#her smile???? puts him at ease??? man is fading in and out yet can only think of her smile

[gogomarinette]

I copied OP's tags because I love them. I hope it's OK!

and it’s the romantic advance that’s unwanted…. OR IS IT Anyways this is my TLDR of my huge succubus analysis Laimar marios Marcille is so special to Laios it makes me go insane and feel ill (/pos) I’m collecting laimar moments to post one day hehe I’m a hopeless shipper but don’t let that blind u from my point if u don’t like laimar!! Like debate if u disagree I see too many people fully disregard the succubus scene when it has so much to say!! OUGHH THE WAY HE DOESN’T EVEN FLINCH AT SEEING HIS MOST ALLURING FORM BC HIS LIKING OF IT IS BASED ON FAMILIARITY AND THEIR LONGTIME FRIENDSHIP. HE SEES IT ALL THE TIME SO OBVI HE WOULDN’T REACT LIKE A MESS They make me unwell I can’t stop thinking about this Btw that second picture is the last page of a chapter where on his deathbed Laios sees his life flashing before his eyes And the chapter is all about how he met Marcille and when she became part of the party And that chapter is the one JUST before the succubus mini arc So like it’s 100% connected and intentional dungeon meshi manga spoilers

NOO NO YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND LAIOS’ SUCCUBUS AKA MOST ALLURING FORM IS MARCILLE SMILING

[zepskies]

Being Human – Part 1

Pairing: Alec McDowell x F. Reader

Summary: Your life made sense before Alec slipped his way in. He unravels your threads without even trying. He frustrates you as easily as he weasels back into your good graces. But you soon realize that this man is worth the challenge.

AN: This is technically my first Dark Angel story, since I wrote Part 1 of this before "Bullseye." It will be four parts. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Summary: You’ve managed to keep things playful and friendly with Alec so far, despite his flirtatious nature. But when he asks you for a favor that goes painfully awry, the transgenic has to figure out something that wasn’t in his training: how to apologize. [Set during 2.06]

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Tension, angst, spiciness, implied smut.

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 1: Training Day

As sad as it is, this is probably your favorite place in the world.

Crash is as divey as a dive bar can get. And yet, it still boasts the strongest, cheapest drinks in Seattle. The music is decent, and the company is good. At least tonight it is, because you’ve met up with Max, Original Cindy, and Sketchy after a long day of slinging packages.

The only problem?

The newest member of Jam Pony, slinking up from the corner of your eye and easing into the seat next to you at the bar.

You turn an expectant gaze to Alec McDowell and his flirtatious green eyes. They take in your jeans and halter top with an obvious perusal. 

“Can I help you?” you ask dryly.

“No, no. It’s what I can do for you,” he replies. You’re about to roll your eyes when he adds, “Let me buy you a beer. Or whatever you’re drinking.”

Just then, the bartender slides you the beer you’ve already ordered. You thank him and give Alec a smile.

“Got it covered, thanks,” you reply, sipping the froth off your drink.

Alec sighs and crosses his arms. “When are you gonna stop putting the freeze on me?”

“When I’m not part of your internal checklist of Breasts on Legs,” you retort. Glancing around the bar, you note three other girls you’ve already seen him shoot his shot with tonight.

Alec scoffs and holds his chest.

“That’s hurtful,” he claims. “It really is.”

But he shifts toward you in his seat, cutting off your smile. Your face warms at his proximity.

Damn, he smells good, you think.

“Besides,” he says, “I always save the best for last.”

His smile makes your heart beat faster, though you eye him wryly. He opens his smartass mouth to say something else, but you get a reprieve when Original Cindy slides into the seat on your other side. She tosses you a wink.

It gives you just enough confidence to smirk in Alec’s face.

“Keep trying. Maybe someday I’ll lose my mind,” you say, with a teasing raise of brows.

Alec is still amused as he shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable. Insulting, yet, still somehow endearing.”

“Don’t wanna get clowned, don’t act like a clown,” you tell him sweetly. 

“I know that’s right,” Cindy quips. She orders a Cosmo to upgrade her beer. She must’ve won a bet tonight, if she was able to score enough cash for liquor.

“Hilarious,” Alec says. He pouts a little. “Hey, I’m not some mongrel on the loose. I’m just looking for some honest companionship.”

“Honest?” you laugh. “Now that’s hilarious.”

He gives you a fake laugh, but he watches you go when you slip away from him to join Max and Sketchy in the back room by the pool table. Alec’s smile fades a little.

Cindy raises a brow at him, along with a tan finger.

“No,” she says. “You actually crushin’ on homegirl? For real?”

Alec glances at her. “Where’d you get that idea?”

She gives him a flat look.

“Should I burn some sage?” she asks.

Alec shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Come on. I think Max is calling us over.”

When the two of them venture over to where you and Max are playing a game of pool, Alec’s cocky smile is back. His eyes catch yours when he sits down at a nearby table. Your lips curve while you lean on your pool cue.

For the past few weeks, this is how it’s always been with you and Alec. Push and pull. A sort of caustic flirtation that you can’t in good conscience take seriously. But to his credit, he always tries.

And he seems to always mean it. 

You’ll never admit it, but it’s getting harder and harder for you to resist the pull of him. He’s clearly a guy who doesn’t do attachments, and you have a bad habit of getting attached. Your life is hard enough without adding a dash of heartbreak into the mix.

So Max helps you sharpen your skills at this game while you finish your beer. And…maybe you “unintentionally” tease Alec a little with the curve of your ass when you’re bent over the table, lining up a shot.

In fairness, you’re a bit tipsy.

You spend the rest of the night drinking two more beers and laughing and losing the game—first to Max, then to Alec, and finally to Sketchy. By then, you know it’s time to cut your losses.

You haul your backpack onto your shoulder and start to head out of the bar. But who should slip into your way than Alec freakin’ McDowell?

“Hey, I’ve got a quick question for you,” he says.

You sigh. “Alec, the usual sniping was fun, but I’m tired and I want to go home.”

He stops you with a touch on your arm. He seems slightly more serious.

“It’s a favor,” he says, pulling out a small rectangular package wrapped in plain brown paper. You look down at it in confusion.

“I saw on the work chart that you’re scheduled to go over to Sector 4 tomorrow,” he says. “Would you mind delivering this for me?”

Your brows raise at him. He raises $20 in front of your face.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he smiles.

You take the $20 and the package, though you’re still a little uncertain.

“What’s in it?”

Alec leans in close to your ear. “I’ll give you an extra $10 if you don’t ask.”

His voice washes over you and makes your skin prickle. You’re blushing, but your eyes narrow at him further.

“Make it $20,” you counter.

He scoffs. Though after a moment…he coughs up the extra cash.

“The most expensive damn delivery I’ve never made,” he mutters.

You have to crane your neck a bit, as he stands over a head taller than you, but you smile up at him brightly.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you say.

For him, maybe the expense was worth it to get that smile.

You pull up on your bike to what you think is the right address. You don’t usually come to this side of town, even in Sector 4.

It feels a bit like a shanty town and a meat packing district all at once—complete with dodgy-looking street vendors and unmarked vans loading and unloading cargo behind them. 

“Can I help you, little girl?”

You stifle a gasp as your path is suddenly obstructed. A black man and his two white friends have crowded around your bike, but they don’t look normal. Various metal spikes and prods protrude from their faces, neck, and body, but they’re not your typical piercings. The metal is fused into their skin.

Oh shit, you think, as your heartrate picks up. Steelheads.

“I’m just making a delivery,” you tell them. Your eyes dart to your surroundings, trying to catch anyone’s gaze for a little help.

But in big cities like this, everyone knows to keep their eyes down.

Don’t look, don’t tell. Don’t get any trouble.

“I think you might be lost, love,” says one of the other men. He’s British, by the sound of his accent, and is the taller of the two. His skin is pale, though there’s a red ring under his eyes that suggests drugs, or whatever else these three are injecting into themselves.

“Uhh, yeah. I must be. I’ll just go,” you nod, and you start to back up. The ringleader Brit clamps a bony hand on your bike to stop you. He grabs the scrap of paper Alec gave you, which holds the address for your intended delivery.

The Steelhead examines it lazily, before his gaze flicks back up to yours.

“Well, well. I stand corrected,” he says. He gestures to the small package in your hands. “What’s in it?”

You shrug and try to play off your ignorance. Because the truth is, you have no idea.

“It’s not my job to know,” you reply.

“Ah, but you see, it’s our business to know,” the Brit says, leaning in towards you. You lean back with pursed lips.

“This is our little piece of paradise,” says the shortest one. His lips are damn near purple.

“We’re what you call…territorial,” says the leader. He grabs you off your bike while the first man takes the package from you.

“Hey, I don’t want any trouble,” you say, though you hate the way your voice shakes. “I can just go—”

“Oh, we’ll let you go, little mouse. You’re gonna give a message back to sender,” the Brit says. “But first, a reminder.”

He shoves you back into the nearest wall. It’s solid brick that stuns a gasp out of you. He presses in on you, grabbing your face and dragging a sharp, unnaturally long nail against your cheek, biting into the skin.

It’s painful enough to make you whimper as you feel wetness drip down to your neck. His friends laugh at your discomfort, at your fear. You’re too frozen to reach for the pepper spray in your pocket…

“What’s going on here?” another man asks. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a black uniform. For the first time in your life, you’re grateful to see a cop.

The Steelhead releases you, and the three of them are subtle in the way they back off from you.

“Nothing here, officer,” the leader says. Though he gives you a smirk. “Just accepting a delivery.”

You let them keep the package and pretend that a signature has made it onto your clipboard. You climb back onto your bike and you leave Sector 4 without looking back. All the while, your arms shake and you wipe at the blur of tears in your eyes.

When you get back to the Jam Pony base of operations (a warehouse that feels like a basement), you park your bike out front and head inside.

Your legs still feel precarious. And even though the blood is dry against the cut on your cheek, you know you need to clean and disinfect it at some point.

Of course, you have to run into Alec and Sketchy, who are palling around without a care in the world.

That all stops when they turn to look at you. Their mirth dies on their faces. Alec’s gaze runs over you and stops at your cheek. You dab at your face, tentative and self-conscious. You know you must look like hell. Of course, they can’t let you just go to your locker in peace.

“Jeez, what the hell happened to you?” Sketchy asks.

You shake your head. “Fell into a bush.”

You drag Alec aside by his arm, giving him a warning look that further lets him know you’re lying. He follows you without complaint over to the lockers, where you two have the semblance of privacy. Before he can ask you what really happened, you snap at him.

“What the hell was in that package?” you ask. “Drugs? A weapon? Some other contraband? Do you know what could’ve happened to me if I’d gotten caught with that shit? Do you know what almost…”

Tears burgeon in your eyes all over again, and you have to take a deep, shaky breath. 

Alec’s brows furrow in what might actually be concern. He grasps your arm, gentle but firm. 

“Hey, tell me what happened,” he says.

Unconsciously, his grip on your arm makes the memory flash in your mind: of that pale, greasy man grabbing you and pinning you against the wall.

You shrug out of Alec’s hold more harshly than you meant to. It makes him raise a placating hand, as his eyes widen a fraction.

“A gaggle of Steelheads,” you say. You breathe tremulously, blinking past your tears. “I was lucky…anyway. Next time you want to ask me for a favor? Don’t.”

 You brush past Alec to get to your locker. There you grab the rest of your things and head out, though it’s quite a few hours before closing time. Nothing gets by Normal, who stops you at the reception desk.

“Hey, hey, Missy! Where the hell’re you going?” he asks. “Get back here. I’ve got packages that need homes.”

“I’m taking some much needed PTO,” you quip.

“You don’t have PTO. It’s not that kind of business,” Normal says.

“Then bite me,” you snap. “How’s that?”

Most of the room stills into quiet shock. You feel the weight of their gazes, your coworkers and friends, including Normal’s slackened face.

You’re normally not one to talk back. You accept your assignments without question, not wanting to cause undue trouble for yourself. Like everyone else here, you need your job, and you have nothing to fall back on.

But it’s enough, and you’re thoroughly done with today.

Your saving grace is that it’s plain to see how shaken up you are, even when you leave. Alec approaches the receptionist desk with Sketchy, drumming his hand on the counter absently. 

“What the hell crawled up her keister?” Normal remarks. “She’s lucky I’m short staffed right now, or she’d be in the can.”

Despite his strong talk, he resumes collecting paperwork and organizing files to distract himself from how much you’d taken him aback.

Alec frowns.

“She uh, had to deal with some Steelheads,” he offers, and hesitates. “...What the hell’s a Steelhead?”

“Yeah, you know, they’re into implants and biotech stuff,” Sketchy explains.

“She would know better than to hang out with those low lives,” Normal interjects. “They’re amped off their gourds on hormones and who knows what else.”

Alec processes that with a deepening frown. He decides to head out onto his next “delivery.”

He makes it to Sector 4 on his bike within an hour, but he still envies Max’s motorcycle. When he racks up enough cash, he’s definitely scoring a faster ride.

For now, he pulls up near the address he sent you to earlier. He never should’ve given you his drugs to sell, especially when he clearly doesn’t know this city well enough yet.

Poor reconnaissance, Alec, he thinks. Sloppy.

Though when did he start to think of himself as Alec and not by his designation, 494?

He’s soon taken out of his musings when he sees a gaggle of three men outside a cargo van. Each of them is uglier than the last, with metal spikes, among other things sticking out from their bodies. Steelheads. They’ve got to be.

These are the guys who harassed you.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Alec says, climbing off his bike. The men turn to the newcomer with suspicious frowns.

“I’m looking for three fugly Steelheads that hassled a friend of mine this morning,” he says.

One is tall, pale and wiry, and he opens his arms wide. “Well, you found ‘em.”

He has a British accent. The sight of him alone grates on Alec, though all he shows is calm confidence. He teases the short one, who seems to be missing an arm. Apparently he’s “pre-op,” set to get a new cyber arm made of Japanese steel.

