#embrace has lived long enough to not have patience for certain things.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

Aesop needs to claw his way back up to approval. He needs to stop ruining what he set out to preserve. That starts with listening, just like he always has, right? His voice, when he finally speaks after a long silence, is weak, like he does not want to admit what he is hearing, even as it burrows deep within and he knows there is a reason it was said, even as its truth is evident. "...I see your point."

Further fueling the burning in his throat is how Victor says he finally found someone. He finally found someone, and Aesop keeps destroying it. And Aesop keeps turning away, thinking he should be left behind. But it doesn't happen. Even when he lashed out, even when he says all these things he learns to soon regret, Victor remains. (He wanted this. This is the kind of thing he's wanted for so long. So why does he push this to nearly the limit, why does he only realize when he puts it at risk?) "You don't. But... you were. I'm sorry you had to go through that... you should not have. I should not have said that... even with such thoughts, you should not have to hear them. I will... try to take your words better in the future as well."

Aesop closes his eyes to think of something to ask, letting out a hum to ensure it didn't seem like he was trying to isolate himself again, trying to ignore his eyes swelling. Trying to ignore how little he really knew. "As for... figuring out who... you are. How much of your past self is... still with you? I know you are not him anymore, of course, but you also are, and... I want to make sure I am not expecting something that will not happen."

"Hey doll! D'you happen to have a spare glove in that handy box of yours? Just one is fine!"

@the-bloodline-embrace

Aesop may have been caught organizing his box anyway as his eyes narrowed, lips that could not be seen pressed together in focus (he tended to make it a habit so he would not have to do it all at once or wind up with an untenable workload). Even so, he freezes, eyes widening upon hearing the voice behind him, as he slowly looks to confirm that which had quickly grown familiar.

"Ah... hello again. Y-you came at a good time, I was just making sure everything I had stored in here was properly stocked. Let me see..." As the embalmer opens up his kit fully to make sure he can see everything, running a finger down the collection to make sure he was looking in the right place, he reminds himself that he would practice getting used to these names, too. No matter how wrong it felt.

Finally, he fishes out a glove from one of the compartments, handing it over. "Here you go. I... hope this fits you well, Victor." The name slips out before he can stop himself. By the time he notices, he wants almost to fade away, to ask the man before him to forget what just happened. But all that comes out is a weak "...sorry."

[doomxdriven]

@soulxfragments (continuing from x):

Cold. Depriving herself of anything but those pure, raw instincts as she grew rigid where she stood. She was waiting. He had used up whatever patience she was willing to give. Trap her, and be faced with something that detaches from humanity. A predator kept in check beneath a human facade. It was what she had become. What she had embraced. Live and die in the depths of madness if she must. Maximize survival potential. Nothing else mattered in moments like these.

She was vicious. Relentlessly cruel. Ready to strip him down - flesh, and bone, to the very core of his existence and dispatch the remnants in the most vile of manners. Nevermind that she was a guest here. He had intruded upon her purpose within the Seireitei. She would not be enslaved again.

As walls crumbled, she remained stilled. Calculating the next course this man may take in an effort to achieve whatever his agenda had been in finding her. His words are met with silence. Even at the clap of hands, her mind processing everything she’s gaining from her origami crane to try and understand the fullness of where this situation was heading.

He wanted to talk? Bright blinding light - she’s unaffected where blind eyes fail to experience it - and suddenly… she’s smelling the air. Tasting the wind. Feeling the sensation of cloth dance against her body as the breeze tosses it about. And he? Sharp ears listen to the sounds that naturally follow the presence of a body. Clothing. Breathing. The scent of his aroma on the air should she manage to catch it. She’s seething beneath that stoic exterior. But she is still far too new to being a Shinigami, to act. Too new with Muramasa to be able to work with him cleanly. It was better to subdue these tendencies, and allow him his opportunity to speak.  Even if her immediate response was raw violence.

At least now - she was no longer in a cage. She was stood atop a cliff overlooking the Seireitei. Her head turned just-so to collect all the information she can outside of what her little origami crane could provide. Fill in the gaps. Paint a picture within her mind so she could better act accordingly should things take even more of a turn.

“Whatever knowledge you believe you have of me, clearly has proven to be insubstantial.” Empty. Deprived of whatever emotion she may be feeling in that moment. All of it buried away. The inferno tucked carefully deep down. Waiting. Biding her time for an opportunity to strike. “I will not waste unnecessary time on someone so sub-par.”

Bansui stands there calm and languid as ever, despite the cold, vicious force that was Jezebel only a handful of feet away. Bansui knew of course that Jezebel wasn't all bark (he had watched her long enough to know that well), in fact, based on her body language and tone, he was almost certain that she was only a few nerves away from lunging at him right now, but he also knew that if he had to, he could handle anything she threw his way.

Bansui was still hoping the two of them wouldn't come to blows, however. That would be, as Bansui had stated before, unfortunate, not only because it could lead to other problems, but it would force him to put in way more effort here tonight than he wanted to…

"Insubstantial…. unnecessary… sub-par, what egregious words, my good Substitute Shinigami. How… far, from the… truth, thou be on… all accounts."

Bansui, in a slow, listless motion, cants his head to one side and holds up his free hand, pointing at Jezebel briefly.

"I am, certainly no… Urahara Kisuke, by any means," Bansui slowly points to himself, a deep, guttural, yet knowing chuckle emanating from behind his mask after mentioning that name, "but, I know… more than enough about thee, more than… enough."

Jezebel's Origami would likely bear witness to a sudden flash of, strange light a yard or so behind Bansui, and while it may have been too quiet for Jezebel to hear herself, her Origiami might have also picked up on what sounded like Bansui quickly speaking under their breath.

Mere seconds later, three figures would appear from the light, and once it died down, the three would begin approaching Bansui, or rather, two of them approached, with the third between them being forcibly dragged.

Two of the sudden arrivals were dressed in garb similar to Bansui's, but the third, the one being dragged, possessed attire that seemed more… Western,along with the sack covering their face and the ropes that bound them.

"I would not… engage events, such as those.. seen tonight," Bansui continued, now gesturing at Jezebel with his staff, his other hand orientated toward the sky, "were I, and our God, Our King, not… certain."

The footsteps approaching from behind Bansui get louder as he goes on speaking, until soon enough they cease. The two figures clad in Kido Corps attire then throw the third person onto the ground, right beside Bansui.

"I… however, expected thou may… require, more convincing, and perchance, a peace offering."

Bansui points his staff toward the ground, toward the mysterious, bound figure, "That is why I… decided, to bring this, wretched Soul; they are a very… naughty, visitor, from our.. estranged, Western Branch, and I… do believe, thou shall find them… interesting."

[titanicfreija]

Small Talk

As she ventured through the exit hallway (reinforced to protect from falling Guardians) and into the City, she let her feet take her left and towards the Eliksni quarter.

"Speaking of Thomas being smart," she said, as though there hadn't been a full minute of silence, "You say you're mad that he doesn't want to be a Warlock, that he's mad that he's a Warlock. You get mad at him for being a Warlock, though, way more than he ever does. He struggles with his light in his feet, and you give him shit about it. He buries himself in research, in essays, you give him shit for it. He finally does go out in the field, and you give him shit for every shot that doesn't hit the head of its target, badly placed rifts-- you have given him more shit about being a Warlock than he has. You don't want him to be a Warlock, that's not what you want out of him, and you've blamed it on that identity crisis thing. I'm not even certain you didn't give it to him. If he was actually good at any of it, I'd say you did." She paused and smiled a little. "I'm inclined to agree, though, he'd be happier as a Titan."

"Vapidity is not happiness."

Freija only laughed, and she waited to see if he would continue without her.

Patience was hard, however, and she couldn't stop herself. "And you won't help him Warlock, either. Won't help him take notes, won't do displays. You can, I know you can. Whatever's wrong has nothing to do with his inability to Warlock, or how he feels about it, or how you feel about it."

Rex didn't respond, and she guessed she finally scared him off.

Between going home to nothing and visiting the Eliksni Quarter, Freija knew which she preferred, and so she continued into the City.

"I hate the use of nouns as verbs. Languages are complicated enough without breaking the simplest of rules."

"I can fumblefuck my way through reading six languages-- there are no rules. There's hardly guidelines. From the very foundation of representative symbols, anything after pictograms or whatever, those have been completely backwards and sideways and everyone will Language as they will."

"I speak in a language beyond words-- you're all stupid."

Freija chuckled. "Sunny mentioned that, but then she says she forgets words, so I'm not sure how that works."

"She pretends she's human far too often. In addition to having what you would refer to as a short memory. Her capacity to contain information is massive, but her ability to draw on much at a time is very limited. Thus, will she preoccupy herself with current thoughts, events, or activities, and her language centers are bogged with what I can only assume are attempts to understand you."

Freija ignored the dig. He could call her stupid all he wanted if it made him feel better, she knew where her intelligence lived. "You like Sunny, if you know her that well off hand. She says you go back as far as the Tower foundations. I guess that's why you don't use her name much, you still say "Your Ghost" more than her name."

"I call Sunny friend," Rex conceded. "And indeed, I am unaccustomed to her name. She waited a millennium to finally take one up."

"Did you name yourself?"

"I did."

"Any good inspiration or did you just wake up knowing your name?" Freija asked.

"I doubt I woke up knowing, but I do not readily recall information from so long ago unless pertinent."

Freija nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her, and she frowned with thought as she 'dropped' a few glimmer cubes as she fiddled with her comms again, quickly sauntering off before anyone could try and be noble.

"So what's wrong? With Thomas? And you? What... what would you have him do? He seems to think you'd like him better if he embraced being a Warlock, but he's not paying attention. You don't want him to be a Warlock either. What is it?"

Rex didn't answer yet again, and Freija tried to let it go. "Did you want to be the one with the guns?" she offered. "Jealous you're not a Guardian yourself?"

"Why would I want that?" Rex snorted. "Made of meat, squishy and weak, prone to being blown up at only slight provocation...."

"Excuse you, tanks are more than slight."

"And you have exploded simply because of an inundation with solar energy."

"That's 'cos I died and my own couldn't stifle it anymore, I've seen that one," Freija objected. "I use that one," she added, and the corners of her lips twitched up. "But it's a shitload of fun. I wouldn't want your job, so of course I don't see why you'd want it. I dunno, would you be happier if he was a stupid ape like me?"

"You are hardly so evolved as an ape," Rex snipped, but the tone told Freija she hit a nerve way harder than she meant to, and she politely quieted back down, now worried she really would scare him off.

The silence lasted until they reached the Eliksni Quarter where Eido was holding lessons at the podium, with a pretty obvious schedule written in something like chalk on a slate of pavement nearby. Another Eliksni stood in what looked like an office built into the old Spider Tank, sorting out memory cards with a shank.

Several children came to see the Guardian-- none came close, but many sets of eyes blinked from shadows and walls as they peeked around cover and watched the Lightbearer in silent awe. The biggest ones still only stood as high as Freija's shoulder fully drawn up.

To 'play', she slipped behind cover and slithered through the rubble, placing a few cubes of glimmer in with the detritus, before she clambered out of the other side and moved to the stairs around the side of The Empty Tank, where she tucked individual cubes along the railing and into cracks on the wall. Further up, she climbed over the ruined walls and helped pull the tarps into place to better secure them on the sides. Dropping in and out of the children's sights, she enjoyed the scramble when she popped back into view and the rustling noises as they followed her.

"What are you doing?"

"Playing," she replied simply, and she hopped down to Spider's collection, and around another set of empty buildings, into a ruin, and to the garden.

A few Eliksni chattered at her, a few drew away, but Freija simply bent to help pull weeds from the dirt without further complications.

She also buried a few cubes at a corner, just for the sake of it.

"Why the glimmer?"

"They need it, I don't, but they don't like taking gifts outright. I think there was rules around exchanges and gifts in space, culture thing, so taking gifts might be a thing they feel is wrong or puts them in a position of debt or pressure to repay or whatever."

Rex fell silent once more, and Freija had to let go of the idea that he was a responsive conversational partner. She could see why Sunny liked him-- Sunny liked to fight, and from the sound of it, Rex was always looking for one. She thought Rex was the source of the discordance, but it was way more reasonable to think that Thomas had gotten to be retaliatory in his way, too, rebelling against him just because. She certainly wanted to-- something about his attitude made her want to piss him off.

"When was the last time you came into the City for real?" Freija asked. "With or without Thomas?"

No answer.

"To whom are you speaking, Guardian?" asked Eido cheerfully. "Hello!" she added. "I'm happy to see you here."

"I'm talking to... a friend of a friend, I guess? A friend of two friends."

Eido bobbed with her happy nod. "Ah! Outreach for connections to make more friends. A joyous task, to be sure. I'm sorry for interrupting!"

"You're fine, he's a little slow to talk, anyway. I think it's been a minute since he's been out," she said.

Eido only seemed confused, lowering her head before she cocked it to a side and swayed, as if examining something invisible, then swiveling her gaze to examine the area. "Is he here?" she asked nervously.

Freija wondered briefly if Eido worried more about Freija losing her mind or invisible threats and she wondered which would be worse for a few seconds. "He's a Ghost," she explained. "He's my roommate's Ghost," she specified.

Eido stood tall and rocked back with realization. "Ohhhh! How interesting. Do Guardians often make friends with Ghosts not their own?"

Freija shrugged. "He's friend-of-friend for a reason, but I'm hardly a full dataset. I've known Ghosts to take polls, I can ask mine to take one for you?"

Eido's beady eyes grew twice their size and shone like stars. "Would you do that?!" she squeaked.

Freija reflected her happy sway. "Sure thing. Sunny'll be happy to help."

[latokort]

Some lessons by Stephanie Ike

If how I'm walking is not in sync with you in my life disrupt it hunny

Give me a word that disrupts my life so I can hear your voice clearly

Jesus discerns where our hearts really are and our intentions

Assertion, kindness, move away from your ego, vulnerable but put brakes, patience, walk this one out for a long minute

Jesus wants to release any bondage we have with earthly things and even people

It's not possible for you to follow Jesus and be bound

There's freedom in the holy spirit. Whatever God tells u to release (even if it's yourself) means there is more within you that needs to come out and there's more in store

Our experience betrays us from truth-because we've been in situations that are similar we derive truth from them.

Our lives are designed to be a mystery to us according to time and seasons😭 which is insane. When you're going through 100 emotions daily, everyday starts to feel like a season

Experience hinders innovation

God doesn't look at us at the lense of our past experiences the way WE do. We tend to confirm why we can't do certain things become of our past and our mistakes

Jesus looks at us from his lense, from the truth and the vision he's always had for us

God will not force an identity you don't wanna embrace

Son vs child of God. Sons have said yes to God and embracing their godly duties

Jesus' mind is always on the bigger picture, our thinking is way too small

God here are opportunities in front of me and yes I'd like your favour but if it does not happen they don't define me they don't add nor subtract. Let your will be done not mine

If this isn't aligned with your plans, shut the door. it may break my heart for a long heavy second but father I ask in your name and the holy spirit, close the door Jesus! I will not play your role but I will be your dutiful son. All about you, nothing in me but your holy spirit Lord. If I have to listen to this word 100 times to get it or 70 × 7, so be it.

Who do you have for me? Is this on your agenda Jesus.

Submission!!! Surrender your ways for his ways.

One thing about David? The goat. When Goliath shows up, he was like I'm annointed for this hunny. I was built for this shit!!

In the meantime bask in the love God has for you. Which is what I did today. Momentarily. Not enough, full time! All the time. I'm changing every single day.

Give up something as a fast, replace it for time with him.

Give me revelation. I'm only afraid coz I don't know who I am. And the enemy will use that to his advantage.

When u face opposition it's to show you you are bigger than it

How can u be threatened by what is under u?

I'm always scared that people are going to mirror or manifest by biggest insecurities about love, for instance.

Rise up higher in this season

Enemy steals kills destroys, rob u of what God says

Crippled!!!!!

Pain I've also caused others in the state of ignorance. Forgive me father!

My experience will no longer speak for me, nothing but your truth. My freedom is much more important than your validation. Help is on the way.

[bluemoondust]

"All I want is to see that smile!" for emmet? ^^

THIS. This sentence really fits him!

Yandere Prompts List

Warning(s): Kidnapping, Delusional Thinking, Non Consensual Touching

Emmet had told himself that you just needed time adjusting to your new lifestyle/living quarters. Well, mostly his brother would say so but the point still stands: you were in an adjustment period.

Now, he did want you to be the most comfortable when living with him, but shouldn't you already have been after spending so much time with him? Patience is something Emmet can have and he does. It's just that there are certain things he just can't wait for. He wants to hold you, touch you, kiss you—just anything now. You were being unreasonable to withhold such affections from him, demanding he give you 'space'.

All with that expression. Those eyes that could be mistake for a Deerling caught in headlights. You'd never given that face before, but no matter.

Besides, shouldn't you accommodate to him since he was oh so nice to bring you here? It's so great to finally move in together after all this time hanging out. Emmet would have discussed this with you buuuuuuut his excitement got the best of him. Sorry~

Emmet was restless now, bouncing his leg up and down as he sat to do work and swaying back and forth as he stood near the bedroom door. His body language practically screamed it to you. A pout from rejected affection soon turned to a swift grab at your wrist in an attempt to stop his wandering hands. Tsk, tsk. Why are you so rude, darling?

