#i just have to kind of ride out the wave instead of succumbing to the impulse to just remove every avenue to talk to me

[qoldenskies]

I feel you with the mental health issues. I had a breakdown today over an objectively small problem. One nap later and I'm still a bit melted. My return to humanity will be slow

i honestly just kind of listen to my gut and my, like, two month long feeling of anticipation (/pos) crashed into anticipation (/neg) and now im suddenly expecting something bad to happen for such a small meaningless reason that shouldn't realistically have that much weight im just weird LOL

idek what i was expecting before. i kept thinking SOMETHING was going to happen but now its been replaced by like. ive fallen off. ive not made anything worth talking about and my work is useless forEVERRRRRR and i bet in like a day or two im gonna be me like Man what the fuck was that. Anyway

[2-dsimp]

Brain rotting from kitsune Tartaglia since Tartar is associated with foxes. Then kitsune Thoma and Tartaglia fighting over a darling.

Oh my!

You know there’s a ton of routes of where this could go from but since I’m keeping PG until I turn 18 in a month it’s gonna be fluffy ride ✨

Kitsune Thoma + Childe

fighting over S/O🔪

🩸Thoma overall is more of a pacifist but if it came down to something he considered of importance such as his family, best believe he’d throw paws at anybody or anything threatening his sanctuary

🩸That of which was you

🩸He already claimed you, so then why was this no good wretched Fatui trying to take what was explicitly his? He clearly marked his territory so kind of brave fool would be so bold as to trample upon the boundaries of what he called his

🩸It happened on the day where he was out commanding the troops against the invaders, He was confident in leaving his darling alone seeing as they thought of the Kamisato Clan as their new home

🩸But he didn’t take into consideration of his Darlings small yearning of wanting to be adventurous, and succumbing to their inner temptations they traveled just outside the Yashiro Residence

🩸And happened to run across a small orange fox who looked wounded and in bad condition they looked up with their big puppy dog eyes and you couldn’t help but to feel compelled to help out the poor “woodland creature”

🩸The fox offered no resistance as they relaxed and practically gave you the once over with their sapphire blue intelligent eyes checking you out with something akin to intrigue and curiosity

🩸You could’ve sworn that the mysterious worn a mischievous smug look on his snout as if he could understand everything you’re saying and was mocking you for talking to him in a baby voice

🩸Feeling embarrassed you quickly stopped and started to talk in your normal voice

🩸But nonetheless he showed no complaints when he was tucked against your supple chest heading onwards to your forever home

🩸Childe was such a rowdy playful Fox for despite having wounds almost like battle scars littered across his lean muscled physic, he’d always nip at you, while limping around the house like a damn crackhead, and overall was just a Chatty Cathy

🩸He still keep his distance from you sensing that you already had a mate as the scent was wafting off of you in strong waves, the one who bonded you must be strong he noted with curiosity

🩸He wondered who would be the winner if he were to fight your mate, for some reason his blood began to pump as his tail wagged in excitement of the fated outcome

🩸Childe also grew to like you as he felt the tender way you’d dress his wounds with care treating him almost as if he were made of glass

🩸And god your bright smile that sent shivers down his spine everytime you’d looked at him as he was the most precious thing in the world, your voice like honey as you conversed with him out of the blue talking to him as if he were a person

🩸Asking about how his day was, what kind of food did he like which he answered with non-verbal gestures since he couldn’t really talk in his fox form, providing him with a comfortable spot on your bed

🩸You really were the perfect mother for his kits

🩸Regardless of the fight he’s sure to have with your mate, he wanted you to himself

🩸It was basically a win-win in his book as he’d get a challenging fight and the perfect mate for his future kits

🩸While still appreciating the company since it can get lonely waiting for Thoma to return from his duties you took care of the troublemaker making sure they was feed and groomed

🩸When suddenly instead of keeping a comfortable distance away from you the fox began to rub up against you letting out little trills as it rubbed its snout against your neck, wagging tail almost hitting your face

”My lovely mate, I’m home—!!”

🩸Only to stop mid-sentence by the stench of another male clogging up his sharp nose with their musky stench, eyes dilated he quickly made the connection as he saw the ginger fox splayed all over your body looking back at him defiantly

🩸*Que intense growling*

🩸Barely managing to keep his composure he’s observant nature managed to piece together why this homewrecker was in his territory, due to the obvious wrapped bandages around his stomach and fore legs he deduced that unfortunately you were too kind to turn away this… Heathen in need

”I see your just as generous as always my darling but it seems that he’s healed and ready to be return to the wild, where he belongs ”

🩸No time was wasted when he snatched the little bugger up by the scruff of his neck outta your embrace, paying no mind to the determined attempts to struggle out of his hold paired with growls and full on bites to anywhere Childe could get his snout to

🩸Once they were out of earshot he tossed the fox like as if he were a bag of trash and stared down at him with teeth bared and eyes glowing with spite, his five tails where puffed up and ears were pinned back in a defensive stance

“Just who do you think you are?”

🩸The fox now turned human merely licked his lips as a snarky smirk found it’s way onto his face, he replied back with a short quip unapologetic as ever

“Their new mate that’s what”

🩸long story short nobody was the victor but they both got some good hits in since they were interrupted by you rushing out to bid one last goodbye to the fox who kept you company

🩸At the last minute Childe turned into a fox

🩸Upon seeing the newly acquired wounds on Thoma and the fox you scolded them and took Childe into your arms of which he missed so much even though it’d been only 10min away from your loving arms

🩸Walking them both back to where you’d nurse them back to health

🩸Meanwhile Thoma was death glaring the fox, while Childe could only look as if he was the cat who ate the canary and so the rivalry continues

[buckyownsmylife]

So I Take What I Want - Jake Gyllenhaal smut (ft. Tom Holland)

The one where Jake finally lets Tom watch him fuck you

Warnings: smut, cuckold!tom, mean!jake, voyeurism, overstimulation, possessiveness, cuck humiliation, name-calling, p in v, dacrophylia, light choking

Word count: under 2k

A/N: thank you to my lovely @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for reading this over to me. As you might already know, this is part of my do it universe, and although it can be read by itself, I highly recommend you go read the other stories first.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The first thing I remembered was feeling a gentle kiss pressed to the back of my hand, gently awakening me as two hands softly cradled my face, brushing the hair away from it.

“How are you feeling, beautiful?” Blinking a few times, I was able to focus on the familiar bearded face that was patiently waiting for my answer, prompting me to try to sit up so I could give him one.

“I’m alright,” I assured him, although every single muscle in my body ached. It was a good king of hurt though, the kind that you had after a great workout session… which I supposed was more or less what had happened.

“Good,” Jake smiled, kissing me unexpectedly, and my eyes widened before I closed them to accept his gesture. Sure, this was still a bit surprising - I associated such an intimate act as something to be shared between two persons with actual feelings for each other, but after everything Jake had done to my body, I couldn’t very well feel shy about him pressing his lips against mine. “Because I need to have you again.”

I gasped when I felt his hands yank my ankles so I was on the edge of the bed, my legs dangling from it. “W-Wait,” I asked as his hands kept me spread open for his gaze. I wanted to cover myself in an effort to hide from precisely that, especially since I could feel his spent threatening to fall from me, drip onto the hardwood floors beneath us. “What about Tom?”

Jake snickered, eyes still fixated on the apex of my thighs, before finally raising them to meet mine. “He’s right there,” he informed me, nodding towards the other side of the room, where there were a couple of lounge chairs by the wall.

Craning my neck to look behind, I found my boyfriend sat in one of them, chewing on his bottom lip nervously as he took in the image of me being slowly spread open by his best friend. I took notice of how his cock strained against his pants and how once Jake was fully in, Tom leaned his whole body towards us, like he wanted to be as close as possible to the action.

Jake climbed onto the bed, adjusting me so I’d be underneath his warm body and started moving. My head swirled with the overwhelming emotions and sensations coursing through my body. While the man on top of me - and inside of me - worshiped every inch of my skin with his tongue and beautiful lips, the man I loved - the man staring at us from a distance - seemed to be stuck between pain and pleasure, desperate to keep watching and pause the scene at the same time.

“Tell him,” Jake panted in my ear, calling out for my attention. I already knew he was a sucker for it, already knew he didn’t like me to focus on anything else than him and the way his cock made me feel as it dragged along my walls.

What I didn’t know, however, was what he wanted me to say. I was fucked out and sensitive, yet still taken to the edge of desire. I couldn’t think, only feel. The only thing I truly wanted at that second was to keep climbing higher and higher until I had met bliss once more, and I knew I’d never get there if Jake stopped moving because he was unsatisfied with my answer.

Thankfully, he seemed to be in a giving mood. His nose rubbed against my throat as he kept pounding me, his words pressed against my skin, “Tell him what you tell me when we’re alone.”

I froze. Not even he would be that cruel, would he? But… maybe Tom would like it? I really couldn’t think. And in the silence that followed, I knew Jake’s mean dominant demeanor would grow to fill it, even before his dark chuckle resonated across the room.

“Don’t be shy,” he mocked, gripping my cheeks and shaking me still somewhat gently (for what I was expecting of him). “Tell him how you beg for my cock like a fucking whore.” And still, I remained silent. Well, that wasn’t accurate at all, actually. Moans and whimpers flowed freely out of my lips, taking over the words Jake longed to hear so badly.

“Fine,” he relented. “Perhaps you need to be closer to your beloved.” I didn’t understand what he meant until his cock left me, making me whine like a wounded beast. His chuckle didn’t sound mocking this time, but the entire situation made it seem like that to me.

“C’mon,” he smacked my ass as I finally made my way out of bed, utterly confused about what he meant until he took me by the arm and dragged me all the way across the room, until I was standing just before my boyfriend. “Let me teach him how to really please you.”

A shiver went down my spine as I realized what was his plan all along. I gasped when I felt his hand pushing down on my lower back, making me fall over the arm of the chair where Tom was resting.

Before I could even adjust myself, Jake resumed his thrusts, even more punishing and quick than before. All the while, my boyfriend was just there, staring at me with wide eyes, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing - even though it was something he himself had told me that he wanted.

A hand covered the one with which I held the chair, and I looked up to meet Tom’s soft brown ones. He smiled - it was a small, tentative smile. A smile that seemed to say, ‘this is a bit too much, but I’m okay. Are you okay?’

How could I tell him that I was beyond that? Would that be crossing a line? All I knew was that Jake’s cock was filling my abused pussy perfectly, hitting that spot deep inside of me, making my eyes roll to the back of my head, and that was all I could focus on.

Until my hands were captured and pulled behind my back, forcing me to separate from Tom once more. Tom looked confused, but I knew what this was. I already knew Jake was possessive, he hadn’t even tried to hide it, but I think until that second, I had allowed myself to believe that at least in front of my actual boyfriend he’d relent.

I was wrong. Instead, Jake sat down on the bed once more, spearing me open with his cock, forcing my legs to stay spread for Tom’s view. It was so fucking deep, much deeper than I was used to. The pleasure and sensitivity from my previous orgasms became too much.

Tears started streaming down my face, and upon seeing that, Tom’s voice resonated in our bedroom. “Jake, stop.” He’d never seen me cry for anything other than sadness and pain, but this was something more.

This was bliss. And Jake knew it, so he let Tom’s pleas go unanswered, his big hands forcing my hips to keep riding him as he mocked. “Oh, tell him, sweetheart. Do you want me to stop?”

But I couldn’t speak. All that left me were loud whines - whines that apparently terrified Tom because he insisted, now looking at me, “please tell him to stop, please.” Jake’s fingers found my clit, making me shudder in his arms.

The moment felt too real, too heavy. I didn’t know what Tom was referring to anymore. Did he want Jake to stop fucking me because he thought I was hurting, or was he the one hurting from seeing me getting fucked by his best friend?

He didn’t say, so all I could do was answer the question Jake had made. I managed to spit out a “N-no,” shocking Tom, his wide eyes making his surprise clear. Behind me, Jake just laughed.

“That’s right, tell him how happy you are. Tell him how needy you are for my cock.” I was so fucking sensitive, but I was relishing in it. I was not used to having such long sex sessions. My nights with Tom were always satisfying, but they were short - and I think that was something he was thinking about too, as he watched me fuck myself on Jake.

“She becomes such a whore when I’m near,” Jake informed my boyfriend. “Well, I guess you’re seeing it now.” Just then, he covered my throat with one of his hands, squeezing a bit, not enough to fully choke me, but enough to make it hard to breathe and have my pussy clamping down on him.

Jake’s P.O.V.

“Oh, fuck,” she cursed, making me grin behind her shoulders. “Oh, Jake…” My eyes were focused on Tom’s, making sure he was taking in the entire scene, the way she was the one who was really controlling it, fucking herself on me while I just held her up. The slip of my name from her lips embarrassed her though, so she move her hands over her eyes, much to my displeasure.

“No, don’t cover your face,” I ordered, taking her wrists and pulling them behind her back. “Let him see you. Let him see how well you take me.” Her pussy clenched around me once more, undeniably showing just how aroused she was at her boyfriend watching her giving herself to another man.

It had me moaning, fingers burying deeper in her supple skin, my hunger for her insatiable. “Yeah, you made a mistake letting me into your girlfriend’s pussy, pal.” I didn’t even look at Tom anymore, eyes too transfixed at the way her ass shook each time her hips met mine. “Now that I know what she feels like, I’m never gonna stop fucking her.”

He knew I meant it. I didn’t have to look at him to feel the fear rolling off of him in waves, egging me on. And it was all the more powerful because now that he had seen what she looked like succumbing to my desire, he would forever be scared that she would give in to me.

He could see the effect I had on her just as well as I could feel it. The juices running down her thighs, the gasps of pleasure, the way her fingers scratched on my arm that held her by the throat.

It was very clear that she liked this. And knowing that only left me more insatiable. “I’m done desiring her from a distance, wishing I was buried in this delicious cunt,” I warned my friend, not knowing if he’d believe me or attribute this entire confession as part of the scene. Either way was good enough for me. “I have her now and I’m never letting her go.”

Raising my gaze to meet his, I made sure he was looking at me as I pronounced my final words. “I’m making your girlfriend my fucking bitch. My cum is all she’ll ever know.”

[goldentournesol]

Be Careful What You Wish For

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Spencer gets exactly what he wished for, but it isn’t necessarily for the best.

Length: 5k 

A/N: this is based off of maybe one of the best requests i have ever received, thank you so much anon, your request really got my creative juices going! also i combined this request with another one, too <3 (angst, just straight up, with happy ending tho)

masterlist

The sun was shining against the glass windows of the car. The sunset was so beautiful with its melting and merging colors, Y/N wished it lasted longer so she could watch it. It’d been feeling like beautiful moments were few and far between lately. 

No one ever said being in a relationship was easy, but she’d never expected to drift this far from Spencer. She couldn’t exactly place the moment at which the descent of their relationship began, if she was being honest. One day, they’d be happy, smiling, full of love and life. And then the next, waves of darkness and despair would appear. They weren’t even the kinds of waves that would disappear with the shining sun. No, they were there to stay and fuel the storm that continues to rage on. 

Today was one of those days. To be fair, the whole team was struggling, but Spencer had taken Morgan’s departure a little harder than everyone else. It was understandable, of course. Derek was a staple in Spencer’s life for so long. However, for a man who’s seen and been through so many losses, he sure was terrible at dealing with them. Spencer’s tendency to keep things bottled up had definitely been affecting the overall health of their relationship. In fact, it has been the root of a lot of their arguments lately. Y/N just wanted him to let her in, let her help him and she was willing to wait however long it takes. Spencer on the other hand grew more and more snappy, irritable, and private with each passing day.

When they were at work, they tried their best to avoid each other so as to not get on each other’s nerves. Their fights usually didn’t turn into screaming matches, but they both had a track record of saying things they don’t mean. Hurtful things. Turns out profilers are fantastic at rubbing salt into open wounds. 

Ever since they began dating, Spencer took the subway less, opting for car rides with Y/N. Sometimes she’d drop him off, other times they’d spend the rest of the day at each other’s houses. She enjoyed driving him around, at first he was never too picky with the music she played, but later on, his music began to overtake hers. It never bothered her, in fact, she took it as a sign of him being vulnerable and sharing parts of himself.

The days where car rides once filled with joyous singing and laughter were coming to a shocking halt. The silence nowadays was almost always louder than the music they used to play. Even small talk felt like too much of a burden sometimes.

“Should I just drop you off at your place? Or do you wanna come over to mine? I still have some of that lasagna you liked in the fridge.” She asked softly as they slowed down into traffic. Rush hour in DC was never fun.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just have whatever’s at my place.” Spencer was being curt with his responses. Thus, the warning signs began flashing in her head.

“Are you sure? We can even pick something up from that one grocery store on our way home, something that goes well with the lasagna. I don’t mind cooking today.” She offered, hoping he wouldn’t shut her out like he usually did.

He shook his head, keeping his voice eerily level and his gaze was set on the road in front of him, “I just really wanna be home, Y/N.”

She nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

A short silence ensued as traffic began to thin out. Cars that were stuck bumper to bumper were beginning to move.

“Is this about Derek leaving?” She asked tentatively. He sighed and pursed his lips in response so she continued, “You know he said he was always a phone call away.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Spencer said shortly, gazing out the window.

“You never want to talk about anything.” She said defeatedly, the car beginning to move freely on the road.

“Yeah, well maybe that’s true. Or maybe I just don’t want to talk to you.” Spencer spat, clearly growing impatient.

“Fine, don’t talk to me then. But talk to someone, anyone! Hell, talk to Derek himself. Tell him you hate him for leaving or whatever you’re feeling, but don’t take out your anger and unresolved feelings out on me, okay? I don’t deserve that! Everyday I try to get you to talk to me, but it seems like with every little step I take forward, you take two steps back. And it’s exhausting. It is fucking exhausting, Spencer.” She frowned, tears welling up in her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

“I didn’t ask you for that! I didn’t ask for you to be my personal therapist. If I wanted to see a therapist, I would have gone to see one!” Spencer gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke.

“Spencer, in a relationship, we’re supposed to confide in one another. It’s supposed to be comforting. I don’t want to be your therapist, I just want you to talk to me!” She unconsciously began to press on the pedal, perhaps in an attempt to reach a destination quicker. He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Relationship? You call this a relationship? We can barely stand to be in the same room together, Y/N.”

“And that’s why we talk it out. No relationship is ever perfect! You should know that, Spencer!” She shrieked, gripping the steering wheel in frustration.

“That’s not true. What I had with Maeve was perfect until it was ruined.” He uttered.

“Maeve?!” She squealed incredulously, “Really?! What you had with Maeve was perfect?! Spencer, what you had wasn’t real like us! You spoke to her over the phone once a week! You wrote to her in letters, where you have time to-to think and to respond! It isn’t like real life, it isn’t like you and me! What we have is real! I-I’ve lived with you, I’ve seen you torn to pieces, I’ve seen you laugh until you cry. That’s the you I fell in love with, not some fantasy I created of you over the phone!” She spoke but the words were garbled between incoming sobs that she was frantically wiping the remnants of off her cheeks. The same sobs she’d tried so hard to suppress. She was barely aware of the words that came out of her mouth.