Fucking wackos, Alec thinks. Manticore could learn a thing or two from these guys about mutilation.

“Here’s the thing, fellas,” Alec says. “My friend was carrying a package that didn’t belong to her. It belonged to me. You guys took it, and I need to get it back.”

The first man scoffs. “There seems to be a breakdown in communication, doesn’t it?”

He approaches Alec, hands on his hips, with his two cronies behind him. Alec can already smell their stench from where he stands. He doesn’t need them to get any closer.

“Maybe your little bitch didn’t relay our message,” he says, pushing his luck.

Alec’s smile sharpens; a deadly warning in and of itself.

“Nobody around here sells Andy but us,” says another of them.

Androxtamine. Alec didn’t care to be a drug dealer. It was just a means to an end in order to pay Max back for her help a little while back. Now, his buyer is pissed that he didn’t get his damn drugs, and Alec is out $500.

He tries to explain that calmly to this group of weirdos, but the leader is just so damn cocky.

“What’s a puff like you need with $500 anyway, eh?” he asks.

Alec’s smirk deepens. He mimics the guy’s accent and replies, “Actually, I need it for a ride on your mum.”

Well, the Steelheads don’t take too kindly to that. They try their best, Alec will hand it to them. But his genetics and training make the resulting “fight” no more than child’s play. He takes his frustrations out of their asses.

He can’t help being slightly more brutal than necessary when he remembers the fear lingering behind your eyes. The bloody cut on your cheek. The way it could’ve been so much worse…

And it would’ve been your fault. Alec’s lips press into a line.

Logan Cale, Max’s rich non-boyfriend and secret “Eyes Only” vigilante, calls Alec halfway through his venting session to, surprisingly, ask for his help.

Alec agrees, because it’s mainly for Max. A creature has been killing cops in Seattle. Unfortunately, the description of a “man-dog” sounds way too much like Joshua, their fellow transgenic in hiding.

It also means Alec has to spend most of his afternoon in a musty sewer.

The job ends up being a bitch and a half, even when Max finally shows up to help out. The true culprit ends up being Joshua’s brother, Isaac, who Joshua is forced to stop before he kills any more policemen who remind him of Manticore’s abusive guards.

The gentle Joshua ends up having to take out his own brother. Something that’s both familiar, and foreign to Alec. (But he’s sure it’s not so foreign to Max.)

It’s a harrowing scene, and a touch too emotional for Alec’s comfort. He leaves Max to tend to Joshua in the aftermath and catches a ride home with Logan. Somehow though, as bone tired and grimy as he feels, Alec can’t feel right about going home just yet.

Something is niggling in the back of his mind, forcing him to hand Logan a scrap of paper that holds your address. (Alec might’ve snuck into Normal’s office before he left for the day to find out where you lived on your employee file.)

“Hey, can you stop at this address?” Alec asks.

Logan glances at the piece of paper and nods. He then looks over at Alec. They aren’t friends, but Logan is perceptive enough to know that something’s weighing on his passenger.

“Everything okay?” Logan asks.

“There’s something I have to do,” Alec supplies.

When they eventually arrive to what seems like an abandoned building, Logan looks over at Alec.

“Good luck,” he offers.

Alec nods gratefully. They aren’t friends, but he supposes Logan’s not so bad, even if he is a slave to Max’s supposed charms.

Alec gets out of the car and head inside the building. It’s old and dirty, and he really can’t believe you live like this. It lacks security and basic hygiene. If he wanted to, he could kick straight through your door with half of his strength.

Instead, he knocks.

A few moments later, he hears your feet padding cautiously to the door.

“Who is it?” you ask. Your voice is familiar and pleasant to his ears, if nervous.

“It’s me, Alec,” he replies.

It takes a second of your hesitation, but you unlock the door and open it.

He eyes your tank-top and shorts, the thin bra, your damp hair, the smell of your shampoo assaulting his heightened senses. 

But the jagged red line across your cheek draws his attention, along with the confusion in your eyes, and the wooden spoon in your hand. Was that supposed to be your weapon of choice? 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask. “How’d you even know where I live?”

“Ah, I told Normal I wanted to check on you. Make sure you weren’t going AWOL on the job tomorrow,” Alec says with a teasing smile.

You look a bit skeptical, but you let him in when he asks if he can. He smells whatever you’re cooking, spots the metal pot of pasta sauce simmering on the janky-looking stove, and his mouth starts to water. He’s starving, now that he thinks about it.

He then focuses on taking in the rest of the apartment…and it doesn’t take him long. This place is a shoebox.

At least it’s clean, as much as the peeling drywall can be.

“Why’re you here then?” you ask. Alec turns to see you have a hand on your hip. You’re staring at him like he’s a puzzle you’re trying to figure out.

You set down the wooden spoon on the counter and face him. Alec’s tempted to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, but he keeps his arms down to his sides instead.

“About what happened today,” he says. “Those guys aren’t going to be a problem for you again.”

You tilt your head at him.

“What’d you do?” you ask with furrowed brows. “Something shy of legal?”

Alec starts to smile. “Maybe.”

You hmph in response. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Alec barely resists rolling his eyes, though he knows he deserves that. Once again, he takes in your apartment. It’s cozy, he supposes, if small.

“You live alone?” he asks. “No roommate? Boyfriend?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” you say dryly. “But no. To both.” 

That satisfies him, and yet there’s a little churn in his gut. This place is questionable at best. Doesn’t exactly boast decent security. He’s not too worried about the Steelheads trying to find you, but after the past few months outside of Manticore, he realizes how rough it’s become for humanity after the Pulse, especially for a woman alone.

“You could use a doorman around here,” he remarks. 

You scoff in amusement. “Yeah, well. It may not be the Ritz, but as long as the heater doesn’t crap out on me, it’s a decent day.” 

Alec doesn’t know what the Ritz is, but it sounds nicer than this dump. 

You catch the silent look of judgment on his face, making you frown and cross your arms.

“I can take care of myself just fine, okay, Dad?”

Alec frowns and gestures to your face. “Yeah. Right. You’re little miss Fight Club.”

That sparks your temper. You glare up at him with a defiant tilt to your chin.

“This,” you point to your marred cheek, “wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you. I’m not an idiot. I don’t put myself in stupid situations, except for that one time I ignored my better judgment to help you!”

Alec glowers back at you, but he knows he doesn’t have a good defense. You take a step into his orbit and tap a finger into his chest.

“And by the way,” you add. Your voice cracks like a whip. “Whoever taught you how to apologize did a bang up job!”

By the end of your little rant, you’re breathing deeply, and Alec is barely holding onto his own temper. What cuts through it all are the frustrated tears brimming in your eyes.

He sighs internally.

They didn’t exactly cover this in training, he thinks, but he supposes that's just…Being Human 101.

All too soon, your anger dims into defensiveness. You withdraw from him and gesture to the door.

“Now if you don’t mind, please get out of my shithole apartment so I can finish cooking in peace,” you gripe.

“Wait, wait,” Alec implores, when you try to lead him out. He lets you back him up a step or two, just to seem human, but now he digs his heels in. He looks down at you with true regret. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. His hand finds your unmarred cheek, caressing softly. His thumb swipes across your skin. “I am. I shouldn't have asked you to make that delivery. I'm sorry you got hurt.”

You stare up at him, breathing labored, and making your breasts just barely brush his sternum. Your eyes search his just as much as he is yours.  

He isn’t actually sure who moves first, him or you. But when his lips meet yours, it feels like electricity under his skin. It’s magnets that are meant to connect—it’s his arms wrapping around your waist like steel bands and you grabbing his face, sinking your fingers into his sandy brown hair.

It’s teeth clicking and tongues warring as he backs you up to the kitchen counter, and he hefts you up there by your hips.

You squeal in surprise, making Alec chuckle before he swallows your sounds with his mouth.

You start to push his jacket off his shoulders, and he helps you, letting the rest of it slide right off, followed by his shirt and your tank top. His hands smooth up your bare thighs and his thumbs dip in between, squeezing near the apex of your thighs and making you tremble against his chest. Warmth pools in your core even from that simple touch.

“W-Wait,” you whisper. 

It makes Alec pause. His muscles tense. Has he read you wrong? 

He searches your face for a sign of discomfort. If you don’t want this, it’ll be…hard, at this point (for more reasons than one). But if he has to, he’ll let you go.

He’s relieved when you only twist away for a moment to turn off the stove. You return to him with a smile as your hands come to rest on his chest. You bite your lower lip. 

“Shall we continue?” he teases. 

His thumb encourages you to let go of your lip. He takes your chin between his fingers and guides you back to him.

The next kiss burns with a slower passion. One that consumes you enough to hook your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips. 

He grins against your lips and lifts you again, this time holding you firmly against him. You make another sound of surprise, but you don’t let that stop you from delving deeper into his kiss. 

He carries you into the bedroom and slams the rickety door.

Afterwards, the two of you lay together on the wrong side of your bed. 

Alec lies on his stomach and you on your back. The night had gotten such that you stopped caring which side you typically put your pillow on. Your hair is fanned out on the mattress in many tangles he took pride in creating.

A shitty show plays on your small TV, but Alec is watching with rapt attention. 

He’s kind of cute about it actually, you think. Like he’s never seen a soap opera before. 

“Ooh, that one’s my favorite,” you point backwards. “It’s about a sexy doctor, obviously.”

“Right, because I’m sure doctors always have this much sex with their patients,” Alec quips. 

You snort and shake your head. You stare at the side of his face for a moment, rather than the TV. 

The back of his hand rubs against your shoulder, earning your attention. 

“What’re you thinking?” he asks. He’s still looking at the screen.

“That I’m even hungrier now, but I don’t feel like getting up,” you admit with a giggle. He laughs.

“I wouldn’t mind some chow,” he says. 

You roll onto your stomach, taking some of the sheets with you when your knee slides over, resting against his naked lower back. You lean your chin on his shoulder as your hand travels across his back. 

“Is that your way of inviting yourself over for dinner?” you ask. 

He looks over at you then. He’s grinning, but his eyes are a touch softer, you think.

“If you don’t mind me crashing,” he says.

You shake your head and sift your fingers through his hair. Your gaze drifts down the back of his neck and catches on a strange mark. It’s a barcode, you realize, touching it lightly with two fingers. 

“What’s this? A prison tat?” you tease. 

He chuckles humorlessly. “Sort of.”

Your amusement fades, but your soft fingers along the back of his neck elicit a small shiver out of him. Your touch is gentle. He isn’t used to gentle, and it makes goosebumps spread across his skin. He feels your lips press a kiss to his shoulder next, and he turns his head to look at you. 

Beautiful, he thinks, taking in your face again, and the hint of cleavage down the sheets covering you, hiding the familiar curves he had all too much fun exploring.

“You gonna tell me the story?” you ask. “Or save it for a rainy day?”

Alec lets out a sigh through his nose. “Let’s pencil that one under the ‘Rainy’ column.”

You nod in agreement and bite your lip. These days, everyone has a story they’re not proud of. Even something that keeps them up at night. You don’t press Alec for his.

He’s grateful for that. He leans in and kisses you, nice and slow.

From the beginning, he noticed you. Your tenacity. Your quiet confidence. How you’re always willing to help your friends, and how you’ve never taken any of his shit, even if he knew part of you had been contemplating his suggestive offers. That spark always kept him coming back for more…and somehow, it became more.

In the back of his mind, this scares him a little. Being with you feels dangerous in a way that feels both familiar and foreign, but it’s too late. He’s been hooked by the pull of you. It’s a craving he can’t help but try and fill. Hopefully, not just tonight.  

“You said something about food?” he grins.

You smile and lean in again, until you’re mere inches from his lips. 

“Hmm, impromptu dinner date?” you offer. Alec laughs quietly and nods.

“We kinda went about this backwards,” you say, “but if you like spaghetti and plain sauce, I’m your girl.”

He smirks at that, and thumbs at your chin.

“Then you’re my girl.”

AN: And there's Part 1! It's only my second time writing Alec, so I hope he feels in character. Let me know what you think of this little series so far. 😘💜

There's much more in store over the next three parts, and the next one tackles perhaps my favorite episode (2.11), even if it's the most gutting.

Next Time:

“All right, that’s enough outta you,” Alec says, and he claims you with a more demanding kiss. His fingers sink into your hair tightly.  

But you press your hand to his cheek, making him pause for a moment. The amusement fades from his eyes the longer he stares into yours. You’re not teasing or joking anymore. 

You kiss him then with meaning. With tenderness. 

You don’t know how it makes that coil of guilt grip him like a vice.

Keep Reading: PART 2

Series Masterlist

Alec McDowell Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Alec M. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989

@waters-2567 @iwishiwas-sleeping @jessjad @pieandmonsters @akshi8278 @honeybabycherry @deans-spinster-witch @angelbabyyy99 @jackles010378 @nancymcl

[episodes-ff]

Family Man

Diamonté

Waking up, I looked over and admired Armando as he peacefully slept in bed. Things have been going quite smoothly for our newfound family. Armando has been building a bond with his son and nobody could be happier than Lil Papi. They play together, he helps him with his learning, and they even make time to annoy me throughout the day unless I’m doing my schoolwork. My relationship with my parents on the other hand has been a different story. They won’t talk to me unless it’s to check in with their grandbaby and they want nothing to do with Armando and his past, so I’m super devastated. He says they’ll come around eventually but I think that’s more so to ease my mind. Just thinking about how he’s been so supportive of me has my heart and pussy fluttering, but we have been taking our relationship pretty slowly. We are together, but we don’t want to move too fast and wind up hurt so while he does spend time here, he isn’t moved in and he still has his place.

