#i barely recognize him without his Fake Old Man look

[lightlysaltedsalt]

Being in a "weird place" and settling it by having your breakdown on a merry go round is perhaps The character trait of all time

[dirtyl0ver]

uhm, is it okay to ask for Toby headcannons? I really like the way you write him :3

Yesss, let's do it 🫡 Buckle up lol, I can talk about this man for hours

Ticci Toby Headcanons

Appearance

He’s tall, like noticeably tall, standing at 6'2, all limbs and long strides. He used to be that awkward, scrawny kid everyone thought would break like a twig, but after years of proxy work and throwing himself into physical fights like a rabid dog, he bulked out. Not bodybuilder huge, but strong, defined muscle wrapped in lean mass. Broad shoulders, solid arms, and those kinds of hands that look like they know how to kill and cradle in the same moment

His hair is this wild, messy brown that’s always getting in his face. A little curly near the ends, especially if it's damp. He doesn’t bother with brushing it much, just rakes a hand through and lets it do its thing. Honestly, it kind of suits him. That half-feral, half-boyish thing he's got going on

His eyes are hazel with golden flecks, but the first thing most people notice is how alive they are. They twitch, dart, narrow - like there’s always something buzzing under the surface. Makes eye contact more intense than he probably realizes. He doesn’t blink as often as he should

Skin’s pale, slightly cool-toned, almost like it hasn’t seen much sun in years. There are small scars across his hands and arms, evidence of how rough his life’s been. A mix of proxy work, fights, and straight-up accidents he didn’t even register because of the CIPA

Usually in layered, loose-fitting clothes. Hoodies that swallow him a bit, black joggers, old Converse that’ve seen too much mud and blood. Still wears his goggles and mouth guard when out on missions, but around people he trusts, he takes them off and just… is. Which is rare

His voice is low and rough, like gravel under boots. It scratches at the edges, a mix between tired and permanently hoarse from years of yelling and ticcing. When he whispers, it’s weirdly soft - almost sweet

Smells like pine needles, cheap soap, and old leather. Not unpleasant, just earthy. You’d recognize it if you got close enough - kind of like the woods after it rains

General Behavior

Living with Tourette’s and CIPA shaped pretty much everything about him. His tics are unpredictable - stuttering when he talks, head jerks, hand clenching, sometimes saying “slut” without warning, which makes things real awkward when he’s trying to be serious or genuine. He hates when it happens in front of strangers but tries to own it around people who get him

Can’t feel pain, which sounds cool until you realize it means he doesn’t know when he’s been injured until someone points it out. He’s the guy walking around with a broken rib and a bloody shirt like it's the most normal thing in the world

Toby is one of the youngest among the creeps - not baby-faced, but definitely the one who still gives off that raw, unfinished energy. He gives off that early-twenties recklessness, like someone who never fully got to grow up before being thrown into proxy life

That younger energy bleeds into the way he interacts with the others. He’s a little more reactive, a little more impulsive. Throws things when he’s pissed, stomps off dramatically, curses under his breath like he wants someone to follow and ask what’s wrong

Around new people, he’s jittery - not exactly shy, more like... on edge. His stutter gets worse, and he gets real quiet, sizing people up. But once he trusts you? Total shift. Cracks jokes, makes weird little noises to get your attention, even teases a little. There’s a boyish charm to him that people don’t expect

Super loyal. Like, fiercely. Once someone earns his trust, they’re in his circle for life. And he’ll defend them with that kind of reckless, teeth-bared devotion that’s borderline terrifying

He doesn’t fake emotions. What you see is what you get. If he’s angry, you’ll feel it. If he’s happy, he lights up in a way that makes you forget he’s technically a murderer

Has strict internal rules for certain things. Like how to clean a knife, how to organize his tools, how to fold a hoodie. If something’s wrong, it bugs him - but he doesn’t always know how to explain why

He’s constantly restless. Always fidgeting - picking at scabs, biting his nails, bouncing his leg. Sometimes he’ll climb up on stuff just to feel different height, different space. His body doesn't know how to sit still for long, and he’s made peace with that

He chews the strings on his hoodie when he’s thinking - absentmindedly, like a nervous dog. Half his hoodies have frayed ends or are slightly damp from him gnawing on them without realizing

He gets jealous easily, but not in the loud, aggressive way. More like brooding, withdrawn, watching from a corner, jaw clenched, fists in his pockets. He doesn’t say anything - but you’ll feel the storm rolling off him in waves

Social interaction can feel like a minefield. He wants to connect, but often doesn’t know how. He’ll say something blunt, or too intense, then panic afterward. Spends hours replaying conversations in his head wondering if he messed them up

Wears the hell out of his Converse. Always scuffed, worn at the toes, the soles basically held together by spite and dirt. Black high-tops, obviously. Sometimes mismatched laces. Occasionally draws little skulls or scribbles on them with a Sharpie when he's bored. They're his default footwear - fights in them, fucks in them, probably will get buried in them

Random Details

Picks up weird hobbies to keep his hands busy. Carving wood is his go-to. He’ll just zone out, knife in hand, whittling little shapes or crude figures. It calms him down. He says it helps him feel grounded, something to focus on other than the buzzing in his head

Keeps random objects in his pockets at all times: a switchblade, a lighter, candy wrappers, screws, a pencil nub, sometimes a weird rock he thought looked cool. If you ever reach into his pockets, it’s a journey

Sleeps like shit. Light sleeper, always with a knife tucked nearby. He moves a lot in his sleep - twitching, muttering, sometimes even flinching like he’s dreaming about old trauma. Trusts very few people enough to sleep near them

Obsessed with soft textures. Like, he'll subtly rub his fingertips on a fluffy blanket, pet your hair like it’s a cat, or bury his face into anything that feels nice. It’s sensory regulation for him, especially when he’s anxious. Big touch guy

He didn’t smoke as a kid. Didn’t even like the idea of it, honestly. But after becoming a proxy, spending hours upon hours with Tim - who always had a cigarette between his fingers, blowing smoke in that lazy, deliberate way - it just sort of happened. First out of stress, then out of curiosity, then because it gave his hands something to do. Now it’s a habit, more psychological than physical, but deeply ingrained

Tim never told him to smoke - just smirked the first time Toby coughed on his first inhale, muttering something like, “Yeah, everyone chokes at first. You’ll get used to it.” And he did. Now they’ll sometimes sit in silence, side by side, trading smoke and not needing to speak

He’s surprisingly handy - the kind of guy who could tear a car engine apart and put it back together with nothing but a wrench, a cigarette hanging from his lips, and a sarcastic comment about how "it's not that hard." Grew up learning to fix things because no one else would. Can hotwire, rebuild, patch, weld - you name it

Has a serious sweet tooth. He’ll straight-up devour gummy worms, sour candy, chocolate-covered pretzels - anything sugary. Says it helps him stay “balanced,” which is code for “it makes my brain shut up for five seconds."

Doesn't care about fashion in the usual sense, but he's got this weird appreciation for soft, pretty things on girls. Lingerie? Big yes. Flowery, pastel stuff? Adorable. He notices the texture, the detail. Lace, ribbons, sheer fabrics - he adores them. You show up in something girly and delicate? He’s gone

Hates loud, crowded places. Too much noise, too many people. Makes him short-tempered and shaky. He’s more comfortable in abandoned buildings or the forest - places where he can hear himself think

Music is his escape. He’s into gritty, heavy stuff - industrial rock, dirty alt-metal, dark synth beats. But he also likes weird ambient tracks with static and distorted sounds. Says it helps him "match the inside of his head."

NSFW (18+)

For the longest time, sex wasn’t even on his radar. Between trauma, isolation, and the awkwardness of his tics, he just… didn’t go there. He was a virgin well into his adult years, and kind of assumed he’d always be. But once he had that first experience - it changed him

Now he’s kind of insatiable, honestly, like he’s making up for lost time. Craves physical intimacy the same way he craves comfort. Sex for him is a release, but also something deeper - proof he’s human, that he can be touched and still feel even if he can’t feel pain

He jerks off constantly. Because of the CIPA - because he can’t feel pain - pleasure is one of the only intense physical sensations he has access to. And he's hooked on it. Jerking off isn’t just a release, it’s a coping mechanism, a grounding tool, and sometimes a full-on compulsion. He’ll do it once, twice, three times in a day, just to feel something when everything else goes numb

Loves edging himself. Hand down his pants, panting, grinding into his mattress like it owes him money. He gets needy. Desperate. Sometimes rough with himself just to chase a reaction his body doesn’t always give back

Total switch. He can take charge - dominant, intense, rough - and it’s hot. But the moment he really trusts you? He loves letting you take control. It’s rare, but when it happens, it’s a whole other side of him - vulnerable, obedient, needy. But only if he knows you really see him

Toby is definitely into rough play - and not just casually. It’s instinctual, primal. Biting, choking, pinning - anything where he can use his strength and feel locked in with you. He likes it a little feral, a little messy, like you’re both too far gone to think straight

Biting is his go-to. Shoulders, thighs, the inside of your neck - he doesn’t just nibble, he sinks in, leaves marks, teeth imprints, bruises. He’ll growl a little when he does it too, right into your skin. He needs that kind of closeness, that violent intimacy. It’s not about hurting you, it’s about feeling you react to him

When he’s really in heat, really lost in it - that’s when the name-calling slips. Not constant degradation, not humiliation. Just that guttural, instinctive filth. “Fuckin’ slut,” groaned into your ear. “Little whore, you like that?” said through gritted teeth while his hips stutter. “Bitch, I’m not done with you yet.”

Soft spots? Whisper in his ear. Run your hands through his hair. Tell him you want him while looking him straight in the eyes. He’ll fall apart

One of his biggest kinks is puppy play. Yeah. He’s so into it - but only with someone he trusts enough to let his guard all the way down. It’s not just the kink, it’s the freedom of it. Getting to exist in a headspace where he doesn’t have to think or talk or be on edge. Just pant, crawl, beg, nuzzle. That submissive, eager-to-please energy is so natural to him when he’s with the right girl. Loves praise, being called a good boy, getting petted. Bonus points if there’s a collar involved - or a leash

Add lingerie into the mix? Game over. Whether you're wearing it or making him try it on, the combination of something beautiful and something filthy? Hits his brain like a drug. If you let him help dress you, even better. He gets all into it - smoothing straps, tugging bows, admiring every inch

Toby is a munch with his whole chest. He doesn’t just go down - he lives down there. Like, lay-you-out, kiss-your-thighs, nose-buried, not-coming-up-until-you’re-shaking level of dedication. It's not a favor, it's not a warm-up, it's a mission. A sacred act

He’ll eat you out with that same mix of hunger and focus he gives everything else. Tongue, lips, fingers, all working in perfect sync - messy, enthusiastic, sloppy in the best way. Spits on it. Groans into it. Uses his mouth like he’s starving and you’re dessert

He likes when you ride his face too - hands in his hair, thighs around his ears, taking what you need from him. That power exchange flips a switch in him. He’ll moan into you. Grip your hips tight. Like yes, please, ruin me

Actually not picky when it comes to who he’s into. He doesn't have a "type" - he's an all-eater, emotionally and physically. Curvy, slim, tall, short - if you're kind to him and you make him feel something, you’ve got a shot. He finds beauty in people’s weirdness more than their looks anyway

Aftercare is huge for him in a relationship. Once the heat fades, he clings - literally wraps himself around you, nuzzling into skin, murmuring nonsense just to hear your heartbeat. He needs that comfort, that reassurance, because the come-down can be rough

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t like being rushed. And he’s surprisingly good at reading your needs. Once you break through that wall, he’s all in - devoted, generous, and maybe a little too enthusiastic

He's the kind of guy who’d text “thinking about your pussy again” with zero punctuation at 2AM like it’s a normal conversation starter lol. Then follow it up with “can i come over. i’ll be good.”

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

This is gonna sound silly and sad and angsty BUT I need a fic where the reader finds out Pete has been cheating on her with a pornstar from sick mofo studios and she gets rlly angry

Idk I need something abt confronting him I think it'd be fun to read

( the realness is realnessing this is by far my favorite Pete fic I've made

Title: “What You Deserve”

(Epilogue Pete x Reader — angst, hurt/comfort, post-breakup, mention of drug use and porn industry, emotional damage, soft ending)

You weren’t snooping.

You didn’t have to.

The tab was already open on his laptop. You were just gonna close it — until the video auto-played.

Her moans filled the room. Too loud, too fake. But what made your stomach flip wasn’t the girl’s voice.

It was Pete’s.

His cocky, filthy little laugh in the background. His Brooklyn drawl. The sound of your boyfriend calling some pornstar from Sick Mofo Studios a “good little cumdump.”

You shut the laptop so hard it nearly cracked.

---

He didn’t deny it. Just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, looking bored.

“So what, it’s not like we were married,” Pete said, barely glancing at you. “Besides you would'va the same damn thing. ”

“WHAT?” you echoed, shaking with rage. “You are fucking stupid if you think i would cheat on you with a pornstar.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I needed the cash. And she was hot. It ain’t like I love her.”

You didn’t even remember what you screamed at him after that. Something about betrayal, about lies, about using you. He just stared back, smug and unreadable.

You slammed the door on your way out, hoping you never saw his face again.

---

Three days later, you did.

You didn’t recognize him at first — hoodie up, hunched over, pacing in front of the bodega. You thought he was drunk. Or high.

Until he punched the brick wall.

Hard.

And again.

And again.

You ran over without thinking, but he didn’t even look up, teeth gritted, face wet with sweat — or tears.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” he snarled to himself. “Took my money, took my fuckin'—fuck!”

He stumbled, then collapsed against the wall, sliding down into a heap on the sidewalk. He wasn’t crying. Just breathing like he was gonna pass out.

You hesitated.

You had a choice.

You could’ve walked away.

You should’ve.

Instead…

---

He woke up on your couch, bandaged and clean.

Groggy. Confused. Angry.

Then… guilty.

“You fuckin’ kidding me?” Pete rasped, blinking at your ceiling. “This your place?”

You nodded silently from the chair beside him.

He groaned, covering his face. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ…”

“You were passed out,” you said. “Your knuckles were split open. You were dehydrated. What was I supposed to do, leave you bleeding in an alley?”

He didn’t answer.

“...She’s gone?” you asked after a pause.

Pete laughed. Bitter. Broken. “Oh yeah. Took my cut, my stash, and my fuckin’ jacket. Probably halfway to Vegas by now.”

You laughed at first at his karma but then swallowed. “I'm sorry.”

Pete looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “You’re sorry?”

“I’m not forgiving you,” you said quickly. “Don’t think that. I’m still pissed. But I’m not gonna let you fall apart like this.”

Pete stared at the wall for a long moment.

“You always do that shit,” he muttered. “Act like I’m not a lost cause.”

“You’re not.”

“I cheated on you. Lied to your fuckin’ face. And you still—why the fuck do you care?”

“Because,” you said quietly, “I know where you come from, Pete. I know what your old man did. I know how your brothers treated you like shit. I know that half the time, you say things just to push people away first.”

You paused.

“And I know, for all your bullshit, you never once gave up on me. So I’m not giving up on you either.”

Pete turned his head slowly. His eyes were bloodshot. There was a tremble in his jaw.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he muttered.

“I know.”

He looked away again. “...But you’re a good one.”

Silence.

Then Pete let his head fall back against the pillow and shut his eyes.

“Thanks for not lettin' me die in a gutter,” he said hoarsely.

You didn’t say anything.

You just reached over, took his hand gently, and held it — right over the bandages.

And for once, Pete didn’t pull away.

—

You came home expecting the usual: him on your couch, hoodie up, pretending not to watch you when you walked in.

Instead?

You smelled garlic. Oil. Basil. And heard clattering from the kitchen.

For a half-second, your brain leapt to intruder.

Then you saw him.

Pete, hunched over the stove, mumbling curses as he flipped chicken in a pan that clearly didn’t like him back.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, dropping your keys.

“Burning dinner,” he said, not even looking up. “And possibly your pan. Dunno yet.”

You stared. “You cooked?”

Pete shrugged, still messing with the sauce. “I was bored and figured I owed you somethin’ that didn’t involve me actin’ like a complete asshole.”

“Big if true.”

He smirked a little. “Don’t make me regret this.”