“If what I had with Maeve wasn’t real, then why do I wish she were the one here with me instead of you?!” Spencer defended, unaware of how sharp his words were or how deeply they’d wounded her.

Her breath hitched in her throat, taking her already blurry vision off of the road in front of her to face him, “What?” She whispered brokenhearted, but the utterance was immediately swallowed by the unmistakable, earsplitting sound of metal clashing violently against metal. They had no choice but to succumb to the inundating darkness that rapidly overtook them both.

***

Spencer woke with a violent start and sat up in his own bed. He sighed in relief when he realized it was just a dream and it was morning again. Turning his head to look at the left side of the bed where she usually slept, he expected to find her there and was taken by surprise when she wasn’t. He rubbed at his face and eyes vigorously before hearing some clattering in the kitchen. With long strides he saw a blurry figure in the kitchen making coffee and walked towards it. 

He sighed in relief, “Hey, there you are. I just had the worst dream.” He huffed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck in his half-asleep state.

“Hey, good morning, lovebug.” She smiled and turned around to hug him tightly.

Something felt off. Something wasn’t right.

He’d heard that voice before. He pulled back from the hug and was met by…

It wasn’t Y/N. It was Maeve.

Spencer could barely control his expression as complete bone-stilling shock washed over his entire being, “M-Maeve?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She said, a kind smile resting upon her features. If Spencer wasn’t so shocked, he’d probably have laughed at the absurd truth of that statement. Maeve brought her hand up to his forehead, “Are you feeling okay?”

He didn’t even have time to be confused before he jerked back quickly at the touch of her hand, “I-uh, uh...I’m not feeling too g-good. Um...what’s happening?” He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes again, almost like they’d be polished and he’d see more clearly. But when he opened his eyes again, she was still there. Right in front of him. There was no light emitting from behind her, she was totally opaque. It was eerily real.

Her face was full of color and life and she was dressed in one of his cardigans over her own set of matching pajamas. She was moving and...alive. And speaking to him. What is happening right now?

“But y-you’re...how are you here right now? Am I still dreaming? Am I...Maeve, am I dead?” Spencer shook his head in an attempt to wake back up.

She began to laugh and pulled out a chair for him to sit on, and so he did, still staring up at her in disbelief, “No, baby, you’re very much alive. You’re probably just still confused from whatever nightmare you had. Here, have some water.”

“Y-yeah, yeah, confused. Um, what day is it?” Spencer began to pat on his chest to make sure he was solid and alive. 

She looked at him curiously at his strange behavior, “It’s April 5th, 2016.”

April 5th? Derek left the BAU near the end of March. A light bulb went off in his head. 

The BAU! 

They’d have all the answers. He shot up from his seat immediately, “I uh, have to get to work.” Spencer rushed to his bedroom to get dressed. 

As he’s dressing, he spots a picture frame on his bedside table. He knows the picture by heart, it was of him and Y/N in the pumpkin patch last year. He’d had his arms tightly wound around her shoulders and was kissing her cheek. The leaves were the most colorful they’d ever been. He picked it up and almost dropped it immediately like it had burned his skin. It was the same picture. 

But Y/N was nowhere to be seen. In her place was Maeve.

No, no, no. This isn’t right. 

Spencer began to panic as he buttoned up his shirt, he threw on his cardigan and practically flew out the door. In the distance, he could hear Maeve in the background calling out for him to drink his coffee before leaving.

The train ride to work was truly a test of his patience. He couldn’t keep his knee still and checked his watch religiously. After the train stopped, was the first one off and ran as fast as his poor feet could take him. He stopped running when he got to the FBI Headquarters as to not alarm anyone, but raced to the sixth floor anyway.

As he opened the glass doors he searched frantically for any familiar face, “Garcia!” He yelled as he spotted her bright yellow clad figure across the bullpen. He pushed through tired agents and messy desks to get to her. Everything else was the same, the office was just as he remembered it.

“Good morning, boy wonder! How are you today?” She smiled graciously, holding a few files in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Have you seen Y/N?” He asked impatiently. She pulled her brows together.

“Do you mean Y/N...Y/L/N?” She asked slowly, as if trying to recall her name.

“Yes, of course I mean Y/N Y/L/N. Who else would I be talking about?” Spencer asked, once again losing more of his patience.

“No, I haven’t seen her, to be honest. I don’t see much of the White-Collar Crime division up here unless Hotch asks for them. Why do you need Y/N? Is she okay?” Garcia casually answered, as if her answer hadn’t turned his world--this world--whatever the hell he was experiencing upside down.

“White-Collar crime? No, that can’t be right.” Spencer muttered to himself as his brain raced a million miles a second.

“Reid, is everything alright? Is there a possible case? Should I tell Hotch?” Garcia asked, but Spencer was barely listening.

 He was on his way back to the elevators again, leaving an extremely confused Penelope in his wake. He raced down to the fourth floor, to the White-Collar crime division. As the elevator doors opened, his eyes scanned the crowded floor for her.

“Dr. Reid! It’s nice to see you down here. What can I do for you?” An agent, Agent Seymour, he’s met perhaps once before asked him.

“Hi, yes, I’m um..looking for one of your agents. Agent Y/L/N.” Spencer stuttered, it was weird saying her name so formally. But he had to see it with his own eyes.

“Yes, of course, right this way. I think she just came in.” The agent led him to a desk in the middle of the bullpen and left him, saying that she was probably getting coffee and should be back an second. Spencer looked over her desk and compared it with how her desk at the BAU looked like. Gone were the trinkets and books he’d given her. Gone was the candle she never lit, but kept anyway because she said it smelled like him. It was like staring at a stranger’s desk, so desolate, so...un-special.

“Jeremy, stop. I almost spilled my coffee!” She giggled from behind him. He’d recognize her voice anywhere. He turned to see her and his lungs filled with relief as he spotted her familiar face across the bullpen. There she was, in all her glory. Looking as beautiful as ever. His Y/N. But the relief was ripped away all too suddenly as he watched on. She had her coffee in one hand and the other was swatting a very sheepish looking Jeremy, he assumed.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just missed you.” He spoke, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her lips. 

She blushed immediately and shied away, “Jeremy, we’re in the office!” She giggled again and pulled away from him, glancing around the office as if to check if anyone saw the moment of affection. Spencer’s blood boiled before he realized.

She looked so happy. 

So much happier than she ever looked when she was with him. His heart sank to his feet and he felt like he was incapable of lifting it back up to its rightful place in his chest. He wondered if this was the universe’s cruel, cruel way of letting him know just how shitty of a boyfriend he’s really been. Fire of envy festered in the place where his heart used to reside. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy, resentment, or guilt. 

It all felt so strange. It felt like there was suddenly way too much pressure in his head. Before he could begin to compute the events unfolding before him, he realized she had spotted him at her desk and was now making her way across the bullpen, separating from her Jeremy. Before he could freak out, she was speaking to him. And all he could focus on was the shape of her lips and the faint memory of how they felt pushing against his.

“Dr. Reid! To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here?” She asked politely, but Spencer could tell that she was immeasurably confused by his presence, “Does Agent Hotchner need something from the White Collar crimes archives?”

Spencer panicked, “Yes! Um, he does...and um he asked me to ask you s-specifically. That’s why I’m here, heh.” He stammered like the nervous wreck he was and wiped his sweaty palms on the inside of his pockets.

“Okay, that’s no problem. Just tell me the number of the file and I’ll get it for you.” She smiled slightly, setting her cup of coffee down on her desk. At least her coffee order was still the same as it was. 

She disappeared for a few moments after he gave her a random sequence of numbers. Spencer wasn’t even sure how his legs were still capable of holding himself up. When she came back and he got a whiff of her perfume, his body completely stilled. He knows that scent like the back of his hand, he’d given it to her for their first anniversary. The fresh scent nearly sent him into anaphylactic shock. He’d accepted the file and scurried back to the sixth floor without another word, once again leaving a confused woman in his wake.

Spencer collapsed at his desk and rubbed his head like it would somehow fix this. Whatever this was. Everyone around him operated so normally and went about their day while he was seconds away from losing his mind. 

Was he having a schizophrenic scare? Did his symptoms bleed into his 30’s even though they weren’t supposed to? What was this alternate universe where he’d lost the one good thing he’s ever known? How was he supposed to get back? Did he want to go back? What would happen if he did? Would it be fair for Y/N to stick with him when he knew she would be so much happier with someone else? Would he try harder for her? Would he stop shutting her out? Would the woman he loved so dearly ever love him back?

He must not have ever been deserving of her love and the universe was punishing him in the worst way possible. To have her be within arm’s reach but to never be able to hold her. 

Once upon a time, he would have given up anything and everything to be with Maeve, but that was before Y/N. Before she gave him a new life, one he wanted to live. One where waking up wasn’t such a task. One where seeing her smile at him was enough to make him forget about all his worries. But now Y/N looked at him with barely a sliver of recognition. There was no affection or adoration behind those eyes and maybe he deserved that.

But how was this universe expecting him to go on like everything is fine? Like he hadn’t just lost the love of his life? No one else in this warped version of Spencer’s reality was feeling as dejected as Spencer was.

“Reid, are you feeling alright?” The voice of none other than Aaron Hotchner brought him out of his stupor. Spencer had unknowingly been sobbing into his hands for the past few minutes. Hotch was taken aback at the extent of Spencer’s disheveled state.

“H-Hotch, I need to go home. I can’t be here. I’m sorry.” Spencer packed his things and ran out the building before he realized he had nowhere to go. Home wasn’t his home anymore. He couldn’t exactly go back and see his dead girlfriend wandering around his apartment. He couldn’t be at work where Y/N was, so blissfully unaware of the crisis Spencer was in the middle of.

He wandered the streets of DC aimlessly as he tried to reorganize the events in his head and somehow make sense of them. Just a few days ago, he and Y/N had been holding one another on his couch. Sure, they’d been in a rut recently, but they still loved each other. At least that’s what he thought.

He walked and walked, miles on end, keeping his gaze on his feet as he tried to piece bits together. An IQ of 187 and he had absolutely no idea how whatever was happening to him happened. Even the multiple universes theory didn’t have his back. If he was ‘here’, where has ‘here’s’ Spencer gone? 

His feet had taken him to the local park, where he and Y/N used to sit under the stars. He found himself reminiscing the times they were together. He saw himself and Y/N in every couple that passed him by. Exhausted, Spencer took a seat on a patch of grass. He buried his face into his hands and tried to relieve himself of the headache he’d developed. 

“Hey, mister! Watch out!!” He heard a child yell way too loudly.

Groaning at the volume, he looked up to see the vague shape of a spinning baseball increasing in size as it moved closer….closer. Spencer had no time to react before he was knocked out cold by the baseball.

***

The first thing she’d heard was the incessant beeping of...something next to her. After that, she’d heard faint chatter. The voices sounded familiar but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. She whimpered in pain which caught the attention of everyone in the room. The chatter ceased. 

“Y/N? Honey, it’s Pen, can you hear me?” A voice called. She fought to open her eyes.

Why was it so hard to open her eyes? It was like they were glued shut. Why did everything hurt? What is that smell?

She made a small noise of agreement to the voice that called, but could not coordinate herself enough to speak or open her eyes.

“Y/N, darling, you’re in the hospital, okay? You were in a car accident.” She spoke softly. 

But the words weren’t soft at all. Her words had opened up a Pandora’s box of previously suppressed memories. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. It was hard to breathe as she tried to remember the last moments before the fog. She remembered seeing him so angry, eyes so wild. Who is he? So...so close. She whimpered in pain as she fought the fog away. 

Blood.

So much blood. 

Pain.

So much pain.

The others watched as she began to writhe against the hospital bed in discomfort. Her eyes snapped open the second she saw his face in her mind, frantically searching the room for him.

Spencer.

“Sp-Sp--” She began, but couldn’t formulate the rest of the word. Exhausted and defeated by the lack of his presence, she lay back on the bed.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Spencer’s...Spencer’s fine, alright? You can’t see him right now, but you will be able to.” Those words were the last thing she heard before she slipped off into a silent slumber.

Hours later, she awoke again. But this time with enough strength to open her eyes immediately. Her limbs felt like they weighed tons, she could barely lift a finger. The room was empty besides a single chair with a blurry figure seated in it.

“Spencer?” She uttered almost inaudibly and the figure moved.

“Hey there. Sorry, I’m not Spencer.” The figure moved closer and she recognized the blonde sheen.

“JJ.” Y/N croaked with relief, happy to see a friend. JJ promptly gave her some water in a cup and adjusted the bed so that she would be able to swallow it.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, taking the cup from Y/N’s trembling hands.

Y/N shook her head imperceptibly, “Is...Spence--is he?” Y/N barely got to finish her thought before the tears settled in.

“No, gosh, no. He’s alive. Thankfully, you both made it out alive.” JJ said with relief, leaning her elbows against the side of her bed. Y/N felt her breathing get easier as she learned of the news. She blinked hard, trying to control the tears, but they just flowed out.

“It’s my fault, JJ.” she paused to take a deep breath and JJ took one of her hands in hers, “I was the one driving. I should have been more careful. I-I was so mad.” She sobbed, the tears escaping.

“Hey, no, it’s alright now. Okay, you’ve both made it out alive, that’s what’s important.” JJ rubbed Y/N’s knuckles.

“W-where is he? I need to see him.” Y/N attempted to sit up but winced from the sharp pain in her side.

“Um..yeah, about that. You can’t really get up yet. You’ve got three broken ribs, a broken leg, and a severe concussion.” JJ delivered the news and Y/N’s tears seemed to flow even harder.

Before she could respond, Hotch, Penelope, and a nurse walked into the room, “Oh, sunshine! It’s so good to see you awake!” Penelope squealed and kissed her wet cheek gently before wiping away her tears. The nurse checked all her vitals and gave her some extra information before she left. Y/N forced a smile and sat back, but something in the room felt heavy.

“What’s going on? What aren’t you guys telling me?” Y/N frowned, staring at her friends. She saw them all exchange a look and Hotch being the most straightforward man she knows decided to deliver the news.

“It’s Spencer. Unfortunately, Spencer’s brain has swelled significantly and doctors don’t know when he’ll wake. It’s already been almost 42 hours since the accident.” Hotch frowned, watching Y/N’s expression turn from a hopeful one into one of the most unbearable expressions of grief.

“Wh--what, what does that mean? Does that mean he’s--is he ever going to wake up?” She began to panic, her heart rate audibly increasing. She squeezed JJ’s hand as hard as she could.

“We can’t be sure yet, the swelling has to go down before doctors can make any claims. It’s still too early to say he’s in a coma, which is a good sign. He’s also been showing steady signs of improvement.” Hotch said and Y/N covered her face to shield herself away from the embarrassment of openly sobbing.

JJ and Penelope both looked at the bruised and broken girl on the bed with tears brimming their eyes, unsure of what to do.

“I have to see him. Please. Please, JJ.” Y/N sobbed, pleading at the woman beside her. JJ looked towards Hotch for guidance.

“I’ll speak with the Doctor and see what I can do.” Hotch nodded once and left the room. Aaron Hotchner was simply a man you couldn’t say no to. Thankfully, this extended to doctors as well. The next time someone came in, they entered with a wheelchair. After many screams and with the help of three nurses and a doctor, they managed to get Y/N into the wheelchair. They rolled her off into Spencer’s room where he lay motionless on a bed just like hers. The sight of him so frail with so many tubes going in and out of his orifices should have overwhelmed her, but she was just so happy to see him breathing. Once again she could barely control her tears as she weakly gripped at the hand that was closest to her. She pressed sloppy, uncoordinated kisses to the back of his hand and pleaded for him to wake.

The sight was overwhelming, even for Hotch. It was difficult to see their two youngest agents fight for their lives.

And for the next two days, this is how it went. Y/N would wake from her slumber, request to see Spencer and would not leave his side unless her Doctor absolutely required her to. She didn’t care about what he’d said to her before the crash, she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She just wanted him here. She wanted to hear his voice again. What a luxury that was.

Slowly, Spencer began improving. He’d begin to open his eyes but shut them immediately afterwards. He’d make noises, even though they were very garbled, they were very welcome. Y/N would read to him, she’d have any one of their friends bring over his favorite books and she’d pass the time reading to him. It was difficult at first, but she’d improved too.

On the fifth day, he was awake and fully conscious before she even got to his room.

He heard his teammates speaking around him again and what a relief it had been to wake in a hospital bed rather than his own bed. He let out a heavy sigh of relief as they updated him of what happened in the recent days. 

It wasn’t real. 

None of it was.

Maeve wasn’t there, Y/N was his, no one else’s.

He’d been sure of it when they’d rolled her into his room and near his bed, eyes lit with hope surrounded by healing scrapes and bruises.

“Spence? Spencer!” She exclaimed, “Oh thank God you’re awake.” She whispered trying her hardest to lean towards him on the bed.

Spencer fought to raise his arm to touch her arm, “Y/N? A-are you really here?” He whispered back.

“I’m here baby, I’m here. I’m never leaving you.” She sobbed, leaning her face into his awaiting palm. Spencer’s chest filled with immense relief as his thumbs caught her fallen tears.

“Y/N, wait--Y/N, I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry about what I said. I remember. I didn’t mean it. You’re the one for me. Life is perfect with you.” Spencer frowned as tears of his own raced down his cheeks.

Y/N shook her head, “It’s okay, I don’t care about that anymore. I could have lost you. I-if I had lost you, I would have lost myself Spencer. I love you so much. I love you so much.” She repeated as she kissed the palm of his hand. 

“I love you so much, Y/N.”

How could he have ever wished to live without this? Without her?

The universe had taught him his lesson and boy was he glad he had learned it.

[kyberphilosopher]

Oʀᴏᴛᴜɴᴅ

Requested?: Yes. Contains allusions to sex and illness, non graphic.

Word Count: 3301

Eren has disappeared beyond the walls, finding refuge with a sick ex-soldier. 

Orotund: (adj.*) speaking or singing with fullness, clarity, or strength of song or voice. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. 

 The sickness had spread slowly, but surely. 

You couldn’t tell where you had gotten it from. At first, you had assumed it was simply an intensified version of the flu. However, the longer you took care of yourself, the more you realized that this was far worse. 

Dividing the time into five stages, you began keeping note of what was happening to you during Stage Two. During Stage One, you began to experience relatively short periods of a fever. They’d usually last for days at a time, with you lying in bed draping a wet rag on your forehead. So intense, you could not even get up to urinate or eat, it was difficult not to feel pathetic. 

Stage Two had made the fever die down. You were more than thankful for this, of course, but it had come with it’s own crashing, crushing waves. Stage Two had begun to make you lose weight at a rapid and inexplicable pace. You often frowned at yourself in the mirror, observing how your torso was slimming and shaping around the form of your ribs. It came before the loss of appetite, which only made matters that much worse. 

