#but he's still sort of in hiding and waiting for the dust to settle

[rosemaze-reveries]

― enclosed with love

spending valentine's day with you eli, mary, michiko, naib, norton, percy, philippe

i adored this year's vday café designs so i wrote some hcs for them ^^

⚠️ modern AU

♡ Mary

With a delicate and highly sophisticated palate, Mary is always searching for something new to satisfy her. For Valentine's Day, she books a private tour at a high-end champagne house.

Her driver is scheduled to pick you up in the early afternoon. She arranged your date so “late” to give herself ample time to settle on an outfit. Her room is littered with hat boxes and empty hangers and piles of ‘maybes’. Everything must be perfect for you. But, every second without you feeds into her restlessness, and she ends up calling you to fill the time. Hours go by on the phone & she still refuses to hang up until she pulls outside your residence.

When she first greets you from the backseat of her car, her hands are on you immediately. She smoothes out the collar of your jacket and peppers a couple of warm kisses all across your face, somehow never quite landing on your lips. She quickly dabs away all the lipstick stamps she left with her handkerchief and apologizes for being so forward,,, only to end up doing it again.

Mary takes high pride in her outfits and never compromises on looking classy. But somewhere in the back of your head, you think: All white? To a wine tasting? What if she gets red stains on her dress? From anyone else, this comment would insult her ― she doesn't take kindly to the insinuation that she's a klutz. Coming from you, she laughs it off saying she's always looked better in red anyway.

She waits until arriving for your tour to present her gifts. Mary gives VERY generously. There's an entire table prepared for you. Mountains of roses, desserts, tickets to that trip you've always wanted to take, luxury spa packages -- she has everything.

♡ Norton

This Valentine's Day is the first Norton will be spending with someone. He'll act like he's not that invested in it, that he's just indulging you.

He keeps up a haughty smirk when you first meet for your date. You had a love letter delivered to him that morning, and he's 100% taking the opportunity to tease you about it. You wrote some pretty embarrassing things about him. How's the real deal living up to your expectations? Dying to bring some of those thoughts to life already? Unfortunately, you insisted on having a traditional date for Valentine's, so you'll have to keep yourself in check until tonight. ← He knows he makes you crazy & he loves having that effect on you.

He gives you chocolates as a gift. They're clearly homemade, shaped like rocks of various sizes with a little gold-dusted heart hidden among them. But just in case you wouldn't be able to recognize them as rocks, he also provided a little toothpick "pickaxe."

Presenting something homemade is a little embarrassing, even if he hides it with that big grin of his. He gives your present a little too fast before switching back to teasing you again.

♡ Philippe

As a perfectionist, Philippe starts planning for Valentine's Day very early. He experiments with all sorts of gift ideas. You're not sure what's going through his head, but he has a highly specific vision and won't rest until he achieves it. He seems to find it important that he gives you something handmade.

Matching photo lockets? A decoden case (if you're into fun phone cases)? Not meaningful enough. A flower vase modeled after his own hand, to sit on your desk? Too tacky. A wax figure? Maybe, but that's too predictable on its own. Maybe he should learn guitar to serenade you.

His final choice is ambitious, but Philippe always is. He builds a little table out of resin, and preserved inside it are your favorite flowers, with detailed wax figurines of you and him dancing among them. It sits in a corner of his favorite room, where he often does dance with you ♡

On the day itself, Philippe would prefer to stay home. It's one of the rare times he gets to have you to himself free of work constraints.

He's the type that always needs to be doing something with his hands. He'd enjoy making chocolate sculptures together -- it's a cute idea, he thinks, to watch you make something so passionately. Whatever your skill level, he loves anything you make.

In the evening, he'll take over all the cooking. A quiet night with steak and good wine (or your preferred drink) is a little cliche, but you both deserve it. Plus, he loves nothing more than casually chatting with you while he works in the kitchen.

♡ Naib

Naib isn't really into the idea of Valentine's Day. He might not even realize it's coming up unless you tell him about it. You'd have to be explicit that you're looking forward to spending the day with him, and even then, he's totally unprepared.

Gifts have never been his forte. Neither have grand romantic gestures. But he's good at working his pragmatic side into the little things: so rather than push himself to be this lovey-dovey, chocolates-and-roses type of lover for the day, he focuses on being 'present' for you.

He brings you breakfast in bed. He's a mean cook, and knows all your favorites. Everything he makes tastes like home, warm and full of love.

Most couples give each other flowers, he knows that, so he goes shopping for one. You're surprised when he presents you with a bouquet of lemons. In his mind, they're cool and refreshing like you, everyone could find a use for some lemons, and personally he finds the colors to be appealing. It doesn't occur to him that lemon bouquets might be an unusual thing to give.

He relies on you to direct the date. Whatever you say, he'll agree. In public, he never leans in for kisses but wouldn't oppose yours. You can try to stand closer to him & he'll slink an arm around your waist briefly, as if to reassure you that he'll always have a secure hold on you, but he'll pull away again before long.

♡ Percy

In spite of all of his eccentricities, Percy is surprisingly traditional when it comes to romance. He invites you to a nice dinner date & arrives much earlier than you, waiting with a bouquet and chocolates. When he first sees you, he wraps a secure arm around your shoulders to tenderly kiss your forehead.

Getting to see this side of him is the payoff of building such a deep relationship with him. Percy is a difficult person to get through. He's obsessive to a fault and cloisters himself away in his studio for days at a time ― no one else would have been able to breach his heart like you have. He will take proper measures to express your importance to him.

His first real kiss leaves tiny particles of something on your lips, but they're sweet in taste. He laughs at the startled look on your face and reassures you it was just a sugar cube. At first he says he was just fishing for a reaction, but later confesses: he was afraid the lips of an undead man might have an odd taste, so he crunched a sugar cube to sweeten it.

♡ Eli

Eli spends the morning delivering roses to other couples on his bicycle. People tend to get especially flattered when their flowers arrive via owl, so his services are very popular this time of year.

He enjoys the little bouts of happiness he can bring to others, but of course you are the one he wants to spend this day with most. With every bouquet he delivers, his mind wanders to you, imagining your reaction when he finally gets to deliver his gift.

He asks you to meet him at an ice cream parlor when his shift is done, around noon. Before you even see him, Brooke Rose flies over to tuck a thornless rose behind your ear, and you turn to find Eli already waiting at a table.

He gives you a small homemade cake and a letter he won't let you read until he's gone. He's a pretty sappy guy even in person, so you aren't sure how his letter will be much different. But having something to be excited about, even after you have to say goodbye, makes it worth it.

His bike rides have left very familiar with all the best spots around town. After splitting ice cream, he takes you for a ride to all the little places he thinks you'll love. A flower meadow, a bridge with a superstition attached: if you whisper the name of your love while crossing it, you'll be bound for life. Part of you suspects he made that up, but the way he says your name over and over makes your heart skip a beat.

Once the sun goes down, he brings you to a forest. Somehow he manages to time it just right. He gestures for you to stay very quiet, gently takes your hands, and suddenly you're encircled by hundreds of fireflies.

♡ Michiko

Since losing her ex-husband, Valentine's Day has become a bitter thing for Michiko, especially since it's so close to their anniversary. She has treated it as a day of mourning for some years. Of course, she keeps up a smile for you ― it's not in her character to impose her struggles on others.

The morning goes by slowly and comfortably. You wake up to a gentle massage and the smell of fresh baked pastries. She writes you a sweet letter in her neat script, and she adorns her letter with pressed flowers & a mini bouquet of your favorite candy.

She makes sure to get you a proper gift, too. She follows a rule of getting 1 indulgent and 1 practical thing: a box of luxury chocolates alongside a fine new coat.

Her ideal date would be something intimate and relaxing. Maybe the theatre, in a box reserved for two, or a shaded flower garden where you can enjoy a cup of tea.

[emmg]

Sleep Inside the Cold of You

Rook returns. Again and again. He never minds the waiting—he is patient, inexhaustibly so—but she no longer stays. Not like before. Not like she used to.

Inspired by my sister-wife @aldisobey's unfinished WIP. This is all thanks to you, babe, and entirely for you. Lich Emmrich x Rook, reincarnation trope, but make it unsettling.

Originally meant to be a one-shot, but, as usual, I have thoughts, so now it’s a three-parter. Tee-freaking-hee.

Read below or on AO3

It is one thing to glimpse oneself in a mirror. Quite another to find one's image cast in stone, immutable, reduced to the palm of a hand. She turns the miniature effigy between her fingers, its cold surface absorbing none of her warmth. The craftsmanship is grotesquely precise, almost leering in its accuracy: her nose, her mouth, the exact tilt of her head. But the hair is wrong. Longer, heavier. As if it belongs to someone else. 

The altar is unremarkable, small, its presence more insidious for the lack of ceremony. It does not gleam, does not command reverence. And yet, it is untouched. Pristine in a way that feels unnatural, as though the dust that settles upon all things has simply chosen to ignore it. As though it has existed under glass until this very moment, preserved in some invisible stasis, waiting for her eyes to find it.

There are other things. She moves through them quickly, with the detached efficiency of someone rifling through a stranger’s pockets. A gold coin, soft with age, warmed by her skin as it glides between her knuckles, a magician’s trick, cheap in its ease. A dagger, slight, dainty almost, its sickly blue blade neither metal nor anything she can name, its edge humming with something that makes her fingers hesitate before they close around the hilt. At the altar’s periphery, a cloth pouch. She lifts it, inhales. Peppermint. Lemon verbena. Oregano. Licorice root. Rivaini. A blend for settling the stomach. Or dulling the mind. 

"I know you do not like her, and she does not like you in turn, and, frankly, I am beginning to sympathize with the sentiment. Her sentiment, mind you. Nevertheless, we must proceed this way. If you would be so kind?" the creature mutters. He says it all—to the Necropolis? Yes, it appears so. He speaks to it as one does to a stubborn dog, half-scolding, half-affectionate. 

She supposes he is a man, judging by the voice, at least. It is difficult to be certain when all that remains of him is bone. No flesh, no pretense of life, only the stark architecture of a skeleton, ribs gilded, skull crowned. His gestures, though economical, have a certain fluidity to them, an old-world elegance that makes his impatience seem almost indulgent. 

He lifts his staff—an ornate thing, absurdly baroque—and taps it against the stone. The Necropolis rumbles in response, shifting, sighing, its bricks slithering apart like something that has only just woken. 

"Ah," he breathes, pleased, though the sound is weightless, without lungs to carry it. "Much better." 

For a moment, he stands still, head inclined, as if listening to some distant music, some hidden frequency woven into the stone. Then, with a quiet sort of amusement, he says, "It is quite hopeless, my darling. Time and time and time again, I attempt to reconcile the two of you, to soften this little enmity, to foster, if not warmth, at least civility." A flick of his fingers, graceful, dismissive. "And yet..." 

He beckons, and she obeys, not quite knowing why. As she steps forward, his wrapped hand—those long, tapered fingers swathed in fabric, hiding whatever remains beneath—settles at the small of her back. A light touch, barely there, but with a certainty that suggests he has done this before. Many times. 

Through the threshold he guides her, chattering all the while. "And time and time again, you bicker," he muses, half to himself. "I fear you will never learn to get along." 

The walls shift behind them, a deep, seismic sigh, stone sliding over stone. The passage is gone. His hand lingers a moment longer, trembling a little, before it withdraws. 

The new room is more inviting. The sort of comfort that feels prepared, orchestrated, like a stage set designed to put the subject at ease. A small table, set up for a luncheon. A silver pot of coffee, steaming faintly. A plate of delicate pastries, dusted with powdered sugar. 

He insists she sit. She does. She lifts one of the cakes between her fingers but does not eat it, only holds it. Across from her, the lich—yes, the lich, that is what he told her he is—folds himself into his chair. He crosses one leg over the other, arranges his fingers upon his knee, and watches her, his skull tilting at an angle just thoughtful enough to unsettle. 

"All of this," he begins, a vague sweep of his bandaged hand encompassing the room, the table, the carefully constructed charm of the setting, "ought to be to your liking. But if anything displeases you, why, you have only to ask."

She does not look at his skull, nor at the crown resting upon it. She does not want to think about the empty sockets where his eyes should be, about what it means for a thing like him to watch her. Instead, she fixes her gaze on his fingers.

They appear normal, if one does not look too closely. But it is the rings that hold her, that give her something solid to grasp. Emeralds, rubies, clear stones cold as ice, all set in heavy gold, the metal worn smooth by time.

"All of this," she echoes at last, "is displeasing." 

A sigh. Long, weary, expelled between bared teeth, though the source of breath remains a mystery. The fingers she cannot stop watching continue their absent rhythm, tips teasing the fabric of the tablecloth, drawing it ever so slightly out of place. 

"Oh, please," he implores, the syllables drawn, elongated, touched with a tired fondness. "I beg you." A pause, a shift, his fingers now smoothing the cloth they had only just disturbed. "Must we always begin this way? It is always the same, always. You scowl, you refuse, you insist upon your discontent, but then, inevitably—" His eyes—if they could be called that—flick toward her hands, toward the delicate, untouched pastry. "You eat. You smile." The drumming resumes, faster now. "And then, my love, you die." 

A flutter of nausea stirs in her stomach. 

His fingers still. “We cannot keep doing this,” he says, and for all his refinement, all his elegance, there is something sore in his voice now, something weary and worn and just barely bruised. “The repeating and the dying alike. The latter, I believe, I may soon correct. But the former…” His thumb cracks as he folds it. “The former, I fear, is entirely up to you.” 