The kitchen was a mess — marinara on the counter, a rogue garlic clove on the floor, one burnt breadstick that looked like it saw God and lost.

Still. The smell was amazing.

You folded your arms, suspicious. “Why chicken parm?”

Pete sighed, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “My nonna used to make it when I lost a fight or bombed a test. Said it was the only thing that could shut me up.”

“And?”

“She was right.”

He finally turned to you, still guarded but… softer, maybe. “Look, I’m not good at this, alright? I’m not gonna cry or beg or do some Lifetime movie bullshit. But I know I screwed up. I know I wrecked somethin' good. And if this”—he jabbed a thumb at the pan—“makes things suck a little less, then... I dunno. Maybe I’m not completely useless.”

You snorted. “Is that your version of an apology?”

“Don’t push it. I cooked. That’s the apology.”

Still. He looked… nervous. Like he was waiting for you to throw the plate back in his face.

You took a bite instead.

It was good. Stupidly good.

You tried not to smile. “Damn it. I hate that this is edible.”

“Right?” he grinned. “Told you. I’m secretly talented. Just usually use it for evil.”

You ate in silence. Pete watched you like it was the most important thing in the world.

Halfway through the meal, he muttered, “Still don’t know why you’re lettin’ me crash here.”

“Because I know you,” you said. “And I know your bullshit is armor. Doesn’t mean I forget what you did. Just means I know you’re not the soulless prick you act like.”

Pete raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I am a prick.”

“True. But you’re my prick. When you’re not being a dumbass.”

He scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

You stood and walked over, poking him in the chest. “Try this again, and I’ll hit you with a ladle.”

He looked almost touched. “You sound like my nonna.”

“She sounds smart.”

“She also smoked Newports and carried a switchblade, so yeah, probably.”

You bumped your forehead against his for just a second.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Pete’s voice was low. “I won’t. Not this time.”

He didn’t say more. Didn't have to.

But when he cleared the table, he did it quietly — and made sure to wrap the leftovers for you first.

---

[floralhuqzz]

Mine, Not Yours (Joe Goldberg x reader(fem)

(Chapter 17- Terry)

MASTERLIST

The streets of London blur past the taxi window.

You’re tucked under my arm, warm and safe, scrolling through something on your phone — maybe picking a movie to watch tonight.

Maybe texting someone.

Maybe him.

No.

I tighten my arm around you just slightly.

You don’t notice.

Or maybe you do, and you just smile softly and lean closer.

God, you’re perfect.

And yet… he still thinks he has a chance.

Terry.

With his fake smiles and the way his hand brushed your hip just a little too long when he said goodbye.

It makes my skin crawl.

Makes my jaw clench.

I feel the old thrill, that dark electric buzz, starting low in my gut.

It’s not fear.

Not guilt.

It’s… clarity.

I haven’t felt it in years.

But it’s back now, singing in my blood like an old lover.

I know what I have to do.

I sit there, looking out the window, mind already playing the steps:

How easy it would be to follow him home.

How I could wait. Watch.

How I could make sure no one ever finds him.

Missing.

Just another faceless man who had too many drinks and wandered off into the dark.

Maybe they’ll say he fell into the Thames.

Maybe no one will even care.

Except me.

I’ll care.

Because he made the mistake of wanting what was mine.

And now… he has to pay for it.

“Joe?” you whisper.

I blink. Look down at you.

Your face is tilted up toward me, innocent, trusting.

You have no idea what’s growing inside me.

Or maybe… maybe some part of you does.

And you don’t mind.

“I love you,” you say, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

I swallow hard.

“I love you too,” I murmur back, and for a second, for a breath, I believe that can be enough.

That this craving will pass.

But then the taxi pulls up in front of our flat.

And from across the street, I see him.

Terry.

Walking out of a pub with friends, laughing.

Alive.

For now.

You tug my hand gently, leading me up the steps.

You don’t look back.

But I do.

My fingers twitch at my side, itching for something heavier, something colder.

Tonight?

No.

Soon.

Very soon.

As I close the door behind us, I catch my reflection in the glass.

For a second, I don’t recognize the man staring back.

But then I smile.

Because I realize something.

The monster never really left.

He just fell asleep.

And now?

He’s wide awake.

-

The bedroom is warm, dimly lit by the lamp on my nightstand.

You hum quietly under your breath as you slip your jacket off, tossing it onto the chair.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you say softly, already walking toward the bathroom.

Your phone—your little gateway to the world I can’t control—you leave it behind, tossing it carelessly on top of your nightstand.

You trust me.

You have no idea how much I don’t deserve that.

The door clicks shut behind you.

I exhale slowly. Pick up a book from the nightstand. Something mindless. I pretend to read, eyes dragging across the words without really seeing them.

Bing!

The sound slices through the silence.

I look up.

Your phone screen glows.

I don’t move.

I don’t have to look.

You trust me.

I trust you.

Bing! another buzz.

Bing.

Something inside me twists.

Fucking Terry.

I close the book carefully, like I’m just stretching out.

I stand. Walk over to the nightstand.

The screen is still lit up.

I tell myself I’m just… checking.

Making sure you’re safe.

The first message flashes:

-hey (Y/N), it was nice catching up this morning.

mind grabbing coffee tomorrow? just the two of us?

I stare.

Blood pounds in my ears.

The second one right after:

-don’t tell joe😂🫣

My hands curl into fists at my sides.

Don’t tell Joe.

Don’t tell Joe.

I can barely breathe. My head drops, forehead against the nightstand , and I laugh—quiet, broken.

He thinks he can touch what’s mine.

He thinks he can sneak around, flirt, get close to you behind my back.

He thinks I won’t notice.

He’s wrong.

He’s so, so wrong.

The water is still running in the bathroom.

I hear you, humming softly, like you always do when you think you’re alone.

You don’t know.

You have no idea.

You think you’re safe now.

You think the past is behind us.

I close my eyes.

I thought it was too.

But it’s not.

It’s never really over.

And tomorrow?

Tomorrow I’m going to show Terry exactly what happens when you fuck with what’s mine.

Certainly, here’s the continuation from where Joe replies to Terry and hides the truth:

I can feel my pulse, quick and heavy, as I stare at the screen. The words sit there, taunting me.

Don’t tell Joe.

I laugh again, this time under my breath. How fucking pathetic.

I swipe the screen, fingers shaking, and type a response. It’s short, simple, almost too smooth.

-sounds good with me, see you at 11.

I don’t even hesitate. I delete the conversation before the anger inside me can fully erupt. She can never find out. Not about Terry. Not about my thoughts. She doesn’t need to know, she won’t understand. I know her. And I won’t lose her. Not over this.

I set the phone on your nightstand. I take a deep breath, wiping the sweat off my palms. I let the anger simmer, steadying my pulse as I hear the water in the bathroom cut off.

I grab the book from the nightstand, flipping it open to a random page. My heart is still hammering in my chest, but I focus on the words, pretend to get lost in them.

The bathroom door clicks open.

You walk out, wrapped in a towel, damp hair dripping slightly, a little steam still clinging to your skin. The air smells faintly of soap and lavender, and for a moment, I forget everything.

You catch my eye and smile softly. “All yours,” you say, making a teasing gesture toward the bathroom.

I smile back, like everything’s fine. Like everything is how it should be.

But it’s not. It’s never been.

I close the book, trying to keep my breathing steady. “Thanks,” I reply. I don’t even recognize my own voice.

You sit on the edge of the bed, towel clinging to your skin, your legs crossed underneath. “So, what’s on the agenda tomorrow? Got any plans?”

I hesitate. Thoughts flash—Terry. Coffee. What he’s planning. What I’m planning. I shift, feeling the weight of the situation pressing against my chest.

“I might head out,” I say casually, trying to keep my tone light. “Maybe grab a coffee. I don’t know. Just need to get some air, you know?”

You tilt your head, studying me, but you don’t push. You never do. You know when to give me space, and when to let me breathe. And right now, I need to breathe.

“You okay?” you ask, soft and a little concerned. You’ve been asking me that more lately.

“Yeah,” I lie.

But my mind is elsewhere—back to the phone. To Terry. To how much I want to strangle him for thinking he can just slip into our life, pretend like he means nothing.

You smile faintly, a playful spark in your eyes. “I swear, Joe, sometimes you get so serious. You need to relax. Enjoy life a little more.”

I nod, offering a tight smile. “Yeah, I’ll work on that.”

You laugh, but it’s not full of the same warmth as it used to be. I can see it now—the way you’re holding back. The way you’re afraid of something, but you don’t know what.

I stand up, stretching casually. “I’ll let you have your space, though. I’ll be back soon.”

You watch me leave the room. As I walk out, I glance back—just a quick one—only to find your gaze still on me.

You still haven’t figured it out, have you?

I’m not the same anymore.

And you don’t see it. But you will. You always do.

⸻

The morning feels heavy, like the world knows what I’m about to do and is holding its breath. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, the usual numbness creeping up, the routine of getting ready—the sharp, cold focus I need. My hands are steady, but my mind isn’t. Thoughts of Terry swirl in my head, each one darker than the last.

I finish getting dressed, putting on my coat with calculated precision. I don’t look at the time. It doesn’t matter. I’ve already planned this—every second, every movement.

I check my phone quickly, and the urge to respond to you hits. Just a simple “I’ll be back soon” so you don’t wonder. But I resist. I can’t be distracted. Not right now.

I grab my keys.

The car ride to the apartment feels different today, suffocating. The air in my lungs, the beat of the engine, it all seems too loud. But I push it down. I always do.

When I arrive, it’s quiet. Empty. No one is around.

I park at the back of the building, the alleyway near Terry’s place a perfect hiding spot. The plan had been set for days now. I knew his habits. His routines. How he likes to leave early for work, always stopping by the corner store. The way his eyes lingered on you. I couldn’t let that go.

I waited until I saw him. Just a glimpse through the alley, the familiar gait, the subtle cock of his head when he thought no one was watching. He doesn’t see me until it’s too late.

I’m fast.

I’m behind him, and before he even has the chance to turn around, I’m injecting him. The needle sinks into his neck—quick, precise—and his eyes widen in panic. But it’s over before he can do anything about it.

The darkness takes him.

⸻

The next thing I know, I’m pulling into the rental. The place was just big enough. Just private enough. It’ll do.

I drag him out of the car, barely needing to adjust his weight. He’s limp, out cold. But it won’t last long.

The door slams behind us, and I force him into the cage. I lock it.

Now, I stand outside of it, staring at him.

⸻

His eyes flicker open. The groggy confusion quickly turns to fear as he realizes where he is. He tries to move, but the metal bars of the cage restrict him. He pulls at them, testing the strength, only to stop when he sees me.

I watch him struggle. It’s almost… amusing. How helpless he looks.

And then, he locks eyes with me. His breathing starts to pick up, his heart racing. He knows what this is. What I’ve done.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I say, my voice low. “Not anymore.”

Terry’s face pales, his lips trembling. He looks at me like he’s seeing a monster for the first time.

I just stand there, staring at him. Watching him.

“Hello, Terry”

And there’s no going back now.

[alderaan-babe]

ST:TOS S1E23: Space Seed - Dinner with the Tactician

I saw this post the other day discussing "10 Traits That Make a Character Secretly Dangerous" and immediately thought of Jim from Star Trek, because so many of these listed traits and mannerisms are exact plays out of his playbook throughout TOS. Now, a more thorough fan than I could probably cite so many different episodes as examples expounding upon each trait, but what I instantly thought of is one of my all-time favorite James T. Kirk scenes - the dinner with Khan in Space Seed.

I am surprised that for all my searching for both new and old TOS posts to reblog, I have never seen any discussing this scene in great detail (if there are any posts like that, please send them my way bc I'd love to read them!) even though I feel it is superb for its tension, acting, and character dynamics. I dare say it is one of the best scenes in the show! I fear this may get rather long, so I'll continue below the cut and spare the more casual fans from my ramblings.

When I first watched this scene, I was captivated. Khan, even when acting casual and conversing in a relaxed fashion in an effort to ingratiate himself to the crew, still emanates an undeniable power, a barely-restrained energy. And Jim is no fool. He knew immediately that Khan was a dangerous man from the moment he woke up and never dropped his guard around him. As the scene here starts, we see the positioning of Khan in relation to Jim and Spock. Jim is, naturally, at the head of the table, while Spock and Khan face each other on either side of Jim.

As the scene starts, Spock is the one addressing Khan, and in turn Khan is forced to glance between the two, while Jim has free reign to simply observe without interruption. The frequency of his glances towards Jim, who thus far has not made any comment or expressed any emotion, reveals more than he probably meant to. He cannot help but assess Jim just as Jim is assessing him in turn, both attempting to determine the true threat level of the man before them. Khan, in his arrogance, is slower to ascertain the true danger Jim represented, which will ultimately be to his detriment here.

As for Jim, there is a stark, single-minded intensity to his observation of Khan. Note how he does not even touch his drink in an effort to appear casual, or glance towards Spock as he speaks. He is not relaxed or even pretending to be - he is alert, eyes sharp, and there can be no confusing the object of his focus. Spock begins with an opening salvo that is clearly meant to agitate, to spark some sort of reaction from Khan when he says "like a team of animals under one whip." Khan looks to Jim almost in entreaty (faked, of course), yet he is greeted with nothing more than a neutral stare and an ever so slightly quirked eyebrow. This gives Khan only momentary pause before he goes on to spout more bullshit, trying to sell his tale of "great dreams and great aspirations." Spock counters and again we see Khan respond to Spock, but he continues to flick his eyes back to Jim repeatedly, trying to gauge his reaction, yet being met with only more silence. He is quickly cottoning on that something is afoot.

The camera goes back and forth between Khan and Jim as they really look at each other, neither fooled by the other. Khan does one more rapid eye movement between Spock and Jim where he looks momentarily confused, then we see the instant he realizes the veiled tactics at work against him. Spock once more counters, but Khan, now savvy to the tactics being employed, ignores Spock and directly addresses Jim, unwilling to play along even one moment longer. He compliments Jim, for like recognizes like, on his tactical approach. "You are an excellent tactician, Captain. You let your second in command attack, while you sit and watch for weakness." He seems genuinely impressed, yet like a frog in a pot of water, still too ignorant in his arrogance to feel the burn of the water slowly coming to a boil around him.

Jim finally responds by pointing out that for all Khan's feigned civility, he speaks in aggressive military terms, even while at a dinner party. He betrays himself in his inability to separate his war lust from everyday life and activities. (Side note: the quick close-ups of Spock we see after Khan calls Jim out and through the end of the scene are so interesting to me, because at times he almost seems nervous. I personally think he and Jim agreed upon this strategy beforehand because they both knew Khan was bad news, and now that the gig is almost up, he's frantically running numbers in his head on how fast he could react if Khan dropped his facade and attacked Jim. But I digress.) Khan verbally parries by making an excuse and justifying his way of speaking with a line straight out of a 19th century novel, but he's on the defensive now in a way he wasn't when speaking with Spock. His hackles are rising. Jim cut from a more discreet angle, one that Khan wasn't prepared for, and it has him off balance.

Jim doesn't give him any time to breathe or regroup, instead immediately jumping down Khan's throat in an effort to anger him by asking if he was afraid, a question that could offend many a man, and certainly a man like Khan, so self-assured in his superiority that the mere suggestion of fear could be tantamount to a grievous insult. Khan scoffs, showing he isn't as unaffected as he wants to portray, and dismissively claims he has "never been afraid." Jim counters this claim, and here we see Khan finally fall into Jim's carefully cultivated trap. He becomes emotional and gives away the game, stating "we offered the world order!" And now Jim has the confirmation he has been patiently maneuvering towards, and Khan knows it. Even he cannot help but admit how masterfully Jim has manipulated him, uttering a quiet, "excellent, excellent" as he stares at Jim, so quietly it almost feels as though it wasn't meant for anyone but Jim.

This is where I believe Khan finally understood that Jim was not a man to be played with, and that his only course of action would be to eliminate him entirely. (We once again see Spock's nervous eye movements here as he assesses the threat level of Khan towards Jim.) He knows he cannot fool Jim, yet he still keeps the charade going by respectfully asking Jim if he may take his leave. Jim stands and they look each other in the eye one last time before he departs.