Stage Three, during which you had met him, was strange. It didn’t directly cause any physical changes to you, but it did indirectly. You grew restless in the night, and exhausted during the day. Riddled with fatigue, the daily chores you relied on for life became troublesome. Drawing water from the well strained your back, and because of what Stage Two had done to your stomach, you lacked the energy needed to keep yourself upright. 

One day, in whatever season it had been, you returned to your cabin to find a stranger inside. Instantly on sight, your pail of drinking water fell from your fingers and splashed against the wooden floors. Your boots and socks were soaked. The knocking of wood against wood made your ears ring as if a bomb had gone off. 

The boy was still, but his eyes were somewhat wide as if he was also surprised. He must not have considered someone was already living in the cabin. Yet, he was sitting at your dining table, watching you with open eyes and open ears. 

Before you could scold, yelp, or simply say hello, you collapse over. The fatigue overpowers you and you crash against your counter in a heap. 

The boy leapt forward on instinct. His right arm wrapped around your back to steady you somewhat, his left hand gripping onto your other shoulder. It didn’t help you too much, as your ankle was already rolling out from under you, but it did keep you from hitting the floor completely. Thus, the boy had at least saved you a head injury. 

“My room,” you croaked with hazy eyes. The hand attached to the arm over his back weakly pointed in the direction of your bedroom. It wasn’t too far away.  You were lucky that he craned his head to see where you were gesturing to, and understood. “I have to get to... my room...”

“Right,” the boy replied.

He hoisted you up, the both of you grunt quietly in unison. And then he practically dragged you across the floorplan of your home, stumbling and groaning all the way. The boy let you drop into your bed on your own, partially kicking him in the process. 

You hum out a sigh of relief. Your head is immediately alleviating itself, and the room is ceasing to spin so quickly. The boy is confused as to the lack of yelling or anger. Instead, he is enthralled with the calm, tired, demeanor of your form. He’d broken into your cabin, eaten your food, and you hadn’t even looked mad. In fact, you looked almost sickly. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Stage Four brought depression. Yes, you already had that. But now your sickness was piling onto the chemical imbalances, adding to the lack of calories, nutrients, and sleep. Whatever strength you had before was dwindling away faster than before, although this time, things were different. 

The strangers name was Eren. Eren Jaeger. He had large, piercing teal eyes, bold eyebrows, and dark hair. At the time of your meeting, it was the length of his shoulders. His palms were wrapped in gauze at the time, but it wasn’t permanent. He’d since removed them, and helped you work. 

Eren was strong. He could repair things that were broken around the cabin and help you with the well upkeep. Sometimes he would go hunting and bring home venison or herbs for you, which was kind. He didn’t ask for much in return, other than you not tell anyone of his presence. Not like you had anyone to tell anyways. 

Eren gave you a ride on his Titan once or twice too. That was something you loved. You were scared at first, but Eren didn’t let anything happen to you. He would lift you up in the palm of his hand so you could reach the fruits at the top of the tallest of trees. Then you’d go home and slice the fruit up for him in a small bowl. 

He slept on the bench in the living room. You’d felt particularly guilty about that part, but your weak body needed all the relaxation it could get. Eren knew that, and he never forced you to share or give more than was even remotely necessary. Really, Eren was quiet most days. He seemed to do a great bit of brooding, but you’d grown accustomed to the presence of another human being, and thus, warmth. And Eren liked you. You weren’t obsessive, didn’t yell for the way he cleaned, didn’t rip up his clothes, or remind him of a fading dream. 

Time blurs together when you’re living on your own in the middle of nowhere, but the boy was with you for more than two months, at least. He figured out that you were sick in that span of time, including that you didn’t deserve to be. There wasn’t much around your cabin to suggest much of past life. Eren didn’t blame you. That’s why he stayed in the cabin as well- hoping to leave the past for a blank space. 

You took care of each other. Your favorite example was on a morning in Spring. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Eren wore a simple brown cloak. No shirt underneath, giving you a much appreciated view of the boys abdominal muscles. Though, you’d probably never get the opportunity to admit you found the boy physically appealing, you took it in. His hair was back in a bun today. The sun broke over the horizon, illuminating his eyes. 

Jaeger held your horse by the reigns. His right bare foot was rubbing against his left shin, tired as the horse began to excrete last nights meal. Eren must’ve gotten up earlier than usual this morning for chores, because the circles under his eyes seemed more prominent. Not that it specifically mattered. He looked handsome all the same. You appreciated the view for a few minutes before starting towards the well. 

First, you set the bucket on the earth where the water is sure to fall. Then, you place both hands on the pump, digging your feet into the ground for leverage. Stage Four has made you weaker than most people. This will take a lot out of you. 

Pushing down, it takes all of your strength to get a single pump of water into the pail. It’s not enough, and sweat is already beading at your forehead. It’s not even hot yet, and something mediocre is nearing you close to death. Your heart strains against your chest, but you ignore it. You have to get the water. 

You push down a second time. Now, the container is half full of the clear stuff. It ripples in the light of the sun like a rainbow. Your head feels like it’s on fire. A slow, dull fire. You have to push a third...

With a final great heave, your blistered hands scrape against the contraption. The water gushes out like a miracle, filling the bucket again. So crisp it makes your mouth water, you kneel to the ground to catch your breath. 

Stop, your heart begs. Stop. Rest. But the responsibility is staring you dead in the eyes, and you can’t ignore it. And you can’t ask Eren to go a day without water. He deserves it. For Eren’s sake, you must do this. 

Although your world is dizzy, you push yourself to your feet. Your blistered fingers wrap around the handle, ready to pick it off the ground without issue. However, water buckets are heavy. There is nothing you can do but struggle to raise it off the ground, tears and sweat pricking at the corners of your eyes and goosebumps appearing at your arms. It’s not even really that chilly. 

Eren was like a God sent. You didn’t fully hear what he said to you, but you felt his arms slide around you to lift you up. “Y/N, do you hear me? You have to stand, alright?” You hadn’t replied. 

Jaeger connected the dots. With one half of his body, he leveraged you up and to your feet. With the other, he grabbed the pail of water and began moving forward. 

It was slow with you practically slumped against him, but he was a soldier. Eren wasn’t about to just let you drop in the middle of nowhere. He wouldn’t let you succumb to your illness that easily, if he let you succumb to anything at all. 

Eren set you on your bed. You had a fever, so he laid a wet cloth across your forehead. He stripped you down to your undergarments as respectfully as one could, laying two more rags on your forearms for extra help. Then he drew you  a bath, knowing the water would be cold for your lingering fever. He never asked for anything in return. 

But, he had set a hand against your shoulder. His thumb ran in soft circles against your hot skin, a comforting, loving gesture. You could feel his long hair brush against your chest as he leaned down to make sure your heart was still beating. Aside from a slight palpitation, it seemed in working order. 

His brushing thumb lingered a moment longer before he let you rest. Even in sleep, you missed it. You wouldn’t forget this. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This leads us into the final Stage. Stage 5. The one where you die at the end. 

“Eren,” you call out softly, watching the curtain windows sheer in the sunlight. 

In response, the boy bows his head to look down at you. His eyes are calm, but bright as always. His hair is half up, half down. Laying between his thighs comfortably, your stomach rumbles from hunger. Despite this, things are quiet. 

“Yes?” he replies.

You swallow dryly. Then you reveal your desire. “Do you sing?”

His right hand comes to rest on your forehead. Yes, you have the fever again. But Eren knows you are in the right mind. His thumb strokes your temple, catching a few wisps of your hair as he does so. 

“Not well,” he answers with the ghost of a smile. “You want me to sing to you?”

You shift, and one of your hand grazes by his knee. “Maybe,” you tease back. Then you frown. “You seem tired today.”

Eren exhales. His right hand lays against your forehead, a mix of concern and something like affection.

“Is it the Attack Titan?” you continue, gazing up at him through soft lashes. 

It was. Eren’s history- the worlds history- was churning around his mind until it seemed like a bunch of mush. You were the only thing that was clear to him at this point. But you were silent. Calm, compared to everything else in the universe. 

“No,” Eren decides to assure light heartedly. His thumb begins to circle around your sticky skin in the little way that it does. “It’s nothing.”

Silence again. 

The warm breeze brushes against the window outside, but it’s not loud. It’s warm from the light of the sun, and the hills of emerald grass span for miles ahead. The sky is as blue as the birds that soar across it. Serene. That was how you would describe the life you currently lead. And blessed be you for leading it as peacefully and quietly as the loud and complicated world would allow. 

“I think I’m going to die soon.”

The quiet was broken with another fracture of quiet. Eren’s heart gave a great, vibrating beat, and then paused. In contrast, you couldn’t recall the last time you’d heard your heart beat. 

All the violent death he’d seen, just for you to die of an unknown illness? 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

You knew you were going to die at the end. You knew it for a fact. You’d just gotten lucky. 

Lucky, you think as you look up at the man above you. Yeah, I’m lucky. 

His pacing is held back for fear of hurting you. His long, dark hair sways back and forth in time with his thrusts. His face is contorted, mixed with an overwhelming feeling of pleasure and determination. There’s a little clear, slick spot on the corner of his lips. It slips from between, drips down his chin, and onto your abdomen. Eren wants to apologize, but his teeth are gritted together and he doesn’t want to embarrass either of you with shaky words. 

You don’t mind. There’s no need for Eren to apologize. Eren is and always has been a sight for sore eyes, especially for you. And, blessings onto your own soul, you’re getting more butterflies from knowing he’s one of the last things you’ll see and feel than what he’s doing with you. 

Your eyes are glued to his. What color are they? Emerald, like the grass? Blue, like the sky? Could they be teal? Yes, that must be it. Though, sometimes you swear they’re gold instead. 

Lucky. 

You both end up finishing. He keeps himself from collapsing on top of you before asking if you’ll be alright if he bathes. You assure him it’s more than okay as he rubs his thumb over your temple. Some people might be upset at their partner for leaving after what you’ve done, but you understood. Physical contact is hard for soldiers. You know. But Eren promises he’ll be back silently, because he feels guilty about it. 

If you had a bit longer, maybe this wouldn’t be the only time you and the boy could do this. Actually, what had even led to it? What had taken it this long? You’d had dinner. The light from the candles came on, and you’d met his gaze. The rest was all steam and blurs. 

When your living mate returns, your back is facing from him. You’re watching the fresh drops of rain crash against the window, falling from under a dark grey cast. There will be a thunderstorm tonight. You wonder if Eren will want to stay in your bed tonight, or if he’ll insist on taking the bench. 

You feel his hands, previously burning hot, touch your shoulder, now ice cold. The mattress dips under his weight behind you, and then you feel his toned torso flush against you. 

His face brushes against your ear so you can hear him speak softly. “I’m sorry if I took too long,” Eren mutters. A few wisps of hair brush against your jaw, but he’s tied it back now. 

In one fluid motion, a hand of your own comes to stroke at his cheek. “You didn’t.”

His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, before he pulls away to put his face in the back of your neck. His hand remains around you tight, so you know he wants you right where you are. 

You didn’t tell Eren that your time was practically numbered. Maybe it would be weeks, days, or hours. You should’ve told him before you let him inside you, but you’d been a bit distracted. Anxious, too. The moment was worth ruining with something so silly and small. But now it’s done. The only sounds echoing around the cabin is the pitter pattering of the rain, and the oncoming onslaught of booming thunder. 

You have to tell him, you say to yourself as his grip on you tightens. Before he tugs your body closer like a lover again.

Before you can speak, Eren mumbles something against the skin of your neck. “Follow my lead.”

What?

He hums for a few seconds. At first, you think it’s just the hum of insanity, random and undefined. The you realize the changes in pitch are too thought out to be random. It’s a song. 

“...always picking a fight with me...”

It feels hazy, far away. Sort of heavenly. Even with his low, muffled voice, it’s easy to hear the musical tones oozing from the whole thing. 

“...you know I’m bad, but you’re still spending the night with me.”

That line feels more like he’s speaking it into you. It’s personal. 

“...what do you want from my world?”

If you had it your way, or his way, there wouldn’t be anybody else but the two of you and your cabin. Still, this also feels like a genuine question. Maybe it is. 

There’s a dry kiss placed against your shoulder blade before Eren continues the tune. Humming. And then, “...every night I’m out... killin’, send everyone runnin'...”

Eren pulls you closer against him and inhales somewhat sharply. You crane your neck deeper into the pillow, silently wishing that you could feel his swollen lips against it.

  “I know you’re mad at me,” he sings, a bit clearer now. “I have demon eyes.”

Eren’s hand creeps up from your shoulder to your throat, able to choke you if he so wanted. His thumb strokes over your Adam’s apple instead. Eren grants your wish, raising his face so his lips brush over the skin by your jaw instead of the back of your head. A soft kiss is pressed to the area, almost as if he was nervous. 

“...they’re looking right through your anatomy...”, he seems to nuzzle against you lightly, though that feels somewhat out of character. “...your deepest fears, I’m not from here...”

Like before, he pushes his head back into your hair. He groans like he’s stretching before going on. 

“...to me, you’re clear... transparent. You have a thing for me... it’s apparent...”

The rain is falling harder now. 

“...you’re not so bad...”

Eren isn’t bad at all. He sighs against you, his fingers stroking your skin gently. 

“...it’s not something I have to try... oh, for the table, as long as I am able... I’m not trying to be bad.”

I’m going to die soon, Eren.

“No... different.”

He doesn’t continue. Only his thumb continues on, circling round and round in an unknowing attempt to express comfort.

“I thought you said you didn’t sing well,” you whisper into the darkness. 

“I don’t,” he speaks against you.

What a liar. And you, the lucky one for knowing the truth.

Eren doesn’t move positions until you’ve fallen asleep, at which point he eventually turns his back to you in his own slumber. And Eren knew that you were sick, but he also knew that you were capable. 

You weren’t breathing when he woke up. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I guess that’s that. I think I like it but I’m not sure about the ending. Mine aren’t usually so simple. Maybe I should’ve made it less depressing. Eh. 

[one-boring-person]

Okay so request~~~~

So at the end of last blood, he never stays at his ranch. He tells the aunt “Idk. I’ll move around, like always.” And then proceeds to destroy his home and land beyond repair, you know that story i wrote about picking up first blood rambo?? Well, change that to old man rambo!

What about him having rhat random chance meeting with someone like SR(from the one i wrote) and staying with them. How they take care of him without even knowing him, and how he has a chance to try out a new life away from war and what he was with someone who’s young and starting out on their own ambitions.

I could totally see him being introduced to SR’s friends as “oh, my new roommate!” And him telling SR all about vague war stories, they teach him to cook and cook him breakfast. Honestly just rambo being taken somewhere far away and nice and staying with someone who definitely has their own problems, but takes on the therapy by helping him instead.

Basically, SR is very very damaged and rambo can tell- but they’re so sweet and responsible, mature, and loyal. They take out emotions and pain through spreading love instead of war, he can’t let that go. Not now

(Hopefully that gives you ideas!!!)

I'm sorry this took so damn long for me to write, and I'm sorry that it's so bad, too, but I hope you like it in any case!😓😅

Life Goes On.

John Rambo (Rambo: Last Blood) x Named!OC (not mine)

Warnings: injury detail, death, blood

Masterlist

John's eyes are barely open as he sluggishly guides the horse beneath him further on, their surfaces dry and sore even as he blinks them. By now it's useless, the dust in the air having gotten into his corneas within the first hour of his long ride, irritating his scleras very quickly. Exhaustion has long since numbed out any pain he still feels, his eyes becoming the least of his worries as he gradually loses the sensation in his lower abdomen, where his more serious wound is bleeding profusely onto his shirt, still oozing even after fifteen hours of being left alone. He knows the blood flow isn't too bad anymore, as his hasty attempts to patch himself up have left him with a better chance of surviving, but his other wounds are slowly driving him to a comatose state. The veteran can't move his fingers properly, the digits clunky and uncoordinated as he tries to grip onto the reins, the blisters from the tough leather split and leaking as he struggles to do so. Nausea has settled into his head, his vision blurred as his strength slowly fails him - he's too old to have survived as he used to. Without his medication, John finds himself plagued constantly by flashes of past grief and sorrow, images of his dead team back in 'Nam flooding his conscience, accompanied by the beaten and bruised face of Gabrielle. 

Beneath him, the horse walks slowly, his thighs aching from the hours of riding, chafing sores lining them under the fabric of his trousers, his body slouched forwards in the saddle. Pity for the animal also gnaws at his mind, and he feels a pang of guilt as he realises that it's unlikely it will be able to carry him much further without any respite. It's head is drooped, steps slow and unsteady, panting breaths rushing from its throat in haggard bursts. If he had any energy, John would remove the tack from the horse and let it go, but he knows this isn't a plausible idea for him if he wants to survive. He owes it to Maria to survive.

His conscience starts to slip, just as the sun comes to its highest point in the sky, heat and dry air lulling him into a false sense of security as he feels his control leaving him. Unable to keep a grip on it, he succumbs to the darkness rising up in his vision, falling into it gratefully, needing the reprieve.

Vaguely, John seems to recall a car pulling up beside him, the door slamming closed as someone shouts to him, hands taking the reins from his. Gravity seems to take control, and John falls from the horse, landing heavily in the dirt, but he doesn't lie there long. Whoever has taken hold of the horse is swift to come to his aid, pulling him into their arms as they try to drag him back to their car. They're struggling, and he wants to fight back, to tell whoever it is to get lost, but he finds he can't, his throat too raw to even force a sound past, so he can only stay limp as they manhandle him into their vehicle, murmuring gently to him the entire time. 

It's at that point that he finally loses consciousness.

*

Agony floods John's body as he comes to again, drawing a hoarse groan from his scratchy throat as he jerks upwards, his instincts still ready for action even after all these years. Blearily, he blinks, hands scrambling to identify his surroundings, dull surprise dripping into his conscience as he finds a soft duvet and pillows on top of a comfortable mattress, warmth encompassing him. Frowning, the veteran pushes himself upright, ignoring the pain in his body as he does so, his hand going up to cup his wound instinctively. Shocked to find a clean dressing plastered over the ragged injury, John blinks again and takes a look around.

He's in a small room, laying on a bed in the centre, the domicile unfamiliar to him. Idly he wonders if maybe he's died and found some kind of afterlife, but a sharp stab of agony from his side eliminates this idea from his head in seconds. The room is quite comfortably decorated, designed to be cosy and close, whilst remaining roomy enough to allow for decent living space. A few photographs line the wall, accompanied by posters of movies he's never bothered to go see, having never really managed to overcome the triggers they often set off when he's not expecting them. 

Just as he goes to climb out of the bed, the door swings open, and an unfamiliar figure steps in, a first aid kit held in one hand as they juggle a bowl of water in the other. Instantly, John's on his feet, instincts taking over as he ignores the flare of agony that springs up in him as he swiftly moves over to the newcomer. In seconds, they find themselves pinned to the wall, a hand wrapped around their throat. Yelping in fear, they let go of the bowl and first aid kit, smaller hands coming up to grip his larger arm, eyes wide as they stare at him in shock, wincing as warm water splashes the two of them. 