She swallows. Her mouth is dry. 

"What do you…" She falters, tries again. "We've done this before?" 

A slow nod, gentle, patient. “In a manner of speaking.” 

She grips the edge of the table. “How many times?” 

A deliberation. He lifts his fingers, lowering them one by one, counting, but before he reaches any conclusion, he stops. Sighs. Laughs, a small, intimate thing, something just for her, something that feels oddly familiar. “I cannot say,” he admits, as if confessing to some harmless forgetfulness. “Though this time is rather curious.” 

He studies her for a moment longer than necessary, then shifts, leaning slightly to one side, as if examining her from a different angle might yield something new. When it does not, he settles back. 

“You have never before struck your head just as I found you. A tragic little accident." His hand sneaks forth, walking over the table like a many-limbed spider. The touch, when it comes, is the barest brush, his fingers resting just barely over hers. "And now, my darling, you remember nothing at all. I must admit, I am not quite sure what to make of it... Ah, but perhaps it is a blessing in disguise. Fewer explanations. Fewer protests."

She pulls her hand away, pressing it to the back of her head, and—yes, there it is. Wet at first, then merely sticky, her hair clumped together over the spot. Her fingers return red. Blood. Dark, drying, familiar in the way that all wounds are familiar. She stares at it for a moment before wiping her hand against the tablecloth. A beat later, she realizes the impropriety of it, but the lich does not seem to mind. 

He retrieves the pastry she has dropped, brushes it off with a peculiar sort of care, then picks up a butter knife, dipping it into the small silver dish beside him. A simple stroke, the press of pale gold against soft layers of cake. The movement is entirely unremarkable, save for the fact that his hands glide with the kind of patience that belongs only to the dead or the deeply in love. 

He hands it back to her. She takes it. 

"Thank you," she says, though the words feel misplaced, as if they belong to a different scene, a different woman, one with clearer thoughts and cleaner hands. 

The room presses in around her, unthreatening, but too warm, too heavy with something she cannot name. A feeling like recognition without memory, like an actor stepping onto a stage and finding that the lines will not come. 

She looks down at the pastry, at the soft smear of butter, glossy under the light. 

"I…" Her voice is thin, unpleasant. A raw little thing, scraped from the inside of her throat. "I don’t know what to do. Or where I���m supposed to go." She grips the pastry too tightly. The edges break apart in her fingers. "Where was I going?" 

Across from her, he clasps his hands together with an air of thoughtful consideration before, unexpectedly, laughing again. 

It is a bright, delighted sound, so at odds with everything that it makes her wince, as if she has stepped barefoot onto something sharp. 

"You are always some kind of thief or other," he muses, sounding utterly charmed by the notion. "An artifact, a document, a secret slipped from the wrong tongue into the wrong ear... You take it all without asking." He trails off, his voice dwindling into silence, his shoulders lifting and falling, like a thought has caught him mid-step. 

He does not move. 

For a moment, he is so still that she has the terrible urge to knock on his skull, to see if anything remains inside, or if the light has simply gone out, snuffed by whatever process governs the interior of the dead. Or undead. Whatever he is. 

At last, with the methodical precision of an automaton recalling the motions programmed into it long ago, he shifts in his seat. A pause. Just long enough to suggest that the mechanisms within him have clicked into place. When he resumes speaking, the words are almost drowsy, their edges softened by something that might, in another man, be a chuckle. "I have grown accustomed to it. That is why I no longer keep valuables on my person, you know. You have taken so many keys from me over the years…" 

Tsk-tsk-tsk.

No tongue, no breath, and still, the sound emerges, as if his voice itself had been shaped by the habit long before the body it once belonged to had crumbled away.

"Opening all those doors…" His voice fades, his gaze drifting past her, unfixed, as if watching something stir not in the room but in some distant, long-dormant corridor of memory. "Doors I locked, doors I never meant to lock, doors that led to other doors—well." He cuts himself off, fingers now idly smoothing a wrinkle on his robes. "At the very least, doors not meant for you."

"All right?" she says, though she does not know what she means by it. She takes a bite of the pastry just to have something to do. 

He watches her, his head resting against his knuckles, waiting. "What were you saying?" 

"Where was I going?" she says again. "You said you found me. Where was I going?" 

"Oh." He waves the question away before it confuses him further. "I do not know. I do not particularly care, dear." 

There is no cruelty in his voice, only mild disinterest, the kind one might reserve for a misplaced hat or an unfamiliar name. "Rivain, perhaps? You have always had a particular fondness for the peninsula, but really, who can say? You find your way here, in the end, every single time." He moves as if to feed her another pastry but notices she hasn't even finished the first. "I cannot leave the Necropolis for extended periods of time," he continues, conversational. "So you will forgive me, I hope, for being largely indifferent to what occurs beyond its walls."

The way he speaks makes her want to press her palms against her eyes until the darkness behind them thickens, until the room and the table and him all dissolve into nothing. Not because he evades her; no, evasion would suggest intent, a certain craft. He does not dodge her questions so much as wander away from them, like someone absentmindedly setting down a book mid-sentence, meaning to return, only to drift instead toward some other thought, some other detail that has, for reasons known only to him, taken precedence. He begins to answer—always, he begins—but then, somewhere along the way, he is distracted by something adjacent, something close but not quite the thing she asked.

She opens her eyes to the soft clink of porcelain as he pours her coffee. 

"I am so very glad to have you back," he says, pushing the cup towards her. "But alas, duty calls. I must be off." 

He gestures lightly, and her gaze follows his hand before she can stop herself. The nightstand. The book. The bed. 

She had not noticed them before, and now, suddenly, terribly, they are all she can see. 

All of it screams permanence. The quiet arrangement of a life expected to continue here, as though she had been placed back into a long-abandoned routine, the dust carefully wiped away before she could notice its absence.

Her stomach turns. 

"I have kept your book," he says, and she has the distinct and terrible sensation that he is offering it as a kindness, as a reassurance. "Though I did replace the bookmark. I seem to have misplaced the last one you were using." 

She hardly hears him. The room suddenly feels smaller, the walls closer, the bed waiting.

"Yes, yes, I read the dreadful thing," he admits, raising his hands slightly, as if to preempt some imagined protest. "As far as serials go, this one is worse than usual, but you have your tastes, and I have mine. And they do say that for a couple to share interests—" a small lull, the kind designed to let her sit with the thought before it is completed, "—well, even when they do not align perfectly, it is a kind of communion, is it not?" 

Her fingers tighten around the armrest of her chair, but she does not stand. She does not move at all. 

Because there is nowhere to go. 

Even if she refused—if she pushed back her chair, let the barely-touched pastry fall from her fingers, turned away from the lovely arrangement of the room—there would be nowhere to go. No doors to throw open, no cold night air waiting to swallow her, no streets stretching endlessly beneath her feet, burning and blistering and carrying her somewhere.

She does not know. She simply does not know where she was going before this, before him. What had she been after? What was it she had risked her life to steal? Something valuable, surely, but to whom? For whom? Or was it for herself, for some cause she now cannot recall, for some pay, some favor, some promise that must have seemed worth it at the time? 

Nothing. 

Nothing, nothing. 

Her own home, if she has one, does it look like this? Is it as well-kept, as polished, as quiet? Does it have a bed as soft as the one behind her, the sheets as crisp, folded down as though someone had been expecting her all along? 

Nothing. 

Nothing, nothing. 

She searches the empty corridors of her mind and finds only locked doors, hallways that lead back to where she started, shadows that refuse to take shape. The past does not belong to her. 

She watches him rather than listens, his hands moving through the air with a conversational fluency of their own. He is standing now, his staff balanced against his shoulder. He is telling her something, that much is clear. Something about the cold? A bath? Hot water? 

It floats past her.

"Rook," he says, with a brightness that suggests he has already called her name once before. "Rook, darling, are you listening?" 

"Rook?" she repeats, as if he has handed her an unfamiliar object and she must first turn it over in her hands to understand its shape. 

Another sigh. Why must he keep sighing? It is not impatient, not precisely, but weary in a way that suggests repetition, the dull ache of a conversation looped one too many times. "Yes, yes, Rook," he says, gentle but distracted, as if checking an old ledger, confirming figures he already knows by heart. "Your name, dear. We have been over this before."

Have they?

She blurts out, "And yours?"

He flinches, as if she has done him some grievous injury, before answering, "Why, Emmrich, of course."

His voice is soft, wounded, but not with the raw edge of true pain. It is something quieter, something closer to the heart. The wound of a ritual unfulfilled, of an expectation set so carefully only to be, once again, disappointed. 

"Why do you ask?" he asks without really asking, already resigned to the absence of an answer. "Why must you always ask?" 

"I'm sorry," she says automatically. Not because she understands, not because she means it, but because it is the expected response, the natural reflex when someone’s voice bends and trembles, when something tender is revealed, however briefly. An instinct, an offering. A formality. 

The effort exhausts her. Her head hums dully, a persistent ache blooming at the base of her skull, spreading outward in pulses. A pressure, not sharp but thick, like something pressing against the inside of her bones. She should stand. She should move. But the mere thought of it makes her dizzy, and so she stays. 

Emmrich reaches out. His fingers brush lightly over the crown of her head. 

"Get some rest," he murmurs. "We have time now—so much of it. Take as much as you require." 

"Wait," she says, suddenly feeling very desperate. "Wait, Emmrich."

The name jumps from her tongue way too easily, as if it has passed her lips before, though she is quite certain—or at least she thinks she is—that it has not. The familiarity does not soothe her. If anything, it frightens, curling around her like an old coat she does not remember owning but finds, inexplicably, fits her perfectly. 

It seems to have the opposite effect on him. He straightens, his grip tightening ever so slightly around his staff, a minute adjustment, but she sees it. There is something almost eager in the way his weight shifts onto the balls of his feet.

"Yes, dear?"

The term of endearment is bright, buoyant—giddy.

Oh, gods. He sounds giddy.

This, more than anything else, terrifies her. That particular shade of delight, effervescent and innocent, does not belong to something like him, something built of silence and stillness, of lacquered bone and linen-wrapped fingers. Excitement is a thing of skin, of blood that rushes, of breath that catches on its way out.

"I don’t want to stay here," she says. Quickly. Bluntly. The words stripped bare, nothing left to cushion them. No ambiguity. No invitation for interpretation. 

For a moment, nothing. No reaction, no change in expression—though, of course, he has no expression. The fire flickering in the hollows of his sockets does not waver, does not dim. A flame without air, without fuel, burning purely because it has always burned and always will.

Finally, a response. Not admonishing, not scathing, just faintly, almost delicately, perplexed. 

"Well," he says, as if pondering a fascinating thought, not quite confounded, but wondering. "Where else would you go?"

"Not here," she says defensively. Not in a tomb. This, at least, she knows.

"Nonsense," he says mildly, as if she has simply made an impractical request, as if she has asked for dinner at an impossible hour. "You are thinking about it all wrong."

Without warning, his head turns sharply to the side. His entire posture shifts, the fluidity in him suddenly interrupted, redirected.

"Do you hear this?" he asks, though not her, his voice thinning into something remote. 

Suddenly, a shift. Not from him, but from the room itself. 

And just like that, she ceases to exist for him. 

"I really must be off," he mutters, already half-turned. "I will return soon enough, love. Make yourself at ease. Perhaps a bath, as I have said. Yes, that would do. Steam curling, water just shy of scalding… You must warm yourself, I always say, though you never seem to listen."

The wall rearranges at his approach, unbidden. No groaning stone, no violent fracture; just a smooth reordering. The bricks unlace themselves, the mortar loosening. He steps through, unhurried, without a glance back. She thinks she hears him hum, a pleasant little tune, lifting, dipping, wandering without urgency. The Necropolis, ever dutiful, rethreads itself in his wake, bricks knitting back together, smoothing over, restoring the illusion of permanence.

She is left staring at the pastry she abandoned, at the tacky stain of blood drying in the creases of her fingers, at the coffee cooling in its cup, the surface undisturbed, blank as a mirror that refuses to show a reflection.

[castiwls]

here, always .ᐟ

Paring; dean & sam x reader

Summary; sibling loss was nothing new in their world. Though to you...it just might be the end of your world.

Requested; @s0urw00lf

Warnings; sibling loss

Notes; requests are open!

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Dean’s first thought upon seeing the state of the library was that something (or someone) had managed to get in. The place was in complete disarray and much to both brother's chagrin, you were nowhere to be seen. The place was deathly quiet almost, the only sound being the echo of their own shoes as they descended the stairs. 

“What the hell?” Dean looked back to his brother, his eyebrow raised in question as Sam’s eyes glanced over the room. Sam shrugged his own worry settling in as the silence continued to stretch throughout the bunker. 

You’d been fine when they’d left this morning. You’d spent the last night bugging Dean over his limited movie knowledge claiming that ‘there's more to life than westerns and scooby-doo’ before making him sit through three movies you’d proudly deemed as ‘classics’ 

He’d disagreed.

Now though? Now there was no sign of your usual relief over seeing them both back. You weren't waiting with another case or some sort of research you’d figured out in their absence.

You weren't there at all.

Placing his bag down Sam called your name. His own brows furrowed as he picked up a chair which was lying on the floor. He sidestepped around books which were lying strewn across the floor. 

When there was no response both brothers shared a concerned look. This wasn’t like you.