This was such a long breakdown, but I really felt it was worth it. For all of the complaints about Shatner's hammy, over the top acting (which I only agree with occasionally anyway, because I think he's a genuinely good actor most of the time), this scene was a masterclass in subtlety and tension building. The deliberate, blink-and-you-miss-it head and eye movements of both Shatner and Ricardo were perfect and established so much about both characters within a two minute scene, and their dialogue was just perfect. Jim's honed intelligence and ability to out-maneuver his enemies are on full display. He is calm and composed, with every silence and word executed with deliberate precision. Simply brilliant.

God, I just can't praise this scene enough, but I've been analyzing this clip and writing for a couple hours now, so it's time to go to bed haha. I do want to shout out to @redrobin-detective for supporting my Star Trek hyperfixation all this time and for encouraging me to make my own post. I'm nervous since I have not written anything for Star Trek yet besides ranting in tags, but I hey, I did it!

I also want to thank @anghraine. Your posts are really what gave me the desire to write my own. I am always so excited to see what new thoughts you have about Star Trek, and I hope that you enjoy reading my analysis. You set a really high bar!

[drarry-mini-bang]

Drarry Mini Bang - Week 1 round-up

On Our Side (M, 46k) by 🖊️ PhantomGrimalkin 🎨@sweatersinthesummer

Summary: The war is over, and Harry is trying not to be obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Which would be easier if Andromeda’s desire to reunite her family didn't result in Harry and the Malfoys being invited to the same events. After a few months without insults or fights, Harry recognizes his attraction and figures out how to ask Draco on a date. Their relationship is surprisingly easy, unfortunately Harry’s life is still complicated. They're stuck navigating past traumas, the press, Black family drama, a child that no one knows exists, and a quirk of wizard biology that was left out of his sex education.

like a wheel spoke (T, 34k) by 🖊️ justdistress (ao3: harDeehar)🎨 @stazvlt

Summary: When Andromeda is hospitalized and three-year-old Teddy's temporary fate is left in their hands, Harry realizes he and Draco are not as incompatible as he thought. The exact opposite, actually. Somehow, this makes everything worse before it gets better.

Fake Happy (T, 10k) by by 🖊️@a-sentimental-man 🎨 @anzukero

Summary: Happy birthday, Harry," Draco told him, his voice soft and fond. Harry blinked, taken aback for a moment because⁠—because Draco never sounded like this, apart from a few moments where Harry could swear he dreamt it. If he thought Draco was handsome before, he was breathtaking now, gaze soft on him. "Didn't think I would forget, did you?" Harry's just broken up with Ginny⁠—if months ago could be considered "just"⁠—trying to get through his job while hating every minute of it. The only highlight of his job is Draco Malfoy. That is, until he wakes up on his 21st birthday with a small dragon tattoo on his wrist, the unmistakable mark of his soulmate.

Thorns (E, 68k) by 🖊️@orange-peony 🎨@itsphantasmagoria and @pocketlessdruid

Summary: Harry looks at his reflection in the mirror and starts his morning routine by putting a Glamour on. After a moment, it’s not Harry Potter who stares back at him, but Gustav Meris, renowned magical portrait artist. Too bad Draco Malfoy has returned to England after ten years to ask for his portrait to be painted. 

The Haunting of Hogwarts (M, 84k) by 🖊️@briamarie38 🎨@navi1088 and @regretfulcorrine 

Summary: Twelve years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter, barely clinging to his reasons for being an Auror, is asked by cursebreaker Draco Malfoy, his best friend and not-so-secret crush for the last decade, to help investigate a developing case at Hogwarts. Animals are showing up dead and the ghosts are acting weird. After some investigation, it seems it was all a bit alarmist until the next full moon and they've got a victim drained of blood and essence on their hands. Before they know it, they're knee-deep in dark magic, and Harry is in a race against time to find the culprit before Draco is taken as collateral. Featuring lots of banter, an irresponsible level of cuddles, and drarry shippers Ron and Hermione. 

[khaotic-by-nature]

Why You Should Ship Ermance

(a.k.a My Cowboy-Konstruct Delusion Spiral: A Love Story)

A lovingly khaotic deep dive into the soul-melting ship of Ermac x Erron Black, complete with impassioned essays, unsolicited analysis, and an irresponsible amount of feelings. This is propaganda. This is delusion. This is love.

To myself, the other two or three Ermance shippers out there, and whoever has the time to spare.

Written by me, Khaotic, and a friend… (I successfully summoned them here >:3 @rivercat4u)

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Here's a summary of the whole thing for those who don't want to dive deep into the article, although I recommend giving it a chance (｡•́︿•̀｡)

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

TL;DR: Ermance is two broken, deadly men who have seen the worst of the world and choose each other anyway, quietly, stubbornly, without ever pretending they're anything other than wreckage.

Ermance is not a ship, it’s a spiritual experience. They didn’t ask to be hot and tragic, but here we are.

THEY ARE:

A haunted soul pile (Ermac) and an emotionally constipated cowboy (Erron Black).

Two ancient, bloodstained, exhausted men who understand each other without needing to explain shit.

Brutally loyal. No fake smiles, no bullshit, just raw, earned connection.

DYNAMIC IN A NUTSHELL:

Lonely monsters recognizing each other.

Awkward tenderness buried under sarcasm and stoicism. Mutual respect between two weapons turned men.

Slow-burn trust with savage loyalty at the end of it. The "I will kill for you without question" energy.

HOW THEY ACT AROUND EACH OTHER:

Erron: talks shit, flirts terribly, patches up wounds while calling Ermac names.

Ermac: saves Erron’s life like it’s a casual Tuesday, says weirdly formal compliments that sound like marriage proposals.

Physical touch = rare, intense, and fucking meaningful when it happens.

Humor = dark, bone-dry, sometimes so bleak it's funny again.

WHAT MAKES THEM WORK:

No fake morality. They’re survivors, not heroes.

Respect for strength and vulnerability.

They let each other be exactly who they are, ugly parts included.

"I know you’re a monster. I love you anyway."

FINAL VIBE:

Love found them when they were too tired to run. And maybe that’s the only reason it stuck.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The Full “Analysis” And Rant Down This Cut

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

What If a Cowboy Kissed a Ghost and Meant It?

You ever look at a cowboy and a soul konstruct and think, yeah; this is what Shakespeare meant by 'star-crossed lovers'?

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Why I Care / Why You Should Too

This ship has lived in my head rent-free for over a decade, and now it’s paying rent in angst, soul magic, and cowboy grit. At first, I tried to get rid of them, but they stuck to me like a shadow.. and so I decided to do something about it.

Ermac x Erron Black (Ermance) is that rare, spicy, haunted, khaotic kind of pairing that makes you lie awake at night whispering ‘what if?’

So here’s a post dedicated to them; for the curious, skeptical, and doomed romantics like me.

What Is Ermance?

You ever ship a haunted soul hive and a sharp-shooting disaster cowboy? You do now.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Ermac: Ancient, haunted, inherently tragic.

A literal collective of souls; a thousand voices arguing and mourning inside him, with moments of eerie clarity and deep sadness.

Reserved and heavy; struggles with emotional expression because he’s barely even one person.

Deeply curious about humanity and tenderness, but treats it like some foreign animal he doesn’t know how to pet.

Wields MASSIVE power but does so almost absent-mindedly, like it's just an extension of his being, not something he lords over people.

Behind the cold, regal mask? A starving man who doesn’t know how to ask for food.

Erron Black: Crass, rough around the edges, but not stupid.

Old in his own way. Not ancient, but lived-in, weathered by centuries thanks to his Outworld-enhanced lifespan.

Self-sufficient to a fault, handles loneliness like a broken leg he learned to walk on.

Uses humour, sarcasm, and bravado to keep people from getting too close (because what if they realize he’s not as unbothered as he pretends?)

Loyal in a vicious, protective way. The kind of loyalty that has teeth.

Carries deep guilt and self-loathing over things he’s done, but he buries it under jobs and whisky.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

One is born of a thousand ancient voices.

The other is a gunslinger with Problems TM.

Together? You get gunpowder and soul magic, vengeance and velvet. They are what time forgot, walking relics of the past, souls and sand, bonded by grief and grit.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Welcome to the Wild West of Mortal Kombat shipping.

If you like angst, power dynamics, and unexpected tenderness—buckle up!

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

This Ship Exists Because...

Because trauma doesn’t need a translator. It needs a goddamn drinking partner.

Because two war-weary bastards finding tenderness in the middle of hell is more powerful than any fairy tale.

Because Ermac is the weight of every soul he’s ever carried, and Erron is the one man who never tries to lighten it, just walks beside it.

Core Dynamics:

Mutual Recognition of Loneliness:

They see it in each other immediately.

No need for words. It’s that bone-deep awareness, like recognizing a fellow ghost.

Ermac, made of a thousand grieving souls, sees the isolation stitched into Erron's very existence.

Erron, all bravado and scars, recognizes the way Ermac stands like someone who's forgotten how to ask for comfort.

Wordless Understanding:

They don’t always talk it out. Half the time, it’s in shared silences, small nods, standing close without touching.

Actions over words. One will just quietly do something for the other (patch a wound, clear a path, offer a hand) without needing thanks or explanation.

Contrast of Presentation:

Ermac: solemn, formal, almost eerily still.

Erron: twitchy, sardonic, swaggering.

Their body language constantly clashes but complements — one pulls back, the other pushes forward, balancing each other naturally.

The Tenderness is AWKWARD:

When it gets soft between them?

It’s so messy. Ermac is stiff, struggling to articulate feelings, offering things in that overly formal way ("We... value your company, Erron Black.")

Erron is painfully bad at receiving tenderness, cracking jokes, deflecting, trying not to panic when shit gets real.

(But you can see it all over them: the desperate need for someone to stay.)

Slow Trust, Hard-Earned:

Neither trusts easily.

Every inch of closeness is earned through blood, patience, and little gestures.

If you betray one of them, the other would destroy you without blinking. Ride-or-die level loyalty.

Power Dynamic? Actually Weirdly Balanced:

You’d think Ermac, being godlike, would dominate, but NOPE.

Erron refuses to be cowed, and Ermac respects the hell out of it.

They meet as equals, because neither sees the other's strengths as threatening; it's just another part of them to be understood.

Shared Morality = Very Gray:

Neither of them is what you'd call "good."

They’re both survivors, both willing to do very ugly things to protect what matters.

They get it—no judgment. Just a silent "Yeah, I'd do it too."

Some Bonus Points (because why not?):

Ancient mystical being vs. dirty Western gunslinger

Regal poise vs. yeehaw menace

“We’ve tried to kill each other” tension

The unbearable tenderness neither can describe

“I will burn the realm for you” vs. “I’ll die for you if it’s inconvenient for everyone else”

How I Characterise Their Interaction:

One’s a cursed soul hive. The other’s a bounty hunter with baggage. Together? They’re perfection.

Slightly Grudging Care:

"I didn’t patch you up because I like you, dumbass."

"We assisted because your death would have been... inconvenient."

(They totally did it because they like each other.)

Sarcastic Flirting (mostly Erron):

Erron’s method of flirting is merciless teasing.

Ermac doesn’t get half the jokes but finds Erron’s amusement... charming, even if he doesn’t show it.

Rare Bursts of Vulnerability (usually from Ermac first, ironically):

Every now and then, Ermac will just say something devastatingly honest out of nowhere because he doesn’t have the instinct to lie about emotions.

And it wrecks Erron every damn time.

Physical Contact is a Big Deal:

When they do touch (a hand to a shoulder, catching the other when they stumble, a brush of fingers)?

It’s electric.

Every small touch feels like it carries meaning, and no-one else is capable of matching that.

Their Humor is Dark and Dry:

Neither of them laughs much.

But when they do, it’s usually over something morbid, inappropriate, or so bleak it loops back around to funny.

Only Erron could make thousands of the undead laugh, and only Ermac could make a stone-hearted cowboy wheeze his heart out.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

If You Don’t Ship Ermance, Here’s Why You’re Wrong

Please don’t come at me—they're just jokes……… Mostly.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

"They have no chemistry!"

WRONG.

Their entire chemistry is "I'm too emotionally crippled to admit I need you but I would still murder a god if you asked nicely."

THAT IS PEAK ROMANCE.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

"But they’re so different!"

YEAH, AND???

It's called contrast. It's called dynamic tension.

A stiff haunted konstruct and a grimy, sarcastic cowboy?

That's not a clash, baby, that's a raging hot wildfire.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

"They wouldn't get along."

First of all:

Getting along is for amateurs.

Second of all:

They understand each other's darkness instinctively.

They don't need cheesy compatibility; they need someone who won't flinch when the masks drop.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

"But they’re broken!"

EXACTLY.

Two broken people making each other feel human again is hotter than 90% of vanilla romance stories.

Pain recognizes pain. Healing happens in the wreckage.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

"It’s not canon."

Canon ships are made to be broken open.

We’re here for the hidden threads, the glances across battlefields, the patched up bullet wounds, the unsaid things that mean everything.

If you want canon, go pester Ed Boon.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

Final Argument:

Ermance is two souls learning to be gentle where life never was.

If that doesn’t make your heart ache,

maybe it’s never been broken the right way.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Ermance Shrine or Whatever We're Calling it

This's a rare pair, so of course it doesn't have much content, which I'm planning to change.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

ERMANCE STARTER KIT

(a.k.a. Ways to Infect Other People With My Brainrot)

1. Accidental Domesticity

They both suck at normal life but end up living together anyway.

Ermac quietly fixes Erron's broken shit without being asked.

Erron teaches Ermac how to swear properly. ("No, no, it's 'fuckin’ shitshow,’ not 'fecal catastrophe.’)

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

2. "You're Hurt, Let Me Help You" But It's Embarrassing As Hell

Erron bleeds and tries to brush it off.

Ermac, dead serious: "You are precious to us. You must endure."

Erron internally: [screaming cowboy noises]

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

3. Unintentional Pet Names

Ermac says things like "beloved ally" without realizing he sounds like a Victorian poet.

Erron starts calling him "sugar" just to see if Ermac's souls collectively short-circuit.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

4. Bed Sharing for Stupid Reasons

"There's only one safe room left."

"It's cold in Outworld nights."

"You’re gonna get assassinated and I ain’t diggin' a grave tonight."

(Cue both of them lying stiff as corpses, touching pinkies under the covers.)

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

5. Mutual Near-Ferality

Neither of them knows how to do soft shit properly.

Everything is rough, messy, intense — until one of them breaks a little (emotionally), and the other folds immediately like wet laundry.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

6. "You Live, You Idiot."

Someone almost dies.

The other has a quiet, rage-fueled breakdown about it later.

No grand declarations, just a death-grip hug, muttered threats to the universe, and one of them staying awake all night just to watch the other breathe.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

7. Forbidden Softness

They act like absolute bastards to the world — merciless, efficient, dangerous.

But behind closed doors?

Patch kisses.

Quiet hair touching.

Erron humming old songs while Ermac pretends he’s not interested.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

8. Soul Mending

Ermac doesn’t just heal Erron’s wounds.

The souls inside Ermac learn to cherish Erron too — recognizing him as family.

Some call him "our guardian," "our anchor," or even "ours" with eerie sweetness.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

9. Post-Battle Care:

"Yer gonna have to stop carryin' me like a princess, partner."

"You are light. It is no burden." (Erron dies inside.)

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

10. A. First Confession:

Ermac blurts out something horrifyingly intimate without meaning to.

(Example: "We would dismantle the heavens if it meant seeing you smile.")

Erron just drops his hat and leaves the room to go scream into a cactus.

✦❘༻⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆༺❘✦

10. B. Last Confession:

“Smile for us,” and Erron does before the rubble takes over them.

Moments of chaos and battle ago…

“I love ya.”

“We, as many, love you also.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

I have a few dozens more, but this is already a very long article... And I might've forgotten some of the more important points for the first half of the article while writing it...

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:𓂃𓆩☽☾𓆪𓂃:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Fanfic Recommendation:

Ricochet by horrorsilk on Ao3

(the fic that got me into this whole mess, so beautifully written and in character)

The Master of Souls and the Gunslinger by AnimeFTW on Fanfiction.net

The Intricate Markings Of Outworld by RiverCat4u on Ao3

Of Being Wanted by tatahoney on Ao3

I’ve also written some of my own stuff on Ao3 and here, feel free to check out ^^ (If it isn't obvious yet, I'm obsessed with this ship. I write and draw them a lot.)