It takes all John has not to crush their windpipe, his rational mind taking over the militant instinct as he keeps them in a threatening hold, the youth unable to move at all. A wave of nausea washes over him, and he falters, vision spinning wildly as he drops back a step, losing his grip on the newcomer as quickly as he secured it, the sudden disorientation throwing him off as he falls to the floor again. Grunting in pain, he lands heavily, the impact jarring his bones and muscles roughly. Recovering quickly, the newcomer drops down beside him, eyes widened in concern now, rather than fear.

"Are you alright?" They ask him, voice soft with worry, searching his face for any serious problem.

It takes him a moment, but eventually, John manages a response, his usually rough voice coarse and gravelly now.

"'M fine." 

They just scoff, hesitantly reaching out to help him back up again, heaving his heavy body onto the bed again. 

"You are far from fine." They point out, "What happened, you fight a war or something?"

He almost laughs.

"Something like that." John murmurs bitterly, leaning his head back against the headboard.

Shooting him an odd look, the newcomer goes and fetches the spilt bowl of water, sighing at the mess before they hold it up for him to see.

"I'm just gonna get some more water, then I'll patch you up again, that alright?" They ask him, looking somewhat cautious.

Suspicious, John watches them for a sign of deception. Finding none, he simply nods, knowing he can easily take them out if he needs to. They smile, going to leave the room, only to stop in the doorway and turn around.

"My name is SR, by the way." They introduce themself.

"John." He grunts in way of reply, watching as they nod and leave the room.

*

Two months have passed and he's no longer bedridden, the veteran able to move freely around the house, even though there's still a little residual pain, and the mental horrors he faces every night leave him drained with no reprieve. With no medication to help him, it's no surprise that John has relapsed into a familiar state of sullen silence and brooding, finding himself reminded of the things he'd rather forget every day, in everything he does and everything he sees.

SR is no exception to this: he has warmed up to them, and he somewhat trusts them, the youth having shown him more kindness than he has experienced since Maria and Gabrielle. Their only downfall is that they remind him a lot of his murdered niece, the two having very similar traits that very quickly sussed out. Childhood trauma has led them to becoming very determinedly driven and friendly, ambitious and confident in some aspects of life, whilst also noticeably damaged in other aspects, that he realises very quickly. Somehow, however, they always keep themselves afloat, and choose not to show any of the weight bearing down on their mind, as he knows it is, though he is also very swift to realise that their way of dealing with this pain is very simple; they work to make life better for others. It's visible in everything they do: cooking for him every day, caring for him in any way they can, doing their best to let him know he can trust them. 

At first, he had been somewhat cold and closed off to them, but they swiftly worked to help warm him up again, reawakening the more personable version of himself he managed to cultivate in his time on the ranch. It was nice to become a little lighter again, but his guard stayed up, and still is, though not as much as it was before. Vividly, he can remember the time he found himself trusting them further: when their friends had come over to catch up. 

Naturally, they'd all been surprised to find some nearly hostile ex-soldier residing in their friend's home, living his life out with them. As soon as they'd said something, however, SR had leapt in to defend him, and had inadvertently shown their care for him on a much greater scale than before, reminding John of what his life was like with Maria and Gabrielle. When their friends had then left, an hour or so later, he had stepped up to them and told them how thankful he was, feeling more cared for than he ever thought he would. 

Now, after weeks of being taught how to cook, and being cooked for, plus hours and hours of talking with each other as they helped each other to overcome past grief, he can very honestly say he is immensely grateful to be with them. They know more about him than he told himself he'd ever tell anyone, SR often listening with rapt attention to his war stories, eyes wide as they hear all of the harrowing details. He feels comfortable telling these tales, and they seem content to listen, so he appreciates them in whole new ways. 

And when he finally opens himself back up to physical contact, the embrace he receives from his excitable carer is only too worth it, the first smile in months gracing his lips as he does so. Life feels like it's turning on its axis again - for the better this time.

[pastelsandpining]

Febuwhump Day 12: Who Are You?

You already know what’s coming. Have a poorly written, way too long, and posted way too early angst prompt. Sorry for the lack of a read more and any weird formatting, I’m on mobile 🙄