“I’ll clean up in here you go check her room,” Sam murmured as he began picking up books. Dean nodded placing his own bag down on one of the tables - the surface of which was covered in papers.

“Hey, sweetheart? You in here?” Dean’s voice was low as he spoke, his head slowly poking around the door. His lips pulled into a frown as a quiet curse escaped him at the state of your room. “Jesus.” 

Your room looked like a hurricane had hit it. The once tidy space was a mess of clothes and what looked like…pictures? Stepping in he grabbed a picture from the mess. His eyes glanced around noting that all the pictures seemed to be old ones. Family photos from your childhood. 

He quickly moved on, calling out your name as he walked the halls almost aimlessly. His concern only seemed to grow with each passing moment and the thought that you’d been taken began to leave him on edge.

He checked the place in record time, every door and possible hiding place had been opened and checked twice yet there was still no sign of you. 

“C’mon, I know you here somewhere.” He paused, looking down a hallway which was mainly left unused - like many others.

A quiet noise caught his attention. The hair on his neck stood up as he reached back, hand wrapping around his gun as he stepped down the hallway. Flicking on the light he grimaced slightly at the obvious dust which drifted in the air.

They really needed to do another run-through of this place.

His voice echoed down the hallway, the noise bouncing from the walls as he glanced around. The corridor seemed empty except for a single bookcase tucked against the wall. 

A quiet sniffle caught his attention. Dean paused standing still for a moment before the noise happened again. 

“Sweetheart.” His voice caused you to jump slightly, your head moving from where it had been buried into your knees as his feet stepped into view. “What are you doing down here?” He crouched down, his hand rubbing your knee as he watched you. 

His worry for you shifted as he took in your bloodshot eyes and what looked like a cut across your knuckles. “Hey, what happened?”

Your eyes slowly met his as you wiped at your nose with your un-cut hand. A quiet whimper forced its way from your throat as you all but threw yourself at him. He barely had time to catch himself before he fell back with a quiet ‘oomph’

Your hands wound themselves into his jacket as sobs wracked through you. Your body was shaking as he pulled you closer, his hand rubbing through the back of your hair as he tried to soothe you. 

His mind worked a mile a minute as he tried to figure out what the hell could have happened in the hours they’d been gone. Through your sobs, he could make out quiet mummers. Words jumbled together as you buried your head into his neck.

“Did something get in? Sweetheart, you gotta talk to me what's going on?” Dean’s eyes glanced to the end of the hallway for a moment as his brother appeared. His look of relief fell almost immediately when he noticed your state.

Sam crouched beside his brother, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked to Dean mouthing ‘what's wrong?’

Dean shrugged, his other hand rubbing over your back. 

“Hey.” Sam’s hand gently found purchase on your shoulder as he guided you away from Dean’s chest. His brown eyes were full of concern as he looked you over taking note of the way your body seemed to droop almost without Dean’s support.

“She-” Your voice shook as you tried to talk. Another sob cut off your words, the sound pulling on both their hearts as they watched you crumble right before their eyes.

Sure, they’d seen you upset before but never this. 

They both stayed quiet, waiting for you to calm down yet again. “She’s….She’s dead.” You rasped before falling into another round of sobs, your hands curling into your sweatpants.

Both brothers shared a look at your words. Sam shifted forward slightly. “Who.” He urged softly. “Who’s dead?”

Dean watched you for a moment before his mind went back to what he’d seen on your room floor only a few minutes prior. “Sammy.” He mumbled, his blood running cold as he looked at his brother.

Sam met his gaze, his lips parting slightly in question as Dean stood. He gestures to the door.

Sam mumbled something before following his brother. “Dean, we can’t leave he-”

“It’s her sister.”

“What?”

Dean sucked in a breath pressing a hand to his head as he gestured for Sam to be quiet. “Her room is covered in family photos of Sam. Her parents died years ago…last I knew her sister was living in New York.”

Sam’s lips pulled back into a frown. “You don’t know that though. I mean it could be a grandparent or-”

Dean shook his head. “Her sister was the only one left.” His voice was solemn as he spoke, his own heart hurting as he looked back over to you. He could still remember that night he’d lost Sam for the first time. The feeling of pure helplessness and desperation as he’d done anything and everything to get his brother back.

It had cost him his life but he’d done it.

You though. He doubted you would get that chance. Your sister had never been a part of this life.

Maybe it was selfish of him to stand there and decide that he wouldn’t let you make a deal. He wouldn’t let you do what he did. He wouldn’t loose you.

Sam ran a hand through his hair as he looked between you and Dean. “What do we do? I’ve never seen her like this Dean!”

His brother shrugged. “We both been through this at least once.” He mumbled. “We both made stupid decisions…I’m not letting her do that.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “She needs support.” Dean nodded a plan seemingly forming in his mind. “We give her that.”

You sucked in a breath, your eyes fluttering slightly as you felt yourself get pulled to your feet. A strong arm wrapped around you and before you knew it you found yourself lying in a bed.

Not your bed. Deans room you realised as your eyes slowly took in your surroundings. “Try and get some sleep. You look ready to pass out.” Dean’s voice startled you slightly, his figure appearing by your side. 

“She’s gone.” 

“I know.” He soothed sitting down beside you. “I’m sorry.” His hand ran through your hair. “I’m so sorry sweetheart.” 

The world was quickly growing fuzzier as your eyes drooped. Your lack of sleep catching up to you. Your memories of the last 10 hours were fuzzy and jumbled. 

All you remembered was getting the call and feeling your whole world crumble in a matter of words. Your grief had quickly turned to anger and had quickly turned to pure helplessness. 

You were alone. Truly and utterly alone. 

“You’re not alone. You never gonna be alone okay?” Dean’s voice broke you from your haze and you frowned slightly realising you must have spoken. 

His voice was firm as he spoke, his hand trailing from your hair to your shoulder. “Me and Sam aren’t going anywhere. Not now, not ever okay?” He watched you expectantly as you nodded slightly at his words. 

“Okay.” You whispered feeling his hand squeeze your shoulder. 

Satisfied he tucked the blanket closer to your chin. 

“Get some sleep okay? We’ll be here.”

[bts-hyperfixation]

Outside of the Fox

Chapter 23 of 30

1389 words

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she'd been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

Namjoon is a proud man. You had worked that out when you started offering to pay for things. He hated feeling like someone thought he couldn't provide for his own family. And Jin's innocent attempt to offer advice had clearly weighed heavily on his shoulders.

A few days had passed since the failed lunch date and Namjoon was still stomping around the house. He slammed cupboard doors, grumbled under his breath, and was just making life miserable for everyone else as they worked to tread on eggshells around him. 

It didn't help that Jungkook was also pouting. He wouldn't let Namjoon into his room which only upset the bear further. Every evening Jungkook dragged you with him to bed and left Namjoon sleeping alone in your room. Neither of them had talked about the date since.

From the small conversations you had managed to get with Namjoon, he was heavily blaming Jin for this sudden behaviour change in Jungkook. Assuming it was the accusation that they needed help that was upsetting Jungkook, rather than Namjoon's attitude. You rolled your eyes behind his back but tried to let the dust settle a bit more before bringing up Jungkook's real issues. 

But the problem just seemed to be growing, taking over Namjoon's entire mindset as he slipped from angry to depressed.

"We need to sort this out." Jimin comments.

You were sat with Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi in the living room, watching Namjoon closely. The bear was stomping around the kitchen trying to make lunch for himself but it was clear his attention kept shifting to Jungkook's closed bedroom door. 

"I think he has every right to be mad about what Jin said," Yoongi shrugs.

Yoongi had been almost as annoyed as Namjoon for the first couple of days. He was better at controlling his annoyance but it had been evident in the slight spice that invaded his scent. While he had slowly calmed himself down, the leader of the pack didn't have the same inclination to let things go.

"I'm not sure he does..." You say, earning a glare from Yoongi and a curious glance from Jimin.

You had been waiting patiently for days to bring up the prospect of getting Jungkook some help but you had been weary of approaching Namjoon like this. He had already cut off all contact with Jin and he had been falling head over heels, you didn't really want to risk your own position in the house. However, as time went on it became more apparent that the right time was never going to come.

You swallow hard and prepare yourself to risk everything you have built.

"I think we need to have a family meeting." You state, sounding far more confident than you felt. 

______________

So on Sunday morning, you found yourself sitting in a circle in the living room once more. All eyes flit between you and Namjoon, waiting for either of you to speak. The air feels too warm as you loosen your collar.

"Why have you called a meeting Y/N?" Namjoon asks.

"We need to talk about what Jin said." 

"I don't want to talk about it." He huffs.

"Tough, it's time." 

You try your best to level him with a glare, challenging him to tell you no. He grumbles to himself again but makes no effort to leave or to speak.

"Fine, I will start. Namjoon you can't keep walking around the house like this. It's uncomfortable for everyone."

"It's my house I'll do what I damn well please." He growls

"It's our house Namjoon." Yoongi snaps back. 

Tension runs high between the pair of them as they stare each other down, low growls in their throats. Jungkook takes the opportunity to pull Jimin away from Taehyung and into his lap, hiding behind him as the anger in the room becomes palpable. Hoseok shrinks back into the chair he has chosen, not used to the displays of animal aggression. 

You start to wonder if you should try to butt in again and get a proper conversation flowing when Namjoon relents and sighs heavily. He rubs his hands across his temple, and Yoongi settles back into his seat satisfied. 

"I just can't stand how judgemental everyone is about Jungkook. I try my best you know. It just feels like everyone has an opinion and it's always critical. No one ever comments on the progress he has made." Namjoon says.

The anger in his eyes has faded to defeat. Your heart breaks for him as the tears gather on his waterline. Jimin reaches across to bridge the gap between the armchair and the sofa, taking ahold of the older man's hand. 

"Was it this bad when I accidentally mentioned it too?" You whisper to Yoongi.

He shakes his head no.

"I think this is because he has gotten to know Jin, and maybe because Jin is a professional?" Yoongi whispers back.

Namjoon continues to apologise for his actions, words tumbling for his lips as he searches for explanations and excuses. He looks sheepishly at Jungkook as he talks, obviously trying to gauge his reactions, not wanting to trigger the bunny. 

Jungkook has his face buried into Jimin's shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around the panda's waist, but otherwise, he seems unaffected. 

"I just can't stand thinking we aren't doing what is best for Jungkook." He finishes.

"Then maybe we should start talking about therapists." You point out.

But even with his apology, it is clear that Namjoon isn't fond of that idea. 

"No." He says flatly.

"Why not?" You ask.

"Because... because... because we are enough for Kookie, he doesn't need anyone else, and it will only make him worse if we force him to talk to someone else." He stumbles over his response. 

"And have you actually asked Jungkook if that's what he wants?" Tahyung asks, taking some of the pressure off of you.

"I think I know what Jungkook wants." Namjoon counters, the anger returning to his voice.

"I want to be better!" The bunny yells, surprising the room. 

You all turn to stare at the man and he continues. 

"I want to be better. I want to be able to talk to Jin, and take Y/N on dates, and go shopping on a weekend when it's busy. I want... I want to be okay." 

You all turn your attention back to Namjoon. He is looking very introspective, unsure of what he can say next. 

"Okay..." He relents, clearly conflicted. "But we might have to wait a little while... money is a little bit too tight right now."

"No it isn't" Taehyung interjects. "I will pay for Jungkook's therapy, and anything else we need."

"Taehyung we can't ask you to do that." Namjoon protests.

"You're not asking, and I'm not offering, I am telling you. I WILL pay for anything Jungkook needs. Anything any of you need."

"But, but it's my job to provide." Namjoon says, his tone getting watery

"You cannot provide for six packmates all by yourself, and I have the money. Stop being stubborn and let me take care of you too." 

"And me for that matter." You back Tae up. "I have some money from my marriage and I think it's time I put it to good use."

"I can't let you use your money for us. You should use it for yourselves and what you like." Namjoon tries to argue again.

"Well I like you, so that's what I am spending my money on." Taehyung states, shutting down any further conversation on the matter.

"In actual fact... I want to spend as much of my money as possible on you." He continues. "And I thnk we can all use a break, Let's go to the beach." 

"I've never been to the beach," Jungkook perks up.

"Even more reason to go. Everyone take some time off, and lets go." Taehyung grins

"Namjoon needs to apologise to Jin first though." Jimin says.

"Yeah... I will." The bear says looking uncomfortable.

"Great, and what better way to apologise than offering him a free vacation." Taehyung says.

And with that, you all begin to disband and go about the remainder of your days. You can't help but overhear as Jimin turns to Jungkook 

"You only want to take Y/N on dates?" Jimin says pouting, making the bunny all flustered. 

Next

Masterlist

Send me asks - doesn't have to be fic related. Can be smutty, thirsty, fluffy, angsty, whatever you're feeling regarding BTS. Can be literally anything doesn't have to be BTS

[300foxholecourtt]

smell like sun, taste like sin

(Jean x Jeremy WIP, no Exy)

According to everyone, and he did mean everyone, even the people who had no right to comment on it- divorces were always messy. Jean did not doubt that, but most divorces were not in the public eye. The dust was finally settling a year out from the final days of their divorce. The details were public, at least the legal ones. People could look up the dates of the filing and then get the details from the associated documents to some extent. Famous writer Kevin Day dumped equally famous artist Jean-Yves Moreau, and neither one kept the house.

The worst comments were anyone speculating on what the art would look like.