You had feared the day he'd simply just drop everything and take what he wants. He's a very touchy man even before being brought here. It was something you found rather... Overwhelming; how he just couldn't leave you alone once you were within his sight. He never gave you enough space to take a breath. Always by your side, always too close for your liking. Personal space was nonexistent to him.

So it isn't hard to believe he has a limit when it comes to your acts of refusal.

His grip on you tighten when you tried to escape his embrace. You could practically feel Emmet's fingers lightly dig into your skin. That'd be nice. He'd like to see some pretty marks on you.

What isn't nice is how you grimace when trying to pry his arms off of you. Explaining to him that you want your space. The same excuse every damn time. Not this time though. He's been patient long enough.

With another tug, he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He gives your thigh a squeeze, letting you know he won't be going away anytime soon. A hum against your neck causes a shiver as he glances at you.

"Come on, now! All I want is to see that smile! It looks veeeery pretty on you!" His gleeful ignorance to your resistance doesn't bring any tranquility to your being. It just makes this all the more stressful. How can someone not comprehend the displeasure of another person?

But your lips tremble as they urge themselves to be pushed upwards. A satisfied noise came as a response, but it only invited more attention. More unwanted touches. There was no benefit from either pushing away nor acceptance.

Besides, it's difficult to refuse in a position like this.  If you were alarmed by him in this state—on your guard now—what would you be like when he was genuinely upset? How would he be in that state? For some reason, you didn't want to know.

It was better to let things pass as they go.

[spencerspecifics]

HI HI HI PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE MOREID AT PRIDE AND SOME PINING AND SPENCER THINKS DEREK IS STRAIGHT BUT HE ISN'T AND THEY KIIIITTTTTHHHHH

I absolutely love your energy fuck yes!! I’m so sorry this took forever, ive got school, work and some other personal things happening so I appreciate your patience!

No TW, B u t, a creep hits on Spencer at pride, so if that is upsetting please note that! Thanks :)

———————————————————————

Pride

———————————————————————

Garcia had been pestering Spencer about going to pride for the past week now, and it was slowly driving him insane.

He used almost every excuse he could think of. When he first turned her down, he had simply said, “Sorry, I’m going to be busy that week.” And of course, Garcia being Garcia, she stole his calendar to see what he was busy with (spoiler alert: he had nothing. Except a reminder to go grocery shopping, and email some professors and research scientists back).

So, she persisted, and he came up with a dozen more excuses; “I was considering flying out to see my mom”, “The local museum has a new interactive archeology exhibit for adults, and I want to learn more about ancient structures”, “I have to do a presentation on thermodynamics”.

None of those excuses work, as she sniffed out every lie, “Spencer, you hate flying to Vegas last minute, that archaeology exhibit has been open for months, and your calendar is empty!”

So with her persistence, and legitimate bullying, Spencer found himself finally agreeing. “Fine, but come over to my apartment before we leave so you can help me.” After all, he wasn’t really familiar with pride parades, and what the scene was like there. He was going to be a fish out of water, he already knew that for certain.

~

True to her word, Garcia showed up an hour before the pride parade was set to start, carrying a coffee in each hand- how she possibly knocked on his apartment door, Spencer didn’t know.

“I brought you a pick me up, that way you have no excuse to be in a bad mood!” She spoke in her signature sing song voice as Spencer let her inside, she barreled in like a hurricane. God, Spencer wasn’t ready for this.

“Thanks..” Spencer decided to reply with that lame response, and not with what he was actually thinking. He took the coffee from her wordlessly as she stepped in further, going to sit down on his couch.

“You excited?” Garcia asked as she set her cup down on his cluttered coffee table. Reid just shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t do great with crowds.”

“But you do great with disarming murderers?” “You know that’s different-” Spencer said, doing his best to argue, “Reid it is literally not. Both are anxiety inducing, but one is life or death, and it’s not pride. So you can do this.”

Spencer sighed, resigning himself to not arguing with Garcia. Because she was right, though at times her arguments sounded wild. He just had to get over this anxiety and show up at pride, he could do this, right?

~

Wrong. So, very, wrong. They had left his apartment with thirty minutes to spare, deciding to walk over to where pride was being held- as it was only a few blocks away in a public park.

And as soon as they got there, Spencer wanted out. There were so many people, more than he estimated (and his estimations were usually spot on.), and there was just chaos everywhere. Music, dancing, shouting, singing, drag queens running around happily. Spencer wasn’t sure what to do. He was out of his element.

Garcia seemed to sense that, though, as she dragged Spencer over to some stalls that sold pride flags, pins, and other miscellaneous pride related things.

“C’mon Reid, why don’t you look around and find something you like?” She offered up, something for him to do- something for him to stay busy with. He could do that. Spencer nodded simply, Garcia stayed by his side- looking at pride related wear for herself.

~

Spencer ended up deciding on a small pin that simply said; “love all”, planning to stick it on his messenger bag strap. Garcia bought a pin as well, but hers just had her pronouns on them; “she/her/hers”.

Looking at all the pride apparel was a good distraction for Spencer, he felt a lot more calmer now- though that didn’t stop him from feeling like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He’s just not familiar with this world, and it’s awkward to suddenly be in the middle of it.

Spencer was in the middle of looking at another booth that sold flags, possibly considering buying himself a small one to stick in his pencil cup at work, because Garcia left him to go compliment a drag queen- when a voice broke through.

“Hey, pretty boy!”

That was a voice all too familiar, what on earth was Morgan doing here? Spencer looked up at him as he made his way towards him. “Hey,” Spencer spoke awkwardly. Not sure what to say.

Spencer was gay. He was fine with admitting he was gay, but he hadn’t really told the team. He thought they figured it out on their own. And they probably had, but still, having his coworker see him at a pride event- it was anxiety inducing.

“What’re- what’re you doing here?” Spencer asked, stumbling over his words as he dropped the small flag he was holding back onto the vendors table.

“Oh, well I’m on the local PFLAG committee. I’m just here to hand out flyers and stuff. But I’m glad to see you’re here, I’m guessing Garcia’s here too?” He asked Spencer casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Spencer.

He was on the PFLAG committee? Why? To help queer people, obviously, but that had to mean he was gay or something- Spencer couldn’t stop his mind from coming up with every possible answer to why Derek was on the committee.

Spencer just nodded in response, he moved himself back from the vendors table to get out of the way, so other customers could look at the flags being sold.

“Yeah, she’s- there.” Reid pointed her out, as if on cue she came out of the thick crowd that had started to gather back up, the parade portion of pride had concluded by now, and people were coming over to the vendors section.

“Hey, Babygirl!” Derek called over to her, and Garcia somehow lit up with a smile brighter than the one she was wearing before, “Well, hey!” She responded enthusiastically, walking up swiftly to give Derek a quick embrace, which he happily returned.

“I wasn’t sure how long you were staying for, but I’m glad I caught you!” Garcia started rambling to Derek, about how the drag queen she met was so nice; “Her name was Mysteria Hysteria. Isn’t that genius?”.

~

Spencer just stepped back from them both, not sure what to do, not sure if he fully belonged. Pride was a nice event, it was. But the longer he stood around, the more he felt like he should be leaving. Everyone was laughing and smiling, everyone was just happy. And Spencer couldn’t stop racking his brain. In the beginning, he couldn’t stop thinking because of his anxiety, but now he was searching his brain for a reason why Derek was here and what it meant.

Of course, a stupid large portion of Spencer’s mind went to “maybe Morgan likes men”, and then an even larger and stupider portion of his mind had the absurdity to think; “maybe he’s interested in me”. Which Spencer did not even want to remotely entertain, because if he fell down that rabbit hole, he’d never climb back out.

Because yes, he did like Derek. He liked him a lot, the start for his liking towards the man was innocuous enough- which is why it was a problem for Spencer. He didn’t realized he liked Morgan until it was too late. And now he had been battling these feelings for years. Spencer wasn’t ever going to act on them, he just had to live with them- which he had been doing, which he has been content with. But this new information, about Morgan being here, being part of PFLAG- it was going to make Reid’s mind implode in on itself.

~

Reid decided the best thing was to say; “I’m gonna get some water, I’ll be back.” To which Derek and Garcia both nodded to, and Spencer was off, away from the vendors stand and the only two people he knew at pride.

And while that was a good thing, it was simultaneously not so good. Because now he was alone, overwhelmed, and thinking too much. And now he had a task to do, find himself some water.

~

That task seemed to be more difficult than anticipated, as the prides layout was a confusing maze, spencer had to pass in front of a group of drag queens in order to get to the food trucks that were on site- but he eventually got there.

He walked up to the first food truck he saw, it didn’t matter what they sold, he wasn’t getting it.

“What can I get for you?” The cashier asked him, “Just a water, please.” He ordered, the cashier nodded and pulled a bottle out from a cooler that was nearby within the truck, handing it over to spencer as they told him his total, a dollar twenty five. Spencer paid quickly, stepping back and away from the food truck, as he wasn’t sure where else to go now. He didn’t want to go back towards Derek or Garcia, he honestly wanted to go home.

He just needed a minute, some space and time to breathe and relax. He was stressing himself out. And about what? Nothing of goddamn importance, just a stupid crush he had been living with for a while now.

~

Spencer had been leaning against the back the food truck for not long, only a couple of minutes as he was absorbed in thought as he fiddled with the cap on the water bottle.

He was doing his best to follow the grounding techniques he had learned, something to help him calm down, when suddenly- a stranger emerged out of the crowd.

“Hey there, handsome.” The man said confidently as he strode up to introduce himself Spencer. Spencer looked up to meet his eyes, the man in question was a fine looking guy, chiseled jawline, long shoulder length hair, a bit of facial stubble. He was handsome. “Hello,” Spencer answered hollowly in response. In an ordinary situation, he would try and seem more lively- but he wasn’t in a normal situation, not at all.

The anxiety of attending pride was stress enough on its own, but now knowing the guy he had been drooling over for years was here- and worked as a PFLAG volunteer? It was enough to make him lose his mind.

The man didn’t seem to notice Spencer’s empty response, however, as he answered suavely in response; “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the way. I’m Fabian,” Thankfully, the man- Fabian, didn’t stick his hand out for a handshake, instead casually pushing his hair back a bit.

“I’m Spencer,” Reid replied simply, knowing it was best to ride this odd social interaction out, rather than try and fight it. “That’s a lovely name,” Fabian complimented, “Is this your first time at pride, Spencer?” He asked him casually, taking a step forward, closer to Spencer. He was all too confident for Spencer, he too comfortable with invading Spencer’s space. If Spencer could’ve, he would’ve stepped back.

“Uh, yeah. My friend dragged me along.” Reid explained, twisting the bottle cap back onto his half empty water bottle. Fabian nodded, “Your boyfriend didn’t take you?” Fabian asked him. That was a leading question, Spencer had alarm bells ringing in his head the second he heard it. “No. He- um- he met up with us here.” Spencer replied unconvincingly, Fabian obviously did not believe a word he said.

“Well,” Fabian took another step forward, practically blocking Reid in against the back of the food truck, leaning in farther to whisper in Spencer’s ear; “I don’t see him around. So, why don’t you and I get out of here? Hm?”

Spencer wasn’t sure of what to do. He wanted to kick this guy in the crotch and just book it, but he wasn’t sure if his FBI status would protect him in this scenario. He wasn’t sure what could protect him in this scenario.

“Pretty boy! There you are!” A saving grace broke through, and suddenly Fabian was stepping back, and Morgan was walking up.

Thank god, thank fucking god, that’s all Spencer could manage to think as Derek came to stand beside him. “Hey, babe.” Spencer said, cringing at his voice, at what he just said. But that feeling only lasted for a moment as Fabian was still standing right there, staring them both down now.

Spencer could only throw his wish in the sky and hope Derek caught it coming down, ‘please catch along to why I’m calling you babe’ Reid was trying to say.

And Derek caught it, “Hey, baby, was worried about you. Who’s your friend?” He said in his smooth voice, a voice Spencer couldn’t forget. He especially couldn’t forget now, being called ‘baby’ was something Spencer especially could not forget.

“I’m Fabian, you’re Spencer’s boyfriend?” Fabian asked, as if them both calling each other ‘babe’ counted for nothing. “Yeah, I’m Derek.” Morgan responded simply, sliding his hand around Spencer’s waist as if to prove a point. Fabian just nodded, looking between Spencer and Derek one last time before talking; “Well, it was nice to meet you, I’ve gotta get going. See you.”

And then, he was off, fast walking away from Derek and Reid, escaping the terrible situation he had created. Fabian quickly disappeared into the thick crowd, and by then Spencer had his hand squeezing his water bottle all too tightly- as evident by the terrible crunch sound it made. He was too anxious to let go.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek asked him softly, pulling his hand away from Spencer’s waist. “Can we find somewhere else- can we go sit down?” Spencer asked him quickly. Reid didn’t want to talk about it right this second, right where it had happened. He wanted to leave, he wanted to leave pride and never come back.

~

Derek didn’t ask a single follow up question as he led Reid away from the food trucks, taking him back towards the vendors stands, and then a bit further back, into the normal-not-so-pride-parade-filled park area. Somewhere less stressful, less scary.

“What did that guy want?” Derek asked Spencer casually as they made their way towards a bench that was sat under a large oak tree. Spencer didn’t speak right away, instead he waited until they were seated to start talking.

“He was trying to flirt, but then he wanted me to leave with him.” Spencer explained as he took a deep breath in, just being away from all the loud sounds and sights was helping him calm down. Derek rubbed Spencer’s back in slow, circular motions as Spencer kept talking.

“He was a classic example of a narcissistic personality, it just made me so uncomfortable- he invaded my space.”

“He was a creep, Reid. Simple as that,” Derek kept rubbing Spencer’s back slowly, Spencer nodded. “I know. Sorry, it shook me up.” Spencer attempted to apologized, and Derek was immediately having none of that.

“Reid, no. Don’t apologize for that, don’t you dare. He was a creep, I’m sorry you got caught up with him. It’s okay if you’re shaken up. We can stay here until you feel up to going back, or we can leave. But I’m not leaving you.”

~

And so they sat for a good amount of time on that park bench, at one point Derek stopped rubbing Spencer’s back, instead just keeping his arm stretched out against the back of the bench and against Spencer’s back. Spencer loved it, but he knew if he thought about it for too long he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking. That was his biggest problem, he couldn’t stop thinking.

He had to know, he decided, he couldn’t just wonder why Derek was on the committee for PFLAG. He wanted to know, he had to.

“Derek?” He spoke up softly, sounds of laughing and shouting and music were still heard in the distance, but they were safe from the sounds under the tree. “Mhm?” Derek hummed in response, looking up at the aforementioned tree that was providing shade for them.

His eyes were tracing the way the branches curved and bent around each other, it was something he did to pass the time. Spencer thought he was extraordinary for it, Derek loved to see where things went; he was curious- after all these years, and all the bad they had seen together, Derek still loved to search and find the beauty.

“Why are you on the PFLAG committee ?” Spencer asked him, it was thankfully an innocuous enough ask to not draw too much of Derek profilings side out to pry apart his question. Derek shrugged, and was quiet for a second before responding, “I know what it’s like to be a scared kid, unsure of his identity. If I can help someone through that, that’s all that matters. Same reason I’m in the BAU, to help people.”

Spencer stayed quiet, Derek’s reason was so sincere and so sweet and kind- and only driving him to think further. Was Derek still unsure of his identity? Was he an ally? Why did he have to make Spencer swoon so hard without even trying?

“So, you’re just an ally?” Spencer approached Derek carefully with that question, not wanting to impose or be rude- but just feign simple curiosity, praying Derek wasn’t using his profiling skills right now to decode Spencer’s fake motive.

Derek didn’t notice, thankfully, as he chuckled lowly in response; “No, pretty boy, I’m bisexual. I don’t really tell the team, but it’s not confidential information. Plus, Garcia found Grindr on my phone. Can’t hide anything from that girl.”

Spencer nodded, mumbling something in response about how Garcia had hacked his email to make sure he was free for pride. And then, the two fell into silence again. But it didn’t last for long, because Derek wanted to know just as much, why was Spencer here?

“What about you, Reid?” Derek asked him cautiously, the way you approach a puppy you find on the side of the road. Calm and slow, trying to get him to trust him bit by bit. “What about me?” Spencer asked, not wanting to answer anything about himself unless Derek was specific.

“Are you an ally?” Morgan asked him, leaving the question open ended. Spencer could say as little or as much as he wanted. This is how you get him to open up, Derek knew that for a fact. “Um.. yeah, I mean- who isn’t? I just- I have to be. I’m.. gay.” Spencer admitted all too awkwardly, not at all in a normal fashion. But nothing about Spencer was in normal fashion.

Derek nodded slowly, not responding as he stared back up, tracing his eyes over the tree branches yet again.

~

A few hours had passed, Spencer and Derek eventually left their peaceful bench under the large oak tree, and instead moved back towards the parking lot.

“Garcia’s got a ride home already- I think she got that drag queen to get her home.” Derek explained as they approached his truck, Spencer nodded as he followed Derek. “Anyways,” Derek continued speaking, “I can give you a ride home. Let’s get going.”

“You don’t have to-“ Spencer started, Derek immediately shut him down. “I want to, c’mon. It’s late, you’re tired. I know you are. Let me take you home.” Spencer just nodded in agreement, he couldn’t argue with Derek, even if he did try. Morgan was a stubborn man.

So, Spencer followed Derek into his truck, and they sat in comfortable silence as they started on their journey back to Spencer’s safe space, his apartment.