Final Note:

Call it what you want. Ermance is just two tired men carving love out of khaos. And maybe that’s what makes it beautiful.

If that’s not the realest shit ever, I don’t know what is.

[me-thal]

The annoyance

(Kate is @yanasae 's character, a lot more from others are mentionned cw for unknowingly misgenring someone, internalized transphobia, unsafe binding mentionned for like a line, and because I can't stop myself there's background Basgil lol)

It's 2022, and the start of the year was comparable to hell on earth.

Virgil, quite honestly, didn't understand a thing about what happened. The people around him speak a language he doesn't understand, and even the... Help of a man who somehow spoke romanian didn't do much. He's been assigned classes to learn english and japanese, to be able to communicate with others in the school. Some speak romanian like him, but he doesn't approach them. He shouldnt even be here, hundred of thousands of kilometers away from his village, but the letters were very clear about the fact he didn't have a choice.

He tries to remember the faces of the people he'll have to share a year with. The small, angry boy with pinkish hair. The tall... Girl ? With a bag on her head. The guy that tries to avoid attention who he shares his room with. The girl with a fake leg and a cane, like the old hunters from his village, who tried to talk to him before leaving when he didn't respond. The boy with white hair who looks even more lost than Virgil. The girl all in pink that he already can't stand when she talks. Another boy with white hair, one he almost didn't notice until he saw how nobody could touch that boy. The chaotic brown haired girl that kept yelling and had to be stopped by a big guy with blonde hair, both covered in scars.

He didn't remember any of their names. Names weren't exactly his thing. Neither was learning theory, but he knew Marius would want to know, so he sits through words he barely recognize and a translator at the ready. He's not the only one who gets one, the girl with the bag and another with blonde and pink hair get ones as well.

There's also the weather. He refuses to take off the vest of the uniform they make them wear. He considers himself lucky to get pants, and not a skirt that would have been humiliating, but they dont do a lot to hide his silhouette. His coat is hung in the closet they gave them, but he's not allowed to wear it as long as it's still warm. But that's the problem, it's too warm. For the first time in his life, Virgil misses the fresh air of his village, the cold that lingers well into the spring. Here he only has the rain to help, always gone too fast.

He does wear something less covering sometimes. They let the students like him use the sports' equipment, the man with glasses and one blue eye who spoke romanian said but didn't elaborate on. There's always people here, and they stopped trying to talk to him after he stopped paying attention to them. Well, that's not true. He did speak with one of them, a very tall girl without hair. He didn't catch her name, but she pointed the cross on his chest and showed her own. They shared a few words in latin, despite her weird dialect. She didn't talk a lot, and went back to a weird girl with curly brown hair after, but Virgil liked that girl.

But he didn't have time to waste on that. The training was nice, when less people were here and he felt like he could drop the bandages on his chest. He hated their surprised gaze, but ultimately his fell on someone else. He was still a hunter, the "Ultimate vampire hunter" if you believed what that letter said. And he started to suspect a vampire was in the school, hidden in plain sight. A red head, green eyes constantly hidden by glasses. Virgil doesn't know his name, only that he's apparently from the year before him. He's tall, skinny and almost... Pathetic. But something is weird with this boy.

He's been following him, when the annoyance first made herself known.

She was a girl from his class, one of the shorter names. She has ginger and pink hair, but not a pink like the one of the girl with the tablet. A flashier one, and longer hair tied in a way Virgil knows is to avoid it being caught while moving. She's way shorter than him, tries to not look like the kid she obviously is.

She starts speaking, but he doesn't understand. He thinks he recognizes a word or two, but when he tries to walk past her and follow his prey, she puts herself on his path, stopping him. He tries to go to her other side, but she follows, making him loose the boy he was looking at. She pulls out her phone and types on it before showing the screen to him.

"Fight me" is written in romanian, next to what he guesses is probably french or english. He only looks more confused, so she types again. "I want to fight you, I want to know what a "vampire hunter" fights like"

He groans, really not wanting to. She's barely 16, obviously just trying to get a rise out of him. But what does he has to loose ? His prey is far by now, and he knows the look of someone who refuses "no" as an awnser, he was one like her once.

So he follows her, gets the sword she gives him. It's lighter than he's used to, less deadly as well, but he guess that's the point. They're not here to kill each other, they're here to spar. But he was told to always give his all, even against the kids that barely started training. Her stance is firm, she knows what she's doing.

They trade large swipes for a moment, test the waters. He's not used to the weapon, and knows he's less agile than he would, feels the bandages on his chest limit his hair intake. But it's all details, when she looks at him with the determination of someone who has a thing to prouve. She's weird.

It doesn't take very long until he's able to push her and puts his sword on her throat, pinning her hands under his knees. She grimaces, but lets her head fall to the ground with a thud. He goes back up, keeps his eye on her. The crowd that formed around them starts to clap, as if given a good spectacle. She gets back up and goes to her phone, showing it in his face once again.

"why did I loose ?" He makes a face, one he knows she can't read. So she puts the phone in his hand, and he starts to write slowly.

"you dont try to kill." And she doesn't respond, which Virgil takes as a promise to let him get away.

He hopes she wont bother him again.

**

Of course she kept bothering him.

One loss wasn't enough for Kate, no. She kept pestering Virgil, calling his name and yelling for his attention, even when he was trying to be calm.

It's 2023 now, a full year passed and he's still in this school. He speaks relatively good english now, so they left the phone on the side. Hers is miles better than his, but she corrects his mistakes when they happen, free of jugement. He started to get closer to some people in his class, his dormmate and Mika, notably. He also stopped treating the boy from the year before him like a prey. Turns out, Bastien is way nicer when you speak to him.

Kate tho ? She's unsufferable in a very weird way. She gave him a gift for his birthday, and he still doesn't know how she learned the date it was on. But now, he traded bandages for a binder, and his ribs feel better than they had in years. They still spared a lot, Kate an eternal looser.

She's weird, he thinks. She looks dejected everytime, but keeps coming back for more, especially when he's with someone. She doesn't ask for tips, learns on her own and sees how he steadies himself, how he holds his weapon. She just doesn't get she doesn't have to only use that, for fighting.

She's a self imposed loner, and he can respect that. So he never mentions how she always come find him when they're eating. Once she asked how he got his scars on his eye, and was genuinely surprised when he told her vampires are indeed real, and that he killed more of them than he knew actual humans.

He's surprised when Emerens doesn't joke about him liking Kate or the opposite, but he appreciate it, his relationship to the girl everything but romantic. Instead, the man whines about his own partners while teaching Virgil english when Mika isn't available, and Virgil shuts his mouth by teaching him latin.

He started running with the tall girl who spoke latin, Tomyris. She's nice, they understand each other despite their diverging faiths. He often ends up holding their running partner Subaru on his back for the latter parts of the way, and they always talk. It's nice.

He misses Marius and his parents, but he finds himself not missing his village as much.

**

It's 2024, and he knows that if she could, Kate would have pushed him into one of the hall's walls by now.

They're friends now, he thinks. She's still annoying in her own way, learned to bite her way through their fights, and that's how they ended up here. Her eyes are full of something akin to fury, making their gray look black. He knows why she's angry, she's the second person to notice it, in Hope's Peak. Or at least to mention it to him. He doesn't wear the jacket anymore, but still wears the long sleeved shirt of the uniform, white on white.

She tried to bite his arm but only found solid, cold silicone instead of the meat of flesh and blood.

"What the fuck happened."

"I'm a hunter, Kate, it comes with risks." he said the same to Bastien, to his shocked horror. He told him it was a necessary sacrifice and he'll say the same to Kate.

"You lost your fucking arm ! That's not a fucking "risk" !" he knows she wants to say other swears than "fucking", but she speaks in english out of respect for him and her vocabulary is limited in that language.

"But i'm alive, so it was a good one."

She looks at him with wild eyes, and he doesn't know if she's about to punch his face or headbutt it. He braces himself for it anyway, but she just lets go of his shirt.

"That better be the last of your "sacrifices". That's..." her voice trembles, and he puts his flesh hand on her head, pats it in a weird show of affection they never shared.

"I'll try." he said the same to Marius, when he woke up. She's not his brother, nor his sister, but he doesn't like seeing her annoyed by something that is not a petty lost game.

[athenajbrooks]

📚✨Throwback Thursday!✨✏

A new series in which I post my old creative writing assignments from middle school/high school. Why am I embarrassing myself like this? Because I think it's good to recognize and celebrate progress! (Also, because I made some fun stuff 10-15 years ago, and I'm having a good time reading it all.)

If you, too, want to take pride in your improving writing skills and have old writing you want to share, go for it, and tag me! I'd love to see it!

Here's part of a love story I wrote in 2013:

"Nathaniel," Part 1

    The ghost was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

    This surprised me for two reasons. One, I didn't think ghosts could eat. And second, that was my sandwich it was eating.

    What also surprised me was his outfit. He had on this ragged old peasant's outfit from the 1400's. He would fit right in at my city's Renaissance Fair.

    He smiled like nothing was wrong. “Hello,” he said.

    I took a tiny step back. I didn't want to seem rude, but hello, there was a ghost in my house!

    “Um...hi?” I squeaked, barely audible.

    “Pardon me for entering your home without permission, but I need your help,” he said. “I'm dead.”

    This was obvious to me, but I kept my mouth shut.

    He continued. “You know that young man you love?”

    This confounded me into silence. How did he know about Matthew? I've had a crush on him forever, and we'd just started dating a few months ago after a long, tight friendship. Only, we weren't dating anymore. He decided he wanted to hang out with Angelica instead, which pretty much ended everything.

    I hated Angelica. And she hated me.

    “What about him?” I asked the ghost, who was still munching away on my sandwich.

    He wiped off the peanut butter he had around his mouth. “I need you two to fall in love.”

    This was beyond weird. “Why?”

    “You probably will not understand. But let me tell you my story.” He brushed the crumbs off his tattered shirt and hopped off the counter, then sat down at the table. “Sit.”

    I did, still staring open-mouthed at him. I had no idea what in the world was going on.

    “My name is Nathaniel,” he began. “I come from a land of fantasy, from a world closely connected to yours.”

    I was confused already.

    “I am a farm boy, and I live in the country just outside the town of Saren in the grand kingdom of Farendul,” Nathaniel continued. “My family raised crops of every kind, along with cows and sheep, and every year I would go into Saren to sell our harvest. It was there that I met the merchant's daughter, Rose.” His gaze became distant and dreamy. “She is a lovely young maiden. We were going to be married. But then...”

    “You died,” I guessed. I was ready to be done with this conversation. This was weird.

    He nodded. “It was a terrible chariot accident. It hurt a lot. But I died in Rose's arms, so it was all right.”

    I had to fight to keep a straight face. This was so cheesy.

    “But Rose decided not to let death keep us apart. She went to her friend, Torin, who was a great and kind wizard. She asked him if he could bring me back to life.”

    “Since you're still dead, I'm assuming he couldn't?”

    “No, he can,” Nathaniel said, “but only if you and Matthew—that is his name, correct?—fall in love.”

    I thought I was starting to get his story, but that feeling disappeared when he said this.

    “Why us?” I asked. “There are plenty of young couples in the world that would have an easier time falling in love with each other than me and Matthew. A much, much easier time.”

    Nathaniel looked puzzled. “But I thought the two of you liked each other.”

    “Yes, we do, but he's going out with another girl,” I told him, trying to act like it didn't bother me.

    “WHAT!?” Nathaniel exploded. “That won't do! That won't do at all!”

    “I know,” I said. “She's a real fake, if you ask me.”

    Nathaniel scrambled off his chair and half ran towards the front door. “What are you waiting for!?” he cried. “We have to help him realize that you are his true love! You are meant for each other! I should know. Torin said so.”

    “Wait, hold on!” I said. “I don't know where he is right now?”

    Nathaniel skidded to a stop. “Is he not in his cottage?”

    “No, he's probably not in his house. He's probably at soccer practice,” I replied.

    “What is soccer?”

    “A game people like to play here. I'll wait till school tomorrow to see him.”

    “You will help me? Oh, thank you, thank you!”

    And with that, he disappeared like a wisp of wind.

Stay tuned for part 2!

[not24opposumsinatrenchcoat]

REALLY FAST if you get freaked out by body horror or general gore, I would advise you skip. I don’t want to give too many warnings because that’ll ruin the whole surprise, however there is lots of body horror and animal gore, lots of blood, weird creepy shit. You have been warned ‼️

So I have been writing as a hobby for like my whole life and I literally have no where to put my work other than here, so uhhhhhhhh take this

So like a year ago or so I made an attempt at a short horror story, I’ve always been super into horror and stuff and I was experimenting. At the time I rlly rlly liked this and I’ve gone back and edited it a bit, I’m not sure how I feel about it now but anyways I hope someone finds this and enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Okay here we go

1: The farmer. The sheep. And the fog.

The wind bellowed coldly through the grass, the moon shone down onto a lone pasture. A few toads let out low croaks here and there. A herd of sheep slept peacefully in a large field of grass, encased in a rickety wooden fence. The moon's light illuminated their wool, and against the viridescent grass, they looked like spider silk, lumpy but soft.

The sky was cloudless, but in the cold concealment of the darkness, a gentle fog crept up onto the grass. The moon's yellow gleam made the fog look soft and crisp. It was low, only covering a few inches above the ground, and even then a sharp eye could pierce through the fog’s cover and see the sleek blades of grass underneath, which were gradually forming small drops of dew.

Beyond the pasture, an old house lay bare against the tress. It had chipped paint on the door, and the bricks that made up its walls had been smoothed down over time. The roof was uneven and different color tiles dotted it from when it would collapse occasionally. The chimney jutted from the roof awkwardly, and at an odd angle, looming to the side like a wilted flower built from stone. A few bricks were missing here and there, though it still stood, puffing a thin stream of smoke into the night sky. The floor of the house was filthy, and if you weren’t careful the hard wooden planks would assault your feet with brutish splinters. If you were to step with too much weight, the house might feel as if it were going to plunge down on you. Though with a fire burning and a soft bed, anyone would call it home.

Inside this house, however, lived an old farmer. He was quiet and rather irritable. He lived alone, only visiting the nearest town, (which was very far off) for the occasional selling of his sheep's wool, and to purchase any drop of alcohol he could find. No one bothered him except a few wolves who liked to scare his sheep in the night, causing panic and waking the old farmer for hours on end. Once the farmer had sent the beasts a warning shot into the air with a musket, and they had left him alone since.

In the sky, a thick cloud drifted over the moon. Severing the light from the pasture below. The wind suddenly stopped as well, and the toads and their croaks vanished.

All was silent.

After an impassible couple of moments, one of the sheep abruptly stood up and walked silently through the fog, and to the edge of the pasture that faced the woods. Precipitously, the sheep started yowling mindlessly at the tranquil trees. Just as oddly, none of the other sheep woke, nor joined in the disturbance. The single sheep stood alone and without movement, aside from its mouth. If one were to look closely at it for a long while, it would be as if the sheep was simply fake, if it was not for the movement of its mouth and the sounds it made, one would assume it was in fact fake. Possibly a statue, or a wooden toy.

The sheep continued its mindless screaming, and soon the farmer woke, he groaned and grabbed his musket. Assuming it was more wolves come to further pest the old man. He swung open the door quickly, musket ready. But no one was there. The farmer saw it was one of his sheep, he recognized her as Morrigan and grumbled to himself as he put his gun down against the door frame.

As he walked away from the doorway, he felt the warmth of the small fire that lay in the chimney, be torn from his skin, leaving him in the crisp nighttime air.

The scarcity of noise and wind made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, goosebumps began to swiftly latch onto his skin. He ignored it and continued to the pasture.

He clambered over the low wooden fence and made his way over to the bothered sheep. He did notice, however, how odd it was that all the others were still mutely asleep. As the farmer came up to the screaming animal, he had to cover his ears, her screams seemed to pierce the air and strike his brain into an immediate headache. He pressed on and came up next to her. He looked into the dark wood to see what she may be upset at, but nothing other than trees and other greenery stared back.