Kevin was not the source of inspiration for him. His art dealt in feelings and emotions, as did any art, but it was not like he went out of his way to slap Kevin’s face on his work. They were intertwined because they went to school together and were known roommates with another writer throughout their childhood and into college. It was natural to let the public in when they first got together. It was natural to let them see their grief when the third member of their trio left the world altogether. It was equally natural to hide the fact that Riko Moriyama controlled too much of their lives and they were somewhat relieved to finally be out of his shadow.

The line at the bakery crawled forward, snapping Jean out of his reverie. It did not get any easier to exist in public knowing he was going home to nothing. Two years into the chaos and the divorce, it was no easier than it was the first few weeks. If anything it was worse, because now the legal papers made it quite clear there was no going back.

He ordered his blueberry scone and flat white, extra shot, and waited at the end of the counter. The scent of salt and sand wafted over him while he did. Annoyed, he looked to the side to see the culprit.

Blonde hair betrayed by dark roots, still wet from whatever was making him smell like the beach, several inches shorter than Jean, and an exposed set of arms that boasted a tattoo of a golden retriever. The man was talking animatedly with the barista while she worked on a set of drinks.

“So, it works kinda like a filter but it is all solar powered and it sends data, too. It takes a lot of energy to categorize and sort the data, so we’re still looking into ways to really offset that. It’s kinda silly to have a planet-saving machine that also uses a bunch of fossil fuel, right?”

The barista was nodding along, as if this was a normal conversation to have. “Oh, yeah, it does defeat the purpose. Have you looked into wind?”

“I have,” now Mister Beach sighed, “but the problem is it’s all a conversion set up that runs through normal power plants anyways. But-” now he brightened up, “at least we’re in Oregon. It would be a monster to try and do this on the east coast.”

[smolwritingchick]

You Did Everything You Could

Author's Note: This is a Marvel related smol brainstorm. Nothing BTS related. It's regarding Jennie's Marvel Character, Arjana! Working on the other requests and random brainstorms too so stay tuned!!

I wrote this years ago regarding her Marvel Character. I like the fact that I took a break from writing and got back into it because my mind has come up with new ideas while rereading and editing. 

This gets a bit angsty so warning here. 

I was thinking Jen's character, Arjana, would be a former member of the Dora Milaje. She'd have a chip on her shoulder and have some sort of rivalry with Okoye. Okoye becoming the leader of the Dora Milaje would be the cause of it. I even thought the reason she was chosen as leader instead of Arjana was because Arjana cracked under pressure during a mission and made a bad call, choosing to disobey an order in the process. The way she'd get scolded and suspended from her duties for a while, and have to see Okoye become leader instead would frustrate her. When back after suspension, she'd try to endure Okoye as a leader while going on missions until it became too much. Fed up, she decided to leave the Dora Milaje and Wakanda to live life in South Korea, settling for Seoul.

So, when I write her scene in Black Panther, I want to write the tension between Okoye and her. T'Challa would still want Arjana to come back to Wakanda but she'll refuse. However, she will still be there to assist him in any way she can while in Seoul. There will be a point when she finally comes back to Wakanda, and Shuri will be happy and request for her to be her guardian since the two are great friends. 

I also thought her character could have a bond with Bucky and become friends with him when he's in Wakanda. She'd be requested to watch him by Shuri, which she'd complain about but does it anyway. Despite not wanting to act like a babysitter, the two end up bonding and have a close friendship while smol feelings start to grow but nothing develops. 

For this smol brainstorm, I would like for her character to deal with Survivor's Guilt during the whole Infinity War and Endgame movies. The reason is that she felt like she failed to protect Shuri and watched her fade to dust in her arms. Traumatizing af...but Captain America finds her and tries to talk some sense into her.

Now when Jennie is told that she would be filming with Chris Evans...her dramatic ass is going to literally faint lmfao.

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

Five years after Thanos’ snap, Natasha debriefed with Captain Marvel, Okoye, Rocket, Nebula and Rhodey. After their discussion, Okoye stayed with Rhodey while everyone else signed off.

“Any update on Arjana’s whereabouts?” Okoye asked.

Natasha nodded. “We found her. She was sighted in Japan, recently.”

Okoye sighed out of relief but then shook her head at the thought of her being absent from Wakanda after all these years. 

“That stubborn woman…hiding like a coward. All we want is for her to come home. And for her to get through that thick stubborn skull of hers it is not her fault,”

--------

Arjana laid her back on the couch as she stared up at the ceiling. She managed to find a place in Japan to try to move on and forget about the blip. But dreadful thoughts would creep up on her now and then about Shuri fading away in her arms. How traumatizing it was to watch helplessly the person you've sworn to protect vanish into the air.

A series of knocks were heard at her door and she quickly sat up in alarm. 

She had been extremely careful about not getting tracked. Did Wakanda find her? 

Grabbing one of her sais, she got off the couch and slowly approached the door. And when she looked through the peephole it was Steve Rogers patiently waiting for her on the other side of the door.

Her stomach dropped.

Rogers was the last person she expected to come to see her. Letting out a deep sigh, she contemplated opening the door as she set her sai down on the table.

With a sorrow-filled expression, she slowly opened the door to meet the blue eyes of Steve Rogers as he greeted her with a sad smile. It seemed like he was trying his best to move on too after they failed to stop Thanos.

“Why are you here?” she asked softly.

“It’s nice to see you too, Arjana,” he greeted kindly.

“Sorry…” she shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that…“

“Don’t worry about it. You’re a hard person to track down,”

“Well, I didn’t want to be found and yet here you are,” she responded dejectedly and let him inside.

"Are you all right?” He asked as he sat at the dining room table.

“I’m gettin’ by. You?”

“Taking it day by day,”

She made her way to the kitchen and grabbed two cups. “Tea?”

“Sure,”

Steve watched as she began to pour hot green tea she made not too long ago into the cups. Arjana looked different. Her hair had gotten longer. He then remembered Bucky had talked about what she would look like with long hair and confidently said it would suit her.

It did.

Usually, she would keep it trimmed and short but this time maybe it was because Bucky had suggested it to her that she decided to try out long hair.

After smiling at the fond memories of Bucky, Steve then thought about the reason why he came here.

“Okoye has been asking about you,” he informed her and watched as her body visibly tensed at the name.

She carefully placed Steve’s cup in front of him and sat across from him at the table.

“…how is she and Wakanda?” she asked.

“She misses you. She asks about you a lot. She felt less uneasy when she found out that you did not vanish. Wakanda is holding up and trying its best to move forward. They need you,”

Arjana felt a pang of guilt set within her as she thought about her home. It was selfish to leave abruptly like that after the blip. She used to be heavily a part of the Dora Milaje many years ago, even before the situation with Thanos but then chose to leave to enjoy life in different ways.

“You haven’t been in Wakanda ever since…that day, right?” Steve’s question interrupted her thinking.

She cringed at the thought. Ever since the effects of Thanos’ snap, Arjana couldn’t stay in Wakanda. Not after she failed to protect Shuri and had to watch her fade to dust. Not after she lost to Corvus Glaive as she tried to watch Shuri’s back. What kind of guardian is that?

After taking a long sip of her tea, ignoring the burning sensation on her tongue, she answered, "That is correct,”

“Why?”

“You know why. I can’t go back there,” she frowned and set her cup down.

"Yes, you can. No one in Wakanda will blame you. It’s not your fault,”

“I still couldn’t protect her. It was my duty and I failed,”

“You did everything you could to protect Shuri,”

“And it wasn’t enough!” she exclaimed with pain in her voice. “Because now she is gone. Faded away. It should have been me,"

"Don't do that to yourself,"

"I can’t even bear to understand how Wakanda is doing right now or what it looks like. I failed...”

“We all failed,” he shook his head.

They sat in silence for a moment, deep in thought.

“All I keep thinking about is that it should have been me. Not her. And not my king. They are both gone. The people we love and care about are gone…never coming back…” she whispered in the last sentence.

“You’re right…the people we love and care about are gone. But not forgotten. I wanted to thank you,”

She stared at him with confusion. “Thank me for what?”

“For taking care of Bucky while he was in Wakanda,”

The sound of his name gave her butterflies as she shook her head, “…that was all Shuri. Not me. She helped him with the brainwashing and everything. Her role was much bigger than mine,“

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Arjana. The change of scenery and Shuri’s doing helped but also your companionship. You two were close, huh?”

She chuckled sadly as she felt her eyes burn from tears. She then began to wipe the tears away.

“Sorry… every time I think about him I start crying…but yes…we were. During his time in Wakanda, he began opening up to me. Slowly but then as we spent more time together, things flowed naturally. I wasn’t expecting him to do that but he had a lot of trust in me. And I appreciated that. There are just a lot of things I wanted to say to him…and when I spoke to him before he went on the battlefield in Wakanda, perhaps I should have said everything then if I knew all of this was going to happen. I deeply care about him. I just wish I could have told him how much…”

“When we get him back, you can. We are thinking of a plan to try to get everyone back. I want you to be a part of it. We need all the help we can get. And when we do get everyone back, he can tell you the things he has told me,”

“Which are?”

Steve smiled softly. “That is not my place to tell,”

[justmoreocs-writing]

‘Wait, hold on,’ Cali said, looking between Cormac and the large guy sat on his bed; she hadn’t even meant to push her way into the room, it had just sort of happened. Trying to get away from some of the cast in the hopes of not dealing with them, Cormac’s door had been partially open. She should have apologised, but everything had happened so fast, and the bombshell that had just been dropped kind of blew any thoughts of manners out the water. ‘You’re not Cormac, he is?’

Cormac – or rather, Jamie – nodded. She could see him fidgeting ever so slightly, as if hopeful the problem might just disappear as soon as she was out of the room. She guessed telling Viv had been more a choice than a necessity. Cali made a mental note to ask about that when the dust settled.

‘Why lie about that?’ she asked, running a hand absently through her hair, trying to untangle a knot.

‘Because I didn’t want anyone to know I knew Pippa,’ admitted Jamie. ‘Nobody’ll tell her brother anything.’

‘But a stranger can vouch idle curiosity,’ Cali finished, nodding as the words slowly sunk in.

‘Exactly,’ Jamie said, glancing briefly, almost accusingly, at Cormac. Cali had a feeling the stowaway wasn’t part of their deal.

‘Luckily, you’ve got more help then,’ she said firmly. ‘More people to take the heat off you.’

‘You’re helping?’ Jamie asked sceptically.

Cali rolled her eyes before folding her arms across herself. ‘This ship is screwed,’ she told him, not bothering to hide the bitterness behind her voice. ‘My best mate won’t even look at me since I boarded, and the officers are slimy. Something is going on here, and I want to know what it is. Might even help figure out what happened to your sister.’

There was the barest flicker of a smile across Jamie’s face; a look of uncertainty on Cormac’s.

‘Let me guess,’ said Cormac, earning her full attention. ‘You scratch his back –’

‘You really think there’s more than one thing going on here?’ Cali questioned, hands dropping back to her sides.

Cormac merely shrugged, attention still searching her expression.

‘Thanks, Cali,’ Jamie said, glancing briefly between the two of them. His calmness soothed a little of Cali’s irritation. She just hoped that Cormac’s implication was wrong; that there really was only one bad thing happening on the ship, and not a whole bunch to contend with.

[forgotten-retrouvaille]

🔄 + what if Jill had never gone with Chris? (during Lost in Nightmares)

If she stays here any longer, she doesn't know what she'll do.

Jill can't tear her eyes away from the stone slab in front of her, she can't get the image of the man out of her head . Her chest is tight and she feels like falling to the floor and breaking down, but she can't do that now . A fury boils in her blood, mixed with a sense of grief, with what could have been.

He should have let her go with him . He'd told her he had his own score to settle, made her stay despite her attempts to join him on his mission , but look at what happened .

She barely registers the soft tapping of light rain against her shoulder, she's too lost in her thoughts to notice . A pair of calloused fingers trace a coin in her hands - a simple dime , one that she'd cleaned and carefully polished with a heavy heart.

Jill wonders if things would have been different , had she gone. It all feels so unreal - Chris had been her closest friend since she'd come to S.T.A.R.S, they had fought together , bled together, she'd laughed at his jokes and always had his back, and now he was here , underneath stone that was still so freshly engraved it had dust on the side of the headstone.

There are tears in her eyes . She doesn't bother to hide them.

She lets out a long , ragged breath , fingers tracing the coin one last time before stepping forward and lying it gently on the top of the headstone . Jill had no flowers , had nothing else beside it, but given both of their histories , it was something that meant so much more than anything else.

She'd been here way past the funeral end . Some of her friends were likely waiting for her in the car , but she doesn't know if she can get back to work so soon . Jill wonders if it'll be like this for everyone - she was one of the last remainig members of S.T.A.R.S now , and she still half expects Chris to be waiting back at the office .

He'd always been strong , and to lose him like this felt like some sort of fucked up nightmare. She's angry and her chest feels like it weighs a thousand tons and she wants so desperately for it not to be true.

It was , though , and there was nothing for her to do about it - except track down the man responsible and give him hell to pay for what he'd done.

She's going to make sure that he dies slowly .

[riders-of-azaron]

Amory and Electra

A short story sort of written to mess around with Electra, a.k.a. the Shadow of Change or whatever you want to call it, as a character, and Amory's introduction to it.

Figuring out the idea of Electra, along with Azaron just being part of the Fantasia multiverse, has completely and utterly changed my view of Azaron and it finally has a purpose.