~

By the time Derek pulled his truck into the apartments parking lot, Spencer knew something was just the slightest bit wrong. Derek had barely spoken for the entire ride, and usually he loves to say something, to make Spencer smile or laugh, or even just nod and mumble in agreement. But he had done none of that on the way to Spencers.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, turning to face Derek as he put the vehicle in park. Derek didn’t meet his eyes, staring at the steering wheel instead as he spoke; “Yeah. Sorry. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” Spencer pried, absentmindedly unbuckling his seatbelt as he spoke, “About today.” Derek said, not explaining further. “Was today bad?”

Derek shook his head, “No. It started weird, it’s ending pretty good, though. But I’m gonna regret today forever if I don’t do something right now.”

Now, Spencer was confused. Not sure at all what Derek could be talking about, “What do you mean?” He asked, voice quieter than before.

Derek said nothing as he unbuckled his own seatbelt, turning to face Spencer as well, and then he leaned in- closer than they had ever been before. Their noses were almost touching, and Spencer didn’t move. Instead, he watched Derek’s eyes expectantly.

Then, Derek broke through, they were no longer intersecting each other’s personal space- now they were fully destroying each other’s atmospheres. Derek’s lips were on Spencer’s, a chaste, soft, quick kiss- something Spencer would have wanted to go for a lot longer. But then, he pulled away just as fast.

“...That’s what I meant..” He mumbled after a second, looking back towards the steering wheel, looking away from Spencer- and more importantly, not seeing the smile on Spencer’s face.

Spencer couldn’t help it. He knew it was terrible to be smiling right now- he should jump and say something to fix what was happening. But he had to smile, he couldn’t believe that had actually just happened, his brain was still computing and re-circuiting, trying to savor the memory and not forget how Derek’s lips felt against his.

Spencer dragged himself out of his own head quickly, though. He did all he could think of to do in the moment, get Derek back. “Morgan.” Spencer said, tugging on Derek’s sleeve as he did so, forcing him to look back at Spencer and meet his eyes again.

But Spencer didn’t say anything, and he didn’t give Derek the chance to speak, either. Instead, he leant forward, pressing his lips against Derek’s. This is all he had wanted to know for the longest time, and now he had it.

~

Maybe pride wasn’t so bad after all, you just have to be with the right people for it to work out.

———————————————————————

[yoonsshadow]

ETERNAL - v

➳ summary ; They have died so often that death has lost its meaning; hurt so regularly that pain has become inconsequential; lost so much that they hold each other to the light of the stars. They have nothing yet they have everything, as long as they have each other. And, after centuries, they now have her.

➳ pairing ; bts!ot7 x fem!reader

➳ genres ; The Old Guard au; fantasy, historical, action, romance, alternate universe

➳ themes ; angst, fluff, death

➳ warnings ; smoking, mature conversations

➳ word count ; 3k

➳ note ; Thank you for your patience!

masterlist

Fear is a fist that clutches your heart, reminding you of its presence each time it tightens its grip. It doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but you can feel the strength in its hold; the raging tendons wrapped around your tender organ that strain with each heartbeat. A singular emotion controlling your very pulse.

Cigarette smoke billows into the indigo hour of the night, and you find yourself unable to pry the fingers away.

The air on the balcony is cold, but it envelops you in a comforting embrace; it’s a soft coolness, as opposed to the harsh, biting climate of the desert that you’ve become accustomed to. Your skin prickles with goosebumps, but you don’t feel the need to scratch at yourself, to tear the skin from your flesh. It makes you feel alive, even if the definition of that word has changed for you.

Evidence of your newfound immortality, if that’s what you can call it, dangles between your fingers, ashes falling to the ground several storeys below with each gentle tap. It tastes terrible⎯⎯a bitter flavour of death in every pull⎯⎯but it serves its purpose for now. It keeps you grounded, gives you something to focus on other than the slowly growing anxiety that still holds strong in your chest.

Behind you, the balcony door slides open, startling the silent air with its soft drag.

“You’re up late,” Namjoon says. He speaks soft, low, as if hesitant to disturb you. “Or early, I guess. Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

You breathe out a puff of smoke, watching as it dissipates into the darkness. “I’m not.” He steps into your periphery, leaning on the metal railing beside you. “I just needed...something. Found them hidden away in the bookshelf.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Figures. We’re usually a non-smoking household, but sometimes the boys get sneaky. Pass me one?”

You hand him the box. Only two cigarettes left. He brings one to dangle between his lips and, without asking, you hand him a lighter. It takes him three tries, and then he’s sighing smoke into the air as well.

“Thought you were a non-smoking household.”

“We are. Stinks up the place, and it tastes disgusting. But. When in Rome.”

“You calling me Rome?”

He chuckles, but doesn’t answer. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, despite knowing that he isn’t looking at you. “Too much on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think I could if I tried.”

He blends in with the shadows, slightly, though the peaks of his cheekbones catch the dull light that glows through the mist of pollution. “I get that. Would you rather me talk?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Not really.”

So he stays. Until the embers begin to burn your fingertips; until you’re snuffing your cigarette on the metal rail. You don’t think you’ll smoke again. You suppose it doesn’t matter, though. There’s forever ahead of you to change your mind.

Sunlight is just beginning to illuminate the buildings around you when Namjoon speaks up again. He stubbed his own cigarette before it was even halfway done. 

“I’m sure you’re curious,” he says. “About us, about the situation, about everything. And we’ll tell you as much as we can, but...There are some things the boys won’t feel comfortable telling you about just yet. We’ve lived long lives. We’ve done good things and bad things; experienced things we’re proud of and things that haunt us. We may not die, but we’re still human. I hope that you don’t mind being patient with us.”

Your heart aches a little at the melancholy in his tone, as if you wouldn’t give the world for these seven men after knowing them just a day. It feels as if your soul has missed them for a lifetime.

“Namjoon.” He turns to face you, now, and a halo of soft light glows around his face. “I don’t know what you’ve all been through, and frankly, it’s none of my business. If you want to tell me something, I know that you’ll do it in your own time. I’ve got the rest of my life to get to know you all, okay? There’s no rush.”

His smile starts as a twitch, a quirked corner of his lips, but quickly grows wide. Relieved. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” he says. He offers no elaboration, no further words, but you think you know what he means. Because you’re glad it’s him, too. You’re glad it’s them.

With breakfast comes clarity. As you sit at the large dining table, bowls of rice, soup, and several plates of banchan steaming into the morning air, you find yourself feeling calmer than you have since your death. It’s as though the raging tides of emotions⎯⎯uncertainty, confusion, downright fear⎯⎯have finally quelled into a tranquil body of water. There is sure to be a ripple sooner or later, but for now, it is completely still.

Yoongi, the cook of this morning’s feast, takes the first bite, and the rest of you follow. There is so much that you want to say, so many questions that you want to speak into existence, but the bitter taste of apprehension bleeds through even the delicious taste of your meal. You feel like you might choke on it⎯⎯the taste and your words both⎯⎯but your throat closes before you can even swallow.

Ah. There is the awaited ripple.

Perhaps it is the hours of silent companionship, or simply his centuries of wisdom, but Namjoon seems to sense your internal struggle. “If there’s anything you want to ask us, Y/N, go ahead. We’ll answer to the best of our abilities.”

Your throat eases and your tastebuds return to normal. “Well…” Where do you begin? What questions do you ask potentially ancient beings? “I guess let’s start with what this,” you wave a finger around the table, at the seven other sets of eyes who watch you patiently, “is. The situation.”

Namjoon nods slowly. It seems he’ll be taking charge for this conversation, much to the visible relief of the others. “Even we aren’t completely certain of what exactly this is,” he says. “From what we’ve learned, our death granted us immortality, or something to that degree. We cannot die, nor can we get majorly injured. Any wounds heal quickly, and any illnesses metabolise out of our system before they can affect us.”

You nod. All of this you were already aware of.

“As for this,” he continues. He looks around the group, fighting back a fond smile. “We’re all connected. When someone else becomes like us, we all see visions of each other to help us find them. The same happened with you. You saw visions of us when you slept, and we saw visions of you. That’s how we could find you. The dreams gave us enough information to figure out who you were, and then it was a matter of locating you.”

“Which wasn’t easy, by the way,” Jimin adds, though there is no annoyance. “Your files were so deeply buried that we thought they might not exist. And don’t even get me started on accessing the satellite.”

“You hacked a satellite?” You can’t hide the shock in your tone, and you don’t miss the glint of mischief in Jimin’s eyes.

“That’s not important,” Namjoon says, taking control of the conversation once again. “What’s important is this: the eight of us are intrinsically connected now. We might not get the visions anymore, but we are still linked. The easiest way to describe it is that we’re soulmates, though that might not even be true. We were destined to find each other, to be immortal together. Whether it’s for some higher purpose, or just a random curse, we don’t know. It’s better, I think, if we don’t try and find out that reason.”

Now that confuses you. “Why? Isn’t it human nature to be curious?”

Hoseok scoffs. “I don’t think we fall under the definition of ‘human’ anymore.”

You’ll have to file that away for later.

Namjoon ignores Hoseok, and looks straight at you. “If we become too enveloped in trying to figure out the big ‘why’, we’ll get lost in ourselves. We’ll lose our own sense of purpose. If we were chosen, for whatever reason, then we have to trust that our instincts will guide us to do what is needed.”

“Okay.” You suppose he’s right. “Then, could you tell me how old you all are?”

“We don’t do ages,” Taehyung says. He sounds almost amused. “We know the age we were when we died, but we don’t keep track of how long we’ve lived after that. It’s a rule.”

“Then how about...generally? Who was the first? How did you all die?”

All eyes turn to Namjoon. Honestly, you can’t say you’re surprised.

“I was the first,” he says. A faraway look takes over his eyes, as if lost in the past. Seokjin puts a grounding hand on his shoulder. “I couldn’t figure out my actual age if I tried, but it was...a long time ago. I was the chief of my village. Killed for power. The story isn’t too interesting.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then Yoongi clears his throat. “I was the second. A slave to some tyrant who thought he was all-powerful. Killed in front of the other slaves to put them in line.” He shrugs, but doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

Hoseok is quick to speak next, his words are short and curt. “I was third. Court execution.” He seems reluctant, as if guarding his past behind the tightly-locked gates of his crossed arms, but you mean what you said to Namjoon earlier; you will wait for them. For however long it takes.

Next is Seokjin, and you have a feeling that his theatrics are for Hoseok’s benefit. “I was the lucky fourth, and a king, at that! Though I was only in the position for a few hours, and all public records of it were thrown into the river with my body. Which is a shame, really, because my portraits deserved to be in museums for all to marvel over.”

“Um.” Jeongguk seems nervous, and you see him hide his shaking hands beneath the table. “I was next. I died of...natural causes.”

“And we came as a set,” Taehyung smiles, arm slung over Jimin’s shoulders. “Died at the very same moment, and woke up the same way! We were best friends, right, Jiminie? On the opposite sides of a war, but I loved him with my whole heart.”

Jimin nods, a wistful smile pulling at his cheeks. “I remember thinking that I was so lucky, to die in his arms. To never have to live a single moment without him. And then we found the others, and I thought that I must’ve been in heaven to be so fortunate.”

“We’re all together,” Namjoon elaborates, though it’s unnecessary. A blind man could see the way they feel about each other. “It may be because of circumstance, though I like to think that it’s because we were all meant to be. Like it’s a gift from the universe, allowing soulmates born in different centuries to find each other.”

“And now you,” Jeongguk whispers. His eyes glimmer, hopeful, and so young despite the obvious years he has over you. You wonder why he doesn’t seem as emotionally aged as the others; what could cause him to cling to his youth the way he does. It doesn’t matter, though. If it means he keeps his heart, it will never matter.

“We don’t expect anything from you,” Seokjin says. “Not romantically or even platonically. You are still your own person, and if you don’t want to be a part of this, in any degree, we won’t force it.”

You are thankful for that. It takes away a pressure that you didn’t even know you had until now. The thought that this is a choice⎯⎯a decision that is completely yours to make⎯⎯relieves you to no end. And yet... 

“I don’t think that’s a decision I can make right now.” You mindlessly arrange the chopsticks on your now empty plate as you try to summon the right words to explain yourself. “There’s so much that I need to figure out, and so many things that I feel I have to do. I don’t even know if I’ve properly processed the situation yet, or if I’m simply in shock.”

“Is there any way we can help you?” Yoongi, as always, seems so genuine. So heartfelt. 

“You already have. So much more than you’d believe.” And it’s true. Independence is your life. You may have been in a team in your old life, a leader of a small group for whom you were responsible, but you were always brought up, always trained, to survive alone. To find comfort in an existence of solitude. Because that’s what the military is; it is removing yourself from others, from the world. You were in a team, sure, but you were all alike in your aloneness. Alone together.

Now, you have this group of men who, without knowing you, have plucked you from your misery and now offer you everything. Offer themselves, their companionship, their help. You are not the one responsible, the one with everything on the line. They have taken that from you with gentle hands, and you give it away gladly. There is not much else that you could ask of them.

Except. Well, maybe there is.

“But…” You trail off, and their eyes just scream patience. You don’t know how they do it, how they’ve grown to be so effortlessly composed and serene, because right now your heart is beating in urgency. It batters against your chest, yelling at you to just ask them, now, but your words falter in sudden uncertainty. They have already given you so much, offered even more; can you truly ask for the help that you now realise you may need?

You look into their eyes again, and know that the answer is yes.

“This mission,” you continue, sitting up straighter. If you speak with confidence, perhaps you’ll start to feel it. “As far as I know, it was never completed. When our team went in, it was under the belief that we’d be able to rescue all of the children safely and relatively unseen. Someone on the inside tipped them off, but they had to have had a reason. They wouldn’t have betrayed us like that unless something was wrong.”

“You speak like you know exactly who it was,” Hoseok says. It isn’t a question, and you see it in his expression that he isn’t necessarily looking for an answer.

You won’t give him one. Not yet. Not until you’ve figured out for yourself why this person would’ve left you for dead. “That isn’t important right now,” you say in lieu of a confirmation. “What matters is that those children are still out there somewhere, and there’s a leak in the operation.” Releasing a deep sigh, you slump down a bit. “I’m going back to the desert, back to the base, and I’m going to save those children. If you would like to help me...that would be really nice.”

“Of course we’ll help,” Jeongguk says, without hesitation. There’s a resoluteness in the set of his jaw that you haven’t seen in him before. “Anything you need. We mean it.”

“We should talk about this plan of yours first, though,” Namjoon says. “As far as the military is concerned, you’re dead. You died with your team. If you go back to your base of operations, that’s just going to open up a whole lot of complications for both sides. They might think that you were the traitor, being the only survivor. We’ll need to operate with a certain level of stealth.”

You were worried about that. Your dog-tags are with the rest of your team’s, your body supposedly burned along with theirs. You won’t be able to reprise the role you previously played in this, and you won’t have the military support that you once had. If you do this, it will be in the shadows, hiding behind corners and turning away from cameras. You are a ghost now. You’ll have to act like one.

“Okay,” you say. “I understand; we need to stay hidden. But there is one person that I need to see face-to-face. I can promise that they won’t do anything to endanger our identities.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Jimin says. “Trust is one thing when you’re alive, but if they’ve been mourning your death, you can’t know for sure how they’ll react.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” you affirm. “I trust this person, and I’m going to need you all to trust me.”

Taehyung bites his lip in contemplation. “It isn’t that we don’t trust you,” he says, “but we can’t fully trust the situation. We don’t know this person, whoever they are, or how they’ll use this information against you. Against us.”

“I get it, I do.” You can’t help but sigh. “But this is something that I need to do, and something that I will do regardless of whether I have your permission. I won’t let my decision affect any of you, but if you decide against helping me because of this, I’ll understand.”

Yoongi leans forward. “We’re going to help you.” His tone is final. “And you’re right, this is your decision to make. We just want to make sure that you completely understand what you’re potentially getting yourself into.”

“You are all a lot older than me,” you say, “and obviously much wiser. But I’m an adult too, and I’m mature enough to know that my actions may have consequences. I’m no stranger to making tough decisions, or to taking responsibility. I may not be a Captain by rank anymore, but that doesn’t change who I am.”

“Okay,” Namjoon says. He doesn’t argue, nor does he apologise, but he doesn’t need to. There is a mutual understanding in the way you look at each other, and nothing more needs to be said. “So, what’s the plan?”

You take in a deep breath, and prepare your mind to return to the place you’ve grown to loathe.

< prev - next >

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[saturndivine]

The Age of Aquarius (Jupiter + Saturn Conjunction)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

On December 17th, 2020 3:04 AM PST Saturn moves into Aquarius 

On December 19th, 2020 4:36 AM PST Jupiter moves into Aquarius 

On December 21st, 2020 10:20 AM PST Jupiter Conjuncts Saturn [0°29’]

The great conjunction is a historic occurrence between the social planets, Jupiter & Saturn. Most see these two energies as opposites but they both offer us lessons throughout our time on earth. Saturn represents the tough lessons we are meant to learn, what makes us stronger, how we can build ourselves up. Jupiter represents the lessons learned through our natural bestowed blessings, where we thrive, where our power lays when it comes to functioning in the world. 