Pairing: Zelink

Summary: Link doesn’t remember. Not sure what else you expected

Warnings: depression, poorly written survivor’s guilt

Words: 2821

Masterlist

~~~

“Who are you?”

Three simple words, yet they weren’t what stung. It was the blunt and direct way he said them, leaving very little room for hope that he might’ve been joking. There was always a possibility that the stasis recovery would deprive him of his memories, and for the shortest of seconds, she wondered if she really had taken those precautions. But she had, and still he stood before her with the sword that sealed the darkness and very little memory of what it meant--if any. Yet after holding the Calamity back for over a century, this would not be what broke her.

“Zelda,” she replied softly, fighting to keep the hurt from her voice. If he could not remember, then that was not his fault. Perhaps the pictures didn’t work. Maybe he remembered nothing at all.

“Right,” Link replied with an awkward nod. His eyebrows furrowed as if the name rang a bell somewhere in the depths of his empty mind, but his tone of voice said otherwise. Zelda held her hands a little tighter, draining the color from her knuckles, and willed herself not to cry. She was stronger than this. It wasn’t his fault.

“Hyrule owes you everything,” she said as she took a slight step backwards. Maybe he noticed, because his hand moved. He dropped it before she could figure out its path. “Thank you.”

“Are you.. okay?” he asked. His eyes overlooked her with worry, scanning her for injury, even without a clue of who she was. Zelda fought the urge to step away and hide from his gaze.

“Yes,” she answered with a nod and a strained smile. “I’m okay.”

She should have been happy. She should have been reuniting with the grass and the warmth of the sun and the beauty of the world around her. But all she could do was stare at him, as if she could will him to remember or transfer her memories to him. It was in vain, and she didn’t know what else she could say to him. She’d wanted to say so much, to tell him once and for all how much he meant to her and how grateful she was that he still fought on her side, but none of it would serve any purpose now.

So Zelda turned her eyes away and looked instead to the remains of the castle. It looked familiar now that there were no guardians surrounding it, and no towering pillars encasing it like fingers threatening to crush it.

“Zelda..”

Her name did not sound the way it used to when he said it. He sounded hesitant, like he was asking whether that really was her name. It hurt that he didn’t know it.

It wasn’t his fault.

She looked towards him over her shoulder.

“Yes?” she asked. He looked as if suddenly, he couldn’t find his words.

“I, uh.. the castle is.. I can bring you to Impa.”

Impa. Zelda could do little more than nod to his offer. Her dear friend had survived the carnage, but that also meant that Link had indeed made it to Kakariko Village. She bit back the bitter thoughts and instead told herself that maybe she didn’t have all of the answers. Maybe the pictures simply didn’t work.

Link nodded to her and turned away, and she followed him wordlessly to his horse. Exhaustion was beginning to build in every last inch of her body, leaving little room for anything else after such an adrenaline rush. Yet guilt slithered its way in, as did immense sadness and a new, overwhelming loneliness. Link did not know who she was, and she knew that it might happen, but it just felt like she’d officially lost everything to the Calamity.

Her foot hit a rock and she stumbled. A quiet hiss left her lips as she dug her fingernails into her palms, and again, she fought back the tears with a wave of fury. No, she would not break now, not in front of him.

But it was hard when he looked back at her, those sky blue eyes shining with concern.

She averted her eyes, hoping to avoid the lie she’d give if he asked any question. Link said nothing, but his glances back to her became more frequent and she kept her eyes stubbornly locked on the grass beneath her feet.

“Do you have the strength to ride?” Link asked at last, when he came to a stop in front of her.

“I know the way to Kakariko,” Zelda replied as she lifted her head. It was a new feeling, a desperate one that made her heart beat so hard in her chest that she had no choice but to be aware of it. She didn’t want him to feel guilty over something he had no control over, but she also did not want his pity. She did not want him to look at her with that concern in his eyes, with his urge to help everyone he came across. Was that all she was to him now that he couldn’t remember? Just another person to help once and never see again?

It wasn’t his fault.

Zelda forced a small smile onto her lips and folded her hands again.

“I appreciate everything, really,” she continued. “But you needn’t worry.”

“You’ll never make it.” His reply was blunt, but goddesses knew he was right. She hadn’t slept, or eaten, or done anything other than hold back the Calamity for months once the stasis had broken. It was starting to take a toll, between the headache and the weakness, but she had no appetite and too heavy of a heart to sleep. Yet a century had done little to change her stubborn nature.

“I’ll be alright,” she insisted. “It’s really not that far-”

“I’m heading to Hateno anyway, and we can stop at a stable.”

Zelda took a breath. He wouldn’t be giving up easily, would he? The soul of a hero through and through, she supposed, even with little recollection of it.

“Alright,” she replied.

Except she didn’t make it to the stable. Link refused to let her walk and instead led the horse through Hyrule field himself, but no matter how hard she held to the reins, she succumbed to exhaustion.

When she stirred and pried her eyes open, she still felt as tired as she had before she’d fallen asleep. Except, she didn’t remember falling asleep. She was fairly certain she hadn’t made it to a bed either, but there was a soft pillow beneath her head and warm blankets hugging her, tempting her to fall back into the bliss of sleep. Instead, she slowly pushed herself up and rubbed at her eyes.

There were a few other beds identical to hers pressed to the circular walls. There were people bustling about, going in and out and chattering excitedly about something she couldn’t make out. The sunlight was too bright out the curtained doors of the stable for it to be morning. Zelda pressed her feet to the floor and started towards the stable exit, hugging her arms close to her chest.

“...just a few days ago! I haven’t seen it since-”

“...no idea what happened-”

“...say it’s a descendant of the champion-”

Well, she supposed a swirling beast disappearing from Hyrule Castle would be an interesting topic of conversation.

The light was blinding, and she almost bumped into someone due to it. She stumbled to the side, grabbing the door frame as she mumbled out an apology.

“You’re awake,” they replied. Zelda blinked hard, and Link came into focus. “I thought you might’ve had a concussion.”

“Why would I have a concussion?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

“You fell,” he answered. “And the horse is high enough from the ground to cause injury.”

“Oh.” A wave of embarrassment washed over her and she stepped outside into the warmth of the sun so she didn’t have to look at him. He looked just the same as he had when he shielded her with his body, and yet she had no idea if he even remembered doing it.

“You were out for a while,” he replied from behind her. He sounded much closer than he had a century ago when he was reduced to three paces.

“How long?” she asked absentmindedly as she continued walking, though she didn’t know where she was going. Anywhere as long as she was out from under his gaze, she supposed. Unlike all those years ago, it hurt more than anything to know he was looking at her as a stranger. But goddesses, it wasn’t his fault, and she knew it was a possibility, so why did she feel so frustrated with him? Or maybe it was with herself for being naive enough to hope things could return to normal after the fall of her friends and her kingdom.

“Three days.”

That made her pause. She’d slept for three days. Why hadn’t he left? Zelda pushed the thought from her mind and turned to face him with another deep breath.

“I apologize for the delay,” she said, folding her hands at her chest again--something that’d become an anxious tic. “We can continue to Kakariko whenever you’re ready.”

“Here.”

Link was holding a plate out to her. It looked like an omelette of sorts, with vegetables and meat thrown into the mix, and it was small enough that it wouldn’t cause her sickness from overeating. She took it carefully with shaking hands.

“Thank you,” she whispered out, and she told herself again that he didn’t know her. He was a kind heart down to his very soul, and he would help anyone that needed it until the end of time. Goddesses knew she didn’t want his help, not like this, but she needed it.

“Take your time,” he said and placed a glass of milk on the ground. “We’ll leave after you eat.”

Zelda nodded and slid next to the glass. Link turned his back on her and walked off to speak with the stable manager, and she forced her eyes off of him. She wanted to cry. The Calamity had really left her with nothing. No home, no family, no friends, and the one person she held out hope for hadn’t a clue who she was. She dug her fingers into her hair and pressed her forehead against her knees, fighting the sting in her eyes.

She couldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of all these strangers who would, without a doubt, come to her side and ask her if she was alright. And she didn’t know if she could answer that question without crying harder, because she wasn’t okay.

She lifted her head and took a bite of the omelette to pull herself out of her own head. It took every bit of strength she had left to keep from scarfing it down like an animal, because she was hungry even if her appetite was scarce. Even the milk, which she didn’t typically drink, was soothing and filling to her.

“I’m ready,” she said once she’d found Link again. He was standing with the horses, petting his own with a kind smile she hadn’t seen in years. She almost hated to interrupt it. The smile was gone as soon as he turned to face her. “But I can rent another horse and find my way to Kakariko myself.”

“I don’t trust you to not pass out again,” he replied, pulling his horse into the open area.

“I’m fine,” she insisted and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Why don’t you want any help?” he asked. There was an edge of frustration in his voice. Perhaps this new Link wasn’t used to people rejecting him. She almost gave him the truth.

“Because you needn’t go out of your way for me, Link. You deserve to go home and rest,” she replied, reaching a hesitant hand towards him that dropped (hopefully) before he noticed.

“So do you,” he answered as he shook his head. “You faced that thing alone for a century.”

What do you know about me?

But she didn’t ask, because it wasn’t his fault.

“I’m not helpless,” she defended.

“No, you’re not.” He nodded towards his horse without a word more. Zelda sighed and climbed up, deciding the argument wasn’t worth it. This wasn’t how she’d wanted their reunion to go, and this certainly wasn’t what she wanted him to know now that he didn’t remember.

Zelda held tighter to the reins this time and willed herself to stay awake. For the most part, it worked. Only when they neared Kakariko did she begin to grow sleepy, but it was suppressed by how happy she was to see that the quaint village was spared from the devastation that the Calamity had caused. And with the path they took, she was spared the sight of Fort Hateno and the memory that came with it.

Impa was much shorter and much older than when Zelda last saw her, but her smile was as warm as ever. She welcomed the princess just as she used to, and she thanked Link for all he had done, and not a minute passed after Link had left the house before Zelda’s resolve broke. She crumpled to the floor in front of Impa’s pillow stack and let the cry rip from her throat. She dug her fingernails into her palms and squeezed her eyes shut, and Impa’s small and wrinkled hand threaded through the knots in her hair.

A century had gone by without her. A century had passed without granting her the opportunity to grieve. A century had passed and forgot her in a nightmare, and she had no more strength to hold it back. It hurt. Everything hurt. Her father--goddesses, what was the last thing she’d said to him? It was their argument, his scolding on the bridge to her study, and never would she be able to see him again, speak to him again, to have a family member left to hug her or guide her. Had her father died disappointed in her, like many of her subjects did?

Their friends, Daruk, Mipha, and Revali, trapped within the machines that once obeyed them. They trusted her, she assured them they were safe within their Divine Beasts, and they were slaughtered mercilessly by a demon too powerful for their comprehension. She tried her best to keep watch over their homes once the stasis had broken, but what could she do? If she were to fail again, if her power were to give out before the savior arrived, then their homes would be given the same treatment the rest of the Hylian population had been subject to. Urbosa, the woman who’d become such a comfort in a time where she both needed and lacked a mother figure, who was a storm of power that couldn’t be stopped, was gone too.

And Link. She loved him so much that it hurt, she watched over him and did whatever she could to keep him safe through his journey, and he hardly knew her.

This was her punishment for her failure to awaken her power in time. This was her reward for saving Hyrule a moment too late.

“It hurts,” she choked out, clutching her fists tighter.

“I know, child,” Impa whispered to her.

Her best friend, subject to the passing of time. That was really all she had left now, wasn’t it? She supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she was appreciative nonetheless. She was even appreciative for Paya draping a blanket around her shoulders at some point during her breakdown.

The Sheikah were kind to her, even if she didn’t dare step foot outside of the protection of her dear friend. The only time she did was when Impa insisted she take a bath. Even though the water was warm and welcoming, Zelda spent very little time in it. She scrubbed her skin until it was red and washed her hair as best as she could, but she wanted so desperately to get back in the house.

They gave her a warm meal, too—with Impa monitoring how much she ate or drank, and Paya even offered her bed. Zelda tried to argue, to say she didn’t want to be a bother, but she insisted. The bed was warm and far softer than the one at the stable, and she was asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow. Her exhaustion was still extensive enough to ward off any dreams, to leave her in a deep and heavy sleep, but at the very least, this time she woke to morning light in the windows.

And when she dragged herself out of the comfort of the bed and questioned the whereabouts of Link, deciding perhaps she should take a day to speak with him, Paya was the one to tell her that he’d left.

[prettywordsyouleft]

After School Hours

Pairing: Joshua Hong x reader (ft. Seokmin, Soonyoung & Jeonghan)

Genre: teacher au / co-workers to lovers / fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 4501

You tried to convince yourself to look away. You didn’t need to watch on any longer than you already had. You’d witnessed more than enough for your heart to ache and tears threatened to fall from your eyes.

Thankfully, a group of students interrupted your moment. Jackie stepped forward and reached out for your arm excitedly. “Miss L/N! I didn’t expect you to come to the carnival tonight!”

You hadn’t exactly planned to either. However, your housemate Sasha had begged you to join her, even mentioning your neighbour Tom would be coming along. And because you had a crush on the aforementioned, you had put on your favourite dress, done a satisfactory job with your makeup and even wore some heeled wedges.

You had put aside your dislike for crowds to come tonight, all to find Sasha locking lips with Tom in front of the cotton candy booth when you returned from the restroom.

Swallowing back your emotions, you smiled weakly at the teenagers before you. “I should be marking your assignments at home right now much as you all should be studying for your next pop quiz. Especially you, Tori.”

“Teach, it’s Friday, live a little. You look so cute tonight; maybe you’ll find someone to make you forget all about that little test next week. There’s no point working us so hard when the school year has just started!”

You laughed and shook your head. “Not a chance. It’s not your first year in school either so you know how much this year counts the most for college admissions.”

“It was worth trying, right Tanith?”

“How about we go ride the Ferris wheel before Miss L/N finds out how badly I did on that assignment.”

You shook your head at the three girls as they waved animatedly and dashed through the evening crowds, your faint smile fading when you realised the distraction they had gifted you with was over. Turning around again, you sighed when you saw the couple grinning and feeding each other the sugary fluffy treat.

Just how often had you proclaimed to Sasha that you found Tom attractive? You felt like an absolute idiot and willed yourself to find anything, anyone to take your attention away and for them to remain oblivious to your realisation. As you searched the crowds for an escape, you faltered, noticing four men sitting at a picnic bench looking your way.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that you had witnessed what you had, you were now questioning how much they had pieced together.

You closed your eyes, wondering in what universe you had even decided to come out tonight in.

“Y/N!” Sasha called out as you spun away, and you stopped walking off hastily. Looking back at the woman, you smiled weakly whilst exchanging your steps away to back towards her. As you got closer, you glanced in the direction of those watching you and then back at your friend.

Or, you at least thought of her once as a friend. Now you were unsure what to trust in. Tom was gone from her side and before you could mention an excuse of feeling unwell, she clutched at her stomach instead. “Oh, there you are! I was worried where you had gotten to since you don’t like crowds much. Are you alright?”

“Actually-”

“Good, hey I’m not feeling well so Tom has kindly offered to take me home. You’ll be able to get a ride home right? I don’t want your night to end here all because I need to go to bed.”

You stared back at Sasha and tilted your head to the side, biting your bottom lip. She wasn’t sick. One look at her could tell anyone that she was bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Her eyes flitted in the direction to where you saw Tom waiting and you almost laughed out loud. Were you really this pathetic that the pair thought they could fool you like this? You knew exactly what was about to happen. There wouldn’t be just one person in that bed, and going home now sounded like the last thing you wanted to do with your night.

You smiled brightly, surprising Sasha with your lack of opposition. “I’ll be more than capable of finding my way home. Don’t worry, I’m sure Tom will take really good care of you.”

“Are… are you sure?” the woman asked, trying to decipher what was going through your head. “Do you know anyone here?”

“Of course she does, right, Y/N?”

You glanced at Jeonghan, one of the student teachers from your school, now beside you, his arm securing around your shoulder. You found yourself nodding along with the intense stare he gave you. Satisfied he had you playing along; he turned to Sasha who was darting her eyes between his arm around you and his handsome face. For a moment, you focused on following through, the euphoria of stunning your roommate making you feel incredibly warm all over.

And once she had said an awkward goodbye and dashed off to Tom, you succumbed to sudden mortification. Ducking your head and shrugging off his arm, you sighed. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I’ve been there before,” he said simply, gesturing his head in the direction of the others. You winced. They definitely knew too much about you now. You didn’t know how you would be able to face any of them in the faculty office on Monday morning. Jeonghan tugged you gently over to them.

“I actually should get going.”

“Where exactly?” Seokmin wondered, looking to Soonyoung beside him. You cringed as your cheeks coloured and then flinched at the former’s laugh. “I know where!”

“I don’t trust that sudden enthusiasm,” the final member said, and you barely glanced at Joshua. Of all the teachers before you, Joshua was the one you were most familiar with, given he was training under you and your fellow English teachers.

“To the whack-a-mole booth! Let’s go!” Before you even had a chance to slip by, Seokmin was dragging you over, paying the money for a round and handed you a fabric club. He then waved to the machine. “Do your worst, Y/N!”

You were hesitant but when the first creature shot out from the hole you smacked it down, focusing on where the next one would come from. As the game sped up, you tried harder to keep in sync, laughing when one of the moles slipped back down before you could hit it. Eventually, your time was up and you grinned, handing back the game instrument to the booth attendant and turned to the others.

“No way, is that all you can do?”

You smiled faltered at Soonyoung’s exclamation, watching as he rolled up his sweater’s sleeves. He shook his head. “Come on, I’ll do a round with you.”

After three more sessions, your sides hurt from laughing so much and you felt better for the energy you had exuded.

Jeonghan cleverly suggested a stop at one of the drink shacks for a juice and then you moved onto a couple of rides, played a few more games and watched as the sky turned dark. Resting on another bench as Seokmin and Soonyoung fought over who was meant to pay for the last game, you looked to Joshua beside you.

He smiled warmly and spoke before you could. “Is this your first carnival?”

“No, I went a couple of times as a kid but usually I asked to not go. Even as a kid I wasn’t very fond of crowds.”

“Ah, that’s why it seemed like everything was brand new to you. I hope you had fun.”

“I did, actually. Thank you.”

“It’s our pleasure. If anything, you kept me from dealing with a headache.”

“Oh?” You frowned and Joshua grinned, pointing to his fellow teachers in training. “Ah, they’re fun though.”

“They’re the right kind of people to be around on a night like this.”

You knew what he meant and nodded softly. You hadn’t forgotten what happened earlier, the kiss still lingering in the back of your mind. However, you had less time to think about it when Seokmin was dragging you about, Soonyoung was challenging you to do another round and Jeonghan was calling for a rest in between.

Without the events of tonight, you would have simply remained on polite terms and not gotten to know any of the student teachers further than sharing a smile when you crossed paths in school.

You hadn’t felt lonely before, but tonight made you realise what you did miss out on when you were cooped up in front of the TV every weekend.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Jeonghan announced and you took Joshua’s hand to help you up, rocking a little on your heels. You vowed next time you would wear comfortable sneakers in the very least. You blinked, realising you wanted another round of fun out like this and smiled with the idea.

Jeonghan hiked his thumb towards the parking lot. “We’ll give you a ride home.”

“Oh, I can’t-”

“You can, we’ll not feel comfortable letting you find your own way home, right guys?”

You nodded softly at Seokmin’s statement and followed them over to a van.

Soonyoung shook his keys to the vehicle proudly. “I teach a bunch of kids how to dance so this thing comes in handy for events. It might not look the prettiest but it’s reliable and safe. Hop in.”

The ride home was comfortable, with conversation about the school and their time there so far. You enjoyed hearing about Seokmin trying to teach a student how to utilise his falsetto by failing to maintain his own in the exercise, Jeonghan having a run-in with the bossy Vice Principal and Soonyoung admitted teaching teenagers dance and physical education was a whole lot different than he had expected it to be. Joshua only had nice things to say about his time in your department, and you confessed to crying in your first week as a fully fledged teacher because one of your students threw his textbook out the window. It wasn’t every day where you got to chat about things like this outside of school and when your street arrived, you were almost disappointed the night was about to come to an end.

And then your eyes focused on the house next to yours where Sasha and Tom were sharing a passionate embrace on the doorstep of, no doubt having spent a whole lot more time in bed together too. It didn’t hurt as much as it had at the beginning of the night but it subdued your excitement from your time with the others.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you reached for the sliding door handle. “Thank you again for tonight. And for the ride home.”

“Y/N wait,” Jeonghan said as you opened the door slightly. Looking back at the man, he was giving you that intense gaze that you remembered from when he first came to your aid. “Don’t let them have the upper hand in this situation. If they want to be like this, why not show them up for thinking of you as a fool. I don’t know the whole situation but if it was anything like my own, I know they’ve pegged you as something less than what you deserve.”

“I probably am.”

“No, you’re not that at all.” Jeonghan licked at his lips and looked at his friends before continuing. “Climb out of the van and say goodbye loudly and then turn back and…”

“And?”

“Kiss someone! Just do it.”

Your eyes grew wide at the preposterous concept, and you shakily stepped out of the van. Glancing in the direction of Sasha and Tom, now guiltily caught in the act, you felt something within you snap. You repeated the sentence from before thanking the four of them and then took a deep breath, expecting to meet Jeonghan’s lips when you leaned back in.

Instead, you were surprised to see him out of the corner of your eye as Joshua pressed his mouth to yours. You didn’t know if it was because of the whole situation or the added surprise that your co-worker was now kissing you, but you felt dizzy, pulling away and stumbling a little on the sidewalk. You smiled and nodded softly, waving at them before turning around to head up the footpath to your front door. You focused only on your steps, not paying any attention to Tom and Sasha staring at you or listening out for the van to depart.

Which is why you were surprised when a hand reached for your lower arm, swinging you back around. You stared up at Joshua who was now soul-searching your face, his head lowering towards yours again for a second embrace. Clinging to his strong back, you closed your eyes and melted into his kiss. It had been too long since you had tasted a man like this, sucking in a deep breath as he moved in for yet another kiss. And when you were certain you had no air left, Joshua pulled away, blinking rapidly.

