the thought of being that girl’s or man’s next victim. Or, in fact, anyone who saw him. Just stay at least fifty-five-feet away from him and you should be fine. Just go away. But I guess there’s always a bright side. At least he knew what the town was called now.

“Beacontown.”

That made sense.

The beacons definitely seemed to be important.

By second-nature, he allowed his legs to go on autopilot as his mind was occupied with properly, thoroughly brushing his eyes around the area, scanning the neighbourhood with the scent of sweet spraying the diversified structures ever since he had shakingly taken a look around the proximity accompanied by his uncontrollable rabid breathing, seeking to discover and identify any potential ambush spots, yearning to keep himself guarded of the possible threats.

As he glimpsed left and right of the town, he just couldn’t disregard all of the monuments standing so plainly. Friendly. Ranging from what appeared to be a heartfelt memorial to someone to some sort of tiki-like-statue, this town’s square was unmistakably an interesting area. In as much of a good way as in was bad. Unsure of how else to describe it, he gawked wide-eyed at the structures scattered about the vicinities, various textures and materials utilized to build them, evident to the gentle stroke. It obviously took quite a while to create, but it seemed to be worth it, it contributing to the nonviolent atmosphere. 

His eyes finally separating from the right-line of buildings, his focus ultimately took a notice and attached to a thin piece of paper taped crudely to the side of a building upcoming, of which he could roughly make out the title of the paper to be from afar, however, he wasn’t entirely sure. Him being curious to thoroughly investigate and explore every portion of this town without running into any person, he promptly began to pick up the pace with his stride to the paper.

. . . 

Oh...

What have I done?

Yes, of course. Why didn’t he see that coming? It made sense...mostly. There were a few plot holes but knowing his luck, they’re probably be covered up later. If he got to later. Regardless, he couldn’t ask questions. He did this to himself. He had no excuses. It was a matter of time anyways.

He barely even noticed himself instinctively unsticking the sheet from the tac and off of the building before he stood firmly, still holding the newly-discovered filer that had caught his eye once again for a briefer moment. As he sat himself onto the damp floor of the alleyway, he noticed that his puffs of breath had become foggily visible a second prior to him holding the sheet upwards to thoroughly examine the paper as he reflected on his actions. He couldn’t complain, of course; he just couldn’t believe it.

It was him, Soren.

On a wanted poster.