Leaning up, I stretched and yawned before turning to use the restroom when I felt something tugging me. “Baby, what’s wrong?” I giggled seeing Armando cuddling up to my side. “Where you going, bebita?” He frowned in his sleep. “I have to pee, baby. I’ll just be a second, okay?” “Okay. Hurry back, baby.” He yawned rolling over. Blushing at how cute he was being, I got up and headed to the bathroom. Taking a look at myself in the mirror, I examined my face and body before sighing and going into my cabinets under the sink. Staring long and hard at the pregnancy test in my hand, I swallowed the lump in my throat as I contemplated taking it. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been more sensitive and irritable so rather than question my body, I decided to get a pregnancy to be sure. The only issue I have now is actually taking it and telling Armando. I know how much he adores our child, but I don’t know if he is mentally prepared for possibly another one.

Sucking up my fears, I took a much needed piss and I used the opportunity to take the test as well. Flipping the lid down, I stood and flushed before washing my hands. Setting the test on the counter, I nervously stood and waited for the results. Trying not to bite my nails as I anxiously stared in the mirror, I pictured our lives with another baby. Armando hand in hand with our baby boy as I pushed a stroller down the street; it brought so much joy to my heart. Hearing my phone vibrate, I quickly silenced my timer and took a deep breath before taking a glance at the test: NEGATIVE.

Feeling my body sink, I wiped a stray tear as I threw away the test and box and left the room. Getting back into the bed, I silently swerved Armando’s attempt at cuddling before going back to sleep.

LATER THAT DAY…

Armando

“Baby? The table’s ready.” “Ok…” She mumbled sadly as she got up with Papi in tow and walked inside. Sighing, I rubbed my chin as I held the door and followed them in. Diamonté has been in a mood all day and I can’t put my finger on what it is that I did wrong. I quickly picked up on the shift in attitude this morning and I figured it was due to my busy schedule, so I decided to treat her to a nice family day; shopping at her and Papi’s favorite stores, treating our baby boy to a fresh haircut, and now we’re at her favorite restaurant and the attitude has yet to leave. I’ve never been more confused and it’s honestly hurting my soul to see her so upset.

Pulling her chair out for her, she quietly thanked me before looking at the menu. “Do you know what you want to eat, baby?” She asked Papi as I admired her appearance for today. “You look beautiful today, Cariña.” I smiled reaching for her hand. Thanking me, she shied away from my advances making my smile fade. “Bab-“ “Hi! I’m Terrence and I’ll be your server for the evening. Can I start with your drink orders?” The waiter smiled as I tried to control my anger at his rude interruption. “Yes, can I get a fruit punch for him and a coke for myself?” “Sure thing! And you, sir?” “Water with lemon.” I gritted eyeing her. “No problem, would you like to order any appetizers or do you need some time?” “We need more time, Terrence.” I spat plainly as she looked up at me weirdly. “Uh, no problem! I’ll be back to check on you all.” “You do that.” Quickly leaving, I looked over to see her folding her arms as Papi played games on her phone. “What was that, Armando? You didn’t have to be rude to him.” “The same way you’ve been rude to me all day and barely saying two words without explanation?” Scoffing, she rolled her eyes and went back to reading her menu as I clenched my jaw and tried to remain calm. Thank you God for prison anger management.

Watching the waiter warily return to the table, I apologized to him for my behavior earlier before ordering an appetizer for the table. Silently mulling over the options on the menu as we waited on the appetizer, I took this as an opportunity to pick Diamonté’s brain. “Bebita, have I done something wrong? You’ve been distant all day towards me.” “No, Armando, it’s fine.” “Clearly it’s not fine. What’s wrong, baby?” I asked gently taking hold of her hand. “I’m fine.” She replied staring up at me softly but I could tell she was anything but.

Arriving back at the house, I got my sleeping AJ from his car seat and carried him inside before placing him in bed and removing his shoes and outside clothes. Putting on his pajamas, night light and placing his blanket on him, I removed my jacket and headed to the bedroom. Walking toward the light emitting from the bathroom, I watched her with worry as she removed her makeup for the day. “Do you wanna talk now, baby?” I asked leaning against the doorway. Looking at me in the mirror’s reflection, she started tearing up before walking over and crying in my arms. “Bebita, what’s wrong??? You’re breaking my heart right now.” I cooed wiping her tears and staring into her eyes. Sighing, she walked over to the trash bin and retrieved something before coming back over to me. Revealing the box for an at-home pregnancy test, I froze as she pulled out the test and showed me. Seeing the negative test, I shook my head before pulling her into a deep hug as she cried. “I was really excited, Armando.” She sobbed as I held her close. “Hey hey, don’t worry baby. We have plenty of time to make another baby. I’m not going anywhere, mi amor.” I soothed in her ear as she sniffled and nodded. Calming her down, I pulled her into a deep, loving kiss before lifting her onto the bathroom counter and starting a nice hot bubble bath to relax her while we talked about our future.

[codenamesazanka]

UA kids villain arc. Ochako, Shouto, Shoji, Deku Villain arc, in this epilogue.

Not villains as in 'mwahahaha i will evil', but Villain as in someone unwilling to suffer in silence.

The kids, having just gone through a war, are feeling the aftermath. The unreality of going back to school, sitting at a desk, taking notes, raising hands and obediently listening to teachers, after spending months as soldiers in a life-or-death adrenaline hurricane. The sense of absurdity of doing homework again (when had any of this mattered during the war? It's not so necessary, is it? What if I just don't do it?) The strangeness of being treated like a child whose voices and opinions will be overruled by an adult again, after being treated as equals by those same adults during battle. The nightmares, the slow fading aches of injuries, the lingering hyper-vigilance. The anger, the sadness, the fear, all still here; and the overwhelming mix of other emotions of all sorts they can't put words to - because who can describe what they went through? - and so it gets bottled up. Maybe even just the boredom and frustration of normal life after truly living out the wildest heroic dreams.

But it's back to school, back to being children, back to being model students who are bright and cheerful and excelling and have only one path ahead of them - to be Heroes.

Ochako, wanting to keep her promise to Toga to give blood, only to be told to forget it. What was she thinking anyway, saying that to a Villain? Offering to do such a taboo, inhuman thing? Ochako missing school on days she feels sick and in pain, as if the knife was still in her stomach. Her grades are slipping; she better shape up if she wants to graduate. Can't she just try harder?

Shouto having to brave the unending whispers and the stares. That's the boy related to both Dabi and Endeavor. I hear the mother is also from some backwards village clan. What a family. Goes to show that it's just in the blood. Better stay away from him. I know he helped save us but... Shouto trying to visit his father and brother, trying to help with the legal process, and being told it's better for his future if he gives up on them. Cut his ties best he could. Why would he want to keep associating with them? He's a good person.

Shouji told to keep it up. He shined so brightly at the hospital. He's the spokesman the heteromorphs need - now keep them in line. Tell them change is coming, just be patient. First there's rebuilding. Then there's the economy. Then Heroes need trust built up again, so they need to be in the spotlight, they gotta stay in the cities where people can see. The countryside can wait.

And Deku. Deku! He just killed a man, but it's fine. Tenko's heart was saved. He lost OFA and he's back to being quirkless, but it's fine. He got to live his dream. The feelings in his arm comes and goes, and he can't make a fist for every long, but it's fine. He's still got them, doesn't he? He needs to go see Spinner, and he needs to honor his deal with Overhaul, and he hasn't been able to do any of that yet, but it's fine. He can live with the unease and the dread and the guilt for a few more months. He's fine. He's a Hero. He's happy to put on a smile and keep others at ease and deal with his issues by himself, push it all deep inside of him. Harden it into a small ball of lead and guard it from anything leaking out. He's a Hero, and he's willing to put up with the pain and keep it quiet.

So I think the kids should get to have one bad day.

One bad day where nothing turns out okay. They trip and fall and fall and fall. It's a mess. Everything hurts and it sucks and they're tired and frustrated and angry. They feel like they're going crazy - and maybe they are - and they're suffocating and they can't keep doing this. They need to be seen, they need their cries heard, they need their pain acknowledged and accepted. They want the facade of being 'fine' destroyed. They're unwilling to suffer in silence anymore.

So I think the kids should get a villain arc.

[sweetcocopowder]

A Fool's Life | Shaytham

Synopsis: Desmond has to dive back into Haytham to find out where a power source is for the temple. But the last thing he expects is something akin to when the Templar first met Ziio. But these emotions run something deeper, crueler.

Word Count: 3.8K

Pairing: Shay Cormac / Haytham Kenway

Warnings: Internalized homophobia

“We need you to dive back into Haytham.”

A few simple words that Desmond wished he would never have to hear. Desmond stares at his father with a scowl upon his lips waiting for the punch line. He glances to Shaun and Rebecca. Yet, they stay quiet and that is just saying a thousand words as is. It’s not some joke.

“Why?” Desmond asks as he looks to his father once more.

“Because Haytham came in contact with a power source for this Temple,” William explains monotonously. “We need to know where he put it.”

He tries to not put any hint of emotion in his words. Desmond knows what he’s doing. But it only makes him feel that itch of anger inside and he tries not to let it show.

“Can’t you just track this one like the others?” Desmond asks with bitterness in his tone.

So much for keeping it hidden. It can’t help it when it comes around his father. Almost everything he says makes Desmond want to retaliate in a frustrated manner.

This has William scowling. “It will only be for a moment, son,” he firmly says.

It’s not like Desmond has a choice at this point of time. His father will just tell him to do it until he does. They probably won’t continue on with Connor until he goes back into Haytham’s mind. Desmond throws up his hands and lays back down into the Animus with a grunt.

“Fine, but let’s get his over and done with.”

-

It’s the first day of Fall in Boston and the cool breeze is an ease on Haytham’s skin. But with Desmond being in Haytham’s mind again, it’s almost criminal. He can feel the anticipation on his mind, the quickening of his heart as he spots red sails coming onto port. There’s a man on that ship that Haytham knows, and it has the man itching. Which is something Desmond has only felt when Haytham was around Ziio.

Haytham may be blind to his emotions, someone that sees too much but doesn’t focus on himself, but Desmond knows this feeling. This breathlessness at the mere thought of someone.

The worn ship docks, her crew shouting out at each other, pulling ropes and bringing in sails. The Morrigan her name is and she’s seen her years for sure. Her once yellow paint is chipped and faded from years at sea. She’s an older ship, not up to date like the ones now. And she has people looking upon her that stand on the dock. Haytham only sees beauty, a fine ship that has lasted so long. But one could say that she’s only as strong as her captain. Working hand in hand.

The captain, Haytham sees him straight away and Desmond takes him in. He’s a tall, broad shouldered man with salt and pepper hair. It’s tied back into a short ponytail, one thing that hasn’t changed with him. But he now sports a brown leather coat with blue clothing. It makes him look older and wiser. Nothing like the young man Haytham knew almost twenty years ago.

All these emotions that Desmond feels nearly overwhelms him. The animus glitches for only a moment but Desmond retains himself. Haytham may present himself as a stern, serious man but by god can this man feel. And is he ignorant to his own emotions.

The man, Shay Cormac, smiles as he spots Haytham standing on the dock. Haytham had received a letter from Shay a week ago, telling him of his arrival soon in Boston. Said note is currently tucked away in Haytham’s breast pocket, just in case he got the dates wrong. Something that Shay will never know about.

A plank is drawn between the Morrigan and the dock and Haytham stands at the end of it as he watches Shay walk down. Desmond has never seen Haytham look upon a man like this as of right now. Haytham looks upon a much older version of the image he has in his head of Shay, but he still finds himself marvelling at the captain.

The two of them clasp hands in a firm handshake that feels like neither of them want to let go. But Haytham contains himself.

“It’s been a long time, Shay,” Haytham is first to speak.

Shay’s smile is something the Grandmaster has missed. It’s the exact same, just with added lines and wrinkles.

“Oh, it has been,” Shay speaks as if all those years away are now playing on his mind.

Where he’s been, who he’s met and the time he’s spent away. All something Haytham wants to know of.

“And you’ve retrieved it?”

With a soft nod, “Yes,” is what Shay replies with.

Haytham gestures out a hand. “I’ll lead you to the Green Dragon, it’s not far.” He begins. “I’d love to hear of your ventures away.”

Course you would, Desmond snaps out.

The simulation suddenly glitches and everything begins melting away into a blue, glitchy effect. Desmond groans in pain as he begins desynchronizing from the animus. This hasn’t happened since he first began with Altair. He’s aware he dislikes Haytham but not enough to desynchronize to this extent.

“Desmond. You need to follow Haytham,” Shaun’s voice comes through the animus.

It’s very hard to when it’s Haytham, Desmond snaps back.

“Just calm down. It’ll only be for a short while,” Shaun inquires again, trying to get Desmond to sync back up.

Desmond can suddenly feel his beating heart, thumping in his chest like a jack rabbit. He slows his breathing and calms his mind. The animus begins to flow again, the simulation changing from the docks to a tavern area. They’re at the Green Dragon.

It’s just Haytham and Shay sitting at the table that the Templars like to use for their get togethers. The very same that Desmond found out who Haytham truly aligned himself with.

Shay takes a long, slow drink of his ale. Haytham hasn’t touched his, still full in its cup. He watches Shay’s Adam’s apple bob up and down with each gulp before pulling his gaze away. Shay exhales loudly as he sets the cup on the table.

“I will have to say,” Shay admits. “I have missed American ale.”

Haytham looks to the other again to only find him staring at him already. He knows he shouldn’t be so sheepish around Shay. Even though they haven’t seen one another in nearly two decades, it shouldn’t be this awkward on Haytham’s end. Nowhere as near.

“Did you find you didn’t partake in the delicacies overseas?” Haytham asks.

“I don’t think that’s it, sir. I think it’s just something about this that speaks home,” the Irishman smirks.

That gets a short chuckle out of Haytham. Something that makes Shay’s brows lift ever so slightly. A warmth spreads to Haytham’s chest that has Desmond second guessing everything. He hasn’t felt this since Ziio. A longing, a want. But this runs deeper. Much crueller in its wake that Haytham wants gone. But he can’t help himself looking at Shay with a eyes that speak a thousand words.