These two planets will form a conjunction in the sign of Aquarius. Aquarius represents unconventionality, humanitarianism, change, growth, revolution, innovation. Aquarius is the sign that propels life forward, it is ahead of the crowd and leads others without people even knowing it. Expect to feel that personal push towards greatness, do not fight what this conjunction wants to offer you. You are going to feel incredibly uncomfortable and drained within this transit, especially fixed signs, specifically Aquarius placements. 

The key takeaway for everyone within this conjunction: Do not fight change. Do not fight progress. We heal through growth and movement. 

If you’re curious to understand how this transit will affect you most dramatically, look below! Or read here. 

Conjunction Through The Houses [Check the house where Aquarius lays]: 

1st House: As the first house represents the self, this is a self revitalization period, you have been making progress, others see it and you do as well! You aren’t meant to be held back as you were before, that was a time for patience and learning but now is a time for breaking free of the boundaries bestowed upon you and welcome in the rush that this conjunction will offer you. Switch it up, now is the time to transform. 

2nd House: Evaluate what brings you comfort, then understand why it does. Whether it be a person, place, or thing, understand why it brings you relief, to understand how you can seek that safety within your own self. This transit wants you to let go of the conventional items that offer you this sense of peace as all that you are looking for is in yourself. 

3rd House: You’re going to be quite the firecracker this conjunction transit, your mind will be quick and bright and you will feel the need to explore life as it is. Now is the time to buy books, write pages of your thoughts and what you want to receive from this world, dive into a hobby that brings you joy. This transit is about finding the light stored inside of your own being. 

4th House: Look around, take a gander at the people supporting you. Now is the time to support yourself, you are the definition of strength and there is so much power stored within your kind heart. You are constantly looking out for others but use that energy for yourself. In other words, treat yourself! You will partake in lots of healing this season, be prepared for the “ugly” to come out however you will come out bigger and better on the other side. 

5th House: This conjunction transit will have you motivated to connect with every living person on this earth and that’s good! You’ve been confined to the boundaries of your own mind for quite some time but you made it and you have wisdom and beauty that people want to hear and see. Do not limit yourself, make friends, make lovers, create art in the best possible way you know how. 

6th House: You’ve been holding off on your passions, unsure if it’s the right decision, but now is the time to allow those passions to come out. This is the perfect time for you to see the power in the work you do and how you influence many others to follow your lead. You are an innovator, speak up, and speak your truth. Don’t allow yourself to be talked over, life will grant you many opportunities, up to you to take them. 

7th House: Watch out, people are going to fall in love with you. Whether it be friends, strangers, lovers, whether it be platonic or romantic you are going to touch hearts because you will find the power that comes with love. Throughout it all, you move because you are moved. You don’t take those special steps towards greatness until you are impassioned by the path you have chosen. Remember, follow your heart, let that guide you. 

8th House: Your heart may feel as if it’s exploding with power and dynamite. Use all of it, the pain, the angst, the love, the beauty, use it to create, use it to propel you towards your dreams. We all know you have some of the biggest dreams known to mankind and you are possible of achieving all of them, especially in this transit. This house will experience some of the most turbulence but the growth you will experience is astronomical. Prepare for your revolution.

9th House: You’re going to feel a little bit lost during this transit, you of course have your intuition to guide you. Even if you feel like you have never used your intuition, you have, and it’s powerful with this conjunction. You will feel that invisible pull, pay attention to your dreams, pay attention to how your body reacts to certain situations. You should spend a lot of time with yourself if possible, check-in, and understand who you are and where you’re going. 

10th House: Congratulations, you will benefit the most (in my personal opinion) from this transit. You may feel as if you’re experiencing a full 180 and as if all your progress has gotten you nowhere but it hasn’t. In fact, you are on a path to greatness and all you need to do is learn how to welcome what’s coming and accept it. Don’t block your own blessings by ignoring your true path. This is going to be an emotional journey, don’t fight it!!!!

11th House: There is a grand revolution occurring in your life, yes life is flipping you upside down because you have the personal power to achieve what you desire because of the work you continuously put in towards your own greatness. You have made some intense progress and now is the time to be rewarded for it. Teach your skills to those who need them, help guide others on this path of life. It’ll all come back to bless you. 

12th House: Twelfth house transits are usually the hardest as this will affect the deepest wounds of your psyche and pull out what you have hidden away and thought to have drifted into the deepest part of your memory. This is all for good reason, all of this will transform you into what you thought you could never be. You tend to doubt your own power and this transit wants to show you how incredibly mighty you are. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Conjunction in Relation to the Signs [Check Rising, Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus, & Mars]:  

Aries: This conjunction will cause you to think outside of the box, of course, you usually do but now is the time to use this energy for a cause rather than just yourself. Try to assist others and build up with them. 

Taurus: Life won’t always go as planned and thats to show within this occurrence, find out how you can adapt to the situations rather than shut down. This transit is pushing you out of your comfort zone towards growth through flexibility. 

Gemini: You are prepared for this conjunction, maybe even the most prepared. Your life is all about change, in fact, you aren’t comfortable when confined and prefer change to stability. Try not to get too ahead of yourself, try to discover what you desire most and go after it. 

Cancer: The energy presented during this conjunction may feel as if it’s opposed to your own, your journey is to find that sweet balance amongst it all. Whether it be with work, family, love, or just simply life. Seek that balance. 

Leo: You are definitely about to be shaken up for the better but some stressful days are coming your way however there is good news. You are powerful, powerful enough to jump over these hurdles and understand there is beauty in the pain, you just have to seek it. 

Virgo: Now is not the time to restrict yourself (as you usually do). You have a side to you that is unconventional and free and it will come out during this transit so you should welcome it! Attempt to let loose and let your hair down. Dance, sing, paint, participate in what sets you free.

Libra: I understand that you are the sign of beauty, however, things will get ugly! Don’t run from your emotions this transit, they will make you feel more than you desire to feel, but this will all go into making your soul more beautiful than it already is! Feel all the feels. 

Scorpio: Your personal evolution is a little slow and catered towards yourself (as it should be) however, this period of time will force you to evolve and grow faster than you thought you ever could. Embrace it rather than hide from it, you are capable of accomplishing so much more in little time. 

Sagittarius: You’re going to feel this intense sensation of freedom and this can easily overwhelm you and burn you out if you don’t pace yourself! Think long and hard about where you want to go and what you want to be and then move. Impulsivity is strong this transit, don’t let it get you into trouble 

Capricorn: You were pushed to your limit with the last Saturn/Jupiter transition and you put in so much work towards your development. Now you can use those special skills acquired for this transit. Your job here is to learn to let go and simply be. You cannot control life itself, you can only control yourself! 

Aquarius: It’s your age! Now life won’t be easy because of this, in fact, you will be removed from your [fixed sign] comfort zone and propelled out into the world because you are leading this revolution. You are meant to act as a teacher, encourage, embrace, inspire! Speak your mind, manifest, create beauty. You are unstoppable during this time, try not to let all this energy go to waste.  

Pisces: You may feel as if you’re floating throughout this transit and your task is to find your footing. Stay on earth because you are meant to learn from what is happening, analyze it, pay attention. This is a period of intense change and you should not miss it. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Personal Predictions: A move towards equality in aspects of human life; justice for people of color [victims of police brutality, children in cages, those harmed through immigration, women in the face of gender oppression, & more], LGBTQA+ acceptance and openness [The Rise of Queerness], Wealth equality [class uprisings]. Restaurants transitioning to cruelty-free, vegan/vegetarian options, specifically fast-food businesses. Throwing away the tradition of family [Nuclear family, traditional pregnancy processes, finding family rather than being born into one].

[ohnopoe]

Hiya there!!!! Could i maybe please have some headcanons about the characters you write for being in love with a very domestic/ cottagecore/ disney-princess-loving sweet girl who works at a daycare (with babies) ?

Im sorry if that didnt make much sense im french but i love your writing!!! Have an amazing day!! 😊

Your patience is extraordinary. I’m so sorry this took so long, and I’m additionally sorry that I couldn’t provide more characters for this. Between it beginning to feel repetitive and just having a mental block on it, which has been practically consuming my ability to write, I’m afraid I was only able to give you five characters, but hopefully the accidental mini stories they turned into makes up for that!

Under the cut you will find headcanons or miniature fics tbh for Din Djarin, Ezra, Frankie Morales, Javier Peña and Poe Dameron

Din Djarin

Looking after Grogu is Din’s priority. So, when he sees his adoptive son clinging to your leg after he leaves him at the small daycare on Nevarro, utterly enraptured in your every movement as you finish putting away the colourful pencils the children had been playing with, well, he’s intrigued.

When Grogu is reluctant to leave the planet, putting on a fuss as he flies away, well, he’s fascinated.

Plenty of people got along with the little green baby, and it seemed people fell for his big bug eyes everywhere they went. But he hadn’t seen the child so enraptured before… It was almost the same kind of adoration he seemed to throw towards Din.

Weeks pass before he’s landing back in Nevarro, ready to take on another job, and he’s almost forgotten about you. But the way Grogu perks up at the familiar surroundings is an instant reminder.

He hadn’t even intended to leave the kid at the daycare this time, it was only meant to be a short trip after all, but who could say ‘no’ to those pleading eyes?

The day’s half over when he knocks on the door. Children of all species are spread about the room, and there’s an air of chaos to the scene, but as you meet his gaze through that vizor that keeps him shielded from the rest of the room, he finally understands the absolute sense of calm you exude.

He’s frozen.

Your smile cuts through him, it’s gentle and soft and reassuring and everything he didn’t know he’d been missing for so many years now.

He stutters, genuinely stutters when he hands Grogu over, asking if he can spend the rest of the day with the other children. And if you notice, well, you’re not about to mention it just yet.

He’s making more trips to Nevarro, even he refuses to acknowledge why. The kid needs to socialise more, jobs from Karga are smarter, it’s good to keep in contact with the Cara, to know what the rebellion is up to… Excuses seem to pile up upon one another. Of course it couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that every time he sees your smile directed at him, every time he watches the way you play with Grogu, the world seems a little lighter.

A dangerous mission is what changes things.

He knows it’ll bring good credits, and provide more safety for the kid in the long run, but bringing him along for the ride is too risky, and it’s exactly what the enemy would be expecting. So he asks if you’ll look after him, just for a few days.

Of course, you’re more than happy to take the little green menace, but it’s the way you tell him to be careful, the way he can almost see genuine worry in your gaze as you utter words of care that he’s so damn unused to that has him struck once more.

The sight of you there, looking at him with such a gentle look, with his kid in your arms, well, it distracts him more than he’d care to admit.

So when he comes back to Nevarro, to your house of all things, he’s a little worse for wear, and he’s certainly not expecting the way you usher him in, or the way you look after him. Suddenly, leaving Nevarro at all seems like the stupidest decision possible, when you’re there in your humble house that still screams home more than anything he can remember.

He stays for days, you’re insistent that he heal properly and take the time to rest before he goes rushing back into the universe. And it’s the most relaxed he’s ever felt.

Ezra

After his time in The Green, Ezra is certain of one thing, he’s had enough of that damn colour.

There’s only so long you can spend surrounded by shades of green before it starts to haunt you, and even the most poetic of people lose any sense of beauty they once found in it.

But then there was you.

You, who lived a life so far removed from what he had experienced, that the flowery poetics seemed to just flow from him once more.

His insecurities after losing his arm seemed to lessen in your presence, caught up in the whirlwind that was you.

Laughter and joy seemed to fill the days, and sometimes he’d even help you with your work simply to enjoy the bubble of joy you seemed to exude, to embrace every moment of happiness that he was lucky enough to experience.

Colours seemed brighter, and filled with a range he had only hoped to see, when you were around. And those poems he had loved so dearly were not just a distant dream, they were tangible and real.

Softness and beauty coloured his days once more, and his heart was full.

Even green seemed more beautiful now.

Frankie Morales

In all honesty? He’s terrified. You’re his daughter’s daycare worker and it doesn’t matter that you make him smile, make those damn butterflies fill his chest in a way he hasn’t felt since he was an awkward teenager. It doesn’t matter that your smile is so damn captivating that it has him smiling goofily to himself the whole damn drive to work after he drops his daughter off with you.

It doesn’t matter because it can’t. He won’t interfere with your work and he certainly won’t be that creep who asks you out when you look after his daughter, no, nope, absolutely not.

But then, a year later, and his daughter is off to preschool, and yeah, ok, he’s a bit of a wreck as he shops for school supplies, but suddenly you’re there. It hasn’t been long at all, and yet he can’t help but think how much he has missed that smile.

It’s so much harder to explain to his little girl that, despite the chance encounter, you won’t be a part of her life anymore, especially when she’s so darn excited to see you, and so he stumbles, he struggles and glances to you for help and, well, the help you give has him even more lost for words.

You suggest lunch, on the first weekend after she’s started school. Just Frankie, her and you, all meeting at a park where his daughter can tell you all about ‘big school’.

He’s silent so long that you worry you’ve overstepped, and just as you’re about to ramble off some excuse in a desperate attempt to backtrack, he offers you the most beaming smile you’ve ever seen.

Well, your not so little crush was doomed, and so was your heart. But after lunch that soon turned into a weekly affair, you soon came to realise, your heart was in very safe hands.

Javier Peña

I’m not going to lie, at first Javier is skeptical to say the least. He’s seen chaos and pain and suffering for so long, that seeing someone so damn gentle? Yeah, he’s wondering what your game is. But then it becomes something else, it becomes a fascination. You seem sincere in your softness, and he finds himself smiling back at you in an instant, before he can even question it.

So, skepticism turns to curiosity. Are you just naive to the horrors of the world? Are you really that sheltered that you believe what the fairytales told you the world would be? He has to know, even if he’s cursing himself the whole damn way.

He’s spending more time with you to figure you out, that’s what he tells himself. Of course, it’s obvious to everyone else the change that you bring. His shoulders are less tense, he’s not bitting people’s heads off at work, hell, he’s smiling more.

It’s different to what he’s used to. It’s softer, and slower, and he’s reluctant as hell, but things just seem to happen.

You’re at his place as often as your own. You’re sharing movies with him that he’s never even considered seeing before, you’re sharing your lives with one another, and there hasn’t been a single date so far.

You’re everything he’s fighting to protect, before he can even acknowledge his own feelings for you. But as oblivious as Javier can be to these things, you’re not. You know the stories, the tales of love that seemed to pass him by. You’re patient as he navigates his way through his feelings.

It’s a random moment in time, really. You’re on his couch, talking about the children you work with, it’s just another day. But it’s everything to him. It’s the moment he realises you’re his all, that being right there, in that moment, listening to you talk about children you clearly adore, children that aren’t even your own, it’s all he’s ever needed, and all he ever wants.

The progression from that odd friendship to something more is surprisingly smooth.

Of course, he’s bound to stumble along the way, it’s so far from what he’s used to that he’s terrified half the time of stuffing up to a point of no return. But it’s genuine, it’s real, and you can both simply be yourselves; even if he does tease you a little about the ‘childish’ decor that starts to fill the apartment when you finally move in.

Poe Dameron

It was an accident, the first time Poe quite literally ran into you. BB-8 assured him that it would be faster to get to his ship through the path he had never ventured before as he rushed to fly out for a sudden mission, and he was right. What the little droid had failed to mention, however, was that said path ran directly through the resistance’s schooling area.

It was a small group of rooms, with few children of resistance members actually living on base, but it was something so downright shocking that it had him stumbling in shock as he glanced about at the colourful finger paintings and bright array of plants that he didn’t even notice the way the group of preschoolers stared up at him in awe, or, for that matter, the fact that you were standing before him... until you weren’t. The force of his sprint landed you on the floor with nothing but a surprised “ooft!” coming from your lips, and an echoing round of shocked and anxious gasps from your students.

After an awkward round of apologising, and continuing to call out long after he had checked you were alright and helped you up, he was off, making his way once more, the sound of “sorry!” fading away as he drifted further down the corridors.

One chance meeting suddenly turned into more. It seemed wherever he turned, there you were. Grabbing a late meal at the same time, having your med-checks one after the other… it was as if fate itself had decided the two of you simply had to interact.

You filled his mind, someone so normal amongst the chaos of war. And while he may not have realised it, he began to seek you out.

Chatting with your kids about flying, bringing back interesting plants he saw on his adventures, there was always a reason to see you, after-all, Poe Dameron was the King of Excuses.

But you brought him a sense of hope and home, something he had missed for far too long, and he wasn’t about to give that up anytime soon.

[overwhore-s]

A Freak in a Sheet (Ghost!Bakugou x Reader) part 2 NSFW

part 1 

AO3

There are more advantages to living in a haunted house than just cheap rent. 

Warnings: swearing, sex (gender-neutral reader)

It was a shit day if you’ve ever had one, and at the end of it, you just want to curl up on the couch and binge the fuck out of Keeping up with the Kardashians. Kicking off your shoes, you call out to Bakugou.

“You wanna see what Kim’s been up to?”

“Fuck yeah I do!” He answers from the living room. You grin. You are extremely lucky to live with someone who shares your passion for cheesy reality television.

When you walk into the room, he’s already waiting for you, TV remote in hand. “You look like shit,” he observes upon seeing you. You don’t take it personally though, knowing it’s his own unique way of encouraging you to open up about what’s been troubling you.

You stifle a yawn and plop down next to him. “Tough day. Customers were acting entitled as usual. And I forgot my wallet at home, so I didn’t have enough money for lunch. Or dinner.” Honestly, worse things have happened to you. It won’t be the first, nor the last day you went without eating.