Note: I use he/she/it for Amory interchangeably here.

｡･::･ﾟ❤,｡･::･ﾟ❤｡･::･ﾟ❤,｡･::･ﾟ❤｡･::･ﾟ❤,｡･::･ﾟ❤｡･::･ﾟ❤

And the Rider found itself in a clearing. The air was slow – almost still, yet stirring – in the uneasy twilight. A certain paleness fell upon the trees and the dust the Rider walked upon. At that moment it was as if the world was uneasy, not as if it were holding its breath, but as if it were primed to scream at the slightest excitement. It was silent – not even the Rider’s footfalls on the dry dirt below, which the dirt gave soft landing to, were audible. The sky was clear, save for a few wisps of high cool clouds what gave the impression that Brother Rain had forgotten to sweep.

The Rider was led here by a strange feeling – one she’s not a stranger to. One less familiar with it would call it a hunch or a premonition, but for Amory it was a certain wicked and unignorable knowledge. Something waited for him here – something strange and powerful – something wicked yet pure – something that permeated through the dreams of the people of Azaron – something everpresent yet not known by many. At the other end of the clearing, amidst the tall trees and clear forest floor, something Horrible stood. It was not human, and, though it vaguely looked the part, it did not pretend to be. It was a thing most dark and most vile and most wicked and most evil on the outside, yet Amory knew a certain childlike joy and excitement and whim was locked away beneath the surface – the urge for impulsivity and for play and for tender Magick. It only seemed evil to the unknowing observer, though it was not. It was simply chaotic and unstable in a way most destructive. Its form was uncertain, waving, jolting, and spiking here and there. It was dark, uniform in colour and texture, and its bottom hem stretched out in all directions as if covered by flowing cloth. The Rider’s blind eyes, naturally, did not see it, but she knew it fully and thoroughly. It was a thing that was much too pure to hide its nature. Amory stopped, and stood, unwaveringly and politely, her cloak lagging behind and slowly falling to resting on her back in the stillness of the clearing. The Thing at the Other End seemed to shake in anticipation, and at Amory’s readiness it grew excited. Its form was all unsteady, as it shook and shimmered and waved, bouncing between the shadows which seemed to lengthen readily the more it moved. It dipped and swung ‘round. It galivanted and its gesture seemed to giggle as its form merged with and danced with the shadows below with such a pureness that almost brought a smile to the Rider’s face.

“Electra.”, Amory said, tenderly though sternly, with a certain caution the shadow seemed to react to.

It waved again, wrapped itself around the trees and unwrapped itself again, over and over and to and fro and around. It settled, eventually, and its silhouette rose and fell as it seemed to speak.

“Oh… Oh! How well you know me, Weeper! Dear Weeper, O dear Rider of Azaron! Of course you do! Why, yes, of course you do! Oh… Oh! My servant most dear, O you of Chaos and of Change – O dear Weeper of Azaron, how long have I waited to see you thus?”, giggled the thing Amory called “Electra”. It folded over itself and bounced around yet still.

“You wanted to see me, Shadow.”, the Rider said, paying no mind to its excitement, and little mind to its word.

“Oh… Oh Rider – Yes. Why yes of course! You are a great thing to behold, O mighty Rider of Azaron. I am assured I need not introduce myself, but hence here I will.” The thing cackled sharply. “I am the Shadow – The shadow that hides from the light of Tyranny and the force of Hatred. I am Change and I am Chaos and I am the wicked Evil that drives destruction over the Realms of Man to bring upon them a different world. ‘The brighter shineth the Light, the darker becometh the Shadow’, they used to say. I am Change, Amory. I have inhabited many forms before. I have seen many worlds before. I am from a world above, of Magick, and I am a dear friend to your Mother Azaron. A dream is what bore me, a dream of those oppressed, dreaming to see to a new world. A world that, though maybe less habitable, was in all ways more just. And for so long have I embodied that, for it is all I am. ‘Electra’, you called me, Rider. Why is this?”, the Shadow said, seemingly calm now that the initial excitement had died down.

The wind blew strangely. The birds scattered. The Sun fell yet more. Shadows lengthened yet more. The Rider spoke yet more.

“It is the name I learned.”, he replied, still cautious, though not showing any signs of fear or shyness.

“It is a name many have called me, yes. Oh! Oh, how the minds of Man seek to put a name to the things they cannot explain. ‘Electra’ was one such monster that I… Patroned, to turn the phrase. She lived long ago – long before your mother Azaron. And the stories remained for a time. They forgot about ‘The Shadow of Change’ and knew me only by her name. And so, I am Electra, and, so, will be you.”, it said, growing excited once more.

The Rider stepped forward.

“And say I accepted this of you. What then?”, she said, form yet unwavering, standing eerily still.

“Oh, you misunderstand, my dear Rider. The time will come. You will not ‘choose’ this path. It will come to you, believe me. Much like water rolling down a hill. You will reach the base. And, it will not come to you now. Dear lone Rider of Azaron… You will know it one day.”, the shadow said, swooning.

“And what’s to say I am not already on the path? What’s to say I haven’t accepted your Shadow already?”, Amory said, coldly, and stepped forward once again.

The shadow seemed to stop at this for a moment, its eyes, if it had any, would have been wide and overjoyed. After a few moments, yet again the same, falling over and folding and phasing and giggling.

“Oh! Oh, how well you know me, Rider! Oh, Oh! O dear Rider of mine… Dear vigil Azaron… Oh! You overjoy me, dear Rider. I repeat myself a thousand times and yet I will repeat those thousand times another thousand times thus-!”, it said, standing perfectly still for a time, in anticipation.

“The change has already begun.”, the Rider said blatantly, finishing Electra’s thought. The air stood still, and then blew again. “I am in my ways embodied of the Shadow. I have fought long against this ‘Light’ of yours. And my journey is itself Changing, and it Changes me.”, the Rider said, though not with any profundity. It was as if she knew this from the beginning, and was simply stating a fundamental and well-known truth of the wider world.

The Sun fell more, and Amory’s shadow lengthened enough to meet Electra. The moment they touched, the Shadow faded away as if it were merely imagined.

“… ‘I will meet you again, Rider of Azaron. Your time with me is not over. I shake your hand and tip my hat had I them to shake and tip. Fare well, Rider of Azaron. Stay wavering. See to your Journey and see it does not break you. The change will change you, and it will change itself in how it changes you. I extend to you my good wishes. You will see me again. I will see you again. We will dance again. Our shadows will dance again. I love you, dear Rider of Azaron. You will change the world as I have changed it before. For you will be Electra some day soon, dear Rider of Azaron. Fare Well to you.’, Fare well to you too, Electra, though I have my doubts you at all have left me”, said the Rider, clearly speaking not from her own mind, merely saying a thought she Knew Electra had left to her.

The Horrible Thing turned sharply on its heel and began walking away. Back to their mother… or old friend, Azaron.

[severevoiddragon]

OK DND STORY PART 2!!!!!!!!

Important detail I forgot about last time, during the long period of meeting the guests, the musician(the one who dies not the pc)

Took every guest aside in a attempt to get money from them to pay off the mob (he had gotten into some trouble after a concert and needed to pay them)

Ok that’s all I forgot!

Part 2!!!!

After the musicians death, the guests were obviously shocked, leading to silliam locking the doors with an ice spell.

Then the party decided to investigate the body, revealing a letter saying about the mob deal and that he was planning on staying with silliam and waiting out the mob.

Also deciding to investigate the piano, the detective discovered that some sort of mechanism had triggered, triggering a crossbow bolt to sever the rope holding the piano above stage.

Following this, the mad scientist decided to take advantage of the situation, unleashing a horrific monster upon the group!

Then a long combat took place, highlights included

Vector using the wingsuit as a curtain to distract the beast bull style

The detective shapeshifting into smeggins and using that to attack the beast

The pc musician using the combat as a excuse to try and damage the mechanism(to hide the clues and get away with the murder)

And Aaron attacking and killing the scientist round 1

After the dust had settled, the detective decided to try and shapeshift into the dead musician to gather more clues, this failed however as Aaron immediately attacked the shapeshifter form, revealing the detectives secret! (Every pc kinda had a secret, but most weren’t relevant)

This triggered a brief combat, leading to the detective being knocked out and interrogated using zone of truth(I only gave zone of truth to the murderer because it’s easier to deal with)

After this the party decided to finally climb into the rafters to investigate the mechanism that triggered the piano!

After a long segment of mainly smeggins bits the party noticed that the way the mechanism worked was a crossbow that was attached to a pillar,that when a button was pressed, would fire

After this and some more banter, it was time to accuse the killer!

The way it worked was: each player would get to vote for any other character(telling me through dms)If it was a tie, I would roll for silliam to be the tiebreaker

This was VERY intense for me, as the detectives player had found all the clues and thought it was the player musician, vectors player didn’t pick any of the clues but thought it was a pc, obviously the player who did it wasn’t going to vote for himself, and Aaron’s player caught some of the clues, but still didn’t trust the detective

The votes went as followed

The detective voted for the musician

Vector voted for silliam

The musician voted for Aaron

And Aaron voted for the musician

THEY GOT IT!!!

Immediately triggering a combat in which the murderer almost escaped using sleep and misty step, but was caught by the detective shapeshifting into the dead musician to suprise him, leading to his capture

That was it really! They got the murderer and all escaped alive!

I obviously left out some stuff like most of the npc had other things, but they never really went anywhere soooooooooo

But yeah hope you enjoy reading this!!!:3

YIPPEE !!!! A happy ending hehe yay I'm glad !!! I ABSOLUTELY enjoyed reading this !!!!

[itsncthingpersonal]

Just when Rudy was starting to drift off, his attention wavering amidst the waiting, a cacophony of ticking startled him back to reality; every clock in the room seemed to wake up. His eyes tracked each one, locating them in their respective places, watching as their individual mechanisms jittered and settled into a steady working rhythm. If this was how they sounded back then, the vampire would have smashed every single one; it was already beginning to irritate him. There was no way somebody could read in peace with that noise going on, but perhaps they faded away into the background after a while. Nevertheless, a grimace settled on his face as he sought out Percival to express his displeasure, hoping to receive some sort of answer for what was going on. His friend appeared completely unfazed, sounding almost satisfied at the response he was given to his previous frustrated question. At least he was getting somewhere, so Rudy was happy for the progress.

"Is that...good?" Well, there was no visible panic. So he was taking the sudden switch up as a step in the right direction, even though he was totally clueless about what it meant. There was a lot of things Rudy had yet to learn concerning Percival and his abilities, but he made sure to listen and take note of whatever the man explained about them. He wanted to know more, even when they started sounding too complicated for him to keep up with, because this was important to his friend. And so the vampire did his utmost best to understand. "They're tickin', right, so that means we're gettin' somewhere?" This guessing game was impossible, and Rudy could only imagine how frustrating it was for the other man, piecing together a mismatch of information to try and create a bigger picture. He could hear the tell-tale signs of rising stress in his friend through a slightly elevated heartrate. That was no good.

"Hey, 'val? Sit down with me for a tick, yeah?" Brushing off any dust from the cloth covering, he patted the space besides him in encouragement for Percival to join him. He picked up on the unintentional pun a moment later, laughing quietly to himself. But he stopped once his friend was sat down, offering the man a solicitous smile. "You're goin' to give yourself a wicked headache with all this thinkin', so take a breather. This house is goin' nowhere, yeah, so we got all night to investigate." He reassured, leaning in closer to playfully bump his shoulder against Percival's, hoping to bring that heartrate down to an acceptable level. After a beat of silence, the question was posed and Rudy glanced down at the flowers still poking out of his top pocket, their vivid blue clearly visible.

"Oh, yeah! I found them in this book," he explained whilst holding the blue book with silver lettering up, revealing their hiding place by flipping through the pages. "They were between these pages with flower illustrations. I think whoever read this last must have left them behind." With a one-shoulder shrug, the vampire idly opened up to the index, noticing a name written in beautiful handwriting near the right corner. "Uh...Alana? Is that right? Alana...somethin'." People back then wrote their words with such incomprehensible flourish. But if anybody could understand it, his friend would. So he chuckled and passed the book over to Percival. "You might have better luck readin' it, mate." Whoever it was, Rudy wondered whether that was the name of their mischievous ghost. He made a note to test that theory later on, possibly whilst he was alone.

Percival went back to his search, any of Rudy's words now ignored as mere background noise. He would ask about it later, even if he was focused on his task now, that didn't mean he wasn't still interested in what the other had to say... just not right this moment.

He looked around, making sure to pay attention to each detail, each movement slow and measured to ensure he didn't miss anything that might be of importance. This whole thing would be significantly easier if the watch had actually given him any pointers, but no, he only got a recurring dream and nothing else, meaning that he knew... nothing. Absolutely nothing except that this was the right place.

Wonderful.

"We could do this much faster if you provided me with some more information, you know? Maybe we can play hot or cold, and if I'm getting warmer, you could start ticking faster." He muttered to the watch, still continuing to look around even as he complained.

The old clocks that stood around the place all seemed to jump to life at once; an old pocket watch that had been left in the bookcase, a small mantle clock, and a large grandfather clock, all suddenly ticking after years of being quiet.

Percival took a second to realize the ticking wasn't inside of his head this time, looking at the other clocks in surprise. "Huh, I suppose that works?" It technically didn't provide much help yet, but it showed that at least the watch had seemingly understood his complaints, which was...something?