The two mingle and talk about their lives some more. Something that Desmond finds himself getting lost in. Shay is so open with Haytham that it’s almost scary. But Haytham finds it so comforting and like Desmond, he almost gets lost in the Irishman’s tales and his way of words. He’s been everywhere and anywhere in these sixteen years away. He’ll be speaking on one thing and it’ll remind him of another story that has him talking for another thirty minutes.

But Haytham doesn’t stop him. Not once. Not even when he grabs another round of ale for them, he keeps listening. And this is so rare of Haytham. The warmth in his chest is something the British man rarely allows himself to indulge in.

-

As the night grows old, the two men move from the tavern to Haytham’s home. And as far as Desmond is concerned, not even Charles Lee comes around to Haytham’s in worry of disrupting the man’s privacy. In which Haytham is very grateful for. Yet with Shay, he’s more than welcome to bring him around.

The entire walk, Shay doesn’t stop talking. It isn’t an annoying chatter. It’s something so welcoming to Haytham’s ears since he has not heard that Irish accent in nearly two decades.

Shay finishes a story as they enter Haytham’s house and he doesn’t pick up another once, being self-aware to know when to stop. The host guides Shay to the living room which is something that Haytham has tried to replicate of his old home. The one where everything was right and just in the world before everything terrible and malicious that could happen in the world, happened. It isn’t the best, but the lounges are from Britian, the floral patterning hand woven instead of machine made. Bookshelves line the walls that are made from a walnut stained oak, made here in America. Each book that lines the shelves is something that Haytham holds dear to his heart, but he would never say such a thing out loud. The coffee table is also oak but stained with something darker that Haytham can’t remember at this given moment.

Not when Shay, - before he gets himself comfortable and rids himself of his coat- places the precursor box on the coffee table next to the empty fruit bowl.

The small wooden box seems to hum, and it has an energy to it. Something that Haytham doesn’t know if he’s imagining or if he can feel it. Could also be the blood rushing past his ears as his heart skips a beat or two within his chest.

Desmond has never seen anything like it, but Shay seems very familiar with it. He sits down in the lounge across from Haytham with his coat in his lap and looks to his Grandmaster with a raised, scarred brow.

Haytham, unlike Shay, doesn’t seem to be pleased with it. From where he stands, somehow on the other side of the room, he walks over and picks it up with a gingerly touch. The box is still and firm in his hand, but warm. He has to hold the shiver that threatens to run down his spine and over his arms.

“You actually found it,” Haytham finds himself muttering before he can stop himself.

Shay is a little taken a back but, he gives a heavy nod. “It took me longer than it should have, sir, but I found it,” he answers firmly, that casualness that he once possessed him gone and replaced by a formality found in soldiers.

Haytham sets it down before he drops the damn box. Such a small thing that has kept Shay away from the Order. Haytham could count how many times he could have used such a man like Shay for jobs here in America. He wishes he never sent him away after such a stupid little box. But both would argue on how important such a thing is. To keep out of Assassin hand.

Without even thinking, something that Shay catches, Haytham rubs the hand that touched the box on his coat.

“Thank you, Shay. This means a lot for the Order,” Haytham says, raising his chin a bit higher.

But Desmond hears the unsaid words. This means so much to me.

A softness comes to Shay’s hardened features that has Haytham turning his gaze away. He wonders over to one of the bookshelves and takes out one of his old journals from five years back now. Dust has settled upon it and the pages have begun to fox. He flips through to the middle and takes out a piece of loose paper. He slams the book shut before sliding it back into its place smoothly.

“I have something for you,” he says as his eyes quickly flick over the document.

Haytham turns back to Shay, who has been watching him the entire time with dark eyes. Instead of pausing or acknowledging the way Shay tracks his every movement, Haytham holds out of the piece of paper to him.

“This is your next task for me,” Haytham instructs.

Shay looks to him before down at the piece of paper as he takes it. Something shifts within his eyes, as if a flicker of hope was just snapped out like a candle snuffer. Haytham moves around the coffee table to the lounge that sits across of the Shay and sits down with his hat being placed next to him. He, in return, watches Shay’s dark brown eyes dart back and forth on the paper. Said paper is a rough sketch of an artifact that is rumoured to be a power source for a precursor sight. There’s little information and it’s outdated since said information is five years old now.

Haytham knows this could take another decade to find. And he’s very self-aware on what he’s doing. As much as Haytham enjoys Shay’s company and wishes him to stick around. As much as Haytham wishes to listen to Shay speak about his journeys across seas and in Europe. As much as Haytham would love to just be in the company of Shay, the Irishman is loyal to the course -loyal to Haytham- and is the only man the Grandmaster can trust to retrieve said items.

There were at times that Haytham thought Shay had given up, but a letter from the man would come not even a month later. It would only speak of how he is still on the trail of the box and that his loyalty to the Order has not wavered. How he misses New York and how he has missed many other things. How he’s missed the blue flowers that grow in Fort Arsenal and how they only bloomed in spring. He had said they remind Shay of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d write in the next letter if he remembered but the next letter it seemed like he had forgotten entirely. Oh well…

Haytham had kept every single one of those letters, but Shay doesn’t need to know that. And never will.

The look that Haytham receives from Shay is one of hurt and sorrow. A long exhale escapes through Shay’s nose that has his shoulders sagging slightly. He seems to melt back into the lounge.

“This could take me another lifetime to find with this outdated information,” Shay comments what Haytham already knows.

Desmond can hear the plea.

 “I know,” Haytham nods. “But there is no other man that I would trust to find these artifacts.”

Shay’s jaw clenches. “Is there no one else to find this, sir? Someone that is familiar with these rumours and whomever has given you this information.”

Another plea that goes unheard. Haytham is set in his ways, and he will not listen to reason.

“I can give you the contacts on who gave me that information. But I have been holding onto it in hopes you would return back with the box. This, I need for my further research into the precursor site I have been after,” Haytham tells Shay firmly but, softly.

A defeated look comes over Shay. He looks over the single piece of paper again with a deeper set frown. He lets out a sigh.

“I’ll do it, sir” Shay agrees. Only because it’s you asking.

And with that, Shay says his farewells and is off before Haytham can blink. A deep ache settles in his cold heart that has him inhaling deeply to try and rid himself of it. It only worsens and he curses to himself for having such feelings towards such a man he has only known for such a little time.

Was it amongst the letters from Shay he realized the origin of the warm feeling whenever he was around said man? Or was it when that Morrigan had disappeared over the horizon when Shay first set out for the precursor box that the first real ache came to his heart. Or maybe when he first saw the broken man at the other end of the table to pledge himself to the cause. He saw a man willing to lay down his life for something greater and for a better future.

Maybe that’s why Haytham has always had an eye watching the Irishman when his back is turned. Or reading the letters he had sent over and over again when he feels the need. It’s such childish behaviour. He can admit that to himself.

But even so, he still finds himself staring and watching the back of Shay disappear around the corner of the room with a longing. He could speak. Say something. Say such few words that he knows would change everything. His tongue feels so heavy. Even when he hears the front door click open and shut, his tongue doesn’t even know how to form words.

Even if Shay had stopped and turned, what would have Haytham had said? For once, he’s speechless with himself. He doesn’t know how long he sits on the lounge for, staring at the empty space that once had Shay. He knows this is foolish of himself, but whom is to judge him? Such a sad man in a foolish world.

-

The animus skips time for Desmond, and he quickly realizes that it had only taken Shay Cormac two years to find the artifact. He was good. Too good for what he does. Took him much less time to find this artifact than the box.

This time, there was no grand entrance at the dock. No long-lost lover type movie thing coming back.

Three sharp knocks come to Haytham’s door, and he looks up from his newspaper. He wasn’t planning anyone coming over at this time of day and he had planned to stay inside for the rest. He wills himself to stand off his lounge and wonders over to the front door in nothing but his white, laced collared shirt. He’s rid himself of his heavy coat and cloak, not needing it in his private home.

He opens the door, expecting someone like Charles Lee or one of his own hired men to come and spill some nonsense to him. He’s all ready to wave them away to tell them to not bother him until later. But Desmond can feel all irritation melt away as Shay Cormac stands at the front door with his back turned.

As soon as the door has opened, Shay turns to greet Haytham with a wide smile. Something that instantly reddens Haytham’s ears.

“Back already, Shay?” Haytham asks with the slightest of cockiness in his tone.

This has Shay scoffing a light chuckle. He unclicks something on his belt, something wrapped up in cloth and hands it out to Haytham. The Grandmaster takes it with a nod and unwraps a bit of it to unveil what’s inside.

“Despite with what little you gave me,” Shay says. “It didn’t take me long to track it down since this thing was actively being hidden away from me.”

Haytham peers down at the unknown artifact. It’s a steely grey with lines that run over that, glowing a bright blue like glow worms. The shape is odd and cube like.

Desmond recognises instantly as the power source for their current precursor sight. So, it was Shay that brought it into Templar hands. Now they just need to pinpoint what modern Templar base has it and they’ll be able to find it.

“I’m going to pull you out now,” Rebecca’s voice sounds over the scene laying out before Desmond.

No! Wait a moment. Desmond quickly shouts out. I want to see where this goes.

“Uuhhh. Okay?”

Haytham folds the cloth back over the power source and looks to Shay again.

“Would you like to come in?” He asks Shay, side stepping a tad with an outstretched hand.

Shay’s brown eyes look into the doorway with a longing, but he shakes his head with a, “I’m sorry,” on his lips.

“I do apologize for this quick meeting, Haytham.” Shay speaks with regret heavy on his tongue. “But I must be heading back to New York to find out what has truly become of my estate.”

Haytham can’t help the silent, “Oh,” the comes from him as he stands fully in the doorway again. He wished to speak more with Shay about all of this. To just, sit with Shay would be a pleasure.

“Is such a matter so urgent?” Haytham asks, his tone stern and rough to hide the neediness behind its meaning.

Shay bows his head, “I’m afraid so.”

“I see.”

“Are there any other artifacts you would like me to look into before I leave?” Shay asks, his voice becoming soft.

Haytham looks to the wrapped artifact in his hand. He doesn’t have any other leads he would like chased up his sleeve. But he wishes he did. He wishes he could make Shay stay a little bit longer.

“No,” Haytham all but mumbles out.

He meets Shay’s soft gaze, one that Desmond recognises as disappointment. Why fall for someone like Haytham? Desmond is real curious on what goes inside Shay’s head. He wishes to know more about him despite being a Templar. In wanting to know more, to see if Shay’s look of disappointment comes with an ache in his heart similar to Haytham’s. Both must be feeling such similar things, yet neither of them wanting to say such out loud.

Shay nods with a sniff. “I’ll be off then, sir. I’ll still be at the ready if you need be,” he says before he turns to leave.

Haytham isn’t sure what he’s doing, but he reaches out and grabs onto Shay’s wrist. He’s curious in his own mind on why he’s done such a thing. But he meets Shay’s eyes once more and sees hope. Shay doesn’t say a word, waiting for Haytham to say something. His crow’s feet furrow together as Shay’s eyes narrow onto him.

Haytham wishes. But not now. He recoils his hand away and places it behind his back. He juts out his chin and straightens his back. The Grandmaster of the American Colonial Rite stands before Shay Cormac, and that is the last person the captain wanted to see.

“I will still want those reports of your contribution to the Templar course, Shay,” Haytham says instead of all the things on his mind.

Shay’s shoulder slouch and he smiles with hurt on his features. He looks Haytham up and down before giving a slow nod.

Haytham you stupid old man.

“Of course, sir.” Shay says. “I expected nothing more.”

Haytham gives a nod back with a frown upon his features.

“Goodbye, Haytham.”

And with that, Shay leaves. He all but disappears into the crowd on the Boston street, his assassin upbringing never truly leaving his blood. Haytham lets out a shaky breath and returns to his home, the door once again clicking softly behind him with Shay on the other side.

Did they ever see each other again?

There’s silence in Rebecca’s end before a sorrow filled, “No.”

[phoenix-downer]

The Long-Haired Maiden

~1520 words. RokuNami. Fairy Tale AU. Naminé POV. Romance, Love At First Sight, Rapunzel Retelling. Written for @pred1059 for the RokuNami Server's Valentine's Day Exchange.

Summary: Naminé dreams about the day she can be free from her tower when a mysterious stranger climbs into her life.

Naminé longed to go outside her tower. She didn’t care how dangerous it was. What threats might lurk behind the verdant green leaves of the forest surrounding her home. Every time she opened her window and heard the song birds chirping outside, she wanted to sprout wings and fly off with them.

But Marluxia and Larxene were never going to let her, and the tower made it impossible. It had neither stairs nor doors. The only way in or out was through the window, and the drop to the ground from up here was enough to kill a person without the special trick her guardians used.

Sighing, she opened her sketchbook to a blank page and grabbed a nearby pencil. She’d drawn the view outside her small window so many times, but the tower only provided so much entertainment. She supposed she could draw herself looking out the window. Waiting for something, anything to help her step outside her prison, even once.

As her pencil flew across the page, bringing to life the image in her mind, she hummed to herself. It was a lullaby whose origin she did not know. The humming soon turned to words, and she let her voice echo loud and clear through the secluded little valley. No one ever came here besides her guardians, and so no one would ever hear her besides them. And even if they did, they had no way of climbing the tower.

The sun sank low in the sky and the light faded from the world, and she sang to herself as she captured what she could on paper. 

Presently, a sudden sound interrupted her reverie. “Naminé, Naminé, let down your long hair,” a man’s voice called to her. 

It must be Marluxia. Strange, this wasn’t usually the time he or Larxene came. They preferred the mornings or early afternoons, and it was twilight. Well, only her guardians knew the secret call. Maybe something was pressing or urgent. She carefully fastened her long, golden hair around a hook in the window, then let her braid down for him to climb.  

Now that it was night, all she could really make out of Marluxia was his black cloak with the hood pulled over. She waited patiently as he climbed, one gloved hand going over the other. It wasn’t until he had reached the window and was climbing through it that she realized something was wrong. The cloaked figure was smaller than Marluxia for one, and when he straightened and removed his hood, the candlelight revealed a handsome young man with windswept golden hair and piercing blue eyes.