Bakugou doesn’t see it that way.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He yells, jumping up from the couch, surprising you.  “You can’t be skipping meals!”

“It’s okay dude, I can just order takeout or something,” you try to calm him down, but Bakugou is bit like a really spitty cat when he’s angry – the more you try to soothe him with words, the more aggressive he becomes.

“No pizza for you today. No fucking way. We’re gonna cook you a real ass dinner with real ingredients,” he huffs, already on his way to the kitchen. Confused, you trail after him.

The concentrated manner in which he gathers all his supplies tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He definitely has a presence in the kitchen, like some Michelin chef. And his chopping technique! You’ve never seen anyone chop onions that fast.

“Whoa,” you say, feeling kinda awkward just standing around and letting him do all the work, “you’re really good at this.”

His cheeks redden, his hand holding the knife slowing down momentarily. “So what If I am?!”

“Man, you really need to learn how to take a compliment,” you chuckle, “what are we making, by the way?”

“Fried rice. So make yourself useful and grab me a pan and a bag of rice, would you?”

“Roger.”

You work well together, you think. While he takes care of chopping and cutting the vegetables, you heat olive oil on medium heat, waiting for that tell-tale sizzle. You soon catch yourself humming some tune you heard on the radio at work, hips swaying as you stir the vegetables, rice and meat Bakugou put in the skillet. You giggle as he makes you surrender the frying pan so that he can toss the rice, and subsequently you marvel at how expertly he’s doing it. It’s been a while since you last cooked. You almost forgot how fun it is – even more so in good company.

“A shame we don’t have cashew nuts,” said companion murmurs, frowning at the contents of the pan after they’ve been tossed and fried and spiced to his liking. He looks at it almost longingly; you can’t help but notice. Ghosts can’t smell or taste anything. Bakugou told you he feels things, like pressure or texture to a certain level, but only if he concentrates.

“Ah, well, this is a low-budget kitchen,” you wave your hand in dismissal, eager to lighten up the mood. “Never mind though! It smells absolutely delicious!” And it looks absolutely gorgeous, but you don’t say that aloud, fearing his ego might explode.

“You should taste it before serving, just to be sure,” he suggests, already bringing a spoon to your lips. You hesitate for a second, suddenly hyperaware of all the sounds, smells and sights in the kitchen. The oil sizzling. The sweet smell of spices and fried onion. Bakugou, staring at you expectantly with an undecipherable expression on his stupidly attractive face as you part your lips and slowly, tentatively lick the spoon.

He shouldn’t have need for oxygen, but his breath hitches all the same.

“So, how is it?” He asks, voice so low it’s almost a whisper.

“Delicious,” you answer, but in truth, it’s not the food you’ve been paying attention to.

He positively glows in the kitchen lights. Like some otherworldly, ethereal being, and in a way, he is one. You look at him and have to fight the impulse to touch, hold, never let go.

“That’s all?” He questions further, with that adorable frown of his.

And his lips. They look soft. If you were to kiss him, right now, right there next to the stove under the lights and in your silly little apron, would he reciprocate it?

Stop it. You’re being disgusting. He’d probably, no, certainly think so, and push you away and never talk to you again.

“Why don’t you taste it as well?” You blurt out, realizing your error far too late. The spoon has already been pushed to his mouth, conveniently open as he was about to say something – most likely tell you to get fucked – and then he swallows and his eyes widen like he’s discovered something amazing.

“You…” You start to say, only to get immediately cut off by him.

“How in hell is this possible?!” He shouts, but not angrily, more like he can’t hide his excitement. “I…could taste it. The onions. The carrots. The…the fucking chili.” He brings the spoon to his mouth one more time and here it is again – that glint in his eyes. To the evident surprise of both you and him, he laughs, a rich, beautiful sound you’ll never get sick of.

Happy Bakugou is a foreign concept, but you like it very much.

“You kidding me?!” You exclaim. “That’s excellent news! Does that mean your sense of smell is back as well?”

He sniffs the air before grinning widely. “It wasn’t there just a few minutes ago, but now there’s no mistaking it. That’s some good fucking fried rice we made, all right.”

We made. You and Bakugou, together. And for some reason he can feel like a human now? You can only speculate why that happened, but maybe your grandma would know? She’s the one who introduced you to the world of the not-living, after all. You have to ask her, gosh, she’s going to be angry with you for not giving her a call in so long – but first, first you have to hug Bakugou.

And so you do. You squeeze him for all you are worth and he responds in kind, arms wrapping around your back to press you even further into his firm chest. As always, he’s slightly cold to the touch, but warms up quickly enough.

The hug lasts for ages, and as much as you wish to fall asleep like this, the food must be getting cold. You wonder if he can eat it with you – it’s not too much to hope for, is it?! – but when you attempt to wriggle free from the embrace, he grunts and presses you against him even tighter. And that’s when you notice, when you feel it, the unmistakable hardness poking you in the lower belly.

Oh. So that works too.

This is impossible, and flattering, and far too tempting to not comment on.

“All that just from a hug?” You tease, as if you yourself weren’t practically dripping just from him spoon-feeding you.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Well, he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You kiss him like your life depends on it. He appreciates the intensity of it, judging by the groan escaping from low in his throat, the way his hands drop from your sides to knead at your ass. He slides his tongue into your mouth, rubbing it against yours. You’re only kissing and your head is spinning already.

He nibbles at your lower lip before releasing it and looking you straight in the eye. “You want more?” He asks, urgently.

Incapable of responding verbally, you only nod.

He gives your ass one last playful squeeze before lifting you up onto the kitchen counter, the fried rice all but forgotten as you dive in for another heated kiss. Bakugou, you find, is a very hands-on kind of lover. His calloused palms venture under your shirt, exploring your smooth flesh and curves with unhidden curiosity.

“So soft,” he informs you in between kisses, making you blush even more if that’s even possible, “and you smell nice.”

You disagree, seeing as you’re in a sore need of a shower after the long day you had, but you’re not about to argue with a man who has his tongue in your mouth.

He lifts the hem of your shirt and pulls it over your head, chuckling when you get trapped, and gasping when you free yourself and grind against his still clothed cock in revenge.

It soon becomes painfully clear the kitchen won’t survive you fucking in it once you knock over the bottle of chili and it spills on the ground, creating an ominous red pool.

“Bed?” You say, breathlessly, and he agrees. “Bed.”

You stumble into the bedroom as in a drunken haze, and while you remember him undressing you on your way to the bed, him becoming suddenly naked was not your doing. Well, he is a ghost. You can’t exactly say you’re bothered by it, as it saved you significant time and trouble.

“Before we do this,” you whimper as he lavishes your neck and chest with wet, open-mouthed kisses, “I need t-to tell you…”

He slides further down your body, positioning himself between your thighs. Your breath catches in your throat, knowing what he’s about to do. “B-Bakugou…”

“You can tell me later. Just relax now,” he purrs, his hands spreading your legs further apart. You close your eyes and press the side of your face into your pillow.

The very first touch of his tongue to your overheated sex is enough to send your mind reeling. You whine, wanting more pressure, but he keeps you in place, keeps teasing you with short little licks and bites to your inner thighs. It’s infuriating. Every time he brings you close to the edge, he purposefully slows down, robbing you of your release. It’s hardly fair; he hasn’t so much as felt anything in years, you’ve only gone without sex for months, so how does he find himself with so much more patience than you?

“I think you’re ready for it now,” he notes, finally reappearing from between your legs.

“I have been forever now, thanks for noticing,” you roll your eyes.

He narrows his eyes at you.  “If you don’t like it…”

“Never said I don’t! Shit…look…j-just do it already, okay?!” You bite your lip, looking at him pleadingly without actually saying please. You’ll save begging for later. Something’s telling you you’ll need it.

Bakugou’s expression is that of concentration as he aligns himself with your entrance. “Say if it hurts.”

It doesn’t. You thought it would be cold too, but he’s just as warm as a real man. He is a real man, you remind yourself. He certainly takes you like one, all hard thrusts and savage grunts as he chases his, and your release.

And God fucking damn it, he’s beautiful. Illuminated by moonlight, shining with sweat – yours? Do ghosts even sweat? – producing all those sounds that are pure music to your ears. You run your fingers through his spiky, soft blonde hair, scratch his scalp and have him reward you with a particularly deep thrust. It’s usually awkward with new lovers, not knowing what they prefer, having to learn it the hard way, but with Bakugou, you fuck like you were made for each other.

This round – because you know there will be more – looks like it’s going to be a short one. You’re too overstimulated from his earlier ministrations and Bakugou, well, he isn’t exactly pacing it out with how fast he slides in and out of you.

In the last few seconds, as need for release overdrives all his senses, he grabs onto your hips so hard you’re sure he’ll leave bruises, and buries himself into you for one last time before coming with a shudder. You’re close behind, burying your face into his shoulder while babbling incoherently. You don’t believe you ever came this hard. Your ears are ringing, heart beating fast like a hummingbird’s.

“What?” He asks, petting your hair comfortingly as you try to catch your breath. He sounds fine, if not a little dazed. His chest does not heave with uneven breaths, nor is he all red and sweaty in the face. And, the wetness sticking to your inner thighs is all your own.

“You wanted to say something, before,” he murmurs, as you begin to calm down, “so what was it?”

You meet his eyes with your own, finally. You must look like a mess, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Instead he stares at you like you’re the only thing on Earth he doesn’t hate, and the feeling’s mutual.

“I love you, you asshole,” you sob.

“I love you too idiot. So whatcha crying for?” He frowns, wiping a stray tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, drawing a sharp breath before answering.

“I’m just so damn happy.” And you are. Really. You’ve spent years believing there wasn’t a person alive who could possibly love you in a way that you deserved, and turns out you were right.

You lie there for a while, limbs intertwined, dreaming up a wonderful future together, until you’re propelled to sit up by a terrible thought. “The food!”

“Shh. You can still microwave the shit.”

“But it won’t taste as good! I don’t wanna let your good food go to waste…”

“Hey.” He pulls you back into the bed just as you were going to leave it. “I can bring it to you. Get some rest, pipsqueak.”

Fried rice in bed?! The man wants to spoil you.

And you don’t mind in the least.

[ibijau]

Amnesiac!nhs last part / on AO3

warning for sad ending :)

It was Nie Huaisang himself who requested to return to Qinghe, and him also who begged Lan Xichen to come with him. He didn’t want to abandon his sect any further, he’d explained, but he also wasn’t sure how to deal with everything that awaited him in the Unclean Realm. By his own admission, the four months he’d spent there hiding his amnesia had been taxing, and he preferred to have some help as he returned there, at least until he learned the ropes.

Lan Xichen was more than happy to go with him.

It had been a little over two weeks since Nie Huaisang had confided his suspicion that he’d caused his amnesia on purpose, and since then the two of them had only become closer. Nothing they’d done had quite crossed the boundaries of friendship yet, but Lan Xichen did not doubt that they were headed toward something new. Nie Huaisang was quite flirty these days, teasing and playful the way he used to be as a youth but with added meaning to his words that never failed to make Lan Xichen smile. As for Lan Xichen himself, he allowed himself casual touches, brushing their hands together in private, or helping the other man braid his hair in the intricate style the Nie sect preferred.

It would have been easy to kiss Nie Huaisang, and Lan Xichen knew it would have been welcome too, but there was no hurry. A slow seduction was not without charm, and it would only make it all the sweeter when they did finally come together. Which they would, Lan Xichen had no doubt. Neither did his close family. 

Lan Wangji had been unhappy at first, but eventually made his peace with it once he’d grown certain that Nie Huaisang wasn’t planning some new scheme. Wei Wuxian kept teasing Lan Xichen for not going for it already, but that was only because he had no patience whatsoever. As for Lan Qiren…

Lan Qiren saw this inevitable romance building before him, and quite plainly told his nephew that he did not like it.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned Lan Xichen one day. “I would advise against starting anything with him until the condition that would reawaken his memories has been discovered. Because if he returns to who he really is…”

“This is who he is, uncle. Who he would be without everything that happened.”

“But it did happen,” Lan Qiren pointed out. “Whether we like it or not. And while I have no doubt that Nie Huaisang is currently quite besotted with you, he would feel quite differently if he had his memory of the last ten years. If you were to accidentally lift that curse… I think we both know how willing to forgive Nie Huaisang can be.”

It was true, and it was right, and Lan Xichen did not want to hear that, not when for the first time in years, he felt like he had a chance of happiness at last. So when that very same evening Nie Huaisang made his request to return to Qinghe, Lan Xichen promptly agreed.

It would be easier to let things unfold away from Lan Qiren’s judgment.

Not that there was no judgment to be found in the Unclean Realm. The Nie sect was, to put it mildly, not particularly enthusiastic to have their sect leader back. It quickly became apparent that they’d done quite well for themselves without him, and indeed even when he’d been among them they’d mostly only involved him in sect business if they were forced to. That at least explained how they might have failed to notice that Nie Huaisang had cursed to amnesia, Lan Xichen thought, though it also meant that it would be difficult for him to retake control of his sect.

During their entire first day in the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang acted as if that realisation did not bother him in the least. He pretended not to see the dark looks it got him when he announced that he intended to be a better and more present sect leader, that he hoped they would forgive him past mistakes, that he intended to restore their reputation that had been so damaged by his lack of skill. He smiled as various high ranking disciples openly told him that they didn’t think he had what it took to rule them, that they’d rather he stepped down and returned to Gusu, and he eagerly swore he had changed.

Then, as soon as Lan Xichen and him retired after dinner, as soon as they were alone in the sect leader’s private quarters, Nie Huaisang broke into tears. Lan Xichen, who had expected something like that, quickly pulled him into his arms, and allowed Nie Huaisang to sob in his embrace.

“They’ll come around,” Lan Xichen whispered as he rubbed Nie Huaisang’s back to comfort him. “It will take the time it will take, but I know you’re going to work hard to change their mind, and I know it will work.”

“But they hate me,” Nie Huaisang sobbed. “They really hate me! I’ve never been as well liked as da-ge, but for them to hate me like this… it scares me.”

Lan Xichen shivered, thinking of what might happen to a too unpopular sect leader, especially one who had many enemies who would be easy to blame. Without thinking, he pressed a quick kiss on the crown of Nie Huaisang’s head, who gasped softly and clung more tightly to him.

“We’re going to try this,” Lan Xichen said. “You asked to come here, and it seemed important to you to try this, so we will. But if it doesn’t work, if your disciples really remain hostile to you… I hope you know I would be more than happy to have you at my side in the Cloud Recesses.”

“But for how long would you let me stay?”

“As long as you wish,” Lan Xichen promised. “The rest of our lives, if you want. I know I would.”

Nie Huaisang grinned amidst his tears, quickly nodding before rising on his toes to press their lips together.

It was everything Lan Xichen would have imagined. Nie Huaisang’s lips were soft and warm, and easily parted to deepen the kiss. He still startled when Lan Xichen’s tongue touched his, the sensation too new perhaps. Lan Xichen pulled him closer, running one hand in Nie Huaisang’s hair. He’d have wanted them to be closer still, body against body, skin against skin, nothing standing between them. Soon, perhaps…

Or not so soon, because Nie Huaisang was tensing more and more, turning as stiff as a piece of wood in Lan Xichen’s arms and eventually pushing him away with such force that Lan Xichen stumbled backward and nearly fell.

“Of course you had to ruin this,” Nie Huaisang hissed, forcefully wiping his mouth with his sleeve, his tongue even.

Lan Xichen stared silently, shocked by this sudden change of mood. Gone was the sweet and charming Nie Huaisang he’d learned to love over those past few weeks, replaced by a cold man with burning eyes.

“An impossible condition,” Lan Xichen whispered. “I was…”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you never crossed my mind,” Nie Huaisang cut him with a smirk. “I only made a true love’s kiss the condition. I thought surely nobody would be stupid enough for that. Apparently I overestimated your tastes, and your desperation. I suppose it must have been quite nice, getting a chance to pretend you didn’t help in my brother’s murder.”

Lan Xichen took a step back, pressing one hand to his mouth.

This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a nightmare. In a moment he would wake up and go meet his dear Nie Huaisang for breakfast, and they would laugh together about that horrible dream he’d had.

“It wasn’t like that. A-Sang, it wasn’t about… I love you,” Lan Xichen pleaded, earning a scoff and an unimpressed look.

“You love a version of me that was never real,” Nie Huaisang claimed as he went to pick up a fan from a chest of drawers. “Isn’t it just like you to prefer pretty little lies to the truth?”

“I didn’t lie to you about anything. I’m not lying about the way I feel, I really…”

Nie Huaisang sharply opened his fan.

“You didn’t say anything about how san-ge killed da-ge, did you?” He asked with a cruel smile. “And you didn’t say who taught san-ge that blasted song either. Who forced da-ge to continue welcoming the presence of a viper at his side. Too busy seducing me, I suppose?”

Too busy respecting Nie Huaisang’s lack of curiosity on the matter, Lan Xichen wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. He had offered to explain what had happened. So had Wei Wuxian. Nie Huaisang had told them both that if it really mattered to them he’d listen, but he would rather not know. They had both respected that.

Lan Xichen hadn’t really wanted to tell him, anyway. Perhaps he really had guessed that  Nie Huaisang would not forgive him for his role in Nie Mingjue’s death. Or perhaps he too had wanted to forget, and did Nie Huaisang have any right to judge him for that after what he’d done?

“Leave,” Nie Huaisang ordered. “You are not welcome in my home.”