He attempted to soothe Morrigan by petting her, but it did nothing. And he quickly had to cover his ears again hastily. He stood up and tried to nudge the sheep away with his foot, but it did nothing yet again, it was almost as if the sheep was fused with the ground, unable to move or be moved. After a moment, he tried to nudge her harder, but still nothing. Finally, the ill-tempered farmer had had enough, he kicked the sheep in her side.

A sickening noise cut through the air substituting the screaming, a concoction of a sharp series of cracks, and the dank sound of decaying flesh filled the silent air. Morrigan did not falter, though her mouth hung open, frozen mid-yowl. The farmer, aghast, fell back into the wet grass, his boot covered in blood and perished flesh. The fog hardly wavered and abled over him quickly. He gaped at the rotting sheep, which was still staring blankly at the woods. She looked as if she had been petrified in place, or stopped in time. The smell of thick blood and iron wafted through the air, as well as the pungent smell of decaying meat.

The farmer, terror-stricken and furthermore panicked, looked over at the other sheep in the pasture but was only met with something equally horrifying, all the sheep were standing up as well. They all stared at him. Now, normally sheep's eyes looked at their sides, the vertical pupils eyeing for dangers on either side of them,, as most prey eyes do. However, these sheep were looking, directly at him, looking straight forward at this impoverished man. All of them were unmoving and silent. The farmer stared back, aghast at the horror before him.

Without the light of the moon (which was still hidden by the fixed cloud), the sheep looked plain and heartless. Their eyes glossed over.

All was silent.

A single, sharp crack of bone broke through the air, and the farmer looked back at Morrigan. Her body remained still, and unmoved, but her head had roughly turned to look at him. One notable thing, this sheep’s eyes still remained at its side, as a normal sheep's eyes would. However, after a few everlasting heartbeats, Morrigan’s eyes suddenly looked straight ahead, at the farmer. And as it did so, her jaw opened, revealing a pungently rotting mouth and throat. The farmer felt ailed.

Abruptly, another crack broke through the air, as the sheep’s bottom jaw fell to the ground, leaving her putrid tongue dangling out, and her throat exposed. A few chunks of flesh fell after it, the sheep was still again.

All was silent.

The farmer, who was still flabbergasted, shuddered and held back vomit. He risked a vacillatory glance back at the other sheep, and he realized with a lurch, that they had all gotten closer, the closest one being merely a few yards away, whereas before, it had been at least 20 feet away. What was even more frightening, was the fact that they all had managed to move silently.

He looked back at Morrigan, his throat dry, sweat glistened on his forehead. She stared back at him, and without warning, Morrigan’s tongue began to steadily, but swiftly, slide from its mouth and towards the farmer. Bits of putrid flesh fell from the slithering tongue and onto the ground. The tongue slithered towards the farmer, like a snake stalking its next bite of food. It advanced to the farmer and rested on his shoulder, it was muggy, and pulposus. The man shuddered violently.

“What… are you…” Was all he could muster to say, his heart screamed into his ears. His hands dug into the damp grass and trembled against the earth.

The sheep looked blankly at him for a moment. Until a slit appeared on the sheep's forehead, it cracked open as if it were a rotten egg, and scarlet clotted blood gushed from it as a third eye gradually opened. This eye was completely red, with a black verticle sheeps pupil. It pierced through the farmer's soul and the farmer felt a sharp coldness reverberate through his body as it did so.

Forthwith, All the other sheep started screaming, but were cut off suddenly as the 3 eyed sheep rapidly wrapped its tongue around the farmer's neck

Crack

All was silent.

[…]

AAAA THATS IT if you read all of that i hope you liked it, again idk how i feel abt it now but i am pretty proud of the scene descriptions in this I think I did well with that. I don’t love the ending but besides that i think it’s okay

(I’m rambling sorry)

But if you like this I’m currently working on the rough draft of a full length novel, centring around space and isolation and has a similar vibe to Alien. If you wanna see some stuff from that idk lmk I enjoy the attention 🤭

(Also I have no clue how to use tumblr nor do I understand the culture but I’m trying my best 😭)

[thatsdemko]

fake it? part two - p.gavi

part one series masterlist

masterlist

warnings: teasing + sarcasm

face claim: Olivia Rodrigo

a/n: to check out pairings please check part one!

it had been a whole week since the red carpet fiasco. your name was stuck on all social media for hours after the event, following into the next morning. your eyes were glued to your phone you barely got any sleep.

somehow having drifted off to sleep you were woken by a phone call from your mother. she must’ve seen the news by now you thought to yourself before quickly picking up, “hola, mama how are you?”

“gavi? the eighteen year old. gavi?” she repeated the question multiple times before allowing you to finally share your words and how things went down. she laughed once you finished your story, the public was going to have a field day if she chose to comment on the relationship.

“I don’t believe you. the boy has to be in love with you! I saw the way he looked at you on that carpet.” she gushed over pablo and his traits, your attention was lost on the pictures of you both that showed up on your twitter feed of the two of you. you zoomed in on the picture your mother must’ve been ranting about. you saw how he positioned himself in front of you to adjust your dress, you saw where his hand was placed, and where his eyes were looking. you couldn’t help yourself, but allow yourself to feel something for the younger boy.

“are you listening to me? I asked when can we meet him!” your mothers voice booming through the speaker of your phone pulled you away from twitter and tapping back to the conversation.

“I don’t know, mom. it’s not even a real relationship? why would you want to meet him?”

“just in case you fall in love with him.”

—

to make your mother happy, he agreed to dinner with just your mother. there was no way you could go home with pablo gavi to your father, and then try to explain your situation. it would be near impossible for him to listen without trying to strangle the young man.

“just remember to hold my hand, I’m sure there will be paps somewhere.” his eyes scanned the surroundings in the car trying to figure out if the coast was clear. your mother picked a spot far off the grid that you were sure no man with a camera would want to go and chase you down, but you were sure there was somebody out there.

“yeah I know.” you rolled your eyes in annoyance before you both got out of the car and he took your hand in his making your way into the restaurant where your mother was already sat waiting.

once you got inside, both of your hands slipped back to your sides and you guided him to your mothers table in the back of the restaurant. you passed a few elder couples on the way there, you were sure none of them kept up with fc Barcelona players dating lives, but they did recognize the midfielder.

“ah, my favorite fake couple.” your mother rose from her chair immediately wrapping you in her embrace. it wasn’t like you hadn’t seen each other last week, but to Pablo it looked like you hadn’t seen each other in months.

“Pablo, this is my mom.” you gestured to her and before he could stick his hand out your mother was wrapping him in her arms. she was not one to shake hands.

“I don’t do handshakes, gavi.” she pinched the skin on his arm before returning back to her seat and you all sat down for dinner. you were thankful for the privacy of the back of the restaurant so nobody had to hear your mother spilling the details you filled her in on.

“so my daughter is only good enough to fake date? you don’t like her that much?” you watched his cheeks flush red stuttering to find words. he was lucky your mother started laughing which gave him a sense of relief.

“she’s just joking with you. don’t take her too seriously.”

“I’m just as serious as your relationship with my daughter, gavi.” your mom chuckled at her words allowing the young boy to feel safe in her presence. he smiled as well watching you both move on to a side conversation.

“so she knows?” Pablo looked between the two of you. he didn’t want too many people outside of the little circle of you, him, and pedri to know. he knew he could trust the older woman who sat across from him, and allowed him to possibly toy your emotions. she knew one of you was bound to fall in love.

“I know that what you’re doing is only going to make one of you fall in love. and I have my bets on you.” her index finger pointed right at him seeing his skin turn pale and his eyes to open bigger.

“now let’s order, I’m hungry!”

enews

liked by pedri, leomessi, _rl9, and 1,300,605 others

enews who is the new Barcelona wag that appeared on Pablo Gavi’s arm? her name is y/n y/l/n and we got all the dets on her! click the link in our bio to find out more!

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pedri @ yourusername 😃😃

| liked by pablogavi

usern1 no gavi is taken :(

user2 she didn’t even look happy to be next to him on the red carpet

usern3 not him going for someone older

usern4 she’s so pretty like what?? 😭😭 already a big fan of her @ pablogavi

[catreginae]

Thou Shalt Not Fall: A Sad Tea Party

Warriors is confronted by three, worried friends. A couple notes here! a) this is part 2! Part 3 is going up tomorrow! If you haven't read part 1 though, I think you can manage without it. b) you get all of these updates because I promised I would upload two chapters this weekend if Warriors won the tumblr sexyman contest. I'm sure you know the result if the first of two updates this weekend. c) I changed Artemis to Athena because quirkle gave me the strength to. No, it's retroactive yet, but it starts here.

[Previous] - [Next]

View the Master Post here!

To the castle now?”

Warriors nodded. They've been in his era for a few days now and they've yet to find anything that warranted a band of experienced heroes. Sure, a few bokoblins here and there, but those battles turned into a competition with some of them trying to find the most surprising way to kill the bokoblins. So far, Wild was winning – he killed a couple with a mop. A mop. He knew Wild was good with a wide variety of weapons but damn, that was something else.

“If there's anything weird happening in Hyrule, Athena and General Impa would know. We should be there sometime tomorrow.”

Time nodded. He knew how it was.

“You looking forward to it, old man?” Twilight asked. “You know Athena and General Impa from the war, right?”

“I do miss Athena and Impa,” Time said with a smile. “I especially miss Proxi though.”

Warriors only hummed. Time would miss the one person who would let him get away with all of his crimes and even help him commit said crimes. He missed Proxi too, along with Athena and Impa, but he wasn't sure he could face any of them at the moment. Even plastering a fake smile for the others was hard and he was pretty sure that he wasn't fooling any of them, but they didn't ask.

He didn't miss the way Time looked at him with a frown when he failed to add anything to the conversation. It was difficult to talk to any of them when Warriors kept thinking about how he one day might tear one his brothers' throat out with his bare teeth. It was all too easy to imagine one of them laying on the ground, bleeding out from his neck, instead of the traitorous woman.

Maybe he should just stay at the castle and let the others leave without him. What right did he have to stay with any of them? They would just insist he come along despite the dangers he posed because they were too damn kind for their own good.

“Warriors?”

“Hmmm?” He wasn't even sure who was addressing him.

“Are you alright? You've been really quiet and out of it since you ate all of that hemlock. Are you sure it didn't do anything to you?” Wind asked with a pout.

“Ah, it's not the hemlock. It's something else, but I don't want to talk to about it.”

And those were the words that would get everybody off his back. If there was one thing they all held close to them, it was their thoughts and their secrets. There wasn't a whole lot you could keep to yourself when you travelled with a bunch of people but they had their thoughts and secrets – until those secrets blew up in their faces, of course. Until then though, they kept their secrets close to their hearts and nobody pried until they really felt it affected the group.

The rest of the day went with everybody leaving him be.

They reached the castle by late afternoon.

And that's when it all began.

A guard was assigned with guiding the others to their rooms for the evening while Impa and Proxi dragged Warriors away for a meeting with Athena. What kind of conversation would be just between the four of them? If it was about the monsters, shouldn't the rest of them be with him? Surely, Impa and Proxi recognized Time and Wind?

“Link!” Athena called out as they entered her study. She wrapped him a tight hug as Impa closed and locked the door behind him, then went as far as to close the windows as well, pulling the curtains across to darken the room. For a moment, the only source of light in the room came from Proxi and Athena's fireplace but thankfully, Impa was quick to light up some lanterns. Of course, the three of them would be considerate enough to close the curtains, but he really didn't need them to fret about him that much. He could handle indirect light, but he appreciated the thought nonetheless. “I've been so worried about you.”

“I've missed you too. I write when I can but I never know when the letters will arrive when I'm in another timeline.”

“It's not the letters I'm worried about. Please, have a seat.”

He almost didn't because it made him nervous, but she was his superior so he did as he was told. At the table, her guest table where she discussed reports with him sometimes, there was a steaming teapot and several cups. It made him wonder if she was expecting him.

“Tea? It's still warm.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. She filled one of the glasses and he took it, bringing to his lips for a sip. It was unexpectedly fruity.

“We had a report of a strange murder from a town we know you frequent,” Impa started. He felt the blood drain from his face. Of course, the messengers were quick on their feet in peacetime and not when he needed them to be quick during the war. “Stabbed through the heart with a stake but the guards who reported it suspect it was the heavy trauma to the neck that killed the victim. Although I did not go see the body, the descriptions led me to believe it was the work of a vampire, and the stake was to prevent the victim from becoming a vampire themselves. Care to explain yourself, Captain?”

“She was a traitor,” he mumbled quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear over his roaring heart. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth, trying to calm himself. He never expected the murder to get back to the castle. He really should have hid the body. He thought it was good enough to just make sure the other Links never found out. “She tried to poison me and my companions with hemlock. I'm very aware of how it tastes at this point. I wouldn't care if it was just me but she put eight other people in danger and most of them had nothing to do with the war.”

“I'm not concerned so much with the reasoning, Link. I know you don't kill unless your life or the life of somebody you care about is threatened. It's a decision you don't take lightly. I understand that part,” Athena said quietly, putting one of her hands on top of his own. Warriors almost pulled away in case she was preparing to kill him with her magic. It was the first time he found himself afraid of her, afraid of what she would do now that she knew what he did. “But what happened? Why did you use your powers to do it?”

“I...” He clenched his free hand tightly into a fist. His cup of tea went ignored.

“Link, please, we're just worried,” Proxi said. “You never talk about the vampire stuff. It can't be good for you to bottle it all up.”

“What is there to even say about it? Nobody's found a way to get rid of the curse and nobody knows how to help me. We can talk about it all we want, it wouldn't do anything.”

“Link-” Athena started but all his frustration was starting to bubble over and when he was frustrated, he started rambling.

“I wish I could tell you what happened, Zelda, but I really can't. I was going to drink her blood anyway because I wasn't going to let her get away with trying to hurt innocent people and suddenly, I'm just covered in blood! I don't fucking remember tearing her throat out, I just know that I did. I didn't want to go that far! I just have this... fucking blank in my memory and there's absolutely nothing that can be done because I'm just some monster that everybody pities! Hylians can't help because they don't know what it's like and vampires can't help me because I'm just different enough that they don't understand what it's like either. I don't even know why I keep trying!”

He didn't realize he was crying until the tears splattered onto his pants. Proxi nuzzled his cheek.

“I don't belong anywhere, Zelda, I really don't. I thought I fit in with the other heroes but if I kill one of them too? What if I can't remember doing it?”

“Link,” Impa started. “All of the people you came to the castle with know you're a vampire, correct?”

Link nodded weakly, trying in vain to quell the tears in his eyes, to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. All he managed to do was silence the sobbing though. He couldn't fight the tears, apparently.

“Then trust your companions to help you. You may have been brought together to fight a common foe, but you should take any opportunity to learn from new people and new environments. If you're not comfortable with us, then trust them. Surely, nine minds are better than one.”

“Most of them rely on me for all their vampires facts.”

“Maybe that's what you need – people who don't know,” Athena said simply. “A fresh perspective might help. You need to tell them what's on your mind though. They can't help if you don't let them help, if you don't tell them what's going on.”

What if he did tell them that he was scared of hurting them and they finally rejected him? What if they did what he wanted them to do – to be careful around him, to be wary of what he could do – and decide that the risks outweighed any benefits he brought to the group? Warriors wasn't sure he could handle it. He viewed them all as brothers. He let himself get attached to all of them. The rejection, even if it was the best for them, would hurt. It would hurt a lot.

“I don't know,” he mumbled.

“I know you have a hard time accepting help sometimes, but you need to put your head in the game and stop feeling sorry for yourself. How can you work in a group if you have such concerns and can't bring them up?”

Warriors had a couple of responses but he bit his tongue.

“Impa, that's enough.”

Impa hummed but otherwise stayed silent. Warriors took the moment to try to collect himself as Athena took both of his hands into hers.

“Link, no matter what, we're here for you. You're always welcomed here. We just want to help if you will let us.”

For a moment, he didn't know what to say, so he raised his teacup again and downed half the cup. It wasn't the way he liked to drink tea, he preferred to take his time with it, but he was desperate to just do something other than cry. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” It sounded basic, but he meant it. It wasn't like he had any other home to miss. “What of the body? Does Lady Elena know about what I did?”