Oh dear. It was much too late to do anything about the fact that this wasn’t Marluxia. It wasn’t Marluxia at all. Her guardians’ warnings about thieves and vagabonds raced through her head, and yet there was something about him that put her at ease. 

“Who are you?” she finally asked when she’d found her voice. It came out much shakier than she would’ve liked.

He smiled, and something about his smile made her breath catch and her heart leap in her chest. That had never happened before. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. But it wasn’t a bad feeling, not at all. Just…unexpected.

“I’m Roxas,” he said in answer to her question, bowing politely. “I’m a prince, and my family’s kingdom isn’t far from here.”

A prince! So he wasn’t a thief or vagabond after all. Well, that was a relief. “But how…”

“I heard you singing when I was passing by one day,” he replied. “Your voice is beautiful, but you sounded sad.”

Sad? Well, she supposed she was sad. How could she be happy when she wasn’t free?

“I wanted to meet you at least once,” he said, his face very earnest and sincere. “Today, I finally figured out how.” He grinned and cupped a hand over his mouth. “Naminé, Naminé, let down your long hair!”

“O-Oh. Well I suppose…” She cleared her throat and rested her hand over her heart. “Yes, that’s right. My name is Naminé.”

“Naminé,” he echoed. “It’s pretty. Like you.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Another strange new sensation. “Oh, um, thank you,” was all she could manage. What was it about this man that left her tongue tied?

“You’re welcome.” He glanced around the tower, taking in the rocking chair by the window with her sketchpad and pencils, the small kitchen and cozy fireplace, the little table with three chairs tucked into the corner, her bed with its royal blue canopy and matching covers. “Do you live here?” he asked.

“I do.” It had been her home and her prison ever since she could remember. Marluxia and Larxene made sure her needs were attended to, but a gilded cage was still a cage.

“Do you ever leave?”

She shook her head, and the way his eyebrows knitted together and his lips pulled into a taut line surprised her. Why did he care so much?

“So you’re trapped here,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “That’s why you’re sad.”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Do you want to leave?”

“More than anything. But I have no way to escape.”

“What if I helped you?”

Her breath caught again. It was one thing to daydream about leaving, it was another altogether to actually act on the urge. Now that the possibility was on the table, she found herself hesitating.

“We would be punished harshly if they caught us. My guardians Marluxia and Larxene would, I mean.”

“They don’t have to know.”

She considered this. She had never tried to hide anything from them. No, that wasn’t true. She never voiced her true feelings about being locked in the tower. She’d tried once, only to be yelled at for several minutes straight about how it wasn’t safe out there, they just wanted to protect her, she couldn’t handle being out in the real world.

But wasn’t that her choice to make? What was the point in being protected from a world she never got to experience?

“Why do you want to help me?” she finally asked Prince Roxas.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said, his eyes flashing with determination. “No one should spend their life imprisoned in a tower. You deserve to be as free as I am.” 

Something about his answer reassured her. Perhaps it was how fiercely he was advocating for her. Maybe it was because he didn’t say a word about what he expected to get out of the arrangement. No, the focus was on helping her and doing the right thing.

Still, this wasn’t the sort of decision she could make lightly. “I…I need time to consider,” she said, pressing her fingers together. “I want to leave, but—”

His expression softened. “You’re scared, aren’t you? Can’t say I blame you. Some strange guy climbs through your window and wants you to leave the only home you’ve ever known. I’d be hesitating too. What can I do to gain your trust?”

“Could you…come back tomorrow?” she said. “And the day after that. But only in the evenings or at night. Mornings and afternoons are when they visit.”

“I’d be happy to. And each time I visit, I’ll bring a small length of rope. Not enough to raise suspicion, but enough for us to make a ladder to climb down, piece by piece. And when the ladder is finished, that’s when we can escape. Together.”

She nodded. His plan was worth a try. It was her only chance of escape, really, and the nightly visits would give her a chance to get to know him before then.

“So tomorrow at twilight, you’ll be back to see me?” The prospect was very appealing indeed, and not just because she wanted to escape. No, the prince was someone she felt like she could spend hours talking to, and the thought of seeing him again made her stomach flutter like a bird that had taken wing.

He smiled. “I will. I promise.”

With that he put his hood back over his head and she fastened her hair into the hook on the window once more. Carefully, she lowered him to the ground and watched as he mounted his horse and rode off into the night. 

Smiling to herself, she pulled her golden braid back up, then sat on her rocking chair and grabbed her sketchbook and pencils. A new idea for a drawing had entered her mind, and she worked on it until the candle was just a stub and the wick flickered. 

When she was finished, she examined her handiwork with a satisfied nod before fastening it to the wall and lighting a fresh candle.

She sat down to eat a delicious supper of apple slices, chunks of cheese, and fresh bread, but her eyes kept wandering to what she’d drawn. Two golden birds flew through the skies together, completely free to go anywhere they liked. The tower was far in the distance, and they would never have to return again.

Someday, that picture would be reality, she was sure of it.

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

A/N: Thank you for reading! Pred requested a fairy tale AU as one of the options for the exchange, and RokuNami has such good Rapunzel vibes that I decided to go that route. Thank you for the prompt Pred and for joining the exchange! And thank you to Liv for beta reading the story!

I hope you all enjoyed, and Happy Valentine's Day!

[stankycowboy]

♚ - put a hand on my muse’s knee while sitting next to them, to discourage them from standing up

He looks down at her hand, every muscle tensed to spring, fingers already hovering over the polished dark wood of his pistol’s grip. Although her expression was serene, unchanged, he felt incandescent rage on her behalf. Wild blue eyes swing back to the insultingly forward man, whose sheer audacity to ask the woman he was courting to dance had brought out the devil in him. The only thing keeping his gun in holster is the hand on his thigh. “I suggest you mosey before I spill your guts”, he snarls, every intention to fill the man across from him with lead. “Why don’t the lady speak her mind, ain’t right one man keepin’a wild blossom to hisself”. His crooked smile has one too many teeth for Severen’s liking, ready to make the man swallow his words; and more. In his growing fury he notices the glimmer of interest in Lira's expression, which alters his heated rage into his own secret merriment. Her stalling him is not to prevent violence, but rather an encouragement of sorts, or so he interprets the subtle grin on her face, the dark sparkle in her vibrant green eyes. If it is a show she wants, he is glad to perform. "Any man what thinks a woman needs keepin' has already lost". Severen smiles wickedly, watching the other cocksure cowboy's confidence fade. "I'll see you outside fer that", the man states bluntly, taking extreme offense at the thought that he may not be man enough to engage a woman's affections. Severen can still feel the press of Lira's fingers and makes an easy excuse, leaning back in his chair. "I'm remiss to downgrade from current company to the likes of yerself". The tables had turned significantly as the stranger seethed at the insult. "You won't see my challenge met?" Oh, but he will. "Allow me to offer alternate terms". Still reclined in his ease, Severen makes sure his pistol is visible, impossible to miss. "How's about we draw, right where we stand”.

“Now I won’t have no gunfight—“ the bartender, having overheard the exchange protests, anguished at losing customers due to masculine bravado. Severen raises a palm to silence the man. “No patron at risk longs they ain’t behind my friend here”. The stranger grows even more heated, his own hand at his belt. “You need a count?” He growls through his teeth. The bartender tried to interject a second time, but the effort is futile, all eyes are watching the gunmen, eager to see blood spill— even at the risk of their own joining it. “Nay” Severen tells him, slowly moving his right hand just to the side of his trusty revolver, not too far from his heartspark’s lithe fingers. There is a pregnant silence, the quiet spinning out as the two observe one another, waiting for the barest flinch. At the sound of the gunshot everyone jumps—save one who curls her nails into a leather clad leg. A second hush as they wait for the body to fall, having not yet registered its demise, but Severen knows. He could find a man’s heart at sixty paces, let alone five. He laughs, seeing his competitor hadn’t even managed to clear his pistol, and now he never would. Spinning the revolver around his curled index finger he fancifully returns it home. As the corpse drops with a dull thud to the floorboards people don’t know whether to clap or cheer, most remain in aghast disquiet ”Another soul to the Reaper!” Cheers someone from the back. It shatters the stillness and they fall into a raucous merriment that feels right, although know one can quite explain why. While glasses are clinked and two boys are tasked with dragging the body out of the bar, Severen levels a haughty grin to Lira. “Enjoy the show?” He half-growls, blood up from the exhilaration of violence. He reaches for her hand, but she pulls it away, stretching back into her own chair with a languid smile. It is teasing, it taunts him. If she wants more, he’ll give it to her, he’ll massacre the whole damn bar for her favor. In the look she is giving him, it is clear she knows this. “Well”, he starts, now rising from his seat, “If it’s what the lady demands”, he places his hat on the table, takes a keen look at how everyone within is arranged, “I surely must oblige”.

[bookwhimses]

slain darling: in certain lights

I have a word doc called "slain darlings" which is just scenes or lines I cut out from DGHDA fics. This one below is on the larger side and was cut from the fourth chapter of In Certain Lights because it completely destroyed the tension building up in the scene. It does have some fun banter in it, though, and I'm determined to share something tonight, so here it is below, unedited.

Refresher/intro for anyone who hasn't read ICL: the premise of the fic is that Dirk is unsure how to interpret how weird Todd gets around certain people, specifically, people who hit on Dirk. It's very much a jealousy pining trope fic which touches on how being autistic and being in love with Todd influences the way Dirk interprets social behaviour around him (sometimes because he overcorrects himself or assumes he's bad at reading people bc autism). This scene was cut from the penultimate chapter, in which Dirk has become over-conscious of Todd's behaviour and is secretly hoping it does signify that Todd has feelings for him. Dirk, Todd, and Farah at a restaurant and their waiter is Jake, who is flirting with Dirk.

“How about you, Dirk?” Jake’s smiling down at him again, his dimple peeping in his left cheek. “Did I pronounce that right?”

“Yeee-ees …” Dirk tries to look at Todd out of the corner of his eye, but all he can see are stiff shoulders and a pale blur. He looks up at Jake instead, attempting another smile. “You did! That was some … excellent pronouncing!”

Jake’s grin brightens, though Dirk’s view of it is quickly obscured by a cream and black blur that resolves itself into Todd’s menu, which Todd had apparently decided to shove at Jake right at that moment. Jake takes the menu, his grin faltering slightly as he catches Todd’s eye.

“Er …” Dirk shoots Jake yet another weak smile, this one a shade apologetic. “Fish for me too, thanks.”

Jake’s smile recovers and he whisks the other menus away with their orders. By the time Dirk turns back to the table, Todd’s expression has faded back to an only slightly strange, pained smile.

“How did you put it the other week?” Todd switches to his ‘Dirk-accent,’ which sounds even more egregiously Australian than usual. “‘You’re in there.’”

Fraught with social confusion or not, Todd’s impressions always have the same effect on Dirk, and he wrinkles his nose, unable to stop himself from snorting.

“Oh, don’t start,” both Dirk and Farah say simultaneously – though Dirk sounds too charmed to be completely convincing, and Farah sounds like she wants to bludgeon Todd with the pepper pot.

Todd is apparently spurred on by Dirk’s laugh though, because he leans forward, propping his elbows on the table, “‘Excellent pronouncing?’ It’s one syllable.”

“Didn’t you say that Silas called you ‘Toad’ once?” Dirk says, prompting a snicker from Farah, who’s back on her phone.

Todd’s smirk turns back to a glower, “Yeah, well. Silas was a fantasy man made up by like, a ten-year-old. And he sucked at sword-fighting.”

“Yes, Silas and I had that in common.” Dirk rather wishes he’d had other things in common with Silas, namely a devoted boyfriend whom he was 110% sure was romantically interested in him and not just an affectionate and overprotective pal.

“You – you weren’t that bad.”

Dirk sends a Look of his own Todd’s way, and Todd’s mouth starts to curve at one end into a suppressed but far more genuine grin. The bundle of confusion and anxiety in Dirk’s chest eases a little.

“Okay, you were pretty bad,” Todd admits. “You definitely get points for effort though. And enthusiasm, like, you definitely committed.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure Silas is really nursing that scratch I laid on him. In fact, in light of the scar that would have left him with, my efforts on the battlefield really do outweigh you punching his lights out.”

“Yeah, you really outshone me,” Todd grins.

“What can I say, don’t mess with this gangle of assorted limbs,” says Dirk, snapping his fingers in mock confidence, and Todd laughs.

“You’re both ridiculous,” says Farah, not lifting her eyes from her phone.

Todd and Dirk exchange a glance over her ducked head, identical grins and silent shared affection for their friend, and Dirk feels himself find steady ground again.

[deadbnnuy]

The Eternal Shift - A FNaF / DSaF Fanstory | Chapter 2 : Showtime

Christopher turned around and immediately jumped in horror. "Holy f--!!" He yelped, looking at the slouched mascot suit in the corner with wide eyes.

It had dark empty eyes and a large smiling mouth. It was clearly supposed to be a cat or something.

He eased past it slowly.

"That's... creepy." He thought to himself, picking up his toolkit and exiting the saferoom, walking down the narrow, mouldy-smelling hallway.

"Hey." A voice was heard from behind him.

Christopher stopped, before turning around slowly.

A woman with blonde hair baring multicolor stripes in it stood there, her large teeth like a rabbit's, her body cloaked in darkness. "Hello." Christopher responded monotonously, "What do you want?"

"Just saying hi. You're new here... ain't'cha...?" She asked. Christopher nodded slowly, eyeing the woman suspiciously. "I'm Toga. Toga Usmagi. Nice to meet you!" She said, her tone unhinged. Christopher did not shake her hand.

"Nice meeting you too. I have work to attend to now. Goodbye." He said, hurrying away from the woman.

The woman stared for a moment, before putting her hand back down at her side, smile fading, expression becoming dark. The light flickered.