“No. No, I’m not leaving like this. Huaisang, give me a chance to…”

“Leave, or I’ll make you. Those useless disciples of mine would at least obey that order, trust me. Or did you think it was only my return that made them furious?” Nie Huaisang asked. “Don’t be mistaken. They despise you more than they do me. Quite the accomplishment, when you think of it. But of course I only ruined our reputation, while you helped murder the man who incarnated everything our sect believed in.”

“Huaisang, please…”

“Leave. Now,” Nie Huaisang ordered, his eyes throwing daggers behind his elegant fan.

Lan Xichen left.

A million thoughts clashed in his mind as he ran through the gate of the Unclean Realm, as flew toward the Cloud Recesses. Guilt and regret and anger, such anger as he hadn’t felt in years, most of it directed at the man Nie Huaisang had become. If he had trusted Lan Xichen after the death of Nie Mingjue, if he’d come to him then too instead of handling things alone, if they could have worked together…

If Nie Huaisang hadn’t been so selfish and decided he was allowed to forget what he’d done but others couldn’t.

If Nie Huaisang hadn't had such a twisted vision of himself.

If Nie Huaisang had chosen a truly impossible condition to lift his curse, so that Lan Xichen could have kept him, so they could have been happy.

They had been happy.

Lan Xichen had been happy.

He should have known it wouldn't last.

[morganaspendragonss]

If you still have the square open, fingore for Tarlos? I looked it up and the definition made me all cringy lol because I am a giant wuss, so I was thinking maybe threat of fingore (or actual fingore if you want to go for it because you are clearly made of cooler and tougher stuff than me ;) ), something with Carlos hostage on a case and the bad guys want him to give up some information? Or Carlos is protecting TK somehow and won't tell them where he is?

holly's august extravaganza day 8: we'll hold each other soon

unfortunately the square had already been taken when this came through but i hope you like what i came up with! thanks for the prompt! tied into chapters five and eleven from the breeze in my austin nights

ao3 | 2.1k | angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, torture, carlos briefly thinks tk is dead but he's not

Carlos had known this would happen. He’s known for weeks; he’s felt the suspicion in the gang growing, sensed his cover crumbling bit by bit. It’s been especially bad since his run-in with Paul and Marjan, but that was really just the final straw.

Things with this mission have been going sideways for a long time. He’d reported it to his supervisors, of course he had, but all they’d said was that the case was too important to give up just because of one man’s feeling.

He wishes he could take satisfaction in being proved right.

Unfortunately, him being right means nothing to his supervisors. For Carlos, it means getting dragged out of his temporary apartment in the early hours of the morning and taken, blindfolded and gagged, to a remote corner of town, probably unknown to everyone outside of the gang.

Carlos doesn’t struggle as he’s shoved into a chair and chained by the feet, his hands and torso bound to the wood with a rough rope that rubs his skin painfully. By the low mutters and footsteps echoing around the room, it’s clear there’s more than just one or two of the gang holding him, so he figures that fighting will only make things worse for him.

Once he’s sufficiently tied up, the blindfold is yanked from his eyes and the gag removed. Carlos gratefully sucks in a few deep breaths, blinking hard as his vision adjusts to the harsh fluorescent lighting in the room. There are six men surrounding him and Carlos recognises one as the gang leader, Manese. Another, Daniels, is holding a crowbar, and all of them are armed with at least one gun, probably more.

Carlos, meanwhile, is lucky he’s wearing socks.

Thank god for draughty apartments.

Manese steps forward, his hard stare betraying little emotion. “I’m gonna cut the bullshit, Reyes,” he says. “We know who you are, we know you’ve been passing information to other cops, and we know you’re probably not doing it alone.

“So, you’ve got two choices. Either you make it easy for us and we’ll make it easy for you—I’d say I’d let you live, but you and I both know I can’t do that. But I will leave a body to bury. Or, you make it difficult and we’ll return the favour. And, believe me, we can make things very, very difficult for you.” He grins and spreads his hands out, tipping them in a mimic of a set of scales. “This only ends one way for you, Reyes. All you gotta do is decide how fast you want to get there.”

The look Manese sends him lets Carlos know that he already knows exactly what decision he’s going to make, and that he’s going to enjoy it. Carlos sighs and closes his eyes, briefly hanging his head. He spares a thought for his family back in Austin—his parents, TK—and prays that, whatever happens, they’ll at least be able to get some closure.

Then, he steels himself and looks Manese dead in the eyes. “Do what you want. I’m not telling you anything.”

Manese’s grin takes on a shark-like quality, and Carlos has to force himself not to react to the way he leers at him. “Excellent choice.” He flicks his hand and Daniels steps forward, a manic look in his eye as he flexes his grip around the crowbar.

Carlos barely has a moment to prepare himself before all he knows is pain.

*

He screams as the crowbar comes down for what feels like the hundredth time, eliciting a sickening crack as his arm breaks. Carlos’s vision white out and he folds in on himself as much as he can, his left arm straining to cradle his right, but all he achieves is the already abused skin becoming more raw and sore. He breathes heavily, blinking rapidly as the room slowly swims into view once more. Daniels looks bored, the crowbar swinging loosely in his grasp, and Manese seems to be running out of patience.

“Got your memory back yet, Reyes?” he asks tersely.

Carlos just shakes his head and braces himself for the next hit.

Which doesn’t come.

And doesn’t come.

And doesn’t come.

Carlos squints up at them, frowning when he sees Manese with a hand on Daniels’ arm as he studies him closely. The calculating glint in his eye sends a flash of dread through Carlos; nothing good can possibly come of this.

“Go for his fingers next,” he orders after a while, releasing Daniels. “I don’t care how—break them, shoot them, crush them, whatever—just get me answers.” He turns to Carlos and tuts, sighing heavily in mock regret. “This is your own fault, Reyes. All this can be over like that”—he snaps his fingers—“if you just give me what I want. A couple names, a location or two, that’s all I’m asking. Not much, right?”

Carlos stubbornly stays silent—at this point, he’s not sure he has enough breath left to speak even if he wanted to—and Manese sighs again.

“Your funeral.” He shrugs and steps back to give Daniels room, but before anything can happen, one of the others in the room rushes forward to whisper something to Manese. Carlos can’t hear what’s being said and he’s too exhausted to try; all he can feel is relief for the brief reprieve. His arm is screaming at him, the pain in the rest of his body paling in comparison, and he’s not sure how much longer he can stand it.

The hushed mutters continue for another minute, until eventually Manese nods sharply and four of the six men in the room file out. He smiles at Carlos, sickly sweet, and claps his hands together once, rubbing them for good measure. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Reyes,” he says, with a lazy drawl that can’t mean anything good. “Business calls.”

Carlos doesn’t have time to comprehend what that means before Manese and Daniels are also leaving, flipping them lights off as they go.

And Carlos is left alone.

*

Time means nothing as Carlos waits for someone to return and finish what they started. The only thing he’s certain of is that something must have changed to get Manese to halt his torture, and it probably isn’t a very good something.

Not for Carlos, at least.

He thinks about trying to escape, but even slight movements are so painful that he fears he might throw up or pass out or, more likely, both. Besides, even if he did manage to get out of the bonds on his arms and torso, there would still be the chains on his feet to deal with, and Carlos knows there’s more of a chance of rescue than him dealing with those on his own, especially with a broken arm.

His mind is left to wander, and he keeps circling back to one point that seems to solidify itself more with each second that passes.

He’s not getting out of here.

A fresh wave of pain—not physical, this time—washes through him, and his whole chest aches as he thinks of TK. He’d been so worried for Carlos ever since they found out about the case, and he’d begged him to stay safe the morning he’d left just over three months ago.

“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.

“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away. TK didn’t let him go far before dragging him into a real kiss. It felt like it lasted forever, only to seem far too short when they broke apart, still clinging to one another. Carlos allowed himself another minute in TK’s embrace, then forced himself to move away, giving his boyfriend one last smile.

TK returned it with a smile of his own, and Carlos carried it with him long after the door swung closed between them.

It’s the last good memory Carlos has, and he’s going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he’s going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK’s smile, even if it is just in his mind.

*

Carlos is nearly blinded when the lights suddenly turn back on, revealing Manese and two other gang members standing in front of him. He only vaguely recognises these two—it’s possible he could dredge up some names if he thought about it for long enough, but his attention is locked on Manese, who looks far too pleased with himself, in the same way a predator must look before it catches its prey.

“You’ve made it clear you’re not going to give us any names,” Manese says, “so now I’m going to give you one.” He steps closer and lowers his voice, grinning like he’s sharing a secret just for the two of them. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”

Carlos’s blood runs cold at the sound of TK’s name.

TK’s full name.

“What—” but his ruined and dry throat refuses to cooperate. Instead, he levels a glare at Manese, and hopes that it’s enough to convey every single question and threat running through his mind right now.

If possible, Manese’s smile widens. “Recognise it do you?” he says lightly. “I thought you might. See, Carlos, we have people all over, not just in this shithole town, and once we knew who you were, it was child’s play to track down your nearest and dearest. And who is nearer and dearer than that pretty boy of yours?”

He steps back and snaps his fingers, holding his hand out. One of the others hands him a slip of paper, which Manese then presents to Carlos, dropping it carelessly in his lap. “Take a look.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Carlos looks down at what he realises is a photograph. He can’t understand it at first, but slowly the details become clearer and more familiar, and—god.

“I’ll give him credit, he put up quite the fight,” Manese is saying, but he sounds like he’s shouting down a tunnel, the roaring in Carlos’s ears blocking out most other sounds. “It’s unfortunate that fists can’t stop a bullet.”

*

Everything stops making sense after that.

TK is dead.

TK is dead.

It makes no sense, so why should anything else? Carlos stares and stares at the photo, and keeps staring even after it’s snatched out of his lap, the image burned onto his retinas by now. He’s aware, distantly, of voices and sounds and sensations but they’re all muted, happening outside this bubble he’s created around himself.

He wishes they’d just get it over with.

*

Carlos blinks, and there’s someone new in front of him, someone unfamiliar who touches him gently and looks at him kindly.

He blinks and the scenery changes. He’s in a vehicle, staring up at a white ceiling, being taken...somewhere. He feels warm and the pain has dimmed, but he’s sinking again before he can put a thought to what that means.

He blinks and he’s in a bed, a woman standing in front of him and asking him questions. Carlos doesn’t really understand what’s going on, doesn’t know what could possibly be more important than the fact that TK is dead and it’s all his fault. He shakes his head at the woman and turns away.

He blinks, and TK is there.

And, when he blinks again, TK is still there.

And it’s—it’s impossible. He’s hallucinating or dreaming because TK is dead, and dead people don’t come back to life just because he might wish it.

So he tries, and he tries, and he tries to snap himself back to reality. But it doesn’t work, and TK is still in front of him, that crease between his brows growing with every second that passes. Carlos wants to reach out and smooth it away but he knows he can’t, and—

And, TK takes his hand and presses it to his chest.

Hallucinations don’t feel that solid.

They also don’t have a heartbeat.

This time, when TK doesn’t disappear, Carlos allows himself to believe.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” TK whispers in his ear, holding him close, warm and solid and alive. “I’m always going to be right here.”

[bumblebee-moreno]

The 4 times Din couldn’t say “No” to you, and the one time he did

🥺 - They can’t say “no” to you

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN! Reader

Word Count: 2637

Warnings: Blood/injury

A/N: @keeper0fthestars​ thanks for your patience while I worked on this! //I have sensory issues and don’t often get to see my experience with that in fics, so I decided to be super self-indulgent with it (I made sure it’s still enjoyable for people who don’t experience sensory issues in the same way as me)--I actually had a lot of fun with this and may make a fic centered around my sensory issues--But if any of the descriptors seem “weird”, that’s probably why.

Join my taglist!

--

The first time was shortly after you met.

More accurately, it was the day he left.

His ship has been sitting in your family’s pasture for three days. On the third day, shortly after sunset, he returns with a burly man in handcuffs. The bounty he’d come for, you suppose.

You wait for the Mandalorian to re-emerge from his ship to pack it back up to leave.

“Hey,” you step in front of him. He freezes and stares at you, his helmet tilted in a way that clearly reads as annoyance. You’d expected him to be more intimidating close-up. But what from afar appeared to be confidence, you can now see is an armour around his emotions, stronger than the beskar he wears.

“Take me with you.” You step to the side to prevent him from moving around you.

“No.” The Mandalorian pushes you aside.

“What do you mean, “no”?” You chase after him, following him up the ramp to his ship. You’re not sure what came over you to give you the confidence to argue with a man who hunts people much stronger than you for a living.

“I mean, no.” He shoves a crate aside to make room for the one he’s carrying. “I don’t need an extra mouth to feed.”

“I wouldn’t be just a dead weight, I could work.” You follow him back down the ramp. As if to prove your point, you pick up a crate to help him load the ship. Or rather, you try to. The crate doesn’t budge. You grunt and try to lift it again.

The Mandalorian lifts it from the other side, carrying it up the ramp with ease, leaving you panting behind him.

“C’mon, taking care of a ship by yourself can’t be easy,” There’s no chance you’re taking “no” for an answer.

“I’ve been doing it for years,” His helmet reflects the stars when he steps back out from the shadows into the moonlight. Your heart aches to see the planets that live by the light of those stars.

“A mechanic on board would still be helpful,” you kick at the soft grass with little care about the dent you make in the mud beneath it.

“You? A mechanic?” You jump at the closeness of his voice. He’s standing only a foot or two away from you, hands at his hips. His beskar catches the gentle light when he tilts his head to give you a once-over.

“I’ll have you know I’m the best in the town.”

“A ship isn’t a tractor.” Mando turns around to carry the last supply container into the ship.

“Just give me a shot.”

“I can take care of my own ship.” He turns around, facing you, to stop you from walking any further into the ship.

“So those exposed wires are just an aesthetic choice then?” You point at a spark in a far corner.

The Mandalorian falls into silent contemplation. From what you can see from where you’re standing, he could really use a competent mechanic. There are live, exposed wires in multiple places, control panels that look like they’ve been broken longer than they’d been functional, damage on the exposed gears to close the door on the ship that could give out any day now. If a midlife crisis were a ship, this would be it.

“…fine,” he finally gives in. A sigh of relief escapes your chest. “go get your stuff. Travel light.”

With a grin, you sprint to a nearby bush and retrieve a small duffel bag you’d packed in anticipation of this moment.

Mando shakes his head, the reflections of the night sky against the smooth metal of his helmet making your stomach erupt in butterflies—you’re finally going to see a world that isn’t run by what time the fields need to be ploughed.

He stops you by your elbow before you can climb up the ramp. “Just for a little while. And this isn’t a vacation, it’s a job.”

You nod, vowing to yourself to not get too comfortable. You decide that won’t be difficult as soon as your eyes land on the bathroom situation.

 The second time was a few weeks later.

Din returns late. You don’t even need to ask how it went—he’s back empty-handed. He throws his blaster down on the table before storming up to the cockpit.

You figure it’s best to give him his space—until you see the trail of blood leading to the ladder.

Cautiously, you climb up to stand just outside the closed door. Muttered curses and frequent clatters of armour against metal are only barely muffled by the door.

“Mando?” You knock softly so as not to startle him. “Can I help?”

A moment of silence makes you wonder if he heard you. But then the door slides open.

If it weren’t for the puddle of blood on the floor, you’d have laughed at Mando’s situation: he’s sat in the pilot’s seat, twisted to try to reach his lower back, one foot on the armrest and the other on the dashboard.

“May I?” you reach out towards him. A slight bob of the helmet prompts you to help him down.

His breath stutters when your hand makes contact with his waist. When he leans into your touch though, you continue to guide him to the floor.

“May I lift your shirt?” you ask once Mando is laid on his stomach on the floor.

He doesn’t respond, instead shrinking away from your touch.

“Just enough to see your wound. I can’t help you if your shirt’s in the way.”

“…Okay…” Mando allows you to pull the fabric aside, his whole body tense—not from pain, but from nerves; his armour doesn’t allow for much physical contact, especially not in such a vulnerable state.

As gently as you can, you clean up the cut, wiping away excess blood, careful not to touch the cut itself in this action. You feel him shiver when your fingers brush against his skin.

“Sorry, are my hands cold?” You murmur, beginning to stitch the wound closed.

Mando lets out a hiss of pain at the first contact, but remains still. “just-just a little,” he answers between gritted teeth.

For a moment, you wish you could feel the rest of his torso—run your hands along the smooth skin, press kisses into the scars. Then guilt sets in. You’re stitching up your boss’ wound and you’re thinking of what the rest of his body would feel like—what’s gotten into you?

“There,” you tie off the last stitch and dab away the blood before placing a bacta patch across the top. Your hands linger a moment longer, palms still held against his back from when they placed the patch there.

You can feel his shaky breaths, the warmth from his skin. “All done,” you whisper, reluctantly removing your touch to allow Mando to sit back up slowly.

The third time was shortly after you took in the child.

The crying won’t stop. The child is normally very quiet, but tonight he is anything but.

You’ve tried everything—rocking him, feeding him, bribery. Nothing seems to be working. Your head is beginning to pound from the wails bouncing off the Razor Crest’s metal walls.

With a thud, the Mandalorian’s feet hit the floor at the bottom of the ladder coming from the cockpit. You shoot him a pleading look, one that hopefully conveys the message that you’re about a minute away from crying yourself.