“We haven't spoken but I suspect she's aware. However, the general population doesn't suspect a vampire so you're safe in the regard. They suspect a monster, so Lady Elena won't try to murder you, I'm sure,” Impa answered. “Although it's unusual for a monster to go for the throat like that, it's not entirely unheard of. It only screams vampire to whoever is already aware of the existence of vampires.”

Well, they weren't wrong about that. It was a monster. As if she read his mind, Impa pinched his ear and twisted. He hissed and swatted at her hand.

“Stop it. We're not here just let you wallow in self-pity.”

Athena cleared her throat. “Lady Elena might want to have words with you, so I would advise that you head to the manor next if possible. In the very least, she might know something about how to prevent something like this in the future. Of course, you and your companions are welcomed to stay here for a few days to rest and collect your thoughts.”

“The real reason why we're here is for any suspicious monster reports.”

“How about we talk about that tomorrow?”

“But Zelda-”

“Seriously, finish your tea, and get some rest. If not for you, at least for the rest of them, got it? I'm not going to let you fight monsters when you're so troubled.”

He supposed she had a point, so he downed the rest of the cup and put it on the table. If it was one of his soldiers in his spot, he wouldn't put them in a battle because distracted soldiers were bound to get themselves or somebody else hurt. If a fight broke out now, he wouldn't be able to focus on it and that could be disastrous.

“Okay, tomorrow.”

“Good. Go get some rest or take a walk, alright?”

With that, he and Athena hugged it out again and he took his leave. Proxi followed him out of the room, nestling herself in his scarf as he walked towards his room. He wasn't sure where the others where placed, exactly, but he had his own room regardless.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know. I know you always have my back,” Link said softly.

He knew the others did too. He just... wished he could be honest with them.

[beigehearts]

Multiple requests are fine! Requests are unlimited. 

This is a cool idea so hell yeah

Yandere Adult Trio finding you after a few years after escape CW: physical abuse, mentions of kidnapping, blood, needles

Hisoka

This is rather nice actually. A quiet life in the middle of nowhere where no one questions you. It’s somewhat of a farming community you live in. You work at a farmers market, selling fresh fruits and vegetables to the same people every day. Everyone here recognizes you under your fake identity, and treats you as part of the community. As if you didn’t randomly appear one day. As if you aren’t in hiding. 

It’s been about three years you would say. Three years since you escaped... him. You dyed your hair, wore colored contacts and completely changed your clothing look. You moved countries, learned a new language, and completely dropped your entire identity and life. It was the only way you could escape him. How you escaped him remains a mystery to you too. He was always attentive but- you escaped that last time. Slipped through his fingers. 

Mr. Grady, the oldest farmer in town hobbles over to your stand and smiles with his big loose mouth. He only has a few teeth but you don’t need many when you blend all of your food anyway.

“Oh hello Charlie. How are you today?” He asks with his frail old man voice.

You smile back and begin bagging up the usual for him. “Very good Mr. Grady. How are you?” 

Your conversations are never short but it’s almost become a highlight of your day to hear the old man ramble. “Oh you know. The sheep dog are sick, so I tried rounding those cows up with my cat. He practically got trampled!” He throws his arms up as if it’s unbelievable. You somewhat listen as he continues. “... moral of the story is, cats are unreliable and only have two lives.” 

As you hand the paper bag over the counter the old man stops to think for a moment. “I saw someone new up by the shops today, he was a real character. Quite tall too.” 

You nod and get the change for the money he hands you, “Oh really? Did you talk to him?”

“He wasn’t much interested in me. Though he didn’t seem like a normal traveler. He was much too eccentric for that.” He offers one last toothless smile, “Don’t work too late. It’s time for the foxbears to come out of hibernation soon.” 

Before you can further question him, he hobbles off pretty quickly for an old man. Of course you’re overreacting but someone eccentric and tall randomly coming to town? No it couldn’t be. It’s been over three years since then. And he wouldn’t go this far for you would he? 

After closing up the shop you grab the keys to your car and head for the ‘parking lot’. It’s a field with white lines spray painted on the grass with a single light to illuminate the whole place. You hop into your car and are just glad to finally go home after a long day. It was rather slow but that’s because it was a tuesday. It is very busy on friday-monday. You start your car, and turn on the air, you plug your phone in and relax some into your seat.

You adjust your rear view mirror and scream when you do. You just barely catch the reflection of someone in the back of your car. He’s sitting in the back seat watching you closely. You decide against turning around to face him.

“Hello y/n. Or is it Charlie?” He asks calmly, as if it were a casual conversation.

You clear your throat and try to control your shaking. “What are you doing here Hisoka?” 

He ignores your question completely. “You really know how to choose a nice town. Quiet, friendly, off the grid.”

“I suppose.” Your hands grip on the steering wheel tightens. “How did you find me?”

“Oh, well, it was quite hard really. You did a good job. But once I found the first person who helped you change your identity, it was just a matter of going down the chain.”

You’d rather not think about what happened to those people. “And what are you doing here?” You repeat your question.

“Well there’s only one thing I’m here for of course.” He leans back in the seat, just barely having enough room for his legs. “I’ve come to bring you home.” 

“I don’t want to. It’s nice here.” You state as if you have an option. 

He leans forward this time, and cranes his head around the drivers seat to whisper in your ear, “It’s really not up to you pet.”

Before you can even react, there’s a rope around your neck, and he’s pulling you hard against your seat. You claw at the rope and gasp for air. You try to turn some but the rope burn hurts too much. You manage to get your fingers under the rope around your neck, and throw yourself forward.

His head smacks the back of your seat but your head smacks the wheel, honking the horn. There’s no doubt that you’re bleeding. You throw the rope over your head and jump out of the car, and run. But he’s much faster.

He jumps out of the car and before you know it, he grabs the back of your shirt, pulling you to him. He holds you against himself with his arms, leaving no room for escape. But you have one more trick up your sleeve. You throw your head back as hard you can and headbutt his face. There’s a loud crack that you can only assume is his nose. 

He groans and his nails dig into your skin through your clothes. “You really got feisty while I was away.” His nails begin to pierce your skin, ripping through the cloth of your shirt. “But it’s no matter, it only turns me on more.”

Illumi

To say you’re on the run is an understatement. You’re practically sprinting away even all these years later. You know that if you stop for even a few days that he would find you. You spend no more than three days at a time in the same place. You’ve travelled half of the world by now- and quite honestly it has been somewhat nice. Not just the freedom from the suffocating grasp of your captor Illumi, but being able to see the world. You would never have done this if not for the situation you were in. Maybe things happen for a reason.

It feels like forever since you’ve been travelling. But the reality is that it’s only been two years. Two long years of not stopping. You have a new name and often go days without eating. It’s not easy getting money when you aren’t in the same area for long. 

It was late night when you escaped from him. He never let his guard down so you just had to go for it. He wasn’t expecting you to make a mad dash out of the manor, and hide out in the woods for a few days. Slowly but surely you managed to get out of the mountain prison, leaving through the small door next to the office. The man working at the entrance was sipping tea and reading the newspaper when you left much too busy to pay attention to you. You’re more than sure he was punished for missing you leaving. But sometimes you wonder if he chose to ignore you on purpose, and let you escape. 

It’s a beautiful morning. You slept on a few blankets and a sweatshirt as a pillow on the ground of a cave. It was hard to get any sleep at first but you managed to get used to the back pain. The sun is shining through the canopy, streams of light illuminating the cave. The grass outside of the cave is wet with dew droplets. It’s only slightly humid but the breeze with the warm weather is heavenly. It’s not every day you get good weather like this. 

You sit up and stretch your arms in the air, yawning tiredly. Your usual morning routine was to get a fire started, and put the tiny kettle above it. In your small backpack you have a few essential items. Coffee being one of them. You get out your tin can after jimmying a fire and filling the kettle with water from a nearby stream. You drop some instant coffee grounds in the kettle and bask in the aroma of coffee. 

You pour yourself a cup and put some powdered milk packets and splenda in the cup, stirring it with a stick that looked relatively... clean. But you had a feeling that today was the day. You weren’t sure why this morning you knew he would find you. But you did. Almost on cue, you hear footsteps approach behind you.

You bring the tin cup to your lips, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. 

“So this is where you’ve been.” You don’t even flinch at his words. You knew this was inevitable. 

The coffee burns your tongue. “Yes, I must have stayed here for a day too long. Don’t you agree Illumi?”

“Yes. It was quite stupid.” There’s a silence between the two of you. You continue sitting on the ground with your back facing him. “Are you ready to leave?” He asks as if he’s picking you up from and elementary sleep over. 

“May I finish my coffee first?” 

“I suppose.” Though he doesn’t move from his spot, his gaze staying firm on your back.

Luckily you haven’t spent all this time just running, but training. In self defense to be specific.

Quickly you jump up and turn around, you move your arm to throw the coffee on him in hopes of burning him. He grabs your wrist, but the coffee does land on his forearm. You bring your leg up to kick him in the side but he grabs it right as you make contact. The only hit you actually manage to land is when you throw a punch with your free hand at his throat. If it were anyone else they would be stunned for at least a few seconds. But this wasn’t anyone. He shows no sign of flinching. 

“Are you ready now?” He asks.

You allow your body to relax and he lets go of your limbs. “Go ahead, put a needle in me.”

He doesn’t argue with your point, pressing a needle to your chest and the last thing you hear is “Don’t fight it.”

Chrollo

The very thought that all of these people by his side had no qualms about you being kidnapped makes you sick. All of them had many chances to set you free and yet they stayed loyal to your captor, as if this were normal and okay. So many people witnessing this unhealthy obsession and not even muttering a word about it. Honestly you find it more ridiculous than you do sad. How did he have all these people under his thumb? Was he really just that powerful? 

Wherever he went, you went. One day he had what they called, ‘a mission.” You had caught a cargo train out west and jumped on, as stowaways. It’s not as if anyone checked each boxcar. All of you had fallen asleep in the small space of the boxcar. The train was at full speed, with no sign of stopping anytime soon. Cargo trains were much faster than you anticipated. Once you were sure everyone was asleep, you stood up casually as if you were just stretching. In case someone woke up. Which they did. Nobunaga peeled his eyes open and examined you. But he was too slow, you leaped out of the car before anyone could grab you. You went tumbling through a field after hitting your head very hard against the ground. It wasn’t the perfect escape but it was an escape.

After that you found a nearby farm, and while it was still night you stole a horse from a barn. You rode for many miles, until days later you found a very busy city. Somehow you managed to make a life for yourself, becoming a low grade secretary. 

Today was a slow day, your employer did not have many clients today. You checked in on your boss to see if she needed anything but she waved you away. You decided to play solitaire on the computer, a perfectly valid way to waste time. 

The phone rings and you pick it up while still keeping one hand on the mouse to play solitaire. 

“Hello this is the Seedling Lawyer’s Office. How may I help you?” You stick the phone between your ear and shoulder, playing solitaire. 

There’s a chuckle from the other side of the phone. “So it is you.”

Your blood runs cold, and the only thing that your head is telling you is ‘run’. “I’m not sure who this is, could you please state your name and purpose for calling?” Playing dumb seems like the only decision right now. 

“My darling, there’s no need for the semantics. I’m coming to pick you up right now.” Perfectly on cue, the sliding doors of the building open and you drop the phone, standing up abruptly. 

His eyes show affection and kindness, but there’s a glimmer of... rage. You look around but no one is in the waiting room and you know the cameras are fake for security. This is a cheap layer’s business after all. 

“There’s no need for the semantics Chrollo.” You try to say mockingly but it comes out more as fearful and unsure.

His smile drops and he begins walking towards your desk. “Do you understand the consequences of your actions y/n?” He scoffs kicks the heavy desk to the side as if it weighed nothing. “I missed you of course.” 

“Ah well, maybe I needed a break.” It comes out as a question. 

He corners you against the wall and places a rough hand on your cheek. “Oh darling, oh my sweet darling.” His smile reappears, as sweet as it always has been. “I’m going to kill your entire family.” His hand grips the side of your face roughly and he tilts your head back. 

“You really are something. I would never hurt you, you know.” He places a gentle kiss against your cheek despite his tight grip on the side of your head. “But that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences for what you’ve done.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat and grab his wrist. “Well you’re hurting me right now.” 

Immediately he drops his hand and sighs. “I would never hurt you intentionally, or if not necessary.” He grabs your throat, holding it so tightly you wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk again. He’s crushing your air ways and vocal cords. You claw at his wrist but its useless. “Disciplining you does not count as hurting you.” He leans forward, and if you could yelp you would.

He bites your cheek, definitely leaving a mark. After drawing blood, he licks it up. Your vision is going dark but you’re simply not strong enough to fight back. “Do you understand darling?”

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 6 - The First Date [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s a surprise chapter to celebrate TFATWS starting, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: First dates can end in strange ways.

Series Masterlist

Every agent in your division knew the Winter Soldier, the unstoppable assassin, the infamous ghost story, the man who had been fighting for over 80 years. He was a legend, and meeting him was something you were all taught to avoid ever since the espionage world had found out about his existence.

The last time, a whole team of heavily armed soldiers were sent to take him down and he had managed to disarm every single one of them without even needing a weapon. So theoretically if you were to send an agent to meet him, you would probably make sure that agent carried about a thousand weapons and preferably went there in a bulletproof vehicle.

Instead, you were told to wear a cute dress for the first date.

Lovely.

“How come I can’t wear any of my clothes?” you asked, pressing the phone to your ear as you took a look at all the dresses lying on your bed.

“Not that your sniper outfits aren’t hot, but wearing them to your first date with the Winter Soldier might not be the brightest idea.”

You heaved a sigh, “I still can’t believe you changed my whole wardrobe when I was outside, Chloe. What was wrong with my usual clothes?”

“They’re not what your cover would wear.”

“Uh huh.”

“Pick the one with those small flowers on it,” Chloe said, “Mini dress, chiffon. Cream colored.”

You hummed and grabbed the hanger, then held it over your body.

“Are we sure?”

“Trust me. Perfect for the first date.”

“Did mini dresses exist back in his time?” Keith’s voice reached you, making you frown, “Or was he born in those times with those giant dresses?”

“Excuse me, why am I on speaker?” you asked, “Also Keith, what are you doing in the headquarters? I need you and the team ready to interfere anytime.”

“I’m not in the headquarters, I was grabbing coffee and Chloe wanted to come with me. No worries though, we’re around your area.”

“Are you insane?” you snapped, “You brought her to the field?”

“We’re just getting coffee—“

“Chloe, get back to the headquarters,” you insisted, “Now.”

“No! You have a date, Keith gets to relax at this new café, and three of us can barely spend time together nowadays!” Chloe said, “It’s always you guys who have the fun.”

“Honey I’m on a date with the Winter Soldier so that I can gather intel, Keith is going to be at that café because he and the team needs to be nearby in case my cover is blown,” you said patiently, getting into the dress,  “It’s not like we’re hanging out without you.”

“Detail.”

“It’s not just a detail-“

“No I mean the security detail is ready.” Chloe cut you off, “I got my laptop with me, I hacked into the café’s wifi.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, “You did what?”

“Yeah I figured I could use a change of scenery and Keith said yes.”

“Keith, I need you to listen to me carefully,” you said, “I’m going to kill you.”

“Y/N!”

“You can’t kill me.”

“Can’t I though?”

“Yeah you have a date, remember?”

You checked your wristwatch and cussed under your breath, rushing to put your shoes on.

“I put a small gadget into your wristwatch,” Chloe said, “I figured he’d recognize the ring if he saw it again. If you press the button there, the team will be called to your location shortly.”

“And if things get exciting, make sure to take the watch off,” Keith let out a laugh, “You don’t want us to interrupt your fun over an accident.”

“It’s just the first date, idiot.”

“Yeah and I’m—I’m sure there’s a rule against killing on the first date.” Chloe said, “Right?”

“Nah I killed a target on the first date before,” you mumbled, “But I wasn’t told to get into a relationship back then so… It’ll be different this time.”

“Try not to give the guy whiplash though, will you?” Keith said and you frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means dating etiquette changed since 1940s.”

“Oh don’t worry, I got that covered,” you said but your head shot up when you heard the doorbell ring. “I have to go.”

“Okay, but—“

“No time Keith,” you murmured, walking to the door. Your heart was pacing against your chest for some reason as if it was a real first date, and you swung the door open to reveal Bucky waiting for you at your doorstep. He put his hands into his leather jacket, taking in your appearance.