Christopher entered the main party room and approached Oliver's office, now in his uniform. He opened the door loudly, causing Oliver to flinch. "Boss." He snapped to get his attention, the phone headed man turned with a yelp, startled.

"Employee! Oh... w-what do you want...?" Oliver asked.

[* Can I leave yet? ]

[* What do I do? ]

[* Just came here to see you, baby ;) (lie)]

[* When is lunch? ]

"What do I do?" Christopher demanded. Oliver stared. "Um... you mean... on your shift?" He asked. "Yes."

"Uh... well. Check on the animatronics and make sure they work? Pick pizza bits out of Daphne?" Oliver responded, clutching the sides of his chair nervously. Christopher stared down at him, before leaving the office.

"... God, something is so wrong with that man... we are really desperate for employees." Oliver shook his head and went back to filling out paperwork.

Christopher walked between tables and chairs and stepped up onto stage, throwing the curtains back to see the rubber faced, musty smelling, furry things standing tall before him. He grimaced at the smell they emitted, it was like roadkill.

He hesitantly checked on each and every one of them, Frederick Fatbear, a bear, Bonanza the Bunny, and Daphne the "Duck", who frankly looked more like a chicken.

Daphne had a piece of noticably mouldy pizza lodged in her mouth, which Christopher stared at.

Would it really be a good idea to stick his hand in there?

[> Yes (retrieve pizza)]

[> No (leave it)]

Against your better judgment, you reach into the thing's mouth and get the pizza, and snatch your hand out before the jaws snap down. You blink and look at the pizza, before carrying it over to a trashcan to throw it away.

"Hey, what are you doing?" He heard Oliver say. He looked up. "That pizza is probably still usable."

Christopher blinked. "Pardon?" He asked.

"It's only slightly mouldy." Oliver folded his arms. "Go put it in the kitchen." Christopher sneered in disgust, and obeyed his boss' order, and brought the pizza slice to the kitchen...

Where he threw it away regardless. No wonder this place keeps getting sued...

This goddamn place opened in a few minutes, and it was far from ready. But that was the least of Christopher's worries. He was here to make sure every kid that entered this godforsaken place came out alive, not to make profit.

It's showtime.

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

Next chapter

Previous chapter

[smiletimeisrunningout]

"While I am a terrible liar when asked things directly... my parents don't know I have been wounded in battle. Just think about that." Didn't speak well of her honesty, but she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. "I fear my mother's heart would stop every time I left home if she actually knew just how dangerous it is... that Regina is still that present or that my grandfather is now after me. Thank you for hiding my troubles too, by the way..." He had seen how scarred her body was, knew how intensely she trained every morning and how easily she had fought others before, and yet she was sure her parents had no seen any trace of surprise or uncertainty on Ben's face when talking about her behavior. A spy, after all.

are their standards really so low that all I need to be is not a pirate?

She visibly held back a burst of laughter, waiting for a moment before pointing out in a small voice full of amusement: "Actually they'd let me marry a pirate, my mother is ready." Her poor, poor mother. "Their only real requirement for my future husband is that we truly love each other, they want to hear nothing about arranging a marriage for the good of the kingdom nor care about nobility, they want me to have what they have. Which is... quite inconvenient," she shrugged, with the ease of a conversation that had been had a thousand times before in her life, "Considering I'd likely be married by now, just like they wanted, if they let me pick someone who would be a good husband regardless of love. I know the right person too, but he's eighty years old. Which is the point: he's at peace, wants to retire and enjoy his last years, I want to rule by myself. But they'd never let me make a practical choice like that, so... guess we are picking the romantic route and they have to wait." There was, still, a bit of amusement in her voice even if the situation was frustrating, but speaking of that specific topic with Ben for the first time had her thinking of him in that role for a moment. A silly thought. She'd never torture him subjecting him to such a life.

I'm curious how you would've reacted to my university notes

"No, it's not that you take notes, it's that you were so adorably organized even when on a dinner with me! You are supposed to do it when studying," she giggled, "And you found me a poem, Ben. That was just so sweet... I can't resist sweet."

"And here I was, assuming you'd leap at the 'rub off on' joke I made, rather than...well...literally leaping

"I was!" she piped up, bouncing on her feet from the enthusiasm because of course she was going to make a joke - and it was hilarious that he had brought it up now as if she was Caleb and not a lady - but his other words had been too distracting. "But you brought up being my prisoner, and I'm not joking at all when I say I can do that."

Still, she rubbed his arm in an almost comforting way when he called his attempts bumbling, "I like the way you speak." She did - any man could learn how to be smooth, but to be so honest and to be embarrassed the way he could be? That was a lot more attractive to her, made him so much more real.

"I don't know what you mean by 'less creative, but still very lovely things,' but I'm beginning to realize I would do anything for you...which was probably a very stupid thing to confess."

Her teasing smile faded into a touched look at that, her heart nearly missing a beat. That was... different. She brought her hand back to his cheek, stroking it tenderly as she wondered how she could possibly react to something that made her feel so many emotions, and whether that realization of his would go away once the novelty of their new relationship would pass, but then chose to silence the thoughts and silently thank him by pulling him to her for a soft kiss. Wasn't that too sweet? Shouldn't she put a stop to it? But no, Ben was a sweet person and there was no harm in allowing him to be himself, to take what she could before he'd grow tired of it. "Please, you know I'm in your hands," she murmured, "I promise I'll use that knowledge only for good... or try to."

Emma wrinkled her nose at him, which only accentuated the bright, shimmery starshine within her eyes. "What, you couldn't say I almost fainted because of my womanly emotions and you held me up? Now now, how is that good lying?"

Benjamin scoffed, though he was smiling. "I'm beginning to think you've done this before," he teased. "If you keep this up, we'll be acting out our very own Shakespearean comedy, and we both know how much you love those."

"Worry not, I will make sure you have time and space to avoid my father's inevitable attempt to stab you," Emma quipped, cupping his cheeks between her palms.

"A very noble endeavor. Thank you," Benjamin agreed, fondly encircling her wrists with his hands.

Emma hummed. "Or worse, my mother's inevitable attempts to marry us since my father may actually help her if it means having a son in law who reads. And isn't a pirate. Poor you, it would be easier to be stabbed."

Unbidden, Benjamin's heart leapt in his chest, a lopsided smile filling his face as he breathed a soft, self-conscious laugh. "I've heard horror stories of how mothers are quite eager to marry off their daughters, but say true: are their standards really so low that all I need to be is not a pirate?"

With a pout, Emma giggled and leaned into his touch. "Any man can be ruggedly handsome, provided the correct clothing and potentially an unkept stubble," she reassured, "but handsome and cute, like you? No, that's rarer and therefore more precious. Cute is also what makes me want to kiss you, together with your lists."

Benjamin flushed, unmistakable pleasure warming his features. "There's no need for the flattery -- you've already won me over," he promised. "Still, I never thought that lists would be so provocatively alluring to you. If this is your response to my preparation, I'm curious how you would've reacted to my university notes..."

Unbidden, the light in Emma's eyes melded into something darker, more sultry as she purred, "Oh, sweetheart, if you wish to be tied for me, you only need to take a night off. I'll be happy to have my way with you for as long as you can take it. Maybe, if you ask nicely, even a bit more than that."

Her hands trailed down Benjamin's chest and his face burned impossibly hotter, his mouth opening and closing as they locked eyes. "Uh...I-I'll admit I didn't think...er...I-I didn't realize..."

"You should come back tonight, when people are asleep," she cut in. "We can't do that here, but we could do... less creative but still very lovely things?"

With a sheepish laugh, Benjamin confessed, "And here I was, assuming you'd leap at the 'rub off on' joke I made, rather than...well...literally leaping." Taking her hand on his chest, he drew her fingers up to his lips with shy smile. "I'm pleased that my earlier, albeit bumbling attempts are forgiven, and that you're willing to let me...um..." Goodness, how was Emma able to speak so shamelessly? Any time he thought of, or even alluded to intimacy, his face grew hot and he started stammering like some world class nincompoop.

Bashful, he ducked his eyes and splayed her hand across his heart. "I don't know what you mean by 'less creative, but still very lovely things,' but I'm beginning to realize I would do anything for you...which was probably a very stupid thing to confess."

[limeade-l3sbian]

🌹🌹

(Kinda old, but now I wanna finish it :P It's for my Dragonborne OC, Bezawit.)

The ship eases into its temporal place in the docks and the crew of four are bade by their grizzled captain to ‘tie ‘er down’ whilst he settles back in his chair located some inches from the hold’s door. He keeps his eyes trained on Bez as she approaches him, holding out a small but thick pouch of coin, hardly hurting for the currency.

He lifts a thick brow, chin raised in suspicion, “Ye’ already paid me, idler.”

“It’s not for you.” She clarifies, drawing it back a moment to specify, “It’s for the crew. Divide it up. Many ships as I’ve traveled on, this the most decent crew I’ve ever met, captain aside. You’ll run ‘em off with your attitude alone so you might as well keep them keen with coin.”

She shakes the pouch, biding him in gaze to take it.

Neither one has acknowledged the man flanked by two guards at the pier, arms crossed and waiting.

He grunts, but in it’s jittering pattern, Bez can tell it is the man’s gruff chuckle. He snatches it from her and waves her off, tucking it away, better hidden when his arms cross over his gently budding abdomen. She steps back and turns – only to step back again when nearly directly faced with one of the green crewmates, Lokhdar, who both greets and gives farewell to her. From what she can recall in his moments of speech, he was not only green to sea fairing but to life itself, only 18 years of age. His time on this ship specifically had been a hearty three months – that wasn’t cynicism. In such a short time, the efforts and work have set his pallor complexion to suffer from sun burns more often than anyone else on board. His hands are calloused not just by the tips but in full, scathed with fading marks from rope burns and frost bite.

But to look at the boy and speak to him, he is always some seconds away from a smile, and closer to a grin when queried about his place on board. Bez thinks he might get his spirit crushed elsewhere, and whether the captain chose to make a point of it or not, she knew he too enjoyed a bit of spirit from the boy. He’d have kicked him off elsewise.

The title of “adventurer” was a recurring epithet leant to Bez, but not one she had given herself. Less impressed parties like the captain dubbed her as something less respectable, hence his ongoing epithet of “idler” in the instances of their speaking to one another. It was the unfulfilled, the common, and the young that revered her rootlessness. Likening her to heroes of stories they had been told in their lives, when she was far from ethical – let alone some figure to be adorned. This was the case with Lokhdar, although he was respectably more subtle with his admiration.

Her steely disposition was natural, and not intended to put off those who admired “adventurers” like her. And it was a good thing too – because as of yet, it never had.

He rubs his hands quickly against the coarse fabric of his trousers before awkwardly stuffing them in his pocket, cutting that boyish smile at her in such a genuineness that it almost made Bez a bit uncomfortable – in the sense that she knew one day, something would rid him of it, and while he may smile, a day would come where it would never look as it did now.

“I know you told the captain you didn’t have the interest to speak on it, but I was wondering if I could ask – why come to Solstheim?”

He hadn’t been as subtle about his interest as he seemed to think he’d been. But Bez had never been all that unwilling to chalk up some vague explanation, either. She just hadn’t had the patience to work over the nondescript reason herself. How did one explain what they themselves had no idea about? She settles her hands on her hips and glances at the now fuming figure on the pier, turning back to Lokhdar with a raised brow, lips full but flat in expression.

“The only question I can’t answer for you.”

His smile sinks.

“Because I don’t know.”

His smile does not return, but the bewildering awe of a child comes over him, as though an adventure of the unknown was better than some definite reason. She shrugs, walking with him in step as she headed for the pier at last, “Someone tried to kill me and I’ve traced their base of origin back here. If someone’s got it out for me, I’d figure I’d find out why, since as you may have noticed – I tend to keep to myself.”

“The hit came all the way from Solstheim…” he acknowledges in awe, “Gods help you, then. I hope there isn’t some trap waiting on you.”

“Most likely.” She confesses, foot on the edge of the ship, gaze still set on the man, “But if the gods don’t favor me, hopefully my sword will.”

[phantomrose96]

Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…” Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

[inkandpen22]

Always a Ploy

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Y/N is often used as a ploy to catch the perpetrators and it drives Spencer crazy 

A/N: I’m always adding new one shots for Reid so if you’d like to be tagged lmk!

Masterlist

Y/N

I sway my head from side to side, playing music in my head to distract myself from the fact that I'm freezing. 'Stand and wait on the side of the house' Hotch ordered. 'I'll give you the go-ahead soon' he promised. Ten minutes later, Reid and I are still waiting for the said go-ahead. At least Reid gets to be in normal clothes for the desert at night. I'm yet again being offered up as a ploy and in Morgan's mind, a door-to-door saleswoman would wear a dress when the weather is supposed to be low sixties, the wind not included. 

"Honey, you're killing me. Are you sure you don't want my jacket?" Reid offers again for the third time in the last five minutes. 

"Yes." My breath escapes between my teeth. "I'm fine. Plus, we won't have much time once Hotch gives the signal." I shake my limbs to remain warm. 

“Wait for my command," Hotch announces into our earpieces. "We lost sight of him in the window. We suspect he’s headed to the basement.” 

I shake my head. “Screw this. I’m going in.” 

“No, you’re not!” 

“They’re children! One more minute with that monster is another minute of trauma!” I move to step around the house and toward the front door. 

Reid slips his gun back onto his belt and grabs my wrist to stop me. He yanks me back and pins me against the cool wooden panels of the house. I open my mouth to argue and he covers my mouth. He whispers frantically, “Baby, baby, listen to me. I can’t let you in there!" I wiggle in his hold. “Stop fighting me.” 

“Y/N, you may proceed," Hotch announces, giving me the go-ahead. 

Reluctantly, Reid has no choice but to let me go. His hand falls from my mouth slowly, but he keeps me pinned and stares into my eyes warningly. “Don’t do anything reckless!" 