The glow in his eyes died down; a break was required. After all, doing this for too long gave him a dreadful headache, not to mention how detached it made him feel from his own body.

"Forget-me-nots?"

He now turned his attention to Rudy. "Did you find those here? My, they certainly stood the test of time, didn't they?"

[selenelavellan]

A keeps getting B's mail, for Dirthalene and/or the Fear/Deceit/Dirthamen/Selene/Des poly ship plz and thank you :D

Two-for-one!

Mail AU

Fear, Deceit, and Dirthamen are @feynites

Once upon a time, Selenes apartmentbuilding had a competent mail person. Back in the glory days, whenthe only items filling her mail box had either her or her roommatesnames on them. Back when it was only bills and coupons andadvertisements, and she never had to worry about being attacked bythe affluence of letters sitting inside the locked box.

She misses those days, she thinksbitterly as a small pile of magazines for camping supplies, fashion,and yet another brown envelope with official letterhead and All CapsHandwriting (who does that, really) fall onto the smallcommunal table in front of her.

Still, she scoops them up and waits forthe elevator to take her up to her apartment, not even a little bitsurprised when her roommate immediately takes the magazines andhappily flops onto their couch to skim through their latestaccidental haul as she walks in the door.

“It’s illegal to go through someoneelse’s mail you know,” Selene says for the umpteenth time.

“Magazines don’t count; they’reunsealed and fair game babe,” Des retorts as he casually flips apage.

Selene lets out a puff of frustratedair and unceremoniously drops the rest of the mail onto the kitchencounter. Carefully, she pulls a glass out of a cabinet and fills itwith iced tea from their fridge before her attention returns to the pile.

“Apparently someone needs to calltheir mother,” she hums, spreading the items out. “Hopeeveryone’s ok.”

“What happened to not opening upother peoples mail?” Des teases.

“It’s written on the outside of theenvelope, there’s no breach on my end.”

“Oooh, look at you, rebelliousthrough technicalities. Have we finally cracked through that rigidmoral shield of yours?”

“It certainly took you long enough,”She shrugs, taking a sip of her drink.

Curiously, she flips the brown envelopeover, checking for any other information she might be able to get offof it.

She lets out a loud snort as shefinally reads the name on the front of it.

“We’re getting mail for a god,” Sheinforms Des.

It grabs his interest enough that hefinally looks up at her from the fashion magazine. “Sorry?”

She holds up the letter, elbow proppedon the counter. “It’s addressed to Dirthamen,”she informs him as she glances over the names of the otherrecipients. “And these are to Fearand Deceit. D'youthink maybe we’re just being pranked?”

Desfinally sits up in rapt attention, magazine tossed onto their coffeetable as he tilts his head slightly. “Or it’s destiny.”

Selenelevels him an unimpressed look.

“No,no, stay with me here,” Des explains. “We’re getting mailaddressed to the god of secrets.That’s a sign. I don’t even believe in the gods, and Iknow that’s a sign. You get a literal letter from a god, you shouldlisten to it.”

“Sure, Des.And who’s going to tell him neither of us is capable of calling ourmothers, what with that whole mortality issue?”

“Wellobviously that bit’s not meant to be taken literally!But Fear and Deceit for instance? They’re supposed to be constantlysearching for him or something, right? Maybe since we’ve got thingsfor all three, we’resupposed to go looking for him. Or them.”

“Ormaybe we’re being pranked, because someone in the building heard weused to be dalish and thought it’d be funny.”

“Seleeeeeeene~…”

Shefrowns at her roommate, who responds by jutting out his bottom lipand tilting his head up just enough that his long dark hair creates acurtain around golden, currently puppy-dog reminiscent, eyes.

Herresolve wavering, Selene takes another glance at the pile of mail onthe counter.

“Howwould we even go about something like that? I’m not knocking on everydoor in the building asking for Dirthamen.We’d be laughed out of the complex.”

“You’rethe smart one, I’m sure you can figure it out,” Des grins, finallycrossing their living room to settle behind her. His arms wrap aroundher waist, neck stretched to let his head rest on her shoulder, andshe lets out a long sigh as she looks at the address in an attempt tonarrow their search.

It’stheir address on theenvelope.

They’vebeen living here long enough it’s not just a previous tenant, so whatelse…

Flippingover the camping magazine, Selene grins as she finds her answer.

“They’rethree floors up.”

“Oooh,penthouse. Richdestiny, I approve,” Des croons, squeezing Selene just a littletighter before releasing her. “I’d better go get on something moreappealing before we go. You probably should too, you smell like oldbooks.”

“Somepeople like that smellyou know.”

“Yes,well, some people don’t know good taste when it’s sleeping rightbeside them,” he winks.

Selenejust shakes her head, gathering the last few weeks of accidental mailthey’ve accumulated and wrapping them up with a rubber band.

Destiny…

What asilly concept.

Still,it wouldn’t hurt to change into something more comfortable. Shechanges out of her work blouse and skirt, slipping instead into acomfortable worn pair of jeans, and a large grey sweater with herfavorite depressed donkey on the front.

“Yourtop has a tail,” Des says disgustingly as she steps back out of herroom. His own shirt has a neckline that vanishes right into the beltof his own jeans, and only barely qualifies as a shirt rather than avest.

“It’sauthentic,” Selene points out, spinning so the back of her sweateris facing Des. She gets no small amount of satisfaction from thedisapproval on his face as he pulls at the aforementioned tail andhears the velcro meant to keep it on.

“Atleast it’s authentic in that it also comes off,” he gripes, tossingit onto the counter. “I can’t believe we’re about to meet a god andyou’re wearing a cartoon sweater…”

“It’scomfortable.”

“Godsdon’t care about comfort,” he sighs as she picks up her keys andthe mail bundle. “They want sacrifice, babe. That’s what fashion isall about.”

–

Theelevator ride is short, and Selenes stomach barely stays still forthe bulk of it.

Notthat she’s putting any stock in destiny,but first impressions have never been her strong suit. They mightstill think she’s been stealing their mail, and technically they havesince Des has made a small collection of their magazines.

Assumingthese people actually exist, anyways.

Desknocks on the door to (hopefully) the correct apartment. 9E, at the end ofthe hall, three floors directly up from their own.

Thedoor swings open and a small elf with a sharp nose and an oversizedhoodie looks at them distrustingly.

“What?”they ask.

“Hellothere,” Des greets, all smiles and warmth as he leans forwards, armpropped up in the door frame and completely in his element. “We’relooking for our destiny.”

Theelves eyes narrow, clearly unimpressed and confused as they repeat“What?”

“Sorry,sorry,” Selene chimes in before they can slam the door closed andget Des’s fingers in the crossfire and holding up the bundle in herhand. “I think we might’ve gotten your mail? Uh, we’re lookingfor…Dirthamen, I think?”

Theelves lip twitches slightly. “He’s not home.”

“Oh,that’s alright,” Selene says as she holds out the bundle for themto take. “If he lives here, that’s enough for me to at least leaveit here, right? There’s also some mail for, erm…a Deceit, and aFear?”

Theireyes dart down to the bundle, not even close to reaching for it asthey assess the brown, scrawled on envelope sitting on top. “Keep it. Wedon’t need it, we pay our bills online anyways.”

Thedoor slams closed and Des leaps back in surprise.

Selenestares for a moment at the wooden door, glancing between it and thestack of mail still in her hand.

Who…

Who do they think they are?!

She bangs loudly onthe door, infuriated at their refusal to take something that istheirs!

Finally, the doorswings open again and she all but shoves the pack of letters into thechest of the person behind it.

“Do you have anyidea how rude that is?! This is your mail, it’s your burden todispose of it, I’m not your, your….”She blinks, looking at theelf in front of her.

The elf that isdefinitely not the same elf that was there a moment ago.

“…oh.”she trails off.

Thiself, only an inch or two shorter than her and with shoulder lengthhair, takes the bundle from her into the apartment without complaint.

“Ok,”They say with a slow nod “D'you want to come inside?”

“Yes,we do,” Des grins, stepping in and past them and dragging Selenewith him by the wrist. He lets out a low whistle as he looks aroundthe apartment. “This is way bigger than the units on our floor.Very snazzy.”

Selenenods in silent agreement, uncomfortable in an unfamiliar apartment. She noticesthe smaller elf grumbling from a recliner in the living room,practically staring a hole into her and Des.

Well,at least she’s not the only one upset about the sudden visit, thoughwhat she’s done to offend them so terribly, she isn’t sure.

“Soyou’re looking for Dirthamen?” The more polite elf asks as theyclose the door. “Any particular reason?”

“Hisname was on the top piece of mail,” Selene shrugs. “I wasn’t surewhat to do with it all, and Des said we should drop it off inperson.”

Thetwo elves exchange a look, before the polite one asks them “Hisfamily didn’t send you?”

“Destinysent us,” Des nods solemnly.

“Noone sent us,” Selene assures them. “Ignore my roommate he’sjust…” She makes a vague gesture in the air. “He just watchestoo much tv.”

“Saysthe girl in the cartoon sweater,” He retorts.

“Ithink it is a very nice sweater,” Comes a new voice, as a third elfpeeks through the hallway. He shifts awkwardly in a pair of pajamapants decorated with a yellow bear in a red shirt from the same show.“It suits you.”

Seleneswallows, ignoring the sudden rush of heat from the compliment.“Thank you. I like your pants.”

“You seem to be missing the tail, but thank you.”

“Yeah,well,” Selene jokes “My roommate’s got it nailed to our door.”

Thenew elf offers a small, warm smile in response to the reference, andthe other two nearly lose their eyebrows to their hairlines inseeming surprise.

“Ican’t believe that awful sweater is how you flirt with a god,” Desgroans “Fate is cruel.”

“It’snot flirting, and he’s not a god.It’s just a joke,” Selene mutters, gently elbowing him inembarrassment. “We dropped off the mail, we should probably goanyways.”

“What?Nooo, we just found this huge penthouse full of beautiful elves andyou expect me to leave?”Des says, louder than he really needed to.

Selenecloses her eyes and begins to count, but the elf who let them inspeaks up. “You can stay if you’d like,” They invite. “We werejust debating watching a movie, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Theyare?” Asks the one in the chair.

“Yes,”reiterates the polite one “Because they got Dirthamen to smile forthe first time in a week. I don’t think they mean any harm.”

Selenelooks at who she assumes must be Dirthamen, who swallows and gives asmall nod “I would enjoy it if you stayed. Unless you need to besomewhere else, of course.”

“Nope!”Des answers for her, plopping down in the center of their largecouch. “This absolutely where we’re supposed to be.”

Thereisn’t much of an argument Selene can manage after that, as the othersall begin to fill in the available remaining space, and she ends uppressed between Dirthamen and the arm of the couch while the othersargue over what movie to watch as though they were all old friendsalready. And while she doesn’t put much stock in things like destiny,she has to admit; it does feel like a home, when Dirthamen is snoringsoftly away on her shoulder.

[amaya-writes]

Obey Me Brothers Reacting To You Kissing Them/Their Neck When They're On A Call

Part Two: Satan, Asmo, Beel, Belphie

Notes: SO i saw the tiktok prank and I was thinking you know what? it's been a while since I've written for OM, and I love writing posts like these, so might as well!

Warnings:

Characters involved: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan

Gender-neutral reader, you/yours

Lucifer

Lucifer's the one who's most likely actually be on an important call, which is why when he feels you come up to him and wrap an arm around his waist he knows something's up but chooses to not speak to you yet.

It's only when he feels you break away from your quick little embrace (that you only did in an attempt to make your success rates higher and actually be able to kiss him) that Lucifer turns to you with a stern glare.

However, no amount of glaring could have stopped you from placing a quick peck on his lips before racing out of the room to hide in your bedroom for the remainder of the day.

This obviously wasn't a very effective plan.

After a moment of dazed confusion and clearing his throat even as a soft blush dusted his cheeks, Lucifer couldn't help but internally coo at your cuteness, however, he was quick to return to his conversation the second Diavolo stopped speaking and asked why he had suddenly gone quiet.

Once he's done with his call Lucifer is quick to abandon his office to go find you.

He isn't as mad as you thought he would be, and actually just teases you about it.

"If you craved my attention that badly you could have just asked, darling."

For once he doesn't bother with any punishments, and the two of you either end up cuddling for a bit before he needs to return to work or he drags you to his office and the two of you just hang out while he works.

Lucifer might be a little annoyed when he finds out you weren't actually being cute but trying to be a menace, but he finds it easy to forgive you after an hour or two of hanging out with you in his office.

In fact, he makes a bargain with you that as long as you spend time with him in his office more often, then he won't punish you.

Mammon

Unlike Lucifer, who tends to be on calls for important things, Mammon is on calls when he's arguing with people.

More specifically, people from his work as a model or someone he owes money to.

This usually results in him being pretty loud and annoyed, probably pacing around and running a hand through his hair as he tries to both settle the situation and let out his anger.

However, once he notices you hesitantly approaching him he can't help but wrap an arm around you or play with your hand while he talks.

If you make it clear that his loudness or just being around him when he's arguing with someone is getting to you then he's quick to let you go so you can wait on his bed or couch until he's done with the call.

But if you're fine with it and still try going through with the prank then Mammon will all but freeze the second he feels your lips on his.

For a second he can't even process what happened, but then the other person starts saying his name so he can't help but snap back to the conversation, but this time his voice is lower.