“You know what to do if you get in trouble.” Keith said and you hung up quickly to push your phone into your purse, smiling wide at Bucky.

“Hi!” you said, “Shall we?”

                                                         ***

Now to think of it,  the last time you had been on a date without carrying any weapons had to be ten years ago if not more. But you had clear orders for this one, your superiors were convinced that carrying any kind of gun or a dagger would alert him, even if you thought it was invisible to outsider eye.

After all, he was an assassin and looking for weapons on a person from miles away was second nature for assassins.

You would know.

“So you moved here a month ago and you just know one place?” he asked as you waited for the barista to prepare your coffee, “A coffee shop? That’s it?”

“I know a milkshake shop too.”

He tilted his head, “You mean where you work?”

“That still counts,” you defended yourself “But if you insist, I might let you show me around next time.”

“Please do,” he said, “Just a heads up though, there’s a huge possibility that most of the places I know has been closed down years ago.”

“Oh that’s okay,” you told him as the barista put your coffees in front of you. “We can explore the new sights together then.”

A smile graced his lips while he led you to the table furthest from the window facing the door and you had to suppress your grin.

You weren’t the only one who was scanning the cafe for possible emergency exits and safest spots after all. Sitting by the window was a civilian mistake because in case of a shooting, you’d be in the clear sight for the shooter.

You had a feeling not many people considered that possibility on a first date.

“That sounds good,” he pulled your chair for you and you paused only for a moment before taking your seat.

Right. Born in a different era.

He took off his leather jacket and your gaze wandered off to his vibranium arm before snapping back to his eyes. He was watching you with his brows slightly raised, as if waiting to see your reaction.

“Sorry!” You said quickly, “I’m sorry, I just…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Bucky—“

“Really,” he assured you, “Don’t worry.”

You took a deep breath, pushing your behind your ear.

“So, it’s good to meet in a place that looks like it belongs to 21st century isn’t it?”

He hissed in a breath, a mischievous light glimmering in his blue eyes “Do you want me to be honest?”

“Brutally honest.”

“I would be lying if I said I don’t miss the uniform.”

Your jaw dropped before a smile spread over your lips, “Look at that,” you said, “Told you you weren’t rusty.”

He chuckled, “I’d hope not.”

“And hey, if you miss how it was back then, some things aren’t that different than 40s,” you said, cradling the warm cup in your hands. He tilted his head.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Like what?”

“You know, I’m glad you asked because I actually did research in case it came up.”

He lowered his cup, “You did what?”

“Um… do you promise not to be intimidated if I am brutally honest?”

He leaned in, eyes locked to yours, “Cross my heart.”

“I did research,” you nodded, making him let out a small laugh. “No wait, listen— I just… I didn’t google you or stalk you over Instagram so I had to prepare myself in a different way.”

“I know some of those words,” he pointed out and you took a deep breath.

“It means I didn’t look you up.” you said, “When I was sixteen, I promised myself I wouldn’t look anyone up before the first date but that rule doesn’t extend to doing general research.”

“You didn’t look me up?” he asked and you shook your head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I like getting to know people on my own,” you said, “I’m not really interested in people’s pasts, does that make sense?”

He stared at you for a couple of seconds, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, “But I’ll do it anyway. Trusting people is kind of my thing, past or not. I’d rather be mistaken than prejudiced.”

A silence fell upon him as if he was astounded and you rested your chin on your fist, keeping your eyes on him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said after a beat, “Nothing at all.”

“So—anyways, some things aren’t that different,” you said, leaning back, “Some details, that is. People still— we still go to movie theatres, that was a big thing back then too right?”

“Oh absolutely,” he said, “For first dates too.”

“We still wear hats sometimes,” you counted with your fingers, “Some people still prefer to call their partners daddy—in a different context, don’t google that— and we still have jello.”

“I heard about that,” he mused, a playful smile on his lips, “The jello, that is.”  

You grinned, scrunching up your nose.

“So yeah. There’s your crash course.”

“I appreciate it,” he said with a chuckle, “And hey, if it makes you feel any better I didn’t google you either.”

“Because you don’t know how?”

“Because I don’t know how,” he admitted, “I should probably start making a list, I keep asking Sam about some pretty common information.”

“Really?”

“Yeah I mean—for example, I don’t know if it’s still acceptable to bring a gal-a girl,” he corrected himself and cleared his throat, “Flowers for the first date.”

“You were going to bring me flowers?”

“Yeah! Yeah . I was going to actually, then Sam said it was old fashioned. Sharon said it was a good idea, but…”

You furrowed your brows, “Okay let me get this straight, you listened to your friend who’s a guy and not your other friend who’s a girl. About what girls like on the first date.”

A look of realization dawned on his face, “That might not have been the brightest idea now that you mentioned it.”

“No disrespect to Captain America but he might need to work on his romance skills,” you pointed out and took a sip of your coffee.

“How about you?” he asked, “What’s your story?”

I was recruited at the age of 16, just last year I took down a whole team of bad guys all by myself, I could probably kill someone in 5 different ways using this coffee cup and spoon alone.

Or not.

You had been over this. You had a full file back at home filled with details of your new identity, designed to look unsuspicious.

“There’s not much to tell I’m afraid,” you muttered, “I grew up in a small town. Everyone knew each other, and I thought it was nice, until my grandmother passed away. Then there were way too many people asking me if I was okay. In the grocery store, on my way to work… I just wanted to get away.”

“I know the feeling,” he said softly and you nodded.

Of course he did. This whole identity was fabricated for him after all.

“So I figured I could move away,” you said, “There was nothing to keep me there after all. I lost my parents when I was little, that was the reason why my grandmother took me in.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh don’t be,” you said quickly, “Really. They just….”

My mom died in a car crash when I was 5, and one day I came home from school and my father was nowhere to be found.

Neither was his suitcase.

You had to give it to him, he had bothered to write you a note. If you could call that a note.

The infamous genius scientist had nothing to say other than he was sorry. You had burned that note that night, along with every picture in the family album.

“There was a car accident,” you tried to smile, ignoring the bitter taste at the back of your throat, “Drunk driver, came out of nowhere. They both died on impact, that’s what everyone says. I don’t remember them much.”

A silence fell upon you for a moment and you took a deep breath.

“Anyways,” you managed to say, “Enough about me. What about you?”

He paused before turning the cup between his hands, “That’s kind of a long story,” he said, making you arch a brow to shoot him a look.

“Well as it happens, my milkshake making schedule just cleared out.” you stated, making him smile, “We have unlimited coffee and time. Bring it on.”

                                               ***

Well, you didn’t know what you had expected but it wasn’t this. Considering he was under the impression that you were a civilian, of course he didn’t tell you any gory or top secret details but he didn’t try to make himself look innocent either, or any different than he was.

He was as sincere as an ex-assassin could be.

Cover or not, this was probably the best date you had ever been. In fact, after the first half an hour you almost forgot that it was fake, that you were supposed to dig for information instead of enjoying yourself.

You were still playing your part but it didn’t exactly feel like work.

“So no to motorcycles?” Bucky asked as you turned around to look at him better while you walked backwards.

“No to motorcycles!” you exclaimed, “Those things are deathtraps.”

“So when you said you couldn’t get on it because of your dress….”

“It wasn’t a complete lie,” you motioned at your dress, “Half because of the dress, half because I don’t want to die.”

“Do you seriously believe I’d let that happen?”

“Maybe.”

“Mmm and what was it you said earlier?” he taunted you, “About trusting people?”

“I trust people,” you insisted, “I don’t trust death machines, there’s a difference.”

Well, he didn’t need to know you had a motorcycle in Chloe’s garage.

“Here we are,” you pointed at the building standing a couple of feet away from you, “My apartment. See, I told you it was close. No reason for putting our lives in danger when we can just walk.”

“Does that mean I can’t show you around the city the next time?”

“On a motorcycle?”

“Mm hm.”

“I don’t—that’s a terrible….” You heaved a dramatic sigh, “Hypothetically speaking, what would I get in return?”

His smile was calm, almost amused, “What do you want to get in return?”

You crossed your arms, looking up at the sky as if you were deep in thought, completely aware of his gaze on you.

“Flowers,” you said after a beat, “I didn’t even know they were an option but now that I know, I want flowers.”

“Is that it?” he asked, “It’s ‘a death machine’, but flowers are enough to convince you?”

“Depends,” you mused silkily, a complete opposite of the wide-eyed look in your eyes as you batted your lashes, “What else do you want me to want?”

A shadow moved behind his gaze only for a moment before it disappeared again but it was more than enough time for you to see it, and that was when you realized that there was a reason why Chloe had sent you that file.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t completely a stammering love-struck puppy when it came to flirting. While it was true that he could be a little rusty –you didn’t know how he was back in the 40s-, he also knew when to stop talking to see how far you would go in this game.

He was letting you play and think you were in control before making his move.

Patience of a sniper.

“Um- thank- thank you for tonight,” you said, averting your glances as if you were embarrassed under his gaze, playing it coy, “I had so much fun.”

“Me too,” he said, “The next one will include flowers, I promise.”

You let out a nervous giggle and stepped closer to him before you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his cheek. He inhaled your scent deeply, probably not even aware of what he was doing but you tried to hide your smile.

It was on the file Chloe had prepared about him. Bucky Barnes liked the scent of vanilla.

“Be careful riding that death machine,” you told him, biting on your lip before you made your way to the building. You hopped on the stairs to push the exterior door to get into the building, and pressed a hand on your chest, closing your eyes.

Why were you so giddy all of a sudden?

You threw your shoulders back and got into the elevator to press on the button to your floor. As soon as the elevator started to move, your reflection in the mirror caught your attention and you tilted your head.

Chloe had a point, it was a nice dress.

The elevator made a small noise and the doors slid open for you to pass, but when you entered the hall you stopped dead on your tracks. There were four agents waiting on your doorstep and before you could question what was happening, one of the doors in the hallways opened and Keith stepped out.

“Be careful riding that death machine?” he asked, “I could tell you the same thing but you didn’t invite him up here.”

“I wasn’t wearing a wire, how did you-?”

“We had a car around the corner just in case,” he said “You’d be surprised how far we can hear with these new gadgets.”

“I told everyone we can’t—“ you stopped yourself, taking a deep breath. “What are you doing here and why are there agents at my doorstep?”

He grinned at you, “How do you feel about being neighbors?”

“I feel fuck no about it, and why are there agents—“

“General is waiting for you in your apartment.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, “What?” you asked as you walked past him and opened the door to your apartment, then stepped in.

“General?” you rasped out as you walked into the living room to find him there, sitting by himself.

“Shrike,” he greeted you, “Good evening.”

You tried to smile, “Good evening sir.”

“I wanted to see how the mission was going,” he said, “Your team says it’s been very successful so far.”

“It’s going according to plan sir, yes.”

“This was what, your first date?”

You licked your dry lips, commanding yourself to be calm. “Yes.”

He hummed and stood up, running a hand over his gray beard, his eyes darting around the room.

“Y/N,” he murmured, making your head shot up at hearing your name instead of your alias. “It’s possible that the last time we talked face to face about your mission, I came across a little…uncaring. I want you to know that it’s not easy for me either.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded.

“You’re like a daughter to me,” he said, “For me, putting you on this mission was no different than sending Chloe into Barnes’s bed. Granted you have an edge and proper training for field missions like these unlike her, but…”

Right. Manipulation of Enemy.

A.k.a the seduction class.

Your superior had almost failed you in that class.

“But all your superiors in the division is aware of your success so far,” he said, “There has been no hiccups, nothing to alert him which is a surprise. You’re playing your role well, and we will keep that in mind after this mission is over. You’re at the top of our list for possible handlers.”

For the first time in your life, that didn’t make you fill with excitement for some reason. You frowned at yourself and plastered a smile on your face.

“Thank you sir.”

“Anything you would like to report so far?”

“I’m going slowly in order to make sure I gain his trust,” you said, “But sir, there’s a reason why I didn’t even wear my earpiece tonight. Barnes is a pro, anything could make him suspicious and putting agents in cars to listen to us… That could go wrong.”

“You want to be completely alone on this mission?”

“I still want to have my team, but I want them to be completely invisible. I already have a tracker and an emergency signal on my wristwatch, but unless I specifically call for them, they need to be away. I can’t risk anyone compromising my cover, even if it’s unintentional by my team.”

He thought for a moment, “I see,” he said, “You make a good point. I’ll make the necessary adjustments.”

“Thank you General.”

He squeezed your upper arm as if trying to assure you and walked to the door, then turned around.

“Shrike?”

“Yes sir?”

“You’ve heard what happened to Marco, right?” he asked, “He was one of our best agents but got too involved in his seduction mission.”

You swallowed thickly, “I heard he’s missing.”

A small smile pulled at his lips, “That’s right. He was removed from his mission, then went missing.”

Killed.

He was killed by the agency when he fell for his target and both of you knew that.

“That’s unfortunate,” you managed to say and he nodded.

“It is,” he said, “Don’t make the same mistake. Actions have consequences.”

With that, he left your apartment and you let out a breath as you fell back to sit on the couch, your hands shaking.

“Yeah,” you muttered to yourself, “Yeah they do.”

Chapter 7 

[mrs-gucci]

Rough Around the Edges {Prince Kylo Ren x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! taking a quick break from all the fourth of july stuff to submit this piece for this week’s writer wednesday :) thanks @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape​ for organizing this wonderful weekly event!

this story takes place in a medieval AU and is lightly inspired by certain elements in “Beauty and the Beast”.

warnings: angst with a hopeful ending. partially unreciprocated feelings. arranged courtship. time period-authentic sexism (women are meant to please men and that’s all). there’s a kiss.

(possible) tw’s: arranged relationship. implied age gap (not specified, but everyone’s above age).

word count: a touch over 2k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​ ​@gildedstarlight @mrs-zimmerman​ @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee​​ @pascalisfairyy​​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

You sit in front of the mirror while Anna pulls your hair into a flattering updo. Your eyes begin to tear up at the painful sting of your hair being manipulated in such a forceful way, scalp throbbing with each of Anna’s harsh, calculated movements.

"Must you be so rough?”

She offers little empathy in her expression as she looks at you through the mirror’s reflection. “The Prince insisted that you wear your hair up tonight, madame. He was absolutely furious when you wore it down the last time, and I’m the one who had to stand there while he threw a tantrum over it.”

Your eyes roll, knowing all too well of your betrothed’s legendary fits of anger. He’s much too old to be doing such childish things, but god forbid you ever say that to him.

Anna finishes up with your hair, much to your relief, but now the real pain begins. You look over at the corset waiting on the bed and already, your ribcage aches.

“What, are you trying to turn it to stone?” She asks, and you shake your head. “Well, you’re certainly staring at it long enough. Come on now, stand up, we don’t have all afternoon.”

You sigh, rising up out of the chair and walking over to the bed where Anna’s standing, corset in-hand. She wraps it around your torso, pulling the laces impossibly tight over your ribs and stomach, caging them both within the garment. 

After the corset is very securely tied, Anna grabs your dress and helps you step into the golden yellow skirt. She ties the top part with just as much aggression as she tied the corset, making simply breathing a painful process.

“Try to at least look like you don’t want to jump out of the East tower’s window.” Anna remarks as you scowl at your reflection in the mirror. “Have you ever considered smiling?”

“I have absolutely nothing to smile about.” You reply curtly, unamused by this conversation or her suggestions.

She sighs in defeat. “I’m only trying to help, madame. You need to learn how to be a princess, or at least try and act the part.”

“I’m not interested in being a princess, Anna. But, if you ever asked my opinion on the matter, then you’d already know that. Now please, I wish to be alone.”

Anna’s surprised at the hostile tone of your words, but she keeps her lips pursed, knowing she’s in no place to press the issue any further. She simply nods, backing out of the room, leaving you alone.

Your bottom lip begins to tremble as your vision blurs with tears, abruptly turning away from the mirror so that you don’t have to look at what you’ve been forced to become.

There’s nothing that you wish for more than to be free from this life, free to live the way you want to live instead of the one that was chosen for you to live. You loathe the mask you must wear, the painted face that looks back at you through the mirror.

But, you have no choice...you’ve never had a choice.