“I just… I felt something,” he confessed, now staring at you again. You bit at your swollen lip and he watched the action before smiling. “I couldn’t not take the chance to see if it continued.”

“Did it?” you asked softly and he nodded, brushing your plump lips gently with his thumb. You felt giddy, leaning into his touch. “Me too.”

“I’ll see you again, I hope.”

“Well yeah, we work together.”

Joshua rubbed at the back of his head awkwardly. “Right, of course. Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.”

You covered your face as Joshua jogged back to jeers coming from within the van, hearing a loud toot as they pulled away from the curb. Once they were gone, you spun around and walked up to the front door, uncaring of Sasha waiting beside it.

“You... you kissed that guy!” she exclaimed as she followed you inside, lingering at your side as you placed your keys on the hallway stand. She continued along with you as you headed towards your bedroom. “That’s not something you do.”

“How do you know what I do and don’t do, Sasha? Just because you see me one way, and think you have me all sussed out, doesn’t mean I’ll follow along with your expectations. We’re housemates, not best friends.” You opened your door and stepped in, stopping to throw a look over your shoulder at the stunned woman behind you. “Oh, you’re looking like you’ve recovered from your illness well. I’m glad Tom helped you with that. Goodnight, I hope you feel better in the morning.”

And with that you shut your door, walking over to your bed in a daze and threw yourself down on it.

What a night it had been.

Monday morning arrived, along with a bundle of nerves. Even with the giddy feelings that overtook most of your weekend, you had enough time during those moments to realise that your trip to the carnival wasn’t your reality. You were unsure how you would remain professional whilst teaching a class that Joshua sat in on and there was a multitude of meetings and department needs where you would be expected to attend and keep on task. You were gravely concerned that after Joshua had kissed the life out of you that you wouldn’t be able to focus on anything but his lips.

You weren’t secure enough into your teaching contract at this school to jeopardise your professionalism by locking lips with Joshua again. Yet, the idea made your heart leap around erratically in your chest and before you made it to the faculty office upon arrival at school, you diverted into the library, groaning heavily as you leaned onto the top of the front desk. Your closest friend within these walls was the librarian and Ela looked up from a stack of books she was cataloguing. “Is that a it’s Monday morning groan or a I’m having a hard time with my emotions groan?”

“Why are they your only two options?” you questioned with a whine and Ela grinned knowingly. “It’s the second.”

“I knew it. What’s wrong?”

“I did something completely unlike what I normally do.”

Ela became thoughtful. “You went clubbing?”

“No, why would I do that?”

“You said something completely unlike-”

“I know what I said but that’s all that comes to mind?” Ela shrugged and you sighed heavily. “I kissed someone.”

“Scandalous.”

“A student-teacher,” you continued and you suddenly had her full attention. Chewing on your bottom lip, you caved when she began to shake your lower arm repeatedly. “Joshua Hong.”

“Details!” she chimed, pulling you around into the back office for privacy. You told her about everything that happened that night at the carnival, placating her moans for missing out on hanging out with the four men with you.

You smirked. “You don’t have to be so obvious about liking Seokmin.”

“If I hadn’t been out of town this week and you didn’t ring me to come join you, please know that I’d no longer give you extensions on the books you hire out for longer than you’re meant to.”

“Duly noted. But what am I meant to do now?”

“Go to work?” Ela suggested and you merely gaped at her. She grinned and clasped your hand within hers. “Come on, Y/N, you boldly kissed him in front of all his friends.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I bet you were on his mind all weekend long. No one comes after you for another kiss if they don’t like you enough. Joshua’s probably been pining after you since meeting you at the start of the term.”

“Ela!” you warned, swatting your friend away. Still, your cheeks warmed at the possibility. And with several encouraging words, you got to your feet and walked as confidently as you could possess down to the faculty office, scanning the room for a specific face.

“Y/N!” Soonyoung called out and you grinned, waving gently. Walking over to the kitchenette area where he was making a coffee, you thanked him for the cup he handed you and then spluttered on your first sip when he said, “He’s not here yet.”

“I-I wasn’t looking for him.”

“Uh-huh.” Soonyoung seemed amused. “That was some kiss you both had.”

“Can you quieten down some?” you pleaded, looking at the other teachers within the room. You didn’t want news to travel any time soon.

Soonyoung held no tact, or rather, wasn’t about to let your suffering end. “You definitely outdid your housemate’s moment.”

“Soonyoung!” you breathed and then greeted one of the senior staff members awkwardly. Holding up your coffee cup, you grimaced. “Thanks for this.”

“I’m sorry it’s no-”

You covered his mouth and laughed weakly at the PE teacher who passed you by, reaching for a mug. Desperately searching your new friend’s eyes for his silence, you finally stepped back and all but rushed out the door.

During the rest of the morning, you bumped into both Jeonghan and Seokmin along your way, thankfully having an easier time than with Soonyoung. Still, it was evident they had given Joshua enough grief over how your night ended on Friday and you wondered if that was why you hadn’t seen him yet.

Of course, you knew you wouldn’t miss him in the English department’s meeting just after lunch. It was usually you who arrived to these meetings first, bringing your lunch in and using the office as a quiet place to read until the other teachers arrived.

However, Joshua had the same idea as you and chuckled softly when you placed your lunchbox down on the table. You didn’t say anything at first, merely staring at one another, the rush of Friday night overwhelming you again.

Joshua gestured to the seat beside him. “I won’t bite you.”

“Just kiss me?” you said without thinking, waving your hands around immediately to dismiss your comment. “Wow, I’m sorry, that just came out of nowhere.”

“I mean, I won’t deny that. I would kiss you again. But I have enough pride to wait until after school hours. I’m not about to jeopardise our professionalism all because I can’t get you off my mind.”

Sliding your lunchbox around the table, you took the seat beside him and nodded gently after sitting down. “Same.”

“So I was on your mind, huh?” he teased and you groaned.

“First Soonyoung teases me after handing me a coffee, and then Seokmin passed me by in the corridor making kissing noises. Thankfully Jeonghan wasn’t as bad but still! Are we back in high school?!”

You both broke out laughing when you realised the irony of your current location. Joshua swivelled in his chair to face you, reaching out to brush the strand of hair that had escaped your ponytail back behind your ear. You ceased all movement, looking slowly over at the man. “They’ve been relentless all weekend. I know Jeonghan was only going to help you because he’s had it done to him, but I think he was a bit miffed I moved in first.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to be you either,” you admitted.

“Did I disappoint you? Was Jeonghan your aim?”

“No, I didn’t-- I mean, I wasn’t looking around and trying to take my pick.” Taking in a deep breath, you smiled at him. “I wasn’t disappointed at all.”

“I was,” he replied and began to grin charmingly. “That I had to end it there. Given how many people were watching on, I guess it was appropriate to but just know the next time I kiss you, we won’t have an audience.”

“The next time?” you repeated and Joshua hummed in answer. “When’s that going to happen?”

“Tonight? Dinner?” he proposed and you nodded, letting out a relieved breath. Joshua took your hand as he began to eat and you both conversed with ease over your lunch, sighing when the bell went off to signal the next period was about to begin. You watched the door with annoyance.

Your hand was still loosely held by Joshua and you went to remove it when the door opened, however, he tugged it under the table, resting your linked hands within your lap. Shooting him a look and then greeting the head of the department distractedly, you felt the small encouraging squeeze he gave you, a silent plea to keep the connection there.

And you managed to for the whole meeting, actively participating in the session, only taking a couple of nervous looks at Joshua during the beginning of it. You reluctantly let go when it was over, collecting your things to head off to teach the first-year students for their final period of the day. Just before you got up to leave, Joshua leaned into your ear.

“I’ll pick you up from your house at six, okay?”

He was gone then and you tried not to openly swoon over how well he had you hooked on him now.

The daze from the romance you were under cleared a month later, Joshua looking a little nervous to meet with you for lunch today. You wondered why, given you had shared lunch together every day since that Monday.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah… actually no. I’ve not been entirely honest with this situation.” Your heart dropped and Joshua clued onto your thinking of the worst and he shook his head. “Oh no, not like that. It’s just, my placement here is up in two days.”

“You’ve got another six months of university, right?”

“Yeah, and I’m being sent to another school for my final placement so I won’t be coming to this school as the others will be in the spring.”

“How far away?”

“Two hours,” he replied and you nodded numbly. Whilst you weren’t heavily into your relationship with him, you were finding yourself more involved in romantic notions towards him. He was caring, playful, sensitive and incredibly good at kissing thus far. You could easily see yourself falling for him within a few months time.

It was still too early to cling on, however, and you sighed. “So when do you leave?”

“Sunday.”

“We can spend time together until then,” you announced and Joshua gauged your reaction.

“You sure? I feel like I led you on but I wasn’t exactly expecting to date whilst I was here.”

“It’s been fun and you’ve helped me open up from being so enclosed in my world. I’m going to miss this, but I know it’s too early for commitment over long distance. Just, if you ever head back this way…”

Joshua nodded, reaching out for your hand and rubbing it gently. “It’s not like we can’t keep in contact. I won’t disappear.”

And he didn’t.

Initially, you did keep in regular contact. However, with preparation for exams and Joshua’s own busy schedule, you became merely social media friends. You would see his sporadic posts and reminisce over that early autumn romance you had together and then moved on with your day after liking the post. A year passed and you even went along to the final carnival of the summer. Instead of Joshua, Ela joined you this time around, the laughter doubled and you hoped it would be her getting that special kiss from Seokmin when the night ended.

You were ready for the new school year to begin.

Arriving early for the first meeting for staff members, you frowned when you found a water bottle on the table already. You felt it and was surprised to feel how cold the water was, sitting down beside it and frowning.

Who else would get here before you?

“Oh sorry I was-”

You looked up then into a set of eyes you hadn’t seen in person in so long. Blinking slowly, you realised he was still standing there and not disappearing with your efforts. Rounding the table, without taking his eyes off of you, Joshua sat down in the chair beside yours and let out a small chuckle. “Some habits never change, huh?”

“You beating me to this room every time is a feat, you know.”

“One I take pride in.”

“What of your professionalism?”

“I have to protect it with all my might. This is my first job fresh out of school, after all.”

You nodded as your smile continued to spread. “It’s a good school to work for.”

“I know, it has a lot of opportunities for me.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

You took in a sudden breath when you felt his warm hand reach under the table for yours. Looking in Joshua’s direction, he bashfully grinned. “Is it acceptable for me to still take this hand? You haven’t given it to anyone else, right?”

“On the first day back at work, you sure are willing to risk things.”

Joshua leaned in closer, noting the way you gripped at his hand. “Don’t worry I’ll leave the kissing until after school hours.”

_________________

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[fortheloveoffanfic]

This Christmas pt4

John Wick x Reader 

Masterlist    This Christmas Masterlist. 

Y/n had gone to bed the previous night with her time with John playing on a loop in her mind. Regardless of her efforts to drop the issue, she just couldn't help but wonder what had made him pull away. Or if he was ever going to kiss her at all. The debate had rattled around her mind until she succumbed to sleep, only for him to be the first person on her mind when she awoke the next morning. 

It was just past eight am and Y/n was getting ready to meet John at his room, and then Robert in the lobby so they could all head to an investor's brunch when three short taps on her door had her making short work of finishing up with her shoes so she could get to the door. "John?" She stuttered, shocked that he'd made his way to her door much earlier than they planned to meet. 

"Hey, are you ready yet?" He began, clearly not in the mood to spare a minute or two for pleasantries.

Knitting her brows, Y/n looked down at herself before glancing at John again, “Do I look ready?”

She watched as his eyes roamed her form, trying not to stare altogether, “Is this a trick question?” Y/n had suspected he was done and was about to confirm that she was not ready, when John hastily continued, “Cause you look fine. Well, not just fine. You look great actually,” he gestured to her outfit, “I mean,” clearing his throat, John took a short breath and Y/n smirked at how uncharacteristically flustered he was, “You look…..nice, like that I mean.”

Heat rushed to Y/n’s cheeks and he bent her head, too giddy by his compliment to respond immediately, though, she eventually pulled herself together enough to let him know that she was almost done with her hair. He hadn't out rightly said so, but as Y/n finished up, occasionally peeking at John pacing the sitting room, she quickly realized that he was in a hurry and tried to make short work of pinning her soft waves up into a stylish half-updo. 

"Ready," caught off guard, John, who seemed deep in thought, jumped slightly and Y/n had to suppress the urge to giggle as she slipped past the open door, collecting her clutch.

Turning to face her, John stood, stunned speechless for a moment as he stared; in awe of how one simple hairdo seemed to elevate her entire look; highlighting her makeup and boasting the parts of her shoulders that her dress had left exposed. "You….I…."

"Thank you," Y/n chuckled, knowing that speechlessness was possibly the highest praise she could get from John, unlike most times, he wasn't being quiet because he wanted to be, but because he simply didn't think any words would suffice.

Ducking his head bashfully, he grinned surprising her, and Y/n blushed at the realization that she was the one that had roused it from him. "You're welcome."

"Ready to go? I'll just text Rob and-"

"Actually," cutting her off, John cleared his throat, "I actually came to give you something," quickly, he reached into his breast pocket, producing an envelope held closed with red ribbon, "Merry Christmas, Y/n." He presented it awkwardly and had already seemed flustered when he stepped closer to hand it over, "I hope it's not too late," John noted softly as she relieved him of it. 

"Well it is only Christmas Eve, so technically you're-" gasping, Y/n's went wide as she eventually pulled a lone plane ticket out of the paper pocket, "Does this mean……?"

"Yeah," he wasn't smiling, but John's rugged features seemed softer somehow; fonder. "Yeah," he clarified, "You should be with your family Y/n, not here with me. It was wrong of me to-"

Flinging herself to his chest, Y/n captured John in a hug, tossing her arms around his neck and standing on the very tips of her toes so she could bury her face in his neck. His cologne overwhelmed her senses, or maybe it was just the sheer emotion brought on by his touching gift, and she teared up, shutting her eyes tightly to keep the moisture from falling. "Thank you," she breathed, squeezing him tighter when John finally submitted to reciprocating. 

"It was my pleasure," he spoke softly as Y/n reluctantly loosened her embrace though not letting go as she leaned back to meet his eyes. "We should get going though, you're flight leaves soon," he seemed uncomfortable with their proximity, even if he'd kept holding her at the waist.

With quivering, anxious lips, she blurted out; "Come with me." It wasn't a question, instead, more of a suggestion or and offer. If he came, then everything that Y/n thought that she felt between them would be proven real. If he came then they had a chance. 

"I….." John gazed at her, his expression one Y/n had never seen him wear. So indecipherable that she wasn't sure what to expect next, though, when he lifted one of his hands to let his thumb brush the apple of her cheek, his stocky fingers tangled in her hair. "Y/n….." Her name on his lips was breathy and laced with longing and John even leaned down, getting close enough so she could almost taste the coffee lingering on his breath. Arching into him, she was prepared to take an unspoken response as a 'yes' when his expression turned pained and he swallowed thickly, shaking his head, "I can't," he let her go, stepping back as she dropped her hands, "But I can drive with you to the airport."

"Why not?" Clenching her jaw, she bit back tears. She could understand the first time, when they were on the balcony; in the near darkness with shadows dancing on their faces it was easy to misread signals. But that morning, that very bright Christmas Eve morning, it was easy to see that he wanted to kiss her, but he was holding himself back, for a reason she couldn't fathom. 

"Because," looking around the room, John sighed heavily, "I have to work and this morning is important and-"

Shaking her head, Y/n scoffed a dry chuckle, "I can't believe it; I thought you'd changed. But you're always gonna be this person."

"What kind of person?" John's head snapped towards her direction, his brows knitted in irritated confusion. 

"The kind of person that's so ice cold he can't bear to let anyone in. And this," she held up the ticket, "This is just because you're feeling guilty. And I'm not gonna accept it just so you can clear your conscience," hastily Y/n shoved thrust the ticket to his chest, “If you still want me to go, I can find my own way there.”

Gently grasping her wrist, John guided her hand away from his chest, “This isn’t me feeling guilty,” he gritted, “I’m trying to do something nice for you, because……” Desperately, Y/n clung to John’s unspoken words, “Because…..just take it Y/n, it’s a gift. And I mean it when I say that I’m not doing this so I can feel better about myself, I’m doing it because….I…..want you to be happy, and being here doesn’t make you happy.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped and while they weren’t exactly the words she wanted to hear, coming from John, they meant so much. They meant that he, even if he wasn’t going to admit it, was putting what she wanted above what he needed. But more so, it meant that he was choosing to be lonely again, because heaven knows he wasn’t going to spend Christmas with Robert, just so she could be with her family. “Thank you,” cocking a half smile, her eyes softened, only to light up a moment later, “I almost forgot, I got you something. I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but since I’m leaving-”

“Oh,” suddenly unsure of how to behave, John grew red in face and started stuttering, “You didn’t have to-”

Collecting a small gift bag from behind her tote, set on a small, glass dining table. It was glittery with colorful trees peppered about it, with white and green paper sticking out from the top and when Y/n offered it to John, she could tell that the sentiment alone had touched him. “It’s not anything as fancy as a plane ticket, but I just thought you could use…..a little bit of color. Merry Christmas John,” standing on her tiptoes, she handed over the bag, simultaneously pecking him on the cheek, near his lips.

Even after she’d moved away, John remained rooted to the center of the floor, holding the gift bag as if he wasn’t sure what he should do with it. “Thanks,” he managed, still dazed, “You really didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know,” shrugging, Y/n stopped rearranging the things she left laid out on the table, something she’d been doing to keep her hands busy, “But I wanted to. Besides, my mom always said everyone should get at least one thing from someone that cares about them on Christmas. You sure you don’t want to come with me? They won’t mind.”

“No,’ he brushed her off, “I’ve got a lot of work to do. But I hope you have a good time with your family.”

Nodding, Y/n smiled faintly, “I will.” As he moved to step around her, intent on leaving her room to let her pack, their shoulders brushed accidentally and Y/n’s eyes locked with John’s. The minute seemed to stretch on forever, but that time, knowing that nothing would come from it, she was the one to turn away, disappearing into the small bedroom, leaving John to let himself out.

Without Y/n, the ride back to the hotel after brunch felt void of warmth. Of course, Robert had tried to strike up conversation once or twice, but John wasn’t in the mood; his head was far away, thinking of the morning with Y/n, their almost kiss, their spat, the way she looked at him before walking out of the room. The way she pecked him on his cheek, so close to his lips that all it would have taken was the slightest shift for his mouth to be on hers. And yet, he hadn’t taken the chance. 

That didn’t mean he hadn’t wanted to though, John had been thinking of what it would be like to kiss Y/n since they were standing on the balcony the night before, and perhaps even longer. He’d wondered if she would reciprocate; part of him clung to the belief that she would, but alas, he was terrible at reading the signals and terribly afraid that kissing Y/n would mean driving away the only person that really cared about him. She cared, she’d almost spelt it out too.

“This is new,” Robert noted beside him, reaching across to flick the end of his navy blue and forest green plaid scarf, the fringed ends shifting as he did, “Nice colors.”

Clearing his throat, John gathered some of the length in his palm, feeling the softness between his rough fingers, a perfect contrast and soothingly warm. It was the gift Y/n had gotten him, the one he’d unpacked the minute he shut his suite door behind himself. The one that had come with a little card in the bag that read ‘for your first real Christmas. Maybe next year we’ll try a sweater.’ The scarf had been a pleasant surprise and John knew that it was definitely because she’d noticed that black dominated his wardrobe, “I just thought you could use…..a little bit of color” 

“Thanks,” he nodded, his low tone gruff, “It was a gift.”

“From Y/n,” Robert probed curiously, causing John to roll his eyes. 

Nonetheless, he confirmed, “From Y/n.” Then catching Robert’s knowing look directed to out the window, coupled with his mischievous smirk, John sighed heavily, “What?”

Shaking his shoulders, Robert  bent his head, pretending to fiddle with his phone, “Nothing,” the other man hummed quietly. “It’s just…….she’s amazing, you know?” And as he began, John rolled his eyes in a bid to quell his jealousy. “She sees the good in people, and she sees the good in you.”

Suddenly defensive, John interrupted, not willing to let Robert add to his inner turmoil, “”Look, I don’t know why you’re telling me this but-”

“I’m telling you this because she won’t. I’m telling you this cause Y/n is my friend and I care about her and she cares about you and all you ever seem to do is upset her. I’m telling you this because she’s a good woman, and I know we’re not friends or whatever, but I’d hate to see you two miss out on something great because you’re too stupid to fess up to your feelings. I see the way you look at her.”

Huffing, John leaned back into the warmed seat of the back sedan, “Yeah? Lemme guess, cause you look at her the same way?”

“No,” Robert chuckled wistfully, “Well, I mean, I used to, but she doesn’t want me like that, and that’s okay, we’re better off as friends,” he shrugged indifferently, “But I see the way you look at her, and I know what that means because it's the same way she looks at you.” 

Finally coming to terms with the confirmation that she did, by some miracle, feel the same, John slumped his shoulders. What came next was perhaps more peculiar that him admitting his feelings, and even Robert seemed surprised by his admission, spoken so softly that he might have said it more to himself than anyone else, “I think I blew it. And now she’s gone.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” shaking his head, Robert exhaled quietly, “She’s not gone. She’s in Connecticut, and for what it’s worth, when I spoke to her after her flight landed, she was pretty bummed that you wouldn’t go with her; cause she doesn’t want you to be alone tomorrow.” 

Still rubbing the soft fabric between his fingers, John sank into thought after merely a mumbled response; maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late after all. 

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[girlsbtrs]

Weird People Have Cool Role Models

Article by Ella Jarrard. Graphic by Allison Thompson.

As a highly unphotogenic person, I can honestly say that this is the first time I wish I could input a photo into my writing. I say this because I’d like all of you wonderful readers to truly grasp the picture I am about to paint for you. 

I'll start this way. I was not a cool kid. I was four foot three til I was fourteen. Because of that, I rode with and carried a booster seat for the car until fourteen as well. I was a little shy, terminally unathletic, and, as a wonderful cherry on top- pretended I was a horse till 8th grade. Jumping over bus benches, hedges, and cantering (instead of running) was my preferred method of transportation- everywhere. I’d like to add that I in no way am ashamed of any of this- I miss my booster, I still get carsick without it, and I feel running consistently proves less effective than a good, brisk canter. 