Might even lean in to steal a quick peck while the other person speaks.

Your kiss helps calm Mammon during his argument, and unlike normal, he finds himself easily wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side, seeking comfort in your embrace while he sorted out the issue.

Once he's done with the call he goes into Great Mammon mode and brags about how you of course needed kisses from him.

But what he doesn't talk about is how much your presence helps calm him and how it's nice to know that you sometimes miss him and his kisses/touch just like he does you.

Mammon actually knows about this prank, because he's an avid user of Deviltok, but he doesn't think that you were taking part in the prank which is why once you tell him it was a prank he gets pretty pouty.

Leviathan

Levi doesn't do calls. He just doesn't. If it's his brothers, he'll just text them or at most send a voice message (that he will probably delete once they hear it) but calls are a big no.

However, he does keep his mic on during games that he needs it in, which is why that's the closest thing to a call you can get.

When Levi's in a game he also gets very distracted which means this is the only time you can get away with being physically close to him without him jumping away in alarm.

So when you initially wrap your arms around him and bend down to nuzzle into his neck Levi's first instinct might have been to jump up in his gaming chair, but he's quick to relax and get back into his game once he realises he's just you.

Is he blushing like crazy? Of course. But does that mean he's going to let himself die so that the squad can blame him? Hell no!

You'll have to wait until he finishes that round and is going to start a new one before kissing him, because otherwise you might risk distracting him and making him lose.

When Levi does feel you kiss his neck he's quick to jump up in surprise and whisper-whine about it, yet he also can't risk getting caught by his teammates so he has to be sort of quiet as he tries to reason with you.

Once he can actually unmute Levi's quick to go on a rant about how you could make him lose, but place a kiss or two on his lips and ask him about what he's playing and all is forgiven.

[pjoxreader]

Hii! Can I request Frank/Reyna/Hazel asking if reader wants to come live with them in New Rome after the war is over? I’m a sucker for cute domestic bliss bro. Like the reader has a sort of “I don’t know where I belong” moment and they’re ask if the reader would want to stay with them

Asking Reader to Live in New Rome

((So sorry for the long wait on this I hope you still enjoy it! 🫡))

Frank Zhang

-Frank was forced with the realization of his mortality at a young age. And Because of that, he never once took anything in his life for granted, and that included you.

- He thought of himself as the luckiest person on earth to be able to call you his. It was like you were everything he ever dreamed of and more. Through fighting monsters and being stuck on the Argo Two together he never took a second of your time for granted.

-But now the quest was over which left the question of ‘what now?’. You were both sitting on the Argo watching the stars and just enjoying each other's company in a peaceful silence for a few moments. 

-”So… Have you decided what camp you want to stay at?” Frank looks over to you holding your hand to help ease his nerves as he tries to not get his hopes up. He sees your brows furrow in thought making him almost feel bad for asking.

-”I… In all honesty I’m not sure… I don’t feel like I belong to either camp. Neither really feels like home.” you admit as you look up into the starry night sky. There’s another beat of silence before Frank gently rubs his thumb along your hand to help soothe you. 

-”You… You could always come with me to New Rome?” he suggests, as you look over at him in surprise you see a bright red dusting his cheeks. “Well… I know you feel like home to me…” he continues. “It doesn’t matter where we go as long as we’re together right? Then that means we’re home.” his voice was a soft whisper as if this was a secret between the two of you. You can’t help but tear up a bit at that and press a gentle and loving kiss to his lips. “Yeah… I’m home.” you whisper gently to him. 

Reyna Ramírez-Arellano

-The war was over. But now was the question on everyone’s mind. ‘What now?’. Reyna had plenty of work to do at Camp Jupiter, trying to piece together the camp after everything that had happened…

-It wasn’t going to be easy, that's for sure. But there is one thing she knew, she’d want you to stay by her side. You had more than proven yourself during the war and she’d trust no one more to watch her back. 

-So she heads off to find you. You were sitting down on Half Blood Hill looking over the camp as the sunsets cast the cabins in a beautiful orange glow. Without a word she sits beside you looking over the camp, even she had to admit there was a charm to this place.

-”I… Don’t know if I should stay.” you admit softly after a moment. There was pain in your voice as you choked out those words, you didn’t want to admit it out loud but it was true. You weren’t sure if you should or not and it was eating you up inside. Reyna looks over to you studying your expression as she works out what would be the best to say.

-”There’s… Always room for you in Camp Jupiter. New Rome is a place where all demi-gods will be able to retire… Even us.” she says looking over at the camp avoiding looking you in the eye as her cheeks had a dusting of pink. You can’t help but blink in surprise feeling your cheeks flush at her words.

-”Are… Are you asking me to move in with you?” you manage to choke out. Reyna clears her throat trying to hide her own blush with the little cough. “And… If I am?” you feel your heart flutter at that as you take her hand, watching the sunset once again feeling your heart fill with love. You could feel all your previous anxieties melting away. “I’d love too…”

Hazel Levesque

-The war had ended, the peace had been made, and now everyone would be working together to piece together what they could. Now that things had settled down and everyone was working on the next steps of their life you were stuck, torn between two camps.

-The seven were splitting up, divided between the camps. They knew which camp was their home, but… You didn’t. You weren’t sure where you belonged, you knew the seven were your family, but now it felt like your family was being torn apart.

-Of course that wasn’t true, you could visit each camp whenever you wanted but it wasn’t the same. You sigh quietly flopping back into the sand as you were at the beach of Camp Half Blood. You couldn’t sleep with all these thoughts racing in your head so you decided to take a walk. -”Can’t sleep?” A familiar voice calls as Hazel sits beside you laying down in the sand as well. You can’t help your smile knowing Hazel was beside you. You really did love her and she always seemed to show up exactly when you needed her.

-”Just… Thinking a lot… I… Can’t decide which camp to stay in…” You admit to her. She hums softly at that holding your hand and rubbing her thumb along your knuckles to soothe you. “Well… In New Rome we can relax…? Not have to worry about monsters, have a place to relax and settle down… Oh! And they have amazing hot coco.” She rants out moving one hand as she explains all this to you.

-You can’t help but blush as you sit up to look at her better, seeing her cheeks were flushed red. “Are… Are you asking me to move in with you?” She sits up as well smiling a bit nervously. “Is that a no…?” You must have looked really surprised if she thought it was a no. “No! I mean, not no! I’d…” you groan as you cover your face with a bright red blush as you get flustered, which at least gets her to giggle. You take a breath sorting out your words. “I’d love to move in with you.”

~Masterlist & Rules~

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[delaber]

Snow (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Part 4: The Praise

Story summary: Tired of your constant bickering, Sam sends you and Bucky on a mission alone. When the worst possible outcome happens and you’re forced to spend several days together in a small cabin, you finally get to see a different, more pleasurable side to the man whose flesh you’ve always had a thorn in.

Words: 3.4K

Note: Wow, you guys are amazing. Thank you for your support! This is amazing! Unfortunately, I cannot tag more people but I’ll make sure to figure out something else for those who’d still like to be added to some sort of taglist.

Warnings: cuties being cute and a whole lot of sexual tension!

Previous Part | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Day four

You woke up feeling strangely lonely the next day, already missing the warm body that had been pressed up against you for the better part of the night but at some point during the early hours of the morning had slipped away and disappeared. Eyes still closed, you thought about the peaceful evening you and Bucky had shared last night, how he'd smiled softly at you as you'd walked back to the cabin side-by-side, how he'd chuckled warmly and safely grabbed hold of your arm when you'd slipped on the front porch, and how you'd sat down close to each other on the sofa, talking quietly into the calm night as you’d both fallen asleep in front of the crackling fire.

Wondering where he was now, you slowly opened your eyes with a small, sleepy whimper and took in how the entire cabin was wrapped in a darker light than yesterday, the sky outside grey and gloomy as the wind howled against the moss-covered walls, slowly filling up the muntins of the windows with a thick layer of fresh snow. Swiftly, your eyes scanned the room for Bucky, disappointment growing hot in your stomach when he was nowhere to be found, and you had to take a deep breath to convince yourself that he wasn't freaked out by your sudden closeness but probably just was out looking for something to eat again.

You waited a bit, ears listening sharply for a sign of him in the near vicinity, eyes darting impatiently towards the door every ten seconds until you couldn’t handle the anxiousness any longer and glumly shoved away the image of a smiling Bucky barging in through the door with his arms full of food. Instead, you pushed the blankets from off your body and determinedly headed over to the kitchen cabinets where you pulled out everything from the dusty shelves in the hopes of finding something - anything - to eat. Today, however, there wasn't even a single stale cracker hiding in one of the corners, so you dejectedly settled back in in front of the fire and patiently waited for Bucky to show up as you tried to not let the crushing disappointment of him being gone bring down your otherwise rather uplifted spirits.

How you managed to stare into the flames for several monotonous hours without going insane, was beyond you, but when you finally heard the heavy hinges of the front door squeak open, it was with a relieved smile that you turned around and faced Bucky. He was completely covered in snow from top to toe, carrying two bottles of honey-brown liquid that he sat down on the table in front of you before stepping over to the front door again, careful not to get everything wet. "Fucking shit weather," he mumbled under his breath with a small sniffle and dusted off the snow from his arms before discarding his jacket.

"Where've you been?" You asked curiously from the sofa, examining the bottles in front of you with a suspicious look. “- Did you find something for us to eat?”

"No, I’m sorry,” he sighed despondently and ruffled the snow out of his hair. The rapid movement accentuated his huge biceps so nicely that your eye involuntarily ran over the thick muscles lined with large veins, making you slightly lightheaded. “I went back to the Quinjet to check for spare fuel," he groaned as he plumped down on the sofa cushion next to you, grabbing one of the bottles from the table in the process. "- found rum instead," he shrugged and yanked out the cork. "...wanna drink?"

Excited that you finally had something to do apart from staring into the flames all day, you quickly grabbed the other rum and pulled out the cork with a loud “do I!” before clinking your bottle against the bottom of his. Still looking at him excitedly, you carelessly took a large swig, your nose scrunching slightly at the sharp taste as the liquid ran over your tastebuds and settled warmly in your stomach. "Gaah," you exclaimed loudly with your tongue hanging out of your mouth like a golden retriever, and it made Bucky laugh heartily.

"You don't like it?" He asked, his entire face lighting up like the sun.

"Not really," you fanned your tongue, desperate to get your tastebuds back to normal as you took in his amused face with the small happy wrinkles dancing around his warm eyes. Mesmerised by the soft laugh falling from his lips, you wondered why he’d never given you the chance to see him like this before.

"You know what?" he pondered while looking over at you, "Come to think of it; I don't think I’ve actually ever seen you with a drink in your hand before..."

"Well, it's not something I usually do," you carefully had another small sip, trying not to let your discomfort at the sharp taste show on your face.

“Really?!" he arched an eyebrow, "- you better be careful then,” he nodded towards your bottle. “Low tolerance and an empty stomach usually don’t mix that well with hard liquor.”

"It's okay," you nodded, brushing away his concern, "it’s not like we have somewhere we have to be, right? So what if I get a little tipsy.”

“Alright," he sang, "- just don’t say I didn’t warn ya’,” he chuckled and shook his head, having a sip of rum himself. “So how come you normally don’t drink?”

“I know it sounds weird but… it sort of clashes with my running schedule."

"Your running schedule?” he asked incredulously, “you take it that seriously?”

"Not because I want to, trust me!” you sent him a sideways smile, "but please bear in mind that I’m teamed up with Captain America on one side and a demigod on the other. I have to stick to a pretty tight training schedule if I want a chance at keeping up," you shrugged nonchalantly before freezing, realising what you'd just said.

Bucky's eyes snapped over to yours in an instant and from the amused smile that slowly spread on his face, you could tell that he too had heard your blunder. "Now hold on a second," he cocked his head with a smirk, "- did you just compare me to a demigod?"

"Oh God… Please don't start," you groaned, rolling your eyes to the back of your head to avoid his amused gaze. “It’s a figure of speech!” You tried but he wouldn’t accept your feeble lie.

Instead, his face split in a massive grin, "oh darling!" he mockingly drawled out and threw his head against the backrest of the sofa, clutching his heart theatrically as he let out a feral moan that immediately had your hands sweating, your heart pounding faster. "What - a - compliment!" He underlined each word with a little cute nose scrunch.

"Don't get used to it!" you chuckled and threw a pillow at him to hide the fact that you actually liked the way he'd called you darling and moaned. "We're still enemies, you know!"

"Yes of course!" He nodded, "I meant ‘darling’ in the most condescending way possible, I know how much you love that.”

"Yes, I simply cannot get enough," you shook your head in amusement, still thinking about your terrible Freudian slip. “Oh God,” another groan escaped you, “I cannot believe I just compared you to a demigod…”

“Yeah, I’m never letting you live that one down!” he continued to chuckle while rubbing the sharp angle of his jaw with his enticing metal hand. “But… If it helps; I don’t exactly feel like one,” he smiled wryly, "- I highly doubt Achilles was so vulnerable that he had to be cuddled at night just to keep the images of what he'd done at bay,” he tried to keep the sentence light by chuckling, but the look he sent you was a mixture between pain and embarrassment and it nearly chipped your heart in two.

"Barnes," you cocked your head and sent him a reassuring smile while bumping your knee against his to make him feel better. “- Please don’t be so hard on yourself… You’ve been through hell and back, of course you have nightmares. The need to be held just proves that you’re more than the things terrorising you," you nodded. "Being vulnerable is a good thing, okay? I, for one, am grateful that I’m not stuck out here with someone as one-sided as Achilles."