-

The palace is aglow this evening, thousands of candles burning and casting a warmer shade across the normally-bland ivory color. Your shoes clink on the marble flooring as you make your way to the front steps, looking over the railing at the grand room below.

Lords and ladies, princes and princesses are all arm-in-arm, walking through to the ballroom. Some have stopped to converse with each other, fake smiles plastered on their painted faces. 

You huff to yourself as you reach the top of the staircase, and at the bottom, stands your betrothed. He looks up as you make your way down the stairs, a pleased smirk tugging at the corners of his lips with each step you take.

Kylo holds his hand out to you when you reach the bottom, guiding you down the final stair before looping his arm through yours. The two of you walk towards the ballroom, smiling and nodding politely at the other guests.

“You look nice.” His voice is flat, emotionless.

You huff in false amusement, physically having to prevent your eyes from rolling. “Am I supposed to thank you for saying that?”

"Ah, you’re learning.” He says, stopping to look down at you, fingers holding your chin and forcing you to look up at him while his eyes linger over your face. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet, little dove.”

You yank your chin from his grip, snarling softly. “Don’t touch me.”

His hand suddenly comes up to wrap around your throat, teeth bared. “I can touch you however I please, young one. You’re mine, and you ought to learn your place.”

Once he feels you relax, feels you surrender under his touch, he lets go of your neck and continues walking as if nothing’s happened, dragging you along with him.

He wears you on his arm the whole evening as he talks to various noblemen and you just stand there, silent with a small smile, pretending like you don’t exist. 

Then, the two of you take a seat at the big table with King Han and Queen Leia, beginning to feast on the royal spread. You barely eat, partially due to the fact that you’re afraid to bust the ties on your corset if your abdomen expands even a little bit too far, and Kylo seems to take notice.

“I promise I didn’t poison it.”

You look over at him with widened eyes. He simply smirks, laughing softly to himself.

“I’m only joking, little dove.”

You’re incredibly surprised, stunned into utter silence at the fact that he’s just joked with you. You'd been convinced up until this point that humor wasn’t a part of his emotional capabilities, that he was only capable of anger, hatred, and inflicting fear. 

His hand hesitantly rests on top of yours, which makes you flinch. He looks conflicted in the moment, as if he’s deciding whether or not to be upset that you react this way to his touch.

“Why aren’t you eating? You need to eat.”

You look away, jaw clenching. “I know you don’t actually care why I’m not eating, Kylo. Plus, none of my answers will be good enough to please you, anyway.”

He stiffens, pulling his hand away immediately.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the tone of his voice. He almost sounds...upset. Not upset at you, though, upset at himself. 

The rest of the time he’s silent, only glancing over at you occasionally. Dessert comes around and you don’t even touch it, simply sitting up straight with your hands in your lap.

Couples rise from their tables as the musicians begin to play an upbeat tempo, gathering on the ballroom floor. Kylo stands up next to you, holding out his hand without a word.

You rise from your chair and take his extended hand, allowing him to lead you out to the ballroom floor. Dancing was customary in Alderaan and was a very popular practice at gathering’s like this. 

Kylo’s large hands drop to your waist as soon as you reach the floor and you reach up to rest your hands on his broad shoulders. The two of you sway in unison and make your way around the dance floor skillfully, gracefully. 

After the song comes to an end and another slower one begins, the Prince tilts his head down to look at you. His face is stoic, unchanging, but there’s something different about this look. It’s not as harsh or as emotionless as it normally is; there’s a certain gentleness to it.

Your eyes keep his gaze, looking back up at him with a curious glint in your eyes, drinking in his up-close appearance for truly the first time since you’ve arrived in Alderaan. He’s intoxicatingly handsome, there’s no getting around that, but his personality and temper leave a lot to be desired.

Yet, despite his hostility and distaste for you, you still find yourself temporarily entranced by his presence, melting under his gaze. It’s in this moment that you catch a glimpse into your own psyche, recognizing the true source of your vehement hate and closed-off behavior towards him. 

All of it is done out of a desire to hide your attraction to the man that you’ve tried so, so hard to dislike. There’s always been a small part of you that’s known this, but you figured that if you pushed it down long enough and acted otherwise, perhaps you’d eventually convince yourself otherwise. But, alas, those feelings of attraction have only grown and festered beneath the facade of hatred.

It is true, Kylo Ren is a moody, closed-off, hostile and frankly childish being, but you’re somehow able to look past that and see the diamond-in-the-rough quality to the young Prince. You know that somewhere, behind the stone wall he’s so clearly built up around himself, there’s a goodness to him. You’ve seen glimpses of it throughout the time you’ve known him, but he almost immediately shuts it down instead of letting it show further, a fact you find incredibly perplexing.

“Y/N?” His voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You snap from your temporary trance and shake your head. “Sorry, I was deep in thought.”

“I gathered.” He chuckles softly. “If I asked what it is you were thinking about, would you tell me the truth?”

“Probably not.”

He nods. “I appreciate your honesty.”

The two of you continue to move around the floor before the handsome Prince clears his throat, cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink.

“May I ask you a question, completely unrelated to my previous inquiry?”

You nod, and he swallows harshly.

“What is it about me that you loathe so much?”

Your stomach drops and you suddenly feel a touch of lightheadedness begin to pressurize within your skull. You’re frozen for a moment as you try to decide whether or not to tell him the truth.

“I don’t...why are you asking me such a thing? I know you don’t actually care about the answer.”

His jaw clenches and his grip suddenly tightens on your hips. “Why do you always insist that I don’t care?”

“Because I know you don’t, Kylo. At least, not truly.” You reply, squirming beneath his grip.

“W-Well, what if...” He huffs, looking away. “What if I do care? Or am at least trying to care?”

You’re genuinely surprised by his words, taken aback for a moment. This is a turn you certainly didn’t see coming...

“I find your ever-changing moods and stubbornness often makes you difficult to deal with. You never try, at least up until this point, to understand my feelings or show any sort of interest in getting to know me, which just makes me feel even more unwanted than I already do, and I--”

Before you can continue, you’re cut off by a sudden presence on your lips. It registers in your mind, then, that he’s kissing you. You stiffen, and he pulls away slowly, eyes staring into yours.

“You are not unwanted, Y/N.” He says, voice low. “Never...p-please never think that.”

Did he just say ‘please’? That’s almost the most shocking thing he’s said thus far.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, Kylo. Just...a little rough around the edges.”

His entire demeanor shifts for a moment, and for a split second, you swear he looks happy; truly, genuinely happy. Perhaps a bit of relief was sprinkled in, too. He wears a small, barely-there smile as he continues to look down at you.

“I would like to try and change. We should at least try to get along, considering the fact that we’ll be wed soon. I know you don’t want to be here, but I’d like to at least try to make things a bit easier, h-however I can.”

You can’t stop the smile that quickly spreads across your face, delightfully pleased to hear these words. Your expression widens his smile ever so slightly.

“I think we can certainly give it a try.”

Kylo nods, a subtly optimistic expression etched on his features.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek THE FINAL DAY prompt- Pining/Longing. This one takes place, well, you’ll see

~*~

A Study of Longing, Told in Six Parts

Part 1

Martin wonders if he’ll ever get to a point in his life where kindness doesn’t feel like a shock to the system. It’s already surprising enough when Tim and Sasha invite him for drinks in a genuine offer of friendship, but for that kindness to come from Jon? Martin has no idea what to do with being believed, let alone being protected.

And now here he is, blearily opening his eyes only to find himself staring at a mass of hair. As he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes, the shape resolves into the form of one Jonathan Sims. He had apparently fallen asleep with his head cushioned on his arms, against the cot Martin was currently occupying. It’s not an image that Martin can fully process at the moment, so instead he debates whether or not to wake Jon up or quietly get off the cot to let him get some much needed sleep. He decides on the former, both thinking that it would be hell on his back to keep sleeping in that position, and that he would like an explanation.

Hand hovering above Jon’s shoulder, but not fully touching, Martin oh so quietly calls out, “Jon?”

That’s all it takes for Jon’s head to rush up with a gasp, glasses askew, and with the texture of his sleeves pressed in red marks on his face. It is a horribly endearing look. “Hrn?”

Martin opens his mouths, closes it, and waits for Jon to get his bearings. Jon smooths down his (frankly ridiculous) sweater-vest, adjusts his glasses, and slips back on his professional demeanor. “My apologies, Martin, I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

Glancing to the crappy little digital clock resting on a file box next to him, Martin rolls his eyes. Only Jon could be quite so stuffy at 4:32 in the morning. “No apologies needed. Though, um, was there? Something you needed or..?”

Jon shakes his head and stands up, dusting off imaginary grime. “No, no, nothing like that. I had just, er. I had heard you cry out and I- I wanted to make sure nothing was going on. It appears that it simply a nightmare,so I will be.. taking my leave. Now.”

He doesn’t know what part of himself replies, “Oh! You don’t have to go!,” but he replies it anyway. Jon does that little thoughtful frown at him, which forces him to continue, “I mean, if you wanted the cot. For sleeping. I’ll probably be awake for the rest of the night, so, you know, no skin off my back .”

“Ah. No, that’s quite alright, Martin. Try to get some more sleep, there’s still a long work day ahead.”

Jon doesn’t even wait for a response before turning on his heel and leaving. Martin sort of hates how much he wanted him to stay.

Part 2

Jon is laughing. Jon is terrified, all the damn time, and yet, somehow, he’s laughing. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he was still capable of it. Martin is gesticulating wildly with his fork, animated in a way that Jon’s only ever seen when in they’re in the middle of a rather silly debate. He thinks this lunch’s topic was something like whether or not snakes were cute? He lost the thread of conversation about half an hour ago, honestly. Covering his mouth, he lets the giggles run through his whole body, shaking his shoulders and heating his core. He feels light, heady, like he’s reminiscing with an old friend and they’re both on the edge of having had too much to drink.

He only wishes he could trust this feeling. He wishes that he could trust Martin, that they were normal coworkers having a normal lunch, that the previous person in Jon’s position had gone into an easy retirement instead of being violently murdered. He wishes he hadn’t read that letter telling him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martin, Martin, who took him to lunch and brought him tea and seemed so very warm in so very cold circumstances, was lying to him.

Jon stops laughing.

Part 3

Of course, the second his body hits the simultaneously stiff and weirdly lumpy motel mattress, his phone goes off. It may only be about 8 pm, but he’s tired, and he’s sore, and he’s had a persistent headcold for the past week for some unholy reason, the last thing he wants to do is talk. However, only about four people have the number to the burner cell, and they’re almost certainly have a purpose behind their call.

Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh that turns into more of a groan, he picks up on the 4th ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jon! It’s Martin, I’m not sure if you have my number programmed in that phone, or if it even has caller ID if you do. Anyway, it’s been about a week since I’ve heard anything, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t, y’know, dead or arrested or anything.”

His previously tense and aching muscles all relax, without him consciously deciding to relax them, and a sleepy smile spreads across his face, because some time in the past year he’s become a parody of himself. Yes, maybe he should be more affronted by how much Martin’s tinny voice brings him comfort, but he’s had a rather terrible time of things since...since he began work in the archives, really, and he’s worn down enough that he can admit he misses his friend.

Huh. Friends. They are, aren’t they? Wonder when that happened. (He can guess, something involving a fake CV admission, but he doesn’t feel like it right now.) “Martin, I recognize your voice, no need to introduce yourself.”

“Right! Yes, uh, ‘course..of course you can. Right. Sooo...I take it you’re not dead, then.”

“Correct. I haven’t been arrested, either.” It’s only sort of a comforting lie, so Jon thinks it can be forgiven.

“Good. Great! Yeah, that’s...that’s good.”

The conversation could probably end there. Jon could probably tell Martin good night, and they’d hang up, and Jon could get the sleep he had been so desperately craving not moments ago. Somehow, he thinks that neither of them want that. Scrambling for something to talk about, Jon replies, “Hang on, isn’t it something like 2am over there?”

“It...might be.”

“Martin!”

“What! It’s not like you have a monopoly on bad sleeping habits. Besides, I was up anyway, and I just..”

“Just what?”

“I just missed your voice.”

Oh. Heat rushes to his cheeks, and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes, and god. He had missed Martin’s voice too. “Really? I know you’ve had to listen to a fair number of tapes lately, thought you might be sick of it by now.”

“No. I mean, I am a bit tired of tapes, honestly, but even the ones that you recorded, that not really your voice, is it? I mean it is, but it doesn’t sound like you when you’re actually, um, you. I wanted..I wanted to hear you.”

Jon’s far too worn out to deal with that sentiment, and the way that it makes his heart clench. So instead  of addressing it, he says, “I am very close to being asleep.”

“Oh. Right, sorry, I’ll let you go-”

“No! No. Um. Would you mind staying on the line? Until I’m gone? I-I like hearing your voice. As well.”

“Oh! Sure, yeah, definitely. Anything in particular you want me to talk about?”

“Whatever you like. Something nice?”

“All right. I can do that. Um. Did I tell you about this little yarn shop I found the other day. It’s called ‘Puttin’ on the knitz’, and it’s…”

Jon peacefully drifts off, listening to the voice of the man who he can only admit in moments such as these, he wishes was in this bed, laying beside him.

Part 4

please come back please come back for the love of god come back I can’t believe you’re doing this do you have any idea how stupid this is come back to me come back come back come back

Part 5

There is plenty of things to long for in the apocalypse. A decent cuppa. The relief of actual sleep. Murdering Jonah Magnus. For there not to be a apocalypse. They are grateful, however, to not have to long for each other.

Part 6

Martin comes to without a knife in his hand, or bloodstains on his clothing. Those, under other circumstances, would be good things.

Martin comes to, laying in the grass, without anyone beside him. He barely has the moment to feel agony spike through him before he’s out once more.

There are no Jonathan Sims admitted to the hospital. As far as he can tell, no one was admitted into the hospital at the same time as him, and certainly no one with a stab wound.

There are thousands of ‘Jonathan Sims UK’, typed desperately into a library computer search bar, wielding mostly results about a sport manager and a romance novelist. None of the images are of the right person.

Sometimes Martin puts one foot in front of the other, carefully blank in heart and head. Surviving, even  during times that he’s not sure he wants to, is one of his greatest abilities.

Sometimes Martin despairs.

On the worst nights, he tries to call the Lonely back to him, tries to be swallowed whole. It never works. He’s not sure if it’s because the fears aren’t in the reality or if they’re not established enough to have any leverage or if his connection has simply been broken. (He doubts the last reason. He hasn’t been this alone since Tim’s funeral. Even then, Melanie had thrown a few stilted condolences towards him. No one is aware enough of him to give condolences now. He misses Melanie. He misses all of them. He misses Jon like a gaping, bleeding wound misses skin.)

Seven months later, and he has enough money saved and identity built that he moves on to Scotland. The little village they had been adjacent to exists in this reality. Daisy’s cottage does not.

On a whim, he enters the yarn shop. He’s not going to pick anything up, hobbies are the last thing he can focus on, but it’s nice to look. To feel the various textures, to take in the rich variance of colors, to, hopefully be present in his own body, if only for a moment.

Martin steps in. The bell chimes. He’s there. Standing in front of him. Whole. In a cry that’s closer to a gasp, he calls out, “JON!”

Jon turns, looks up at him, recognizes him even before he’s even fully seen him. It’s his Jon, he’s here he’s here he’s here. The callback of “MARTIN!” sounds like it was punched out of him, the start of a sob and a laugh all at once.

In a blink, they’re together, their embrace a tangle of limbs, a collision of lips, a mixture of tears. Martin can’t tell which of them is saying the litany of “thank god thank god thank god” and who’s repeating “it’s you it’s you it’s you.”

It’s Jon that’s telling him, “I knew you had to be here. I knew it, because I kept thinking. Surely. Surely this new universe wouldn’t be so cruel as to allow me to live, but to make me live without you.”

It’s Martin that replies, “I didn’t know. I thought it would be that cruel. Please don’t make me go through that again.”

Jon pulls him in tighter, eliminating the centimeter of space between them. Speaking into Martin’s neck, whispered in fierce devotion, Jon promises, “Never again. Never again. You and me. Together. For the rest of our lives.”

Barely discernible through his sobbing, Martin tells him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~*~

There are people that think that wanting is more worthwhile than having. Martin thinks, frankly, that those people have never been in love.