With a sigh, Mando wraps his arms around you, sandwiching the child between the two of you. Under any other circumstance, you’d be flustered by the strong, yet gentle, embrace. But the child’s persistent cries tear your focus away from the man gently swaying you in his arms.

You’re certain your ears will still be ringing by the time the crying stops.

It’s unclear how long you and Mando have been standing like this. Slowly, though, the wails begin to subside to quiet sobs.

That’s when you hear it.

For a moment, you think you’re imagining things. But you heard correctly. A soft voice floats out from under the helmet, too quiet for the modulator to pick up. You never took the Mandalorian to be one for singing. And yet, here he is, using his voice to soothe the child.

His voice isn’t perfect by any means, but for a man who’s lived most of his life alone, and without any professional training, it’s impressive.

Actually, no. It’s perfect.

It’s unsteady, uncertain. Like the only singing he’s ever done is when he’s by himself. If you had to compare it to something, you’d say it reminds you vaguely of the quiet song of a child self-soothing when there are no parents nearby.

It makes sense, you suppose. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have much reason to sing in a ship by himself unless it’s to process emotions he can’t show outside the protection of his private sleeping quarters.

You can’t understand the words, you doubt the child can either. You recognise some of the words—not their meaning, only the sounds they make—sometimes Mando talks to himself in a language you’ve never heard before.

The only sounds in the ship are the low rumble of the engines and the whispered melody of an unfamiliar song.

Then it’s just the engines.

You open your eyes (when had you closed them?), and watch Mando wipe away the child’s tears with his cape.

You lifted your attention for only a moment, and in the fleeting moment your eyes met his visor, you made a silent promise to never speak of what you heard—vulnerability is a privilege Mando can’t afford often, and you refuse to take away the safety of the little family the three of you are making.

The fourth time was in hyperspace.

Ashoka Tano. The name feels heavy. You’re only a day away from the Jedi. There’s a thickness in the air that no-one wants to address.

The child has just fallen asleep, and you’re returning to the cockpit. A hesitant sniffle stops you in your tracks. You wait for another one to confirm your suspicions. You’re not waiting long though before it becomes clear what emotions are hidden under the beskar helmet.

“Hold me?” you speak up.

“…What?” Din’s voice is hoarse—he’s been crying for a while.

“I’m kind of upset that he’ll be leaving us soon.” You step closer to Din until you’re within arm’s reach. “Can you hold me please?”

Silently, he pulls you into his lap, your legs on either side of his. You bury your nose in his neck and breathe in his scent.

Blaster residue. Rain. Oil. Sweat. Din doesn’t smell any different than one might guess based on his lifestyle. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. Because it mixes together into one distinct smell: home.

Din’s certain you heard him. He knows exactly why you’re suddenly so cuddly. You’ve never been this physical with each other, even though you’ve both silently wanted to. He holds you tighter. Tears continue to slip down his face and he’s relieved you can read him well enough to know this is exactly what he needed.

Your scent drifts up under the helmet. Over time, you’d begun to smell much like everything else in the ship. But Din smiles at the distinct scent of your shampoo. He’s not sure exactly what it’s supposed to smell like, but he doesn’t particularly care—it all smells like home to him.

The two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms that night, and neither one of you regrets it when you both wake up incredibly sore from the awkward position in the pilot’s seat.

Then it was time to say goodbye.

Grogu had left. It’s time for you and Din to move on.

You’ve always known this day would come. From the moment you left the insignificant farming town you’d been raised in, you’d known this was only temporary.

It’s only a matter of time before Din tells you it’s time to go. To spare yourself the pain of hearing it spoken aloud, you try to sneak out.

“Where are you going?” you freeze.

“I’m just…” you swallow back tears. “I’m just going.”

“Why?” Din’s voice sounds shaken—he’s just missing Grogu, you decide.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You squeeze your eyes closed when you hear his feet move him closer, as if that might help dull the pain. “You don’t need me anymore,” you continue. “This was just a job, remember?”

“I remember.” His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you against his chest. “Stay.”

“I can’t,” You feel a tear escape your eye. “The longer I stay…” your words drift off.

“The longer you stay…What?” Din pushes you to finish.

“The longer I stay, the harder it will be to leave later.” You bite your lip to stop yourself from breaking down. You don’t care that a moment later, the distinct taste of blood reaches your tongue.

“Who says you’ll have to leave later?” Din rests his head against your shoulder, burying the cold beskar helmet into your neck.

“That was the deal, wasn’t it?” You pull away from his grasp, finally turning to face him. “I was hired as temporary help. To fix up the ship. And then to take care of Grogu. You don’t need me anymore.”

“I…” Din steps forward, reaching out to pull back to him. You brush away his hand. “You don’t need to go.”

“I can’t stay,” You shake your head.

“Please.”

“No.” You turn around to leave the little cabin.

“I love you,” the voice behind you blurts out.

The world stops. Your mouth goes dry.

“W-What?” You turn around.

Din steps closer—enough that his chest almost touches yours. You hadn’t realised how heavily you were breathing until his helmet fogs up from your exhales.

He reaches up. Your hands catch his wrists.

“Din, your creed.”

“You’ve always seen my face, cyar’ika.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the nickname. You’re not sure what it means. Din’s been calling you that for weeks, with a certain fondness to his voice. You’ve never dared ask for a translation, afraid it might mean something less loving than it sounds.

Din’s hands move from under yours and free the helmet from its resting place on his head.

For the first time, you allow yourself to truly see him. Last time, you’d only allowed a moment’s glance, feeling like you’d been intruding on a private moment. A small smile finds its way to rest on your lips. He’s perfect.

“Can I kiss you?” It takes you a moment to realise what he’d said. A small nod gives him permission.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Din’s lips brush against yours, gently—as if not to break you.

You lean in deeper. And all of your suppressed dreams of this moment come flooding in—for so long, you’d lied to yourself about how you felt. Stopped yourself from imagining this. Tried to bury the dreams in false memories.

Din’s lips are clumsy, desperate. If he’s ever kissed anyone before, it couldn’t have been more than once or twice.

You’re not sure when you started crying. Had Din’s face already been dampened too? Either way, the salt from your shared tears finds its way between the kiss.

Your knees feel weak. You let your mouth explore his. You don’t care that your teeth keep bumping against his.

Mint toothpaste. The passion in his breath. All the words neither of you know how to say. Home. It all tastes like home.

You break away, panting. A small whine escapes Din’s throat as he presses his forehead against yours and gently nuzzles your nose.

“…Stay,” he finally whispers.

You smile against his lips. “Okay.”

Taglist: @trashbin2 @fioccodineveautunnale @pascalisthepunkest  @ah-callie @spookyold-saintjm @pascalisthepunkest​

[delicioussshame]

Look, I want to say this isn’t an AU where LBH is Lestat and SY is Louis, but... this is totally an AU where LBH is Lestat and SY is Louis, sans vampires. I just hadn’t realised this is what I was channelling when I started this forever ago.

“Shizun… It’s Shizun, isn’t it?”

Shen Yuan turns towards Luo Binghe, for who else could it be? “Yes.”

Luo Binghe, is, obviously, still as devastatingly handsome as he ever was. He didn’t lose anything by switching from the traditional style to more modern fashion. Maybe, Shen Yuan despairs, he even gained from it. Those jeans are literally stopping traffic.

He might miss his long locks though. Short hair suits him, but it wouldn’t feel the same under his fingers.

Shen Yuan shakes himself back to reality. The feeling of Luo Binghe’s hair under doesn’t have anything to do with him anymore.  “Binghe seems like he did well for himself.” He has no doubt on the matter. Managing their wealth through time was a challenge, but nothing an array of trusts, shell corporations, insider knowledge and skilled lawyers couldn’t arrange. Shen Yuan has been living lavishly for decades. He’s sure Binghe did the same.

“So does Shizun.”

The appellation brings a smile to his lips. It’s so ridiculous. Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe had spent centuries together. In comparison, the time Shen Yuan taught Luo Binghe was infinitesimal. The title is meaningless.

Luo Binghe used to say that Shen Yuan taught him something new every day. That they could spend eternity together and he’d never learn enough from him.

That was long ago now.

“This must be similar to the era Shizun came from, isn’t it?”

“Pretty much.” It’s not quite the same. Some events went differently, some didn’t, but daily life is almost indistinguishable

Investing in Tencent still proved profitable though.

Luo Binghe is wavering, obviously wondering if he’ll dare to say whatever he’s thinking of saying.  

It’s probably not a good idea. “Well, it was nice seeing you. I’m sure you have things to do.” Shen Yuan departs.

Or tries to. He’s hindered by Luo Binghe’s grasp on his arm.

“Binghe. Let go.”

Shen Yuan almost stumbles from the shock of seeing Luo Binghe’s eyes swell with tears for the first time in forever. His heart squeezes like Binghe was still his young and eager husband, crumbling under the slightest disapproval. Without his consent, his hand reaches up and wipes those tears away gently, the gesture so familiar it hurt.

“A-Yuan, please, don’t go! Give this disciple a day, no, an evening to catch up! I will take him to the best restaurant, pay for the grandest hotel, whatever he wants, as long as he spares me a fraction of his time.”

Shen Yuan knows better. He can’t falter here. He can’t let Luo Binghe charm him into a nice dinner where alcohol flows until, both of them tipsy, they fall into bed again and Shen Yuan finds himself spending another decade in Luo Binghe’s embrace. Not when his ex-husband’s character obviously still hasn’t changed. “When was the last time this charade worked? You’re just proving why we should stay apart.” The waterworks were cute when they were a hundred. Now, it just reminds him how little Luo Binghe minds being openly manipulative when it suits him.

The tears stop flowing almost as soon as Shen Yuan speaks. “Shizun is so cruel, calling out his husband after so many years spent apart.”

“Then maybe we should remain apart.”

“But I missed Shizun so much! Can he honestly say he didn’t miss me?”

He cannot. Of course there were days where he felt like half of his soul was missing.

There were also days where his freedom made him soar. “Almost as much as I relished being separated from him.”

Shen Yuan thinks the hurt on Luo Binghe’s face is real.

If you were to ask Shen Yuan, he would tell you that in this moment, Luo Binghe probably sincerely thinks he loves Shen Yuan still. If Shen Yuan welcomed his advances, he would probably continue to think so for, oh, at least a few decades. But then the novelty of having him again would fade. Flaws that were once charming would become irritants. His eyes would start wandering until he found a pretty new mortal to keep him occupied for a while. Maybe he’d try to teach this one cultivation, hoping this time, it would stick. Not that it ever did before.

Either way, he would try to convince Shen Yuan that said mortal was a mayfly he shouldn’t bother himself with, and that his jealousy was unbecoming.

Shen Yuan would end up leaving to nurse his broken heart for the nth time.

He’s not going through this again. Luo Binghe had his chances.

They were good enough for each other to last a few centuries. That’s better than most. Shen Yuan and Yue Qingyuan lasted barely three decades before their mutual bitterness killed anything that might have existed between them. No matter how much Yue Qingyuan wished, Shen Yuan couldn’t be Shen Jiu for him, and Shen Yuan had only so much patience for requests to be someone else.

Shen Yuan and Liu Qingge, that might have lasted longer, if Qingge hadn’t died. Shen Yuan had expected it to happen sooner or later. The former peak lord of Bai Zhan wasn’t made for immortality. He needed to be challenged to live. He couldn’t survive in permanent status quo. He had to find the obstacle that ended up being his end.

Shen Yuan hopes his next lives were more to his liking.

Not that it is relevant right now. “Binghe, our time has passed. Return to the place you call home and forget me.”

“I could never forget Shizun.”

Shen Yuan could never forget Luo Binghe either. “I know. This would be so much easier if we could, wouldn’t it?”

The look that crosses Luo Binghe’s face, a mix of melancholy, longing and pain, is probably something reserved for people like them, for whom the passage of time is different.

What would it be like, if they were meeting for the first time, without all the baggage weighing them down? What if Shen Yuan was still a normal human, and Luo Binghe, the dashing immortal bent on seducing him?

He’d probably fall in seconds. He would have no shield against Luo Binghe’s… everything.

He hasn’t been that Shen Yuan in eons. He can barely remember what it was like to be this innocent.

What he was like before Luo Binghe.

Maybe if he lives long enough, he’ll rediscover what it is like, to be Shen Yuan without Luo Binghe.

For that, he has to leave alone. “Goodbye, Binghe. Whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re enjoying it.” He turns to leave.

“You’re really going?”

The heartbroken, begging quality of his voice almost stops him.

It doesn’t. “Yes, I am.”

The faintest brush of his hand on his. “If Shizun is this certain, then who am I to stop him? I can only hope that he’ll be happier alone than he would have been with me, not that I think it likely.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Shen Yuan leaves.

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

@ava-sr said: EE i do apologize that this is late, but maybe a small request because of my moblit-brainrot. which dates he would like to take you on? maybe like one of those guided painting classes? aGh all i know is that man is the absolute sweetest and i love him with all my heart

Types of dates with Moblit pt.1

{ Moblit x reader | tw:none | fluff | modern }

{ "Vanitas Still Life" 1662 by Edwaert Collier c. 1640 - after 1707 London or Leiden }

Ideal dates : these are dates he plans up ahead, makes sure they go smoothly and you're both are having fun. He really looks forward to these dates, they're like an event for him. He saves them up for important occasions like your anniversary, valentine's day, birthday.

I. Cuddling for hours at a time

you have to understand that in Moblit's overworked and stressful life, moments of respite are rare and far. He's so deprived of touch and love that it's a miracle how he has managed to function without even a beep. The thought of having someone to warm his bed, cradle his worries and put them to rest by simply combing through his hair, never crossed his mind despite having a hundred thoughts running through it per minute.

Some days he manages to forget your existence even, not out of some selfish desire or to belittle you, but out of disbelief, after all it's too good to be true.

You're too good to be true to him.

Your tender words pull him back each time he blindly steps closer to the edge, a never-ending spiral of self-destructive work tendencies awaiting him at the bottomless abyss. Your warm embrace shutting out the swarm of nagging voices meant to guilt him out of rest, to act as if the key to curing his sleep deprivation was to not acknowledge its existence, that fatigue symptoms could be erased by his own homemade placebo remedies.

As if your mere touch could turn anything to gold, and in his case, it did. 

It was what made the difference between an anxiety inducing catastrophic day, and a mere rough stepping stone he could easily manoeuvre around leaving his pace steady and undisturbed.

Reminding that it's okay to fail, to give something your best only for it to crumble to dust. It's a process of trial and error, it takes time and patience.

You don't get to choose how well things end up working out, it's not up to you nor is it your place.

And that's why for him, his ideal place in the world is in your arms, to simply let the rise and fall of your chest lull him into comfortable numbness. His features softening as the oxytocin levels rise, courtesy of your warm embrace, soft skin providing just the right pressure against his own.

Laying on your shared bed together, the soft breeze coming from the open windows moves the thin curtains. Moblit is Holding you close as one of his arms sneak around you, fingertips tracing shapes up and down your back. Face buried in your shoulder as yours rests on top of his head, stray hairs almost tickling your nose when you brush against them.

The passing of time does little to his cotton filled mind, occasionally attempting to pull you even more closer as if it's possible. Legs tangled with yours under the heavy blanket despite him hogging most of it.

Every now and then, when a certain amount of time passes, he'd look at you with half-closed eyes, a lidded look of satisfaction before murmuring in his sleepy voice.

"Do you want to get up?" And despite his sincere words and warm tone, his body makes no move to detach itself from your side.

Does he know the soothing effect of the circles he keeps drawing up your back? Or how much him talking with his lips still pressed against your neck makes you melt just a bit.

Whatever it is, Moblit seems confident in his ability to keep you snuggled against him, tucked underneath the warm blanket and fluffy pillows almost muffling your answer.

II. Visiting a music bar

Preferably something with soft yellowish lights, small enough spaces not meant for dancing but to create an intimate atmosphere akin to a music venue.

A jazz club, maybe a brewery.

Dimmed sunlight seeping through the thin curtained window, shadow traces of people smoking outside while making small talk, cushioned bar stools placed around the long bar with a mirrored wall behind it as several aged bottles and fancy glasses with signatures decorate the wooden shelves.

The quiet chatter of people blurring behind the mellow music the band is playing on the nearby stage, smooth movement with relaxed postures as if they've done this a hundred times before, and they probably have.

You're sitting in one of the booths near the window, a private spot where you're far enough for people not to notice yet close enough to still hear the music flowing.

The beat is slow, hypnotising even that the minutes blur together. 

Moblit giving you a smile as he comes back with your drinks, sitting opposite of you before handing you the cold glass, ice cubes clinking against each other as you raise the frosted rim to your lips, sugary sweet filling your senses, the cooling sensation of the drink slides down your throat.

There's a hint of citrus in it.

You've learned to trust Moblit's choice in drinks after being together for so long, he just knows what's going to taste good and which kind of drink you seem to need without having to say a word.

He seems comfortable here, even referring to the bartender by his name like they've been friends for a while, and maybe they have judging by the out-of-script welcoming he gave Moblit.

One conversation starts another and both of you find it so easy to talk to each other without boundaries or second thoughts, the smiles and occasional chuckles almost never leaving your features while nursing on your drinks.

He tells you stories from his work and about his co-workers. You find yourself entranced by his seemingly abusered line of work and the amount of chuckle worthy instances a single work day can offer.