His eyes were glued to your connected knees, his teeth biting at his inner cheek, and you examined how his anxious ticks slowly disappeared in time with your soft-spoken words, a proud, yet bittersweet smile replacing them as he carefully skirted his gaze upwards to meet yours.

“…Thanks,” he hummed after a couple of seconds of warm, intense eye contact, “- that’s very nice of you to say," he licked his lips and slowly ran his eyes over your face.

"I mean it!" you nodded slowly while warm patches spread across your face. "- you’re one of the good ones, please remember that… Your vulnerabilities don't scare me away."

"Yeah, that reminds me… Uhm -," he breathed hard, the vibranium in his hand whirring as he drummed his fingers against his thigh, the look on his face nervous as if he was about to say something gutsy, "- you don't have to keep sleeping up against me if you don't want to," he said quietly, his words softer than satin. “Though it’s nice, I've been handling the nightmares on my own for years. Don't feel obligated to deal with it just because we're out here."

You looked into his gentle eyes, surprising yourself by thinking that you didn't want to miss out on another night without his warm embrace. “It's no trouble. I guess I find comfort in it too," you admitted, your voice more in a whisper than anticipated, your breath hitching slightly in your throat when Bucky shot you a bright smile as he quietly gulped and gazed warmly at you.

You felt how your pulse began rising quickly, your fingers prickling uncomfortably at the thumping silence passing between you. The air was thickening like black treacle, moulding itself around you so fast that you felt yourself drowning in it while gazing into the clear, bright eyes before you. He shifted quietly around in his seat, his fingers awkwardly rubbing his thigs and he was careful not to look directly at you as you had a large sip of rum to hide your bewildered face.

"…Is it growing on you?” he asked gently after a silence that seemed too long, “- the rum, I mean.”

Shaking the intense moment of suffocatingly gentle eye contact off of you, you held up the bottle in front of your face, examining how you’d already gulped down half of its contents. “Apparently,” you mumbled and felt how the realisation came with a distinct rush of tipsiness washing over you. “I do blame it on the empty stomach, though.”

“Fuck, don’t remind me,” Bucky threw his head against the backrest of the sofa with a tired groan. “I would give anything for a piece of roast chicken right now!”

"And you're telling me about it?" you laughed with a playful groan matching his. "- That's a dick move, Barnes!"

"Sorry, sweetheart," he sent you a broad, heartwarming smile, and it made you realise that for the first time ever, he had called you one of his nicknames without sounding the least bit condescending. The soft pet name was dripping warmly from his lips and it made small butterflies flutter awake at the pit of your stomach as he grinned boyishly and continued; "- though when it comes to me, you can't really say you're surprised...” he cocked his head. “- I haven't exactly been on my best behaviour around you.”

"Mmh," you took in his soft expression as he dreamily stared up at you. "- why exactly is that?" you asked, careful to not get lost in his handsome features. “Did I offend you at some point?"

"No sweetheart," he shook his head, and ran his deep eyes over your face before finding your gaze again. "You've been nothing but sweet."

"Come on," you mirrored his position on the sofa and threw your head against the soft back cushion as well, sending him an embracing look to signal that he could tell you even if it wasn't all that flattering, "- you can tell me if I did something stupid,” you urged him to go on as you carefully took in the small details of his face that were closer than ever before.

You’d never noticed the dark indigo ring surrounding his pale irises, had never seen the light-brown freckle below his left eye, or the small scar dancing tantalisingly above the curve of his upper lip.

"Don't worry," he shook his head, a blissed-out smile on his face as his eyes never left yours, “you haven't done anything wrong.” His cheeks were slightly blushed, his lips still parted in a mysterious smile, and you thought to yourself that he'd never looked more beautiful.

Never wanting to look away, you cocked your head and examined the way he continuously clenched and unclenched his jaw as he looked at you. There was something he wasn't telling you, something eating at him. “Then why has it been so difficult between us?"

"I don't know," he blinked slowly, his chest heaving steadily, his nostrils twitching every time he filled his lungs with air.

"It's just..." you licked your lips and saw how his beautiful cerulean irises with the captivating limbal ring travelled down your face, briefly coming to a halt on your mouth before they snapped upwards, suddenly locked on yours again. "I like your company," you said flusteredly and chewed your cheek, "- when it's... like this," you examined his huge pupils and could feel the familiar warm patches spread on your face as his gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it before, his plump, pink lips closer than ever. His long eyelashes were twitching underneath hooded eyelids, the strong, stubbled jaw slowly lowering as his soft tongue showed behind his teeth and cautiosly licked a thin stripe over his lower lip.

Suddenly, you felt how the desire came rushing in over you in warm waves, his ambrosial scent pulling you under the sea of black treacle as he breathed hard and with rose-tinted cheeks scrutinized you. It was a craving stronger than ever before, the syrup in the air thickening even more as it consumed everything inside of you apart from the primal urge to get lost in his eyes, to run your fingers through his hair, to feel the stubble on his chin. Your fingers and feet were prickling, your insides squirming in your belly, the hairs on the back of your neck rising as you looked at him - your entire body was buzzing with his presence, he was all you could think about: you wanted to reach over and kiss him!

“Me too,” he mumbled to your statement, his slowly-blinking gaze still locked on yours, every now and then slipping down towards your lips before they obediently came back.

The intense eye contact you shared only lasted a couple of seconds, but the sexual tension was unmistakeable; you were both thinking the same thing.

Slightly befuddled, you broke the attraction crackling like a massive bonfire between you by sitting up straight and brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes while Bucky slowly turned his gaze towards his feet, his cheeks a delicate shade of pink as a self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Uhm," you cleared your throat and took a gulp of rum. "Sorry about that," you carefully looked over at him again with an awkward grin.

"Don't worry, darling," his eyes found yours, and you shivered slightly as his gaze pierced straight through you, making you sure that this time, he definitely did not miss how his whispered pet name had caused a reaction in you. Face warm, and eyes panickly looking everywhere but directly at him, you faintly heard him chuckle beside you as he examined your face with a broad grin, "- so, it's okay to call you darling?" He smiled triumphantly.

"Yeah, sure, whatever..." you breathed.

"Is the line drawn at princess or at sweetheart then?” he chuckled.

“Actually..." you gulped, "it's not the names I have a problem with. Never was," your cheeks were getting hotter and hotter as he scrutinised you. "It's the way you say it."

"The way I say it, huh...?" he arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah...” you nodded, embarrassed by yourself.

He took a minute to carefully ponder your statement before his face cracked open in a charming smile, his mouth spreading wider and wider on his face. Triumphantly, he looked you square in the eye, and when his voice came back it was softer and huskier than ever before; thick, viscous honey dripping from his deep baritone as he shot you a look of intimacy, a flirtatious spark in his eye: “you like cute names, don't you, sweetheart?“ he drawled, his voice like silk in your ears “- that's why you don’t like the way I say it; you want me to be sincere… Right doll?”

"No," you gulped in a desperate attempt at controlling your squirming insides.

"It's okay, peach,” he teased.

"Stop that," you groaned.

"If you admit to it," he said casually and scooted closer, pressing his muscular thigh up against yours again, "- princess."

“Bucky, stop!” you tried to ignore the tingling sensation in your lower limbs as you uncomfortably flexed your toes and buried your face in your hands, blaming the intense reaction on the strong alcohol coursing through your veins. Fuck, you should've listened to him and slowed down on the rum!

“Come on,” he whispered teasingly, moving his torso closer to you, “- you can tell me, sweetheart.”

You could feel your stomach getting warmer and warmer, your panties wetter and wetter with each whispered pet name, the image of his soft lips more and more clear behind your closed eyelids - and you realised that it couldn't go on like this. He was your teammate who up until a few days ago had hated your guts. You had to stop him before you did something rash and uncontrolled.

"Barnes, you’re an ass!“ you chuckled awkwardly and put the cork back in your rum, not entirely able to hold back the embarrassed smile that crept over your face as you purposely avoided looking directly at him.

"Come on, I'm just teasing," he laughed and leaned back against the sofa, his lips finally at a safe distance. “It’s okay you have a praise kink.”

“I do not have a praise kink!”

“But you do,” he laughed, “it’s okay. I'm just teasing - baby.”

“Alright, that's it,” you stood up and wrapped a mouldy blanket around yourself before lying down on the sofa, “-I hope you’re happy!”

"Come on," he laughed, "it was too easy, I couldn't help it! I’ll be good from now on!”

"Good night," you sang, “you really only have yourself to blame for this.”

“You’re actually going to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, come on. You still have to finish your rum.”

“You finish it, I'm going to sleep. Have fun with your nightmare, Achilles.”

Immediately, you felt him push his enormous body down beside you and how he wrapped his huge arm around you, his warm fingers coming into contact with the lower part of your ribs as he settled in and snuggled closer.

"Get that hand away from there, Barnes!" you swatted him away with a chuckle.

"Come on, I'm vulnerable," he laughed, "I don't want to live through another nightmare, I need someone to cuddle me to sleep and you’re literally right there! I need to be reminded that I’m still one of the good ones!”

"Right now you’re one of the worst ones," you laughed and pushed your back further into his chest.

"Yeah, somehow I don’t really care," he laughed and ran his warm fingers over the fabric of your tight tactical suit.

"Goodnight, asshole," you chuckled and closed your eyes, trying to block out the thought of his warm lips so close to your skin.

"Good night my sweet, sweet girl," he whispered teasingly and pulled you a tiny bit closer, as you tried to lie as still as possible.

Next part

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[velvetcloxds]

if you're too shy- send me a character and a scenario and I'll write a little baby blurb for it

Moniqueee can you do a little Christmas thing with Der🥺 I need some holiday fluff with this man but you can decide whatever Christmas related thing it is!!

SANTA'S HELPER | D.H.

word count: 0.5k

warnings: sourwolf appearance

You couldn't contain your smile, nearly skipping behind Derek as he carried the large box down the spiral staircase of the loft, already mentally preparing himself for a long day, a notion only proven when the next Christmas song started playing over the television music channel. Christmas wasn't exactly something the Hale family was all that big on, that or any other holidays for that matter, but you were very intent on changing that. You'd started off small, buying one of those fake Christmas trees online and setting it up in front of the window of the loft, buying some decorations in little bits until you could fill the box in Derek's hands and lights, so many Christmas lights.

"Where do you want it?" he asked with a raised brow, eyeing the large green plastic tree that was already shedding on his floor, but he'd have to be brave, Cora told him as much, told him how important this was for you, so who was he to be all grumpy about it. You pointed to the floor with a smile, squeezing his arm as you stilled next to him.

"Do you want to help or just watch?" you were careful in your question but he could sense the hopefulness, sense how you were trying to hide how eager you were to do this with him, it was your first holiday as a couple, first time doing something so grossly domestic. It was starting to feel infectious, he wanted to make you happy, and that much was a given, but he could also feel himself getting a little eager as well, eager to see the finished product, eager to do it with you.

"Think I'll help," he stated and was already bending down to open the box, using a claw to cut open the tape you'd used to keep out dust. "Make sure you do it right," he teased and you simply giggled, happy that he was starting to give in, you settled down on the floor, crossing your legs to begin sorting through everything. The two of you fell into a silent routine, sorting the decorations by color and then shape and then attempting to pull the lights apart, despite being brand new they'd already formed a big knotted mess. It wasn't long before you were adding the lights and tinsel, finally happy with how you'd positioned everything, maybe a little too structured for a Christmas tree but there was hardly any rules for this type of thing.

"What do you think?" you were fiddling with your fingers, swaying from your toes to your heels, waiting for him to say something.

"Think it's very us," he noted and didn't even hover before trying to snake his arm around your waist surprised when you jumped out of reach. You stole a quick kiss before picking up a ball of lights and placing it in his hands.

"Do you want to put these on the window while I go grab something upstairs?" Derek looked down to the lights with a raised brow, looking back to find you biting back a smile. "I'll be quick."

"What are you up to, trouble?" he demanded lightly, not fooled at all as you giggled lightly.

"Just put up the lights, Der," you gave him a quick look before skipping upstairs, the werewolf was extremely confused and even more curious but did as he was told, he'd made it halfway through when he heard you paddling towards him. Perched up on a chair he turned around to look at you, one hand against the glass as he leaned back to look at you. You were hiding something behind your back, that same guilty smile on your lips as he took you in.

"Whatcha got there?" he asked, sliding down to take a seat on the chair.

"A little surprise," you admitted, bringing the box from behind you, a little red velvet box with a ribbon far too big dangling from the top, your steps were big as you walked towards him, holding it out for him to take. He couldn't help but smirk, finding your extremely curious behavior very much adorable, careful fingers opening the lid, and moving away the tissue paper until he scoffed lightly.

"Now I wonder who this could be?" he smirked, the little trinket dangling between his large fingers, it was quite self-explanatory really, a black wolf wearing a Santa hat, well it could only really be him, couldn't it. "You want to do the honors?" he was already standing up, already taking your hand and leading you to the tree, smiling with hands firmly planted on your shoulders as he watched you hang it right next to the little reindeer he'd very fittingly assigned as your lookalike.

"Perfect," you declared, leaning back against him as you looked over what you'd created together.

"I think so too," he agreed, a small kiss placed on the back of your head. "Very us."

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