While this un-coolness seemed to be part of my blood, it wasn’t. My parents are cool- and I mean genuinely cool. My dad was a punk in the seventies and eighties, worked at the Minnesotan equivalent of CBGBs, seeing the starter shows of punk bands we now see on polyester shirts at department stores. He came from a bloodline of cool too- his Irish Catholic parents dabbled in being super-fans of the B52s, Janis Joplin, and early Gipsy Kings- his siblings followed as well. My mom’s first album was an ELO record, which served as a poppy base for a life filled with conflicting tastes- Led Zeppelin, New Order, Stevie Wonder. On the nights I came in early from pretending I had just won the Kentucky Derby, my parents would show me  a plethora of grainy concert videos of forgotten bands from the 80s, or sit me down at dinner for a lecture on how Ice Cube defined the diss track. 

It was on one of these nights that I found my first cool rolemodel. Sweaty from explaining to my dachshund how what she was doing was not, in fact, a proper horse trot, I came inside to find a movie playing- it was called The Punk Singer. There on the screen was Kathleen Hanna, frontwoman of Bikini Kill and Le Tigre, and a leading voice of the Riot Grrrl movement of the 90s. I was instantly enthralled. 

It shows Hanna explaining her vision, her immense adoration for Sonic Youth’s Kim Gordon, her love of clothespin jewelry, and her dauntless reactions to male violence while onstage. Although Hanna has that kind of effortless, messy beauty one tries to repeatedly replicate, her beauty wasn’t what struck me so deeply- it was her unwillingness to succumb to unrelenting disrespect and violent threats. She spoke of dodging beer cans thrown by pseudo punks who were angry about women infiltrating the Seattle scene, and, expectedly, of how those men proved to be the least punk punk fans ever made. 

In The Punk Singer, her natural intelligence oozes out of her- it seems almost blasphemous to think that anyone- whether it be the press, fellow musicians, pseudo punk fans- could doubt or disrespect her, but they did, and constantly. The Riot Grrrl movement and Bikini Kill were both horribly disrespected by publications. They consistently implied Bikini Kill and other Riot Grrrl bands were young, untalented women parading around in their underwear instead of being prolific musicians who tried to make room for women in the physical and metaphorical punk mosh pit. 

My starter level reverence for Kathleen Hanna grew astronomically within the hour and twenty two minute documentary. As I sat agape my thoughts of how to distress every Gap t-shirt in my closet in time for 7th grade tomorrow swirled rapidly. Soon the sparkly slogans like “Sassy and Classy” disappeared, replaced by a blunt tip sharpie which wrote “Anarchy in the U.K”. Gone was Monte Carlo from my Netflix favorites, it was now “Who Killed Nancy?”

There comes a time in many teenagers' lives where the wardrobe turns darker, the eyeliner gets thicker and deeper into the waterline, and the presence of self ripped black tights becomes constant. Despite it being possibly embarrassing, or horribly shameful to some parents, this time is so vitally important, especially to women. I say this backed solely by my own profound experience with a badass female role model. It was vital to me. 

Having an authentic, self-founded role model who finds us naturally, through pathways of shared interest- leads to further activation of our goals, aspirations and arguably, personal fulfillment. The term “self founded” is particularly vital in this role model concept. The narrowcasting of hyper feminine, largely stereotypical TV shows, movies and books where the main character is an overused archetype meant to define the female psyche, is damaging and polarizing to young women and gender diverse people everywhere. When one doesn’t fit into this stereotype, the stereotype often being thin, white, and secretly immensely privileged, one’s sense of self instantly becomes uncertain. Being prescribed a role model crafted by (most likely) all white men sitting in a writers room at Disney channel isn't what young women and gender diverse people need- they need to find someone who identifies with them deeply, who shows what they could become, someone who fulfills our future ambition just by being their cool, untamed selves. 

Finding Kathleen Hanna was vital to me and my future. I no longer felt shy, no longer was embarrassed by my kind of dorky ‘horse’ habit, and felt much more inclined to express myself with music, art, and interests that weren’t widely shared among my peers. I loved hearing a young woman like Hanna be loud, and instantly wanted to start announcing myself like Bikini Kill did in the beginning of their songs.  I could combine interests like Hanna did with her passion in third wave feminism and her love with punk, and be comfortable knowing all of my interests were valid and correctly placed- horseback riding at stuffy equestrian centers was now accompanied by a perpetual soundtrack of the Sex Pistols, The Clash (much to my dad’s delight) and The Damned. 

Looking back on my childhood now is like watching slides of different phases pass quickly, old interests vanished and were replaced by my big new thing. I feel proud of that, and as much as I am deeply embarrassed of some parts- like when I made my friends call me Ellore instead of Ella during my punk stage- a time they never have let me forget- I feel like each phase and role model is still deeply embedded in my soul. Kathleen Hanna made me who I am- I’d be nowhere as comfortable with myself and with my strong, unrelenting opinions without her and her strength in the RiotGrrrl movement. I never saw myself within the role models prescribed to me as a young girl, and it made me feel so deeply confused as to whether I was doing the whole preteen girl thing right. 

I saw myself in Kathleen Hanna. I saw in her what I wanted to be, I saw in her what I wanted to say and fight for, and through that- I began to see myself.

[shardminds]

silver for monsters (1/?)

pairing: emma swan/killian jones rated: e for extra (in later chapters) wc: almost 5k ish

No matter the truth, he carries the weight of her corpse like a shadow. 

also available on ao3! ♠

it's my cssns submission!

firstly, a thank you to the wonderful mods for organising and facilitating the event! where would we be without you? and also the cssns discord — you lovely humans are just fantastic.

secondly, i owe my wonderful partner-in-crime, beta and artist (this fic has art, people! coming soon!) my life. she deserves more than i could ever give her. love you, salem! give killy a cuddle from me!

now, a note about the fic. this is a witcher au, using inspiration from the witcher games, books and TV show. i have pulled inspiration from all 3. just a fair warning, considering the nature of the witcher universe, there will be gratuitous violence in some scenes. i will be adding characters and tags as they appear in the work to abstain from spoilers but i will let you know in advance that there is no major character death.

happy reading!

“Fuck!”

The cockatrice rears up, flapping its enormous wings and lunging straight for him, talons poised for attack. At full height, it’s almost three times his size—an intimidating sight, but not an unfamiliar one. Killian dodges at the last second, rolling beneath the dirt-encrusted claws and narrowly avoiding the beak that follows to impale him. If he hadn’t thrown out his palm to cast Quen in time, he’d have been thrown across the sewer, probably landing in one of the many questionable pools littering the place. The beast rights itself, elongating its sinuous throat to prepare for its next attack but Killian is faster, springing to action in its short reprieve. His blade strikes true, the sharpened silver slicing from neck to navel through leathery flesh. A choked shriek pierces the cavernous echo around them but it does nothing to hinder his attack. Killian twists his weapon deeper, severing the thick sinew in its throat with a precision only gained from decades of practice.

The draconid oil he’d prepared had done well to weaken the monster, each touch of his sword against tough hide was met with a harrowing screech, each one emanating from its maw with a sickening gurgle as Killian’s coated sword seared its innards. Good. At least the ergot seeds used in its creation hadn’t gone to waste. The common weeds don’t grow this far east of Misthaven.

One final twist is all it takes, tearing out the creature’s windpipe in all its bloody glory, falling to the filth below, darkening the murk beneath its claws. It shudders, struggling for breath, but continues to advance. The guttural gurgle of its demise falling hollow in the dank expanse. Power simmers in Killian’s fingertips as he throws out his palm to cast Aard, shunting the beast backwards and knocking it off balance.

With a heavy thud, the cockatrice falls—

Right into a puddle of shit.

“Oh, that’s bloody lovely.” He grits out, wiping the sludge from where it splattered on his trousers. He’d been planning to start the ride back west, to the familiar place he was reluctant to call anything but that. He’d been planning to take rest between contracts, among the hamlets of Velen, stopping only to deliver the head of the beast and collect his bounty before taking to the path at full speed.

Now he’d have to fork out for an inn.

And a stable.

And a drink.

Bloody lovely, indeed.

Slipping the dagger from his boot to take his trophy—evidence of a job well done—Killian kneels next to the beast’s shredded neck and begins to cut. It takes a couple of minutes, the toughened hide of the beast proving more difficult than expected, but Killian manages to decapitate the thing without too much protest. Despite being smothered in excrement, both human and ornithosaur in origin, Killian wraps up the head in a linen sheet he’d acquired from the last inn he’d visited, slinging the thing over his shoulder to attach to Smee’s saddlebag for the ride into town. It’s hefty, already seeping dark ichor through the fabric, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Nothing he hasn’t handled a thousand times before.

Shit-stained or not, there’s little people love more than dead monsters.

In his periphery, there’s a shimmer of something long and thin and sharp beneath the ooze of the dead heap.

Feathers. Golden Feathers.

They’d sell for a fair price at any market but, with a wry smile, someone else comes to Killian’s mind. He plucks the protruding tail feathers with a delicate hand and slides them in his scabbard for later. Robin will be pleased.

Smee lingers by the sewer’s decaying entrance, chomping on the greenery of a shallow blackberry thicket without care. Seeing him brings ease to Killian’s bones. The walk to Camelot would be a lot more arduous without him. The dimming sunlight brings out the russet in his hide and he snorts as if to acknowledge the presence of his master. Smee has seen him through so much, his steed for over a decade now, and even as a colt he had stayed true to his commands. He rears his head, giving a soft huff in greeting as Killian reaches out to rub his muscular neck.

“Hello to you too, lad.” He soothes, securing the trophy with thick leather straps to Smee’s saddlebags. It thuds against his hind leg as he shifts to accommodate for the extra weight but Killian talks him through it. “You can rest tonight. We deserve it.”

Smee, ever the conversationalist, responds with a snort. Something Killian would translate as about damn time.

The hunt for the cockatrice had taken longer than he'd anticipated, the cursed beast leading them astray for days before finally returning to roost in the sewers of all places. The sorcerer in these parts—Merlin, he’d said his name was—had informed him it would. They’d sent hunters, knights, even mages to deal with their pest, but none had returned; either fleeing from the beast or succumbing to it.

With the head of the monster firmly attached, Killian steps up into the stirrup and mounts his steed, heels tapping against his belly to spur him forward, back towards the city. With a reluctant snort and a slow start, Smee carries both the Witcher and his cargo to their destination.

It’s long past nightfall by the time they reach the oaken gates and marble paved roads leading to Camelot. It’s a damn sight better than the gravel paths back in Misthaven. The approach to the city is announced with sconces attached to grand flags bearing the sigil of the king, inlaid with gold detailing. A gaudy display of wealth if ever there was one.

Up ahead, before the city entrance, Killian can just about make out the silhouette of a man in robes of purple and gold. Power radiates off him and it trembles in the wolf head pendant resting atop Killian’s chest, even from over 100 yards away. Smee trots closer, almost lazy in his approach. He doesn’t halt until they’re stood before the man who greets them warmly, with a kind face and a gentle smile. Merlin, the sorcerer.

Killian doesn’t trust it.

“I see you’ve dealt with the beast, my friend.” Merlin starts.

“I see you don’t intend to let me in.”

The sorcerer nods at the assumption, as if reluctant to do so and holds out the pouch of coin. Killian lets it thud into his palm. It weighs about right so he doesn’t bother to question it before tucking the payment into Smee’s saddlebag. It’s more than any common contract would afford him.

“The King has requested—”

“The King can go fuck himself.” With a flick of his knife, Killian cuts free his cargo, letting the head of the beast slip to the floor. It cracks on impact, spilling the crimson gore inside, smelling only of death and decay. Iron and rot. Merlin doesn’t recoil, instead choosing to step around and inspect the shattered mass. Mages like him, in positions of power beside volatile Kings, tend to be more accustomed to such displays.

If the stories of King Arthur’s conquests are true, it’s no surprise.

“With your reputation, Witcher,” He starts, prodding the bloodied heap with his foot. It lols to the side, mottled beak clacking against the path. “Do you really think Arthur would take such a risk?”

Killian could not give less of a shit about the opinion of Kings. Especially not ones of lands that dictated their monarchy based on whoever could yank a sword from the sodden shit coated earth. If that were the universal basis for royalty, he’d be King three times over. Merlin waves his hand over the mess of brains and bone, vanishing the mound into nothing and leaving only pristine stone behind. Smee stiffens, sensing the otherness of the man so close to his rear.

With unnatural grace, Merlin steps back to his place between them and the gate, unwavering in his resolution.

“Rumours of the Golden Bride have spread further than you think.”

Of course. Ravens travel faster than horses these days. What happened back in Kovir—

People tend to trust Kings over Mutants, no matter the truth. Killian grunts, the only sign of the tension in his bones in the way he grips the worn leather reins, knuckles taught and surely white beneath his gloves.

“Next time,” He grunts, not flinching at the mention of his past. “Pay upfront. Spare me the journey back.”

Merlin opens his mouth to respond but it’s too late. With probably more force than necessary, Killian kicks Smee into action, turning him to ride away from the white brick barrier that separates him from a good night's sleep before the sorcerer can protest. His work here is done. His contract ended. If they won’t let him into the city, he has no reason to stay. Bath and a bed be damned.

There’s nothing for him here.

They ride onwards.

Killian slows his steed to a gentle trot as soon as they cross the border into Temeria, a silent apology in the calm stroke of his palm behind Smee’s ears.

Moonlight bathes the vast fields of wheat in an ethereal glow. Nekkers peer through the tall sheaves to watch him pass, following him as far as they dare. His medallion thrums with their proximity, the pendant rattling against his mail. If it were any other day, he’d have torn through the harvest, taking down the bastards with broad swoops of his blade. Not today, though. The cockatrice had drained more from him than he initially thought. There’d been no time to brew potions to remedy his weariness, and his supply of dwarven spirit was alarmingly low. The next apothecary along the path would take a beating from his coin purse, that much is certain.

Midnight comes and goes before the path widens into the well trodden roads of more populated areas and more hours pass before they even stumble across an inn shrouded in forest. It’s decrepit and musky, but an inn all the same. It’ll have to do. Killian can tell by the bray of his travelling companion that he won’t last until the next one. There’s water and hay in the mossy overhang out front, its ancient wood almost rotted through but still secure enough to attach Smee’s reins to the post. An old silver mare secured closest to the inn takes one sniff at Killian and sneezes.

“That bad?”

Smee nudges him in response. That bad.

The inside of the inn is as ancient and forgotten as the exterior; thick stone walls, cobwebbed beams, a bar made of mottled oak with ring stains of old ale covering its surface. Upon Killian’s entry, the landlord nods, his pallid skin as thin as paper. The sickness he holds will kill him, it lingers in the shadows beneath his eyes and the pale flesh of his gums as he smiles, with too much joviality.

“Room for the night, is it?”

He will not see the summer.

Killian drops fifteen crowns on the bar, watching the old man’s eyes widen at their shine. “Along with a bath and a bottle of your strongest.”

“Right away, my friend!” He shuffles along, reaching for a slender greying glass bottle that he places on the bar top, before disappearing altogether. The other bar patrons stay quiet, lulled to the edge of listless sleep by the fire crackling in the hearth and the ale in their bellies—gwent games unfinished, tankards half full. Not wanting to follow their lead in sleeping on the hard benches, Killian waits at the bar. He takes a swig, letting the liquid coat his throat in its familiar fire. There are better ways to cope. There are better ways to fend off the dark that threatens to swallow him whole but nothing works quite as well as the burn alcohol leaves behind. Well, usually that’s the case.

Minutes pass and his thoughts, however reluctantly, stray back to Merlin’s earlier words.

The Golden Bride.

Killian had killed her. Killed her, raped her, tortured her, ate her liver, stole the unborn child from her stomach as a payment to the eternally damned gods of old, used her blood for his mutations—the stories change depending on where you are. Nilfgaardians prefer the gory stuff whereas, up in Kovir, they favour the lighter tales. She was their Queen, after all.

The one he couldn’t save.

Each burning gulp helps less and less.

When the dying barkeep waves him over, brandishing a rusted key and an armful of tattered blankets, the burn has gone and only Killian’s thoughts remain.

No matter the truth, he carries the weight of her corpse like a shadow.

The room is barely bigger than a broom closet and the old man has the courtesy to look ashamed of his meagre offerings. It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, a bed is a bed. Along the way, Killian has learnt not to make attachments to the materialistic.

In the centre of the narrow room, manoeuvred between the end of the dusty four-poster bed and the fireplace, stands a solid wooden bath. The water, lukewarm to the touch and stagnant, comes to life with a flick of his palm and a whisper of “Igni”. Killian doesn’t even bother to be neat, letting his weapons, armour, potions, and coin fall to what little floor space there is available before letting himself sink naked into the warmth. The agitated boil helps to shift the stubborn muck customary of weeks on the path.

How long had it been since his last? A few days, maybe? A week? He’d taken a brief dip in the river just outside Camelot before embarking on his quest— had it really been that long? No wonder the mare had turned her nose up. No wonder Merlin had regarded him with such polite distance.

He’d been wandering around smelling like a Necrophage’s anal gland and no one had bothered to tell him. Not that anyone could tell him. That’s the thing with always being on the path—the only things to talk to are your horse or your hunt.

Monsters aren’t always the best conversationalists.

The waters lap away the aches set deep in his bones, settling each worn muscle with its tender embrace. It’s a luxury he can nary afford, but it’s worth it when he can. When he exits, smelling of old soap and lavender, there is only black silt left behind. A dark mirror on the liquid’s surface. He won’t be able to use it again. He takes his underclothes to the small basin by the bedside to soak instead, too tired to even consider spending any more time away from the clutches of sleep.

For the first time in a long time, he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow. The exhaustion of the weeks passed weighing his bones like lead, as if they’d sink straight through the mattress and into the nether below. He wishes they would.

“Killian.”

He jerks awake—no, not awake. Further into the embrace of a dream. Oppressive darkness and silence surround him, his keenest senses rendered useless in their wake. Beneath him, a plush leather armchair. It’s painfully familiar. Precious, somewhat. Worn and comfortable and moulded to him as if he’d spent a century sat only here. This dreamscape. This void.

Oneiromancy. Perfect.

“Killian.”

A woman’s voice— her voice.

“Emma.”

“And I thought you’d forgotten about me.” She smiles, suddenly appearing in his lap, hips straddling his thighs as if it hadn’t been almost five years since they’d last parted. Five long, arduous years.

“Impossible, love. You’re not so easy to forget.” Killian can feel the steady beat of her heart as his hands take her waist. Soft, so soft.

And centuries old.

“You never thought to stop by on your travels then?”

“The path is—”

“Don’t lecture me. I know,” Pouting, she brings her arms around Killian’s neck. The thin swath of lace she’s wearing does nothing to hide her figure but its intricacies marr the details he wants very much to focus on; the blush of her breasts, the swell of her arse, what lies between those slender legs. Each time he tries to take her in, see past the veil of fabric, it shifts, obscuring his gaze once more. Fucking magic. “But I have missed you terribly.”

“Emma Swan, legendary sorceress and advisor to the throne of Misthaven, missing but a lowly Witcher?” The pale expanse of her neck calls for his kiss, so close and yet so far. “People will talk.”

With a violet flash, Emma winks. “Noise complaints, hopefully.”

His eyes slip shut, trying to maintain what little composure he has left. As disconcerting as dream magic is, he doesn’t want the spell to end. The feel of her so close is maddening. Waking to an empty bed will be torture.

Words he can’t possibly say nor mean jump to his throat, aching to be whispered against her mouth, passed to her tongue by his own as they had longed to so many times in the past. They burn.

“Come see me.”

“Emma—”

“I need you. I can’t tell you why—not here—but I need you.” There’s a silent plea hidden in her words, behind the typical bravado she always favours. He almost doesn’t catch it. She adjusts herself slightly, sitting back on his knees and letting her hands reverently trace the scars across his shoulders and chest. Ones she’s seen before and ones she hasn’t, long healed but still raw to her touch. It’s been too long. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and it takes every modicum of restraint he has not to kiss her there and then. “Come to King David’s court in Misthaven. There’s a tourney one week from now.”

“I’m sensing I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice. It’s in your best interests to make the right one.”

Killian sighs, letting his palms slide from her middle to her thighs, taking in the phantom warmth he’s missed so greatly. Emma Swan is an enigma. She’s centuries of power wrapped in mystery and untold sorrows and it lingers beneath her skin. She’s the first kiss of morning sun, the dark chill of winter, the wild lilacs that grow along the dirt roads of Misthaven. She’s true love’s first kiss and the denial of destiny. She’s nothing and everything, the beginning and the end.

And, occasionally, his.

“One week?” He muses, hyper focused on the way her nails feel against his skin, as if she were there, as if it were real. Her eyes, green as woodland moss, captivate him in the way they always used to, but they’re not the same. A mere mimicry. Beneath his fingers, the dream begins to fall away.

There’s no depth, just a glimmer of magic below the surface.

Everything’s hollow and when he finally presses his lips to her fading visage, all he tastes is ash, dirt and the absence of all things.

“One week.”

It echoes around the cramped room, a whisper in the darkness not yet reached by morning’s soft first touches. A reminder.

Killian almost missed it. Misthaven. It’s rolling hills and wildflower meadows, deep green forests free of ill fated fiends. Well, mostly free—wraiths and rotfiends are everywhere these days, especially after the war. If they weren’t, he’d be out of a job.

In the five days on the path, across the forgotten poppy-filled battlefields and open plains of Temeria, Killian didn’t encounter much trouble. The first two days were monotonous, non-stop riding through the day and night, brief pauses for food, water and rest.

The day after that saw a kikimora rear its ugly maw as Smee cantered past its roadside hovel, swiping out with its blade-like limbs in an attempt to take out the horse’s legs — it took three swipes of his blade to take it down, the starving queen letting out a defeated whine as glinting silver pierced through her armour and into her brain. Killian left a bomb in his wake, making sure none of her spawn would see the light of day.

Day four drove him closer to the ruins of Vizima, it’s grand stone walls now bleak and crumbled. Killian had been around when it fell, only a few years beneath his belt on the path as the Nilfgaardians withdrew their tyranny. They razed the city, with fire and blood, so that the North would remember what the clutches of Emperor Emhyr var Emreis. The self-proclaimed white flame dancing on the graves of his enemies sputtered and faded just like everyone else on this mortal coil. The flames had kept him warm one night, decades ago, as the fallen city smouldered.

Misthaven greets the horizon on day five. It’s unperturbed woodland gracing his path with an archway formed of two entwined enchanted oaks, their magic forms the base of the wards that surround the city and the sheer power of it is a familiar thrum of energy that has his medallion singing as Smee trots over the border. In the thick bramble bushes beside the sheltered road, fairies shield themselves from view, their sugar plum scent hangs on the air as heavy as horse shit. There’s something he hasn’t missed. After half a mile or so, the rattle of his medallion becomes barely noticeable, a gentle simmer rather than a raucous boil.

Instead of taking the northern road at Lake Nostos towards the bustling city and the castle of King David, they turn to the east, along a too familiar, although far less trodden, path.

Smee huffs at his choices, resisting the tug of his reins.

Killian rolls his eyes. “Don’t you start.”