That one time Hange knocked the liquid incense oils that someone Levi brought to freshen the place, well to their luck the oils fell directly on an open flame from the nearby scented candle which resulted in the fire spreading through the liquid alcohol between the broken glass.

And despite the feeling of dread, from seeing his files catch on fire this story brings him, the sound of your chocked laughter as you almost spilled your drink over your clothes, made it all worth it for him.

III. Antique shop

There was something to be said about Moblit's yearning for especially old looking things, trinkets, crumpled maps, tea stained letters and silvered mirrors.

You can't miss the gleam in his eyes as he opens the antique store door open for you the chime of the door bells following after. The smell of burning incense lingering in the air alongside the slow ticking of an old wooden clock.

The look on his face is of pure fascination, his eyes following the trail of the objects lined on the tables, from the old oil paintings with hand carved frames to the crystals reflecting sunlight next to the colourful stones. Observing as he carefully walks behind you through the narrow spaces between the tables and shelves. 

Pulling your attention whenever he finds a particular curious thing to show you as if it's an offering, it can range from music boxes with a really familiar melody that you can't quite remember or a beautifully shaped rose quartz stone that feels cool against your palm.

Whatever he brings, it often manages to intrigue you in some way. Moblit could always notice things other people would skip over otherwise, scanning the tables was like a small treasure hunt.

He'd always pick one or two leather journals, almost filled to the brim with ink scribbled pages and tea stained spots, personal diaries dating back to the 90's and if he's lucky they might edge towards the 80'. He likes to read them, live in someone else's shoes even for a split second, puzzle pieces falling in place as he figures out what kind of person the author was.

Of course sharing his discoveries with you while having lunch later, not out of pride nor to show off, but out of genuine respect to other people's lives and their dedication for leaving behind a piece of their soul.

IX. Roadtrip 

It's something he plans months ahead in advance, he genuinely wants to make the best out of the few weeks off both of you got to spend together. Making sure to plan a set of destinations, preparing snacks and food, packing your essentials and renting a big enough van.

A small getaway even, to completely leave everything behind and set out on a carefully planned adventure with the one he loves most, you.

Enjoying the fresh weather, the high sun and fast wind as both of you roll down the windows, fields of green and yellow meet you alongside the road the further away you move from the city.

Although be careful; the Moblit behind the wheel is a much much more different than the one you know, he's using all what remains of his self-restraint not to speed down the highway and swirl, the thought crosses his mind every hour or so and he's visibly agitated when you're forced to drive behind a particularly slow driver.

You might even have to remind him of the speed limit occasionally just so you don't end up with a pile of speeding tickets at the end of the trip.

It's like all his usually cautious and calculating demner evaporates into mist the second he touches the steering wheel, Temptations of just flooring it while high on adrenaline still linger in the back of his mind.

Beside that, the trip is a relatively calm one as you get to bask in all the new and different places you'll get to visit. Try new food and walk through different city streets, just the experience of something out of the usual is enough to satisfy Mobilt. Not to mention the fact he gets to experience it with you and just wander around without a purpose or care as long as you're together.

He'll definitely keep in mind what sort of things you seem to like, what intrigues you and the kind of reactions you show. He even started an album filled with mostly your pictures and the things you've seen.

It's most relaxing and filled with low stakes, nothing too fancy but nothing too boring either. Walking the thin line perfectly.

X. Visiting a museum

But not just any museum you see, one centred around natural history. Displaying everything from ancient fossils to full on skeleton displays of a 122 foot titanosaur, depictions of distant relatives of homosapiens and modern evolution trees of the current animals.

Moblit guiding you through the shiny tile floor and between the exhibits while holding your hand, eyes gleaming with passion as he goes on and on about each thing you glance at. Making all the trivial facts seem more fascinating than they have any right to be.

The squeaking sound of footsteps echoing on the too clean floors as four children pass you by, racing each other towards the iron suits of armour on display. They almost fall over the red ropes from leaning too close in, their caregiver seemingly busy talking with a security guard over the 'smoking not allowed' sign. 

You spare them a final glance before following Moblit through the corridor leading to the world history & old inventions section. Soon enough he steals your attention again as he begins talking about the first airplane prototype that you can't help but be enamoured by.

Despite there being a sign framed on the wall that sums up the jest of Moblit's lecture, he manages to make it not only less boring but add his own twist and uncommon known facts to it that it feels less of a history trip and of an interesting conversation.

He has so much knowledge that he's so eager not to only share but hear your own opinion and take on it, valuing your view no matter what amount of knowledge you have over the subject.

XI. Painting together

It's an idea that you offhandedly suggested after your museum visit, after all spending an hour in the Impressionism era gallery did leave an impression on you. And so the suggestion of checking out an art store for some acrylics and a couple brushes left your lips on the way home without a second thought.

Well little did you know that the small suggestion managed to latch into Moblit's brain for weeks after, making him spend his free time searching and gaining information on painting and how to start, he even managed to find some really good classes having a limited time course sale

That's how both of you end up in a guided painting class, seated next to each other with aprons on and a pallet to mix paint tubes in. You'll find out how much of a fast learner Moblit is, so much that most of the class he spends guiding your hand through the steps and offering his help whenever possible, although he still remembers not to be overbearing and still gives you space.

Both of you are in your own bubble from the class, being with him makes you feel easy and more reassured. He's like your very own comfort corner that you seek in every party, except that he can walk around with you and always looks out for you.

And whatever you end up putting on that canvas, Moblit will cherish more than any renaissance painting, will even insist on hanging it somewhere in the apartment.

[keanureevesisbae]

Caught in a Blizzard - Part 4

Summary: Chris travels back to NYC to be with Luna. 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Luna Hwang (Asian OFC)

Warnings: Mentions of sex

Wordcount: 2.5k

A/N: Did 5 months pass when I last updated this story? Yes, it sure has. Do I have an epilogue planned after this? Yes, I do. Will I post that very soon (and not in five months)? Yes, i will. I’m really sorry for the wait, but thank you for your patience 🥰

Masterlist // Caught in a Blizzard Masterlist // Part 3 // 

Chris Evans had been single for so long now and he thoroughly enjoyed it. Sure he had dreams about settling down with someone, but for now, he felt as if being single was for him the best option.

But then Luna Hwang swooped into his life and (whether it was intentionally or unintentionally) turned his whole life upside down. He figured that meeting her would be fun, but not as life changing as this. He knew all about her, sure, and about her new album and no, he didn’t lie on the Graham Norton Show: he did buy it immediately. He was also fully aware she used to be in Brave Elegance and that performance at the Golden Globes, is engraved in his brain and he thinks about it often.

Luna started that performance with a dance solo and he kept thinking about the way her body moved in that purple skirt and white crop top. Though she was in a group, she was the woman that demanded every single bit of attention you had.

But then she went solo and all eyes were on her. Her single “Inside” came out, he caught himself watching that music video over and over again. While he was a mature adult, he still turned into a giddy teenager when he watched that video. He doesn’t know when the last time was he had a celebrity crush… The sexy and edgy concept of her solo stuff, it was a vibe that matches with her.

It just clicked.

Chris nearly was in a state of shock when he listened to all the songs on her album. Her sexy voice made everything a billion times better. In Brave Elegance, Luna was known for a deep and raspy voice. Her singing voice has an even deeper tone, almost as if dark chocolate had a voice.

And that Luna, that confident woman was the same Luna Chris was falling for. Though those three days were filled with sex and other bed room activities, he also got to know her on a deeper level. He got to know about her struggles, her life pre Brave Elegance, her life in Brave Elegance and her life post Brave Elegance. Her being a foster child was something that he knew, but he didn’t know that she went to sixteen different families. That must’ve been tough for a young girl like her. He never thought about not having a family of his own, mostly because he went to school with other privileged kids with families.

After these days, it made him realize he doesn’t want to spend apart from her again. After she shared about her fears, how she felt like it was her fault Brave Elegance broke up and what the public will think of her, all he wanted to do was to stay with her forever. Not going back to LA. Just wanted to get to know her a bit better. He knew he was falling for her way too hard, but after spending more than seventy two hours with her, he knew she was simply the one he wanted.

And now this happens. These pictures got leaked and he saw the shit that was already poured over her. People say all those things about her, but not about him and that makes him furious.

Maybe she does need to write another diss track.

He stares at the pictures they made, not the paparazzi—he looked at those enough. He looks at her smile and her beautiful eyes, the tattoos on her arms. Her soft cheek against his, her lips against his temple and her eyebrows full of expressions, almost like they are living a life of their own. Chris never felt like this before, but the attraction between them, it is unparalleled in comparison to what he and any other woman he dated ever shared. He thinks about her, about kissing her, watching her fall apart underneath him. She is such a wonderful woman, in all she does.

The way she would curl up against him as they went to sleep. The way she would sit on his lap as they were eating. The way she would run her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp with her nails as they were watching a movie together.

Three days were filled with domestic relationship kinds of things. The things couples do. Established couples. The things he would see his friends do with their girlfriends.

As they sat on the couch, he couldn’t help but look at her. She is so beautiful, so precious and he hoped that this blizzard would go on for infinite time. Three days was all he got, but he wants that to last.

Though it’s not ideal, he can’t wait for them to be reunited again. When he heard her on the phone, his cracks appeared in his heart and every sob he heard, made another shard fall off..

His flight is almost going to board and he types a quick message for her.

Chris: I’m at your place in a few hours. Just hang in there, okay?

Luna: I’ll try.

Chris: Beautiful, it’ll all be okay. I guarantee.

✘ ✘ ✘

Chris can’t seem to agree with the statement his agent and Luna’s agent made. The words “legal action”, “invasion of privacy” and “consensual sex between to adults” are phrases he doesn’t want to see together, especially not when his name and Luna’s are in that same paragraph.

Chris has been on a plane non stop and he looks and feels like absolute shit. Despite all that and his fatigue, he rushes up to the sixteenth floor of Luna’s apartment building and knocks on her door.

When Luna opens the door, his heart breaks even more than it’s already been doing. Her eyes are swollen and red, her cheeks are flushed and she looks so tired. Chris drops his bag and suitcase on the floor and he whispers: ‘Come here.’ He engulfs her petite frame in his arms for a tight hug. She buries her face in the nape of his neck, before she lets out a cry.

‘I’m here, Luna, I’m here for you.’

Her breathing starts to become rapid, way too fast. Her fists clutch his shirt and he feels her tense up in his embrace. ‘Oh no, sweetheart,’ he says in a soft voice, holding her upper arms. ‘Careful now. Breath with me.’ He takes a deep breath and watches her trying to copy it, but it comes out shake and way too short. He recognizes it right away. ‘Focus on me,’ he tells her. He places her tiny hands on his chest, hoping that when she can feel him breathing, it makes it easier for her to copy. ‘Good girl,’ he whispers as her breathing is normalized. He presses a long kiss on her forehead. ‘Don’t you worry, we’ll get through this.’

‘That sounds like we’re a couple.’

‘Well,’ he says, ‘we’re in this mess together, you and I, so we have to figure this out together.’ He walks inside the apartment and he sees four pairs of eyes staring at him. He wraps his arm around Luna’s shoulders, before he introduces himself to her band members. He was already shocked to find out that they were all there, but that means they might’ve reconciled, right? They all have a loving smile as they look at Luna, almost as if their fall out never happened.

‘Okay, mister Captain America,’ Rosie says with a smile, ‘how about you and Luna go catch up a bit. We’ll take care of the rest.’

He nods, thankful that the members of Brave Elegance are giving them the privacy they need and want, before he pulls Luna with him, so the two of them can sit on the couch. ‘Tell me, sweetheart, what’s on your mind now. Don’t worry, you can tell me everything.’

‘I ruined your career,’ she tell him, her voice cracking mid sentence. ‘Like, you are you, a wonderful actor with a heart of gold and I am me, a singer who sings about sex and broke up her band. I’m a joke.’

He can’t believe she thinks that. ‘You are not a joke, sweetheart,’ he whispers., as he tangles his fingers through her hair, soothingly massaging her scalp. ‘And how on earth do you think you have ruined my career? What happened between us, Luna, you need two people for that. I’m an adult, you’re an adult and some pervert took pictures while we did what tons of people do.’

‘Chris,’ she whispers, but more than that doesn’t leave her lips. She starts to cry again and he pulls her on her lap. She curls up against his broad frame, while she shakes as the sobs leave her lips.

‘Remember,’ he whispers in her ear, hoping for her to calm down a bit, ‘that you are not a joke and you’ll never be one.’

‘How are you so sure?’

‘Because I’ve gotten to know you,’ he says. ‘You are kind, you are smart and you are a total bad ass for singing about certain topics. You’re quite the pioneer.’

She rolls her eyes, as she scoffs. ‘Shut up.’

‘I’m not and I never will,’ Chris says. ‘Come here.’ He carefully pulls her into a kiss, not wanting to scare her away, however, she instantly melts against his lips. ‘That this happened,’ he mumbles, ‘doesn’t change a thing how I feel about you.’

‘I’m so sorry to interrupt,’ Pixie says.

‘Don’t lie, you are totally not sorry,’ Faith says.

He looks up to see all the four other bandmates together. Luna places her temple against his and wraps her arms tightly around his shoulder.

‘What I wanted to say,’ Pixie continues, ‘was that maybe you guys shouldn’t release a statement after all.’

‘What?’ Chris and Luna ask in unison. ‘Why not?’

‘Maybe you should just let them talk, pretend like it didn’t happen.’ Pixie continues.

Luna rolls her eyes again. ‘But it did happen, Pixie,’ she scoffs. ‘People won’t just forget.’

‘I know,’ she says, ‘but what do you want them to know? You two had sex and bad paparazzi for making pictures? Your privacy was invaded?’ She shakes her head. ‘Maybe you two need to just ignore this all.’

Rosie nods. ‘And maybe you should write a killer diss track. You’re good at that.’

Daliah smiles. ‘Maybe as a big fuck you you two should post a picture together on both of your Instagrams.’

‘This is unbelievable,’ Luna chuckles and he is happy that she can laugh again. That she is still able to chuckle, to be cheerful. ‘What you are basically saying is that Chris and I, in the midst of a scandal that could possibly ruin both of our careers, should show the world pictures of us together. Oh you know what, we’ll go out on a date right now.’

Daliah nods with a giddy expression. ‘Remember what you did when the news of Rosie and Justin got out?’

Luna nods. ‘Yes, I do.’

Pixie notices the empty look in Chris’ eyes and fills in for him: ‘She forced us all to go out, sit in a cafe and when the paparazzi showed up, she told them what happened. Blaming it all on Justin.’

Faith crosses her arms. ‘In other words,’ she says, ‘why the fuck should you hide, when you can show the entire fucking world that you are the baddest bitch in town? I don’t understand what you two have, I really don’t, but this looks like it could work.’

Luna looks over at him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. ‘Well, Chris Evans, are you ready for a date?’

✘ ✘ ✘

Luna’s hand is securely engulfed in his and he holds it so tightly, it almost seems as if he is afraid of losing her. They are out and about for coffee, sitting in a secluded booth, but he notices people taking pictures of them and they are not being subtle. He is used to people taking pictures, but this is next level rude and invasive.

However, Chris is able to ignore it, since he only has eyes for Luna. They sit next to each other, his thumb slowly and softly caressing her fingers.

‘I see you made up with your band members,’ he says, taking a sip of his cappuccino.

Luna nods, as her smile reappears on her face. ‘Yeah, we did.’

‘Well, I told you there were going to be other band members, but turns out it were the old and familiar ones all along.’

She nods again. ‘Chris, I want to thank you.’

‘For what, sweetheart?’

‘For coming back. I mean, I love that my members are here again, but you were right. We should go through this together, almost like a couple.’ She starts to chuckle. ‘And I think I need to write a diss track to TMZ, don’t you think’

Chris cannot hide the smile on his face, because he is just too happy with her. ‘Well Luna, how about we spice things up a bit and make a whole music video together?’

She starts to chuckle. ‘Chris, are you serious?’

‘Of course I’m serious. I have a good feeling about you, about us and I’m not going to throw that away. Besides, we should just put it out there.’

‘We totally should.’ Luna leans over to him, as she kisses him on his bearded cheek. ‘Despite being severely jet-lagged, you look really handsome, Chris,’ she whispers, placing her hand on his thigh. It slowly slides down to his inner thigh, giving the muscles a good squeeze. ‘You drive me crazy.’

‘If you continue to do this,’ he whispers, his voice dropping a few tones, ‘you’re going to be in big trouble.’

She cocks an eyebrow. ‘You honestly think that that is going to stop me?’ She places a kiss on his lips. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

He quickly gulps down the last sip of his coffee, before they walk back outside and he wraps his arm around my shoulders. However, the paparazzo cannot be missed and Chris clears his throat. ‘Brace yourself, sweetheart,’ Chris says to hear, but he also tells himself this, because he is pretty nervous.

‘Chris, Luna, do you have anything to say about the pictures?’ the man asks, nearly shoving his camera into their faces.

‘Yeah,’ Luna mumbles, ‘this.’ She holds up her middle finger into the camera. ‘Leave us the fuck alone, will you?’

Chris can’t help but laugh and feel proud of the beautiful woman who has her arm wrapped around his waist, her body pressed closely against his. The man continues to bombard them with question. Whether or not they’ll take legal action of the photo’s are continued to be spread, if they’d known each other before the Graham Norton show and whether or not the two of them are dating.

‘Well,’ Chris says, ‘if you let us finish our first date now, you might know it in the future.’

✘ ✘ ✘

One month later