I smirk and slip out from under him. “You should know me better than assume I’d listen.” 

“Y/N, I’m serious!” He whispers, aggravated. 

“So am I." I send him a wink as I step out from beside the house. 

The lights from the living room pour out of the window onto the dry dirt yard. I take a minute a toss my hair to one side and yank the dress down to reveal more of my chest. 

Spencer

I watch from the shadows as Y/N adjusts herself to speak with the suspect. I hate it when she does this. I understand that Hotchner and everyone agrees that it works, but their opinions don't make any less uncomfortable. My own girlfriend is being used as a ploy, expected to flont herself to earn the trust of serial killers or rapists. 

Morgan appears beside me and squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t get hostile, Boy Genius.” 

“She’s doing it on purpose,” I grumble, gesturing to Y/N. 

“I know, I know.” He sighs. "But she's just doing her job. It's all pretending to her too," he assures me. "She's into you, man." 

Y/N

I ring the doorbell and rock on my heels, making the panels of the porch creak. Suddenly, the door swings open to reveal a worn-down middle-aged man in dirty overalls. 

“I don’t want to join any religion," he grumbles. He goes to slam the door shut, but I block it with my hand. 

“Neither do I,” I voice softly with a smirk. I step forward to stand on the threshold. “But maybe you’d like to sit down and talk about your finances? Have you been keeping track of where you’ve been putting your... assets?” I scan the man up and down with my eyes until I meet his gaze. 

Spencer

As we listen to Y/N flirt with the suspect, Morgan chuckles quietly next to me. 

I elbow him in the stomach. “It’s not funny.” 

“She sounds like Jessica Rabbit,” he jokes, only irritating me more. 

There's creaking on the porch, followed by the front door squeaking shut. He's let her in. 

Y/N

The place is an utter wreck. There have to be at least a dozen cats, hundreds of old newspapers scattered everyone, and it smells of feces. I sit down on the worn and ripped plaid couch next to the old man. I wear my best smile, though inside I'm screaming. 

“Now, let’s begin. What bank do you currently use?” I ask, gripping my fake leather finance binder. 

The man shifts closer to me. “Chase.” 

I note now that he's missing at least five teeth. I nod. “They are great to their members, but we something broader... larger in size," I chose my words intentionally. 

Abruptly, there's a high-pitch scream from within the house, making both of us freeze. 

“What was that?” I ask, searching the surrounding area. 

“My daughter is upstairs playing!" He rushes out and scoots closer to me. Boldly, he places his hand on my bare knee. "What was that you said about size?” He grins and begins to glide his hand up slowly. 

I swallow hard, my eyes on his hand. I try to ease it off. “Sir, please-“ 

He lifts his hand off my knee and brings it to my shoulder. He tries to urge me to lay down. “Come on, sugar. I’ll pay you for your time. Your supervisor won’t have to know.” 

I reach underneath my dress and whip out my gun, pointing it directly between his eyes. “FBI, down on the ground!” 

His eyes grow wide and his jaw nearly hits the floor. “What!” 

The S.W.A.T. team barges into the house, all yelling over each other. They march deeper into the house and into the basement where we know the children are. Hotchner appears in the foyer with Reid and Morgan. Soon, Prentiss and JJ are close behind. 

Reid yanks the man off of me and tosses him onto the ground on his knees. He handcuffs him and pulls him to his feet. “No means no, asshole!” 

“She was asking for it," the suspect huffs as he's dragged off toward the foyer. 

Reid laughs mockingly. “Doubtful consider she just has to go to me for that." 

Morgan kneels in front of me. “You okay?” 

I nod weakly. “After every time I just feel gross.” I shake out my arms with a shiver. 

“He’s a disgusting man. I’m sorry he touched you.” 

“Part of the job.” I shrug. “At least I know how to defend myself. There are so many women who don't." 

Morgan nods. "Maybe you can take your experiences and help those women." 

Now there's an idea. 

__________________________________________________

I lean against the car with JJ and Prentiss as the S.W.A.T. team and members of C.P.S carry the little girls out of the basement and into ambulances. It's a bittersweet sight. Morgan and Reid step out of the house once the last child is removed. Morgan pats Reid on the back with a chuckle as they approach us. 

As soon as they reach us, Reid takes my hand and leads me to a tree a few feet away from the car. When we have some privacy, he starts to apologize. “Look, I’m sorry for what I did. I shouldn’t have grabbed you and covered your mouth. I didn’t know-“ 

I cut him off, reaching up and bringing my lips to meet his with a quick peck. His hands rest on my waist and I break from him. 

He blinks rapidly, taken aback. “I thought you’d be mad.” 

“Oh I was pissed in the moment. Now, it’s just hot," I grin, wrapping my arms around his waist. 

He smirks. “Noted.” 

“I didn’t know you could move so quickly, Reid,” I giggle. “And what you said to the perpetrator when you arrested him!” 

He chuckles, “yeah I may have been a little heated in the moment. In my defense, he did touch you! Okay, that was not a part of the plan!” 

“I appreciate the protectiveness,” I assure him with a laugh. 

He glances down at the small space between us and the smile on his lips fades slowly. 

I can tell there's something on his mind. 

“About your performance...” He mumbles. 

“Didn’t like it?” I ask, knowing how he hates it when I have to be a ploy. 

He nods frantically. “Yeah, never again," he orders. 

“Deal.” I nod, giving his lips a quick peck again. 

He smiles into the kiss. “Well, never again for anyone else," he adds against my lips, making me grin. He breaks from me to ask, "Do you think maybe tonight you and I could talk about my assets?” 

I swat him on the arm. “Reid!” 

He chuckles, "you're right. We'll talk about this when we get home." 

I roll my eyes and they land on our teammates by the car as they watch us go back and forth, smiling brightly. 

_____________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @mrsobrien888​ @hufflepufftruffle @gillybear17 @thatsonezesty13 @smol-flowerkiddo @reesespieces10123 @madds-m @az3r0o @wafflebacon23 @spencerreid-mgg @alfonsais @justlivinginadaydream @kaitlynpcallmebeepme @farah3012 @doveygirlkay-blog @dreatine  @imhappybutimalsosad @parahmur  @tremendousdinosaurhideout  @destiny-dream67  @ashwarren32  @yeahjustcallmer-n @bluehydrangea-cherry​ @izzysecrets

[aureatescars]

It's been too long since he's felt anything like this. Warmth in another person's company, the lack of pretense he needs to uphold not something he gets to have often these days. Sasha doesn't remember when he's last been at ease enough to trade banter with someone, feels as if the scowl he wears has pretty much been edged into his features ever since getting involved in the civil war; ever since Irina's death, really.

It doesn't hurt as much anymore to think of her. He's spent years grieving her. Her and J.D. The loss of both of them offen left him haunted by loneliness, by guilt, too. He ached with it for so long, and now that the pain has faded into something less sharp, if still ever-present it feels no longer wrong to find solace in a companionship other than theirs.

He just didn't expect to find comfort in Leon of all people. Despite what the man alludes to, Sasha didn't plan for this, didn't have any ulterior motives as Leon put it. And he still doesn't. He's not doing all of this to broker some sort of favor from Leon, for as much as his coming here should have been a simple transaction, the two of them working towards the same — or at the very least a very smilar — goal, this is something Sasha slowly realizes he wants for himself. Companionship, feeling human again, like a person rather than the concept of the Broker. He's spent so much time hidden away and cultivating this image of stoic omniscience that he's felt it consume the entirety of him.

When has he last left the office before sundown? He struggles to remember and yet he didn't even think twice to simply leave alongside Leon earlier, going as far as inviting him to dinner, and now... all of this.

Sasha still takes Leon's behavior as an elaborate joke, one he finds himself willingly playing along with since it causes Leon to loosen up more and more and Sasha in turn does the same, leading to the two of them being in high spirits by the time they reach the restaurant.

At this point in time he leans fully into Leon's implications, not only takes his jacket, but also touches the small of his back to guide him and then pulls out a chair for him when they go to get seated further in the back, earning himself some more amusement and that small lopsided, but honest smile he's come to like a lot over the course of the last hour.

The waiter gives them an odd look when he catches Sasha help Leon get seated, which makes him conscious of what an image they must make given ...everything, from then on he decides to lessen the overtness with which he meets Leon's banter, thinking it's probably been going on long enough for Leon to get bored of trying to tease him.

Despite this he still orders for him after Leon lets him know what he wants and eventually ends up pointedly putting the plate of fries he orders alongside his own burger between the two of them, even though Leon insisted he wasn't that hungry to begin with.

Half an hour later the empty plate of fries and the fact that Sasha watched him inhale a whole burger in next to no time at all beg to differ. Sasha gives Leon a knowing smile, even though he doesn't say anything, deeming it wiser to remain quiet when Leon starts narrowing his eyes at him.

Sasha just shrugs, eben though the smile doesn't fade. Then he gestures for the waiter, signaling they're done and he'd like the check.

Before long they find themselves on their way towards the door again, now no longer hungry, fully warmed through and as a result even more at ease. Once again emboldened by the rather nice evening they're having, Sasha takes his jacket and drapes it around Leon's shoulders once more.

"So," he says just as he smoothes out the jacket along the line of Leon's shoulders, leaning in closer to his ear so Leon can hear him better as the music is louder infront than it was in the back at their table. His voice is low and close to a rumble, filled with contentment. "Are you still feeling up for those drinks?"

While Alexander is unaware of the inner workings of Leon's mind, he doesn't miss the bit of familiar snark, nor the amusement he directs at him. But the former is definitely less sharp than before and the latter alongside the accompanying smile is enough to warm him to his core even with the chilly air tugging at him now that he has given Leon his jacket.

He still ignores the flush that colors his cheeks upon Leon's teasing and chooses to blames it on the cold. He also ignores the flutter in his stomach at the scenario Leon proposes and instead teases back as a means to deflect and conceal his embarrassment. "I could always leave you to make your way to your hotel on your own after dinner and drinks if you'd prefer, but seeing as you are my guest, having you wander the streets of the city after dark without company strikes me as poor hospitality."

So, yes, he had been planning on accompanying Leon back to the hotel. However he doesn't answer whether he is planning on kissing him or not afterwards, the possibility not having occured to him until Leon playfully pointed it out. In fact, Alexander doesn't even dare to stop and consider whether he wants to or not, mostly because he doubts Leon is being serious in the first place, but also because whatever it is he does sense between them when Leon looks at him, he isn't quite ready to give a name to it just yet.

So, he shoves that thought aside and instead chooses to focus on something else entirely. "And it's [Aleksandr]," he says, since he's just heard Leon mispronounce his name for the second time tonight. He knows he shouldn't mind it as much and the truth is: he doesn't, not really, but it gives him an excuse to change the topic of their conversation and tease Leon some more. "My name," he says in explanation when Leon looks at him with confusion painted all over his features. "You keep mispronouncing it."

It is said good naturedly, without scorn or annoyance, and then it even makes way to slight amusement when Leon tries saying his name again and doesn't get it right this time either.

They go back and forth a few times like that as they walk, Leon saying his name wrong and Alexander trying to correct him. In the end, Leon's pronounciation has improved significantly, but he hasn't managed to nail it just yet.

But Alexander is not without mercy either, and he makes him an offer when another attempt at getting it right fails. "Just call me 'Sasha' instead."

[formenis]

Can you do a oneshot of L Lawliet where he is in a secret relationship with Light's twin sister and she finds out she is pregnant so she shows up at Task Force to tell L and just announces it to the whole task force but its L who announces he is the father.

OML I'm so sorry for the delay, Anon-san 😭😭

Lately I'm feeling so overwhelmed and in the dumps that I lost any sort of inspiration. I hope you like it thou.

.

.

TITLE: NEWS

pairing: L x Yagami!fem!pregnant!reader

warning: none.

«See you later mom»

«Be careful dear. You too Light»

«Yeah bye mom»

And the door was softly closed after that answer. The two Yagami twins, Y/N and Light, always left home earlier than their sister Sayu. Light had to take the train for the Daikoku Private Academy while Y/N was a last year high school student at the Gamou Prep Academy, where her twin brother attended supplemental classes in the afternoon. Actually, it was what her family knew. The reality was a lot different.

Despite the two twins had the same age, the same skills and the same perfect school report, Y/N had that extra oomph that Light hadn't. It was thanks to this oomph that ensured her a special, secret job. She was noticed by no less than the greatest detective in the world, L.

Y/N Yagami had everything L needed: intellect, slyness, excellent rhetoric. At first, they had a simple working relationship made of mutual respect and esteem. But as time passed those feelings changed.

Initially Y/N felt strange: L was this mysterious detective with an extraordinary mind and skills, she never saw him in person. She had the impression that what she felt for him was wrong: what if L didn't exist? Y/N was so curious about him that one of their online meetings, she couldn’t wait to ask him thatquestion.

«L, can I ask you something?»

« 𝚈𝚎𝚜»

«Why did you decide not to show yourself? Can you describe yourself to me, please?»

A long pause followed her question. Y/N didn’t know what to say (or to do). She had the feeling she crossed the threshold.

«𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝙻 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝙻 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛»

Such an arrogant person. Y/N expected an answer like that. So she gave up with her wish to see her crush' face.

Sometime later, however, the Yagami girl met someone. A pale, tall young man with a simple white shirt and faded jeans; his hair was moved by the wind and they seemed messy yet rather silky. He was standing there, at the top of the Tokyo Train Station's stairs, staring intensely at her, few steps higher than the girl. This man was blocking the way and Y/N was in a rush.

«Excuse me, I have to-»

«You're Y/N Yagami?» he immediately interrupted her and in the meantime he hid his hands in the pockets of that faded jeans.

«Who wants to know it?» Y/N replied defensive. Unlike Light, Y/N had good skills in many martial arts and she was ready to kick his ass, just in case.

«Me»

Y/N hadn’t the idea that in front of her there was L himself. He introduced himself as Ryuzaki but, for some reason, she couldn’t believe him. For her, it was like he had a good answer for everything as if he planned every single (and possible) question from the Yagami girl. That reminded her of…L. Everything about him reminded her of the detective.

Day after day this Ryuzaki started to appear more and more often in her life: at the train station, on her way home or after school. He told her he was studying for the entrance exam at the To-Oh University, that was why the two of them were seeing each other that often.

«I see, what do you want to study?»

«Criminology»

Y/N and Ryuzaki created a strange bond between them. The Yagami twin felt so at ease with him despite his particular (and rather unique) behaviour: she didn’t mind about the large amount of sugar he ate or the sitting position he took. He was so smart and brilliant…once again she thought about L.

It seemed like that Ryuzaki appreciated Y/N's presence too. He loved listening to her or analyse every single feature of her figure. She would find him staring at her such intensity that she would look away.

Y/N, however, had so much in her mind. She was so convinced that Ryuzaki and L were the same person that she felt so anxious around him. She had to know the truth.

«Ryuzaki, can you tell me something?»

«What is it, Y/N-san?»

«Are you L?»

The two of them were waiting for the train and Ryuzaki was standing (or "slouching" actually) right beside her. His dark hair covered the face and Y/N couldn’t tell what he was feeling or thinking. She was afraid that she crossed the threshold.

Ryuzaki smirked and sighed through the nose as if he laughed silently. Then he turned to look at her. «Yes»

He kept staring at her while Y/N got pale and returned the stare with wide E/C eyes. So she was right…he was L. The real L. She couldn’t believe that this man…with faded jeans and a simple white shirt…was L. The same L she started to love.

That was how their story began.

───────◇───────

Now Light was going to finish his last year of school together with his twin sister Y/N but something else what happening outside the Yagami household: Kira.

This person took the role of judge, jury and executioner of the criminal world not only in Japan. Kira was such a disgusting, immoral human being, Y/N hated him. Nobody had the right to play with other's life regardless of their police record. Light, however, didn't agree with his sister.

«I don't understand your point, N/N. The world would be a better place without criminals, you have to realise that»

«Of course it would be a better place without them, Light. But it's not the right method!»

«And what would be "the right method"?» Light asked her making air quotes with his fingers.

«Uhh…I don't know maybe putting them before a judge?» Y/N simply replied. «Kira is not the solution, Light»

Her brother was so different lately. Since this Kira appeared Light started to act strange, Y/N was the first to notice it. Not even her mother, father and Sayu perceived it.

Y/N was feeling strange too actually. After Ryuzaki's "confession" about his identity the two of them admitted their respective feelings. Y/N was so happy that Ryuzaki felt the same as her, she was so happy. Sachiko noticed it and asked her if her happiness was due to a boy but Y/N didn’t give her a proper answer.

Ryuzaki was investigating about Kira and he booked a suite at the Imperial Hotel and Y/N would pay him a visit from time to time. They talked, played, ate and even made love in that room. And it was since one of those times that Y/N started to feel weird.

«Let's not talk about it, alright Light?»

«Fine» her twin shrugged and kept walking home together. After a while they crossed a konbini, a Japanese convenience store.

«Wait Light, I have to buy something»

«Alright, I'll wait you here»

And Y/N ran inside the shop while Light started to read a book outside. She had to buy few things: a new set of pencils, chips and…a pregnancy test. Yes, a pregnancy test.

She had all the symptoms: swollen breasts, nausea, fatigue. And the fact that she missed the last period was a sort of final proof. But she wanted to be sure.

Once she payed everything Y/N left the shop and kept walking home with Light. He was looking suspiciously at her but he said nothing.

.

> TIME SKIP <

«Positive…it's positive» Y/N repeated in a whisper while looking at her pregnancy test. Her E/C eyes were still glued to the test when she heard someone knocking at the door.

«Y/N! I need the bathroom!»

«Me too!»

Light and Sayu were staying right outside the door, Y/N hoped they didn’t hear what she said before. She hid the test in the pockets of her jeans and left the bathroom.

«Sorry» and she ran downstairs. Light, once again, looked at her with clear suspicious and raised an eyebrow. Sayu took advantage of this moment to lock herself in the bathroom.

«Sayu! I have to go with dad, leave the bathroom!»

In the meantime, Y/N already left the house and was literally running towards the Imperial Hotel, where Ryuzaki had his room (and where the Task-force met L for the first time). He had to know it.

About ten minutes later Y/N arrived at the hotel and quickly went to Ryuzaki's suite. She was bouncing off the walls for the excitement.

«Ryuzaki!» she spread the door open and ran inside. She quickly reached him and made him turn towards her.

«What is it Y/N-chan?» he asked calmly.

«I have to tell you something!»

«And what would it be?»

«I'm pregnant!» she said smiling. It, however, faded quickly when she saw Ryuzaki's lack of reaction to that news. Was he…disappointe-

«What?! Are you serious Miss Y/N?» the young voice of Matsuda echoed in the room making Y/N distract from the man in front of her.

The Yagami girl noticed that her father's entire Task-Force was working in the same room as L and she didn’t notice them when she entered the suite. Excitement was replaced by fear.

«Uhm…well…»

«Congratulations!» Matsuda got up and walked closer to her with a kind smile on his young face. That smile cheered her up a little.

«Thank you Matsuda-san»

The rest of the Task-force congratulated to her too, they were all so happy about that news. The only one who didn’t say anything was L, the father.

Aizawa started to give Y/N some "parental" advices when L's suite room opened again revealing Soichiro and Light at the doorstep. Y/N didn’t notice it immediately and she couldn’t stop Matsuda from rushing towards his boss to give him that important announcement.

«Boss, did you know it?»

«What is it Matsuda?»

«Miss Y/N is pregnant!»

Silence.

Silence of a grave, to be precise.

Nobody dared to speak, to move, to breathe. It seemed only Matsuda wasn’t feeling that heavy atmosphere.

At those words Soichiro walked towards his daughter and placed his strong hands on her shoulders.

«Y/N, is it true?»

She gulped and swallowed hard. «Yes dad, Matsuda-san is right» her voice showed no fear, no embarrassment, no shame. Even if her family didn’t agree, she wasn’t going to give up that easily.

«Who is the father? Someone assaulted you?» he immediately asked sounding rather worried and serious. Y/N was going to answer when she heard some sort of mumbling from behind, where L was sitting.

«Did you say something, Ryuzaki?» asked Soichiro.

«I said, Yagami-san…» he took an ice-cream sandwich and divided it in two. «I am the proud father» he turned towards the policeman and licked the vanilla cream without looking away from the man.

Soichiro couldn’t see her but Y/N was smiling widely at Ryuzaki who smiled back for a mere second before

[alpacaparkaseok]

Can’t Keep My Hands To Myself

pairing/genre: Taehyung x reader, idol!reader x idol!taehyung

premise: When you lock eyes with your soulmate, you’re immediately teleported to them. So, technically it’s not your fault that you ended up in Kim Taehyung’s lap for all to see.

word count: 1.3k

[1/2]

requested by @marianeamine​ - thanks for the fun request! a picture of your request will be at the bottom of the post! (also, can we just enjoy Yoongi’s tiny clapping in the background of this gif? lol)

The lights are nearly blinding as you move across the stage, basking in the fan-chants you can hear around the giant venue. You don’t claim to be anything like EXO or BTS...but still, you would be lying if you didn’t get some sort of satisfaction at the considerable amount of fans that made it to MAMA this year.

You watch as one of your group members takes the center as you’d practiced, the other two of you flanking her and pushing hard through the final notes of the song. 

Your little trio, while new to the competitive world of K-pop, had an amazingly successful year. When you were invited to perform not one but two of your hit songs on stage at one of the most prestigious award shows of the year, you were floored.

Now, locking eyes with your other bandmate as all three of you hit the final note - which is nothing short of a miracle, considering how hard you’re breathing right now - you can’t help but smile.

What a year it’s been. 

Together, the three of you sink to the floor, keeping those smiles on your faces until lights fade and the cameras go elsewhere. You were instructed to remain sitting on this portion of the stage for about a minute after the performance, due to the hosts coming out on the opposite end of the room and needing to rearrange this corner. It was deemed too dangerous for you all to get down just yet, but you don’t mind.

Now that you don’t have those blinding lights focused on you, you can actually see out into the crowd. Your heart swells as you spot all of your fans with signs and lightsticks, a few of them still trying to see your group through the darkness. It’s tempting to wave at them, but you refrain, not wanting to draw attention away from the hosts. 

“Dude,” Jiwoo scoots closer to you, Ari leaning over as well to hear what she’s whispering, “Is it just me, or did Yeonjun just get like...1000 times hotter?”

You refrain from laughing, instead craning your neck to get a look. “Where’s TXT?”

Jiwoo gives you subtle directions, not daring to point at him for fear of some fancams picking up on her newfound obsession. That would be a PR disaster. 

“They’re kind of hard to see from this angle,” Ari explains, having already found them. “They’re sitting right behind BTS though.”

Well, you know where BTS is sitting. Everyone, whether they like it or not, is automatically tuned in to where the biggest band in the world is sitting. 

You look over at them, eyes jumping over them to see TXT behind them. You grin. “Yeah, they all look really good.”

“Yeah,” Jiwoo huffs. “But Yeonjun looks sooo good, right?”

Squinting your eyes in an effort to get a better look, you’re a little shocked when certain BTS members sense your stare.

You watch with utter embarrassment as Jimin chuckles at your group, nudging Taehyung and mumbling something to him.

“Er...guys...” you begin, praying that Taehyung won’t look this way. How embarrassing, they probably think that you’re gawking at them not TXT.

You don’t get to finish your sentence as you see Taehyung glancing up, saying something to Jimin as he locks eyes with you.

The darkness from your corner of the stage suddenly becomes absolute, wind whistling in your ears as you gasp for air. The strange sensation doesn’t last long, and soon you’re slamming into something solid and warm.

Peeking one eye open, you’re met with fluffy dark hair, and arms that wrap around your waist to keep you from slipping off. 

Before you’re even able to understand what’s happening, you hear it. People whispering, a few even crying out in distress. Did something bad happen?

Straightening up, you let out a little squeak at you find yourself staring straight into the cocoa-dipped eyes of Kim Taehyung. His lips have parted, making it seem like he was gasping just a moment ago. One of his earrings glints in the light, casting him in a diamond-like glow.

Overall, he doesn’t seem to be faring much better than you, but as you go to move away because you’re on the man’s lap, he instinctively tightens his grip. 

“Let her go, Tae,” Namjoon grounds out from the other end of the seats, and it seems like only then does Taehyung begin to hear the obvious uproar and excitement from fans and idols. He gives you an apologetic smile, loosening his grip. 

You fail to return the smile, too dazed to even register what just happened. Rising to your feet, you suddenly become ultra aware of all the cameras that appear to be pointed in your direction.

“Hyung...” Tae murmurs, noticing the cameras as well. Before anything else can be said, you’re nearly tackled as Jiwoo and Ari come rushing over, eyes wide.

“Are you alright?” Jiwoo pants, looking over every square in of your body as though expecting to find a gaping wound. You give her a shaky nod, still struggling to find your voice. 

“...what...what just happened?” You croak out.

Staff from both Bighit and your own agency rush over, forming a packed circle around your trio and BTS. There’s a collective groan that goes around the building from those who’s view is now obstructed, but you pay them no mind.

“Hello,” one staff member says with a gentle smile that immediately puts you at ease. “You’re probably feeling a little strange, right?” You nod. 

Staff are in the process of speaking to Namjoon and the other members, Jiwoo and Ari joining them. Despite the situation, you can’t help but giggle at the fact that Jiwoo is still attempting to discreetly get a look at Yeonjun.

Taehyung comes to stand across from you, eyes flitting between you and the staff member. 

“We’re going to take you guys backstage, alright?” She asks, and the two of you mutely nod. “Stay in the circle, keep your heads down.”

She goes over to check that the other members are alright to stay at the award show or come backstage. They all want to come, but Namjoon looks around the room and comes to a decision.

“We’ll go back in a little while,” he says, ignoring Jungkook’s pout. “I think it might be best for us to stay and act normal. Maybe it’ll help people calm down.”

You don’t bother telling him that it probably won’t do much, you do appreciate the intention.

“Alright! Let’s go!”

Surrounded by staff and bodyguards, you feel like you’ve been swallowed up. Shuffling forward, you turn to look for Taehyung and are shocked when he sidles up next to you and laces his fingers through yours. He gives you a smile, making sure to keep his head down as instructed.

“Hey,” he mumbles, practically making you melt.

You blink up at him, unconsciously sliding a little closer. “Hey.”

“You did really well up there,” he nods to where the stage must be. 

“T-thank you.”

He grins again at your shyness, giving your hand a little squeeze. “Are you excited?”

You frown. “For what?”

Holding up your intertwined hands, Taehyung chuckles. “For this.”

“Ah,” you take a moment to look at your hands, marveling at how perfect they look together. “Definitely.” Then, getting a bit of courage, you grin. “Actually, could you do me a favor?”

He immediately nods, eyes never leaving your face. “Anything.”

“You need to introduce Yeonjun and Jiwoo.”

Taehyung immediately bursts into laughter, the sound echoing off the walls now that you’re backstage. “Really?”

Before you can respond, the same staff member from before rushes past you with a shocked expression. “What just happened?” You ask the people surrounding you.

An older bodyguard takes his hat off and scratches his head, laughing quietly to himself. “Another pair of soulmates made eye contact.”

“Again?!” Both you and Taehyung asks, caught between shock and amusement. “Who?”

Your answer comes in the form of the door to backstage flying open, a second group of bodyguards and assorted staff rushing toward you. Taehyung pulls you closer to him to keep you from getting trampled. As the sea of staff parts, your jaw drops open and you can’t help but laugh.

Because there’s Jiwoo and Yeonjun, staring at each other with reddened cheeks and sheepish grins.

“Well,” Taehyung whispers down to you. “That was easy.”

masterlist || pt. 2