The Rabbit Hole is, in Killian’s eyes, better than most. Being just outside the city, tucked up against the eastern entrance’s vine smothered portcullis, not many people stumble through its doors by accident. However, with its vast stone hearth, sturdy oak beams and a half decent cellar, the place could weather the harshest Skellige storm with nary but a draught. Ale, food, music and good company. It’s… nice, for lack of a better word.

And, despite the nature of his work, it’s somewhere Killian keeps coming back to. Regardless of the years between his visits.

Smee, ever the dramatic, saunters over to the water-filled trough cemented to the tavern's stable, eagerly eyeing up the hay-filled feedbag beside it. At least, he’ll get a chance to rest as Killian gets his own fill. Haphazardly, he knots Smee’s reins to the hitching post, leaving just enough slack for him to be able to reach his amenities and socialise with the unsaddled gelding tied up on the other side of the post.

Killian pulls his coin purse from his steed’s saddlebags, knowing full well he’ll spend it one way or another. The door swings open before he can even tap the shit off his boots.

“You took your time, Captain.” Will Scarlet, with his signature troublesome smirk, is upon him in an instant, arms thrown around Killian’s shoulders, squeezing tightly as his skinny arms allow. He’d never been one for heavy lifting, more interested in wielding a lyre than a sword, and it shows in the way he greets his old friend as if it hasn’t been almost five years since Killian left him in Toussaint in the bed of a baroness whose husband had not been best pleased to find him there. The stench of Mahakaman mead on the bard’s breath permeates the air. The half-decade has barely touched him.

It hasn’t touched Killian either but, then again, mutations will do that to a man.

“Is that what they’re calling me now?”

Will peels himself away, stumbling back into the oak door frame that knocks the air right out of him with an oof. His brow furrows ever so slightly and someone from the other side of the dimly lit pub chortles at his discomfort. Will throws an obscene gesture his way before coming to Killian’s side instead.

“Just roll with it mate, you wouldn’t like the alternative.”

Killian shrugs. Murderer, Mutant, Devil— “I have been called worse.”

The bard nods in agreement, letting Killian step over the threshold and into the dark innards of the inn. They both have. Back when they travelled together, there was nary a day that insults weren’t hurled their way. Killian never had the chance to apologise back then, and it doesn’t seem right to bring it up now.

Will looks… happy.

“Anyway,” He starts, falling back on his chipper tone and catching Killian off guard as he hops over the bar top with ease, grabbing a tankard on his way. “To what do I owe the pleasure?

“I’m not too sure of that myself.”

Will places the tankard before him, full of a sweet smelling dark ale. “No contract?”

Killian knocks back the mug in one, letting the slightly soured brew flavour his tongue. It’s better than the pig swill he’s settled for along the Path. Then again, Will always was one with good taste; always the finest inns, the grandest company, lining his pockets with the gold of diplomats and dukes alike. Despite all that, The Rabbit Hole suits him, dust and dirt be damned. He hum’s, considering how to answer, before settling for the simplest one. “No.”

“No valiant quest?”

Killian shrugs.

“Ah,” Eyeing him knowingly while taking a sip from his own cup with a smug smile, Will hums. They’ve known each other long enough now for him to be able to read between the lines. “A summons then.”

“Can’t I just stop by and visit an old friend?”

“Theoretically, yes. But that’s not in your nature is it, mate.” There’s a pause. Someone laughs from the other side of the room, lit only by a handful of candles to fend off the dark even in the daylight. Will doesn’t even blink, drumming out a rhythm on the countertop, wearing an ever present smile. “Especially knowing that there’s a certain sorceress within the city walls.”

Killian had no idea what he was here for, not really. One dream and he’d come running like a well trained dog, a pet. He can’t even feel shame about it. Emma could’ve asked him to pick daisies in the grand gardens of King David and he’d have come running, a prisoner to his emotions. His mutations should have rid him of them decades ago and yet—

He lets himself be seen, letting his posture slip to a slouch. The ride was harder on him than he’d anticipated and his limbs call for sleep, the ache of it weighing him down. Will is, above all else, his oldest friend. If he can trust anyone, it's him.

“What’s going on, Killian?”

Lilac and gooseberries, touched with cinnamon and the undeniable scar of power. It singes the air with its grace and sets Killian’s medallion ablaze with activity before he can even register the draught behind him hadn’t come from the door. Will looks up, eyes rapidly widening in a mix of familiarity and surprise, but Killian doesn’t have to. He knows. She must have sensed him when he passed the kingdom's wards, followed the sing of his own power to find him, greet him.

Killian turns and lets a smirk tug at his lips as silence hangs like a criminal, the whole inn rendered mute by her entrance. In awe. In fear.

Emma.

Time hasn’t dared touch her. It hasn’t in aeons. In the years Killian has known her, she has always looked this radiant. Hair curled loosely over her shoulders and a dress of lace laid over silk, bright and beautiful and absolutely incredible. An aura of light surrounds her, bringing illumination to the dim room. From her very core, she is beautiful.

Killian has missed her.

She smiles, knowingly.

"I haven't told him yet."

[capricornus-rex]

Stronger Than Blood (9 - End)

Chapter 9: A Fighting Chance | Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: Meeting another Force-sensitive was one thing, but having them related to one of the most formidable known duelers was a whole other story to tell. While being stranded in another planet after barely escaping the Haxion Brood, Cal crosses paths with someone who’s at a crossroads with their own identity and lineage.

A/N: I hope the Anon who requested enjoyed this fic ;w; and thank all of you for stopping by and giving this fic some love! <3 Y’all are awesome as always~!

Also tagging @ayamenimthiriel​

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Force-User! Reader, Force-Sensitive Reader, Sith-Related! Reader

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 | Previous: Part 8 | Masterlist

9 of 9

The two of stalked through the corridors under the red light that filled every corner.

Your boots skidded and squeaked against the metal floor when you hear the rhythmic hooves of the Stormtroopers approaching; both of you hugged the wall until the footsteps receded. Cal reared his head over the wall and beckoned you on.

“Why’d you come for me? I was good as dead anyway!”

“And deny you a fighting chance to do good? Never!”

You thanked the Force that he had his back turned to you and that the alarm light still colored the hallways, otherwise, you could and would not have a sappy excuse for your cheeks burning red.

“Cere!” Cal huffed through his commlink. “Do you read?”

“Loud and clear!”

“I found [y/n], we’re passing through the prison block now, but the castle is on high alert,”

“We’ll try to find a way around! Keep your lines open,”

Upon reaching the foyer of the prison block, where the control terminal stands, both of you were stopped in your tracks when the sight of Darth Vader greeted you.

“Oh gods…!” you gasped in sheer fright. “It’s him.”

Cal ignited his saber, preparing himself to face off this dark lord. Your thumb felt for a button, upon pressing it, electric current flowed to the ends of your techstaff. Both of you brandish your weapons at Lord Vader, who was not the least bit challenged.

“Courageous. But foolish.” He chided.

In his hand rested his silver hilt with black stripes at the sleeve. His gloved hand thumbed for the switch and then a blood-red beam emitted from his lightsaber. Without a second’s notice, he jumped and closed the impossible distance between the pair of you and himself—he was standing by the control podium at the ground level, but he got to the second tier within a single leap!

You and Cal dodge-rolled in opposite directions. By instinct, Cal swung his saber at the dark lord to which Vader easily deflected. While the Sith Lord was preoccupied with the boy, you attempted to get a swing at him with your staff—which he surprisingly halted at the last minute using the Force with his free hand. His fingers curled and tensed as he gradually closed it into a fist, slowly crushing the head of your staff with the Force, no amount of your might can pull it away from his hold.

“Had you been any smarter, you wouldn’t be in this situation,”

“Yeah, how perceptive of you,” you managed to let out that dry snark.

You finally got out of Darth Vader’s grasp, but the end of the staff barely held any more electric current, but it still served its purpose as a melee weapon. To Darth Vader, he didn’t feel outnumbered. Two children with weapons felt more like a task than an actual fight, he knows perfectly well that he could end these two right then and there. But he thought of toying them instead, seeing for himself just how far their skills could take them in this duel.

Cal drew Vader’s attention to him, trying to keep the red saber from finding you. When the dark lord read through this tactic, he struck Cal against the face with his pommel—disorienting him and causing him to drop his saber. He then Force-pushed the boy out of the fight, sending him flying down to the ground level, hitting his spine hard against the metal machine podium.

“CAL!!!!” you shrieked.

This may be a trick for Vader to provoke you into tapping the Dark Side, to succumb to your hate and anger, and use it all on him—just so he can prove a point.

“That anger in you,” he bellowed. “It’s seething. Yes, use it!”

You spotted Cal’s lightsaber behind Vader’s feet, you reached out—actually tapping into the Force itself, devoid of the wrath you’ve bottled up for so long and instead found the balance of it all. Darth Vader stood watch in a silent, emotionless curiosity and awe. The lightsaber zipped past his feet, ruffling the hem of his cape, until it found its way to your grip, while keeping your staff in the other. You ignited it as soon as your fingers caged the sleeve.

“If only you knew the power of the Dark Side, only then would you have been more powerful than you already are!”

“I’ll never be like Dooku…” you gasped, struggling to keep the one-handed grip firm around the hilt. “And I most certainly will never be like you!” you roared.

A few strikes against the dark lord, he deflected them all; he found your technique quite rough and flimsy, but with every blow, a newfound strength resided within you, within every hit—whether it was blocked or received—and it kept you on your toes as you confronted this lumbering man.

You timed the moment when you could use the Force. Mustering whatever strength you could from it, the energy swirled along your palms; at the perfect moment, you released that wave of Force energy towards Darth Vader, it was potent enough to break his footing and bring him down to the floor. Using it on a whim seems to have taken a toll on your body, since it had been dormant in your system and you barely had any practice in controlling it all this time.

While Darth Vader was down, you sprinted down the stairs towards the ground level. Cal was already coming to, you hurriedly helped him up.

“Can you stand?”

“Yeah…” he groaned, clutching his sore side.

“Come on,” you take him by the hand and return his saber to him.

The two of you make a run for it. As soon as you got through the door, Cal used the Force to seal the door and dash towards the corridor. Knowing that he can’t use the ventilation shaft path, with the castle on high alert and everything, the two of you went through the winding, labyrinthine network of intersections, twists, and turns.

A few good turns around corners and curbs, you find yourselves in a control room filled with Stormtroopers and a KX droid. They had you seven to two. Just when their odds were good, you and Cal evened it out to just two Stormtroopers. You bashed heads with your techstaff while Cal severed the KX droid in half as it fell to its knees.

Smoke wisped out of the cauterize wounds and seared cuts that his lightsaber made. The two of you approached the computer terminal.

“I’ll cover you,” Cal went behind you and faced the door, ignited saber in hand, anticipating for a swarm of enemies.

BD-1 assisted you in hacking the computer and you managed to reach Cere via the radio on the terminal.

“[y/n], is that you?”

“Yes, I’m with Cal in some kind of control room. I think we’re in the very center of the building.”

“Hang on, I found your signatures! There should be a turbolift in the center of that room. Get to the highest level, you should be in an outdoor clearing between the two spires. We’ll meet you there!”

“Gotcha!” the transmission ended and you beckoned Cal to the turbolift.

Cal jammed the door controls as the two of you stood on the platform of the lift. The Stormtroopers banged on the door with the pommels of their blasters as you ascended to your meet-up point. The elevator ride allowed the two of you to finally catch your breaths. Your glances met with one another, you playfully tussled Cal’s hair—causing his sunset-orange locks droop by the hairline—both of you exchanged huffing, naïve chuckles at one another until natural light pooled over your heads.

You could hear the throttle of the Mantis whirring loud into your eardrums and its turbines blowing hot air into your face. The ship hovered sideways so its entry ramp faces your direction as it opens. In your collective periphery, Darth Vader appeared in one of the doors that blended well into black walls of the left-side spire. You froze at the sight of him.

Of course he caught up!!! You panicked mentally.

“Get ready to jump!” Cal screeched.

Cal took the lead, both of you ran so fast that it felt like flying. You sprinted as fast as your legs carried you, the hot wind breezing over your cheeks and making your hairs flow.

“Come on, [y/n]!”

Cal leaped over to the ramp no problem, but you were a little behind. There was no safety bannister in that clearing, and so from the balls of your feet, you sprang from the edge and hoped to close the gap between the spire’s platform and the entry ramp of the ship.

You barely made it, your arm hooking over the ramp saved your life from plummeting into a hundred-foot drop from the spire to the obsidian floor and lava rivers. Cal took your arm and then the other to drag you back into the ship. Cal stumbled and landed on his back, while securing you in his arms. The altitude was nauseating that you lost feeling your legs again. When you found yourself pressing over his torso, you rolled over to the side, removing your weight against him, breathing out a weak “Sorry.”

“Let’s get out of here!!” Cal exhaled, lying down on the floor as the door closed.

Greez punched it and sent the Mantis flying through the atmosphere out of the literally infernal planet and back into the cold vacuum of space. The two of you were still lying down on the floor, catching your breaths while waiting for the feeling to come back to your limbs and joints. You bobbed your head to the side, facing Cal who had his eyes closed as he kept his mouth slightly ajar to breathe in and out.

“You came back for me…”

The tone of your voice made your line sound more like a question that stating an obvious fact. Cal bobbed his head back to you; his eyes were tired but the gleam of his clear, emerald green eyes shimmered right back at you.

“Of course,” he panted and brought his hand over yours, giving it a light squeeze. “I’d come back for you. We’re a team. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that?”

You managed a small smile along the corner of your mouth, a weak chuckle escaped your throat and you struggled to shake your head.

“No, I didn’t forget,”

“Good.”

Though Cal reminded you that you’re not alone anymore, that you have a new family, and you’re determined in protecting it. Your fingers twitched and curled, intertwining with his, as the Mantis flew off to safety.

[vanillaavengerlings]

Stony Fluff Fic

Steve/Tony fluff

A/n: In celebration of my Tumblr blog gaining over 10 followers, I decided to write a Stony fluff from Tony’s perspective. I hope you enjoy this!

Also, thank you so much for all your support. I literally had no idea how Tumblr works because I’m so new to this site, but it’s so fun trying out new things and making friends along the way! I appreciate all of you!

Warning: Tooth rotting fluff, no beta reader so apologies for any mistakes!

~ His Ocean Blue Eyes ~

“I do.”

Right after that declaration, Tony briefly remembered the wedding party and how Clint got himself blackout drunk by accident. Natasha literally had to carry him back to the room in the Villa they had booked.

Tony’s and Steve’s wedding took place by the ocean in the Maldives, which was also their honeymoon destination. As expensive as it was, it was also a private occasion, with only the closest friends, aka their chosen family, attending the wedding.

Tony made sure the entourage went back to the States after the party, so that he and Steve could have a private honeymoon.

The next day after the wedding, Tony woke up to the sound of the wave kissing the shore in its own rhythmic fashion outside. They hadn’t closed their room balcony doors, so the breeze which swept the linen curtains had nudged Tony gently too, but it was the sounds of the waves that really did the job.

He was facing Steve, who was still fast asleep.Tony wasn’t one to watch his partner sleep. He only picked up the habit after dating Steve, especially after he had drooled. But Tony only did that so that he could gather blackmail material. Cap, allow me to drink my 27th cup of coffee or your drooling footage is going up the Internet!

He loved watching Steve sleep, in a non-creepy way. The way his blonde hair was messily spread across his forehead, some fanning over his closed eyelids. The way his facial muscles were relaxed - being Captain America meant half the time Steve’s face was in a frown.The way his soft lips were slightly parted. The way his chest rose and sank as he breathed in and out slowly.

Tony loved that. He loved everything about Steve. He knew and understood that marrying him meant he was opening his arms wide to all of Steve’s beautiful quirks, inner turmoils and problems. Years ago Tony would have run away from that commitment, but now, he was a changed man. He would do anything to keep his Steve safe, happy and loved, even on his good days and bad days.

Tony smiled softly. He placed his hand gently on Steve’s chest, just to feel him breathe. Just to feel the warmth radiating from Steve.

Steve’s eyelids fluttered open slowly. Tony gasped softly when he stared into his ocean blue eyes; the anchor that holds him firmly on this plane of existence, a reminder that he is loved.

Steve almost immediately smiled at Tony - with the kind of smile only reserved for him, the gentle, I love you and will never let you go smile.

“I love you,” Tony said, feeling a wave of emotions swishing around his heart.

From love to happiness to the nervousness about how this might not last for a long time to fear that Steve might see him differently after a few years, back to happiness because he’s in the here and now and to love. Tony felt himself fighting the wave, but he wanted to ride it. Because that’s what life was. It’s to ride the wave and see it through, instead of fighting it and succumbing to panic.

Steve held Tony’s hand, which was still pressed against his chest. Tony’s smile only widened as he felt the wave in his heart subside to contentment, feeling at home as Steve’s strong yet tender grip enveloped his hand.

“I love you too.”

[birbleafs]

[fic] It’s A Matter Of (In)Convenience

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Humour, Breaking The Fourth Wall Character(s): Saiki Kusuo, Aiura Mikoto, Toritsuka Reita, Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, Nendou Riki, Yumehara Chiyo, Teruhashi Kokomi Warnings: None, save for canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Saiki Kusuo’s plan for a quiet Sunday spent shopping for desserts in an ordinary konbini is thrown into disarray when he runs into several… inconveniences, much to his dismay. A/N: I've been re-reading/re-watching Saiki K. during this quarantine period and I haven't laughed this hard since I was into Gintama. This series has given me so much ridiculous joy, it’s great for helping keep anxiety and existential despair at bay lol. Fic can also be read on AO3

_______

Saiki Kusuo could not say he dislikes commuting by public train but he’s not particularly a fan of it either. After all, it’s exceedingly more troublesome and vexing for someone like him, encumbered with psychic abilities beyond human comprehension. He’s unable to switch off his telepathy at will, so it’s no small feat being stuck in a packed cabin and trying to filter out the cacophonous thoughts of fifty-odd passengers buzzing incessantly in his mind throughout the long ride to the next town. Distance isn’t an issue today, however. Not that it had ever been an issue, mind you—he could teleport to almost any location he so wished. But Kusuo had long since mastered inconspicuousness into an art form, and teleporting to his destination and appearing seemingly out of thin air in the middle of a packed convenience store was sure to draw unwanted attention to himself. No, it’s not worth the risk, even for such a coveted goal at the end of his journey. Besides, Kusuo is a man of principle, one who does not easily succumb to using his powers for self-interest. He will do this the ordinary, pedestrian way.

In any case, travelling out of Hidariwakibara-chō to neighbouring Tonari Machi on a random Sunday morning would also mean the chances of him running into certain... inconveniences are very nearly zero. Forty-five minutes and twelve stops later, Kusuo beams in quiet triumph as he walks past the automatic sliding doors and into the aforementioned convenience store, barely registering the musical jiggle over the speakers. He steps through the sparse crowd, pausing midway through the snack and desserts aisle when he finally catches sight of the neat row of orange boxes with silver trimmings on the top shelf. Kusuo allows himself a tiny grin as he reaches for a box, eyes bright with anticipation as he gazes upon its wondrous contents—three cups of chocolate brownie and cherry parfait, infused with coffee jelly and topped with dollops of luscious cream and cinnamon sprinkles. A simple but unmatched delicacy right here in this nondescript konbini, he thinks, savouring the glorious moment a little longer. Still, as fate would have it, he would be reminded in less than ten seconds that his life is but an unfortunate series of daily disasters, and his current reprieve short-lived. And it comes in the form of a young woman who had waltzed through the crowd and is now latching onto his arm with garishly pink manicured nails, her wavy blonde hair already casting a dark cloud over Kusuo’s face. Aiura Mikoto, resident soothsayer and trendsetter gal. Inconvenience No. 1. Ah. So it begins. “Wassup, Kusuo!” Aiura chirps a little too brightly. Already two or three mob characters in the konbini are throwing scandalized looks their way, but to Aiura they’re nothing but background scenery and lazily drawn silhouettes. “Who woulda thunk we’d meet here like this? It must totes be our destiny as soul mates, fer sure!” Isn’t it more because someone is totes a stalker? Kusuo deadpans telepathically her way, even as he makes no real attempt to avoid Aiura’s smothering embrace. Instead, he fixes her with a stare as blank as stone canvas. This is an invasion of privacy. Also, what’s with the meta observation in the previous paragraph? Stop messing with the readers like that. “Man, you sure are a ray of sunshine sometimes,” Aiura pouts, before she breaks into a giggle and relents. She unlatches herself from him, putting some distance between them. “Anyway, can’t your BFF like, just accidentally bump into you while shopping for the same box of snacks you no doubt travelled all the way out here for?” So you admit you really are a stalker then, Kusuo counters drily, only to frown again at the sudden creeping presence of another aura. He feels the weight of another arm draping carelessly over his shoulder, followed by the brusque yapping of an over-eager and desperate hot-blooded young male in his ears. “Yooo, Saiki-san! What a coincidence!” Toritsuka Reita, the spirit medium and an exemplary specimen of the most depraved life-form, the lecherous scum. Also known as Inconvenience No. 2. Saiki Kusuo, a man most unfortunate, lets out a weary sigh. “I see you’ve got that accusatory glare painted all over your face.” Toritsuka wags an annoying finger before Kusuo. “Now, now. Before you also accuse me of stalking, Mister Doom and Gloom, let me just say that I’m only here for one thing.” He flicks a furtive glance towards a discreet corner of the magazine section. The shelves are filled with magazines wrapped in plastic, large R-18 stickers plastered across the covers and over the spines much like indecent warning signs. Toritsuka dabs towards the third shelf, waving a mini poster at both Kusuo and Aiura, and this sentence then abruptly proceeds to describe the close-up of said poster—a particularly titillating centre spread featuring a curvaceous model’s skimpily clad... assets. “Surely there’s no better reason to be here now than for the special compilation of EROmag’s Greatest Upskirts And Panty-shots Of The Month!” Toritsuka exclaims, echoing the thoughts of all resident perverts. “Ugh, grody to the max,” Aiura says, lips curled in utter revulsion. For once, the stars are aligned and Kusuo finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing with her sentiment. Before he can get a retort in edgewise however, he’s unceremoniously tugged closer into Toritsuka’s one-armed embrace, who then proceeds to thump a hand over Kusuo’s chest in a grand show of obnoxious male posturing and solidarity. “You women will never understand,” Toritsuka counters with an ingratiating smirk. “But Saiki-san and I, we’re bosom buddies, connoisseurs of refined aesthetics. Together, we’ll finally gaze upon those heavenly lace panti—A-ACKK!!” He hacks up a lung just as Kusuo nonchalantly drives a sharp elbow right into his solar plexus, causing him to stagger backwards onto the floor. Bosom buddies? Kusuo echoes ominously, glaring daggers at the pathetic writhing form before him. Pretty sure that ridiculous thump you just pulled is both an outrage and insult of my modesty. Hey, can I call the police? I’m calling the police. Aiura nods at that, lips curved into a Cheshire grin and looking extremely pleased with herself as though she’s the one to suggest calling the cops. “Delusional sleazebags should just crawl back into the garbage bin where they belong. Like the skeevy trash panda that they are, right Kusuo?” “Who are you calling delusional, huh?!” Toritsuka snaps, jumping back to his feet. “I’ll have you know that Saiki-san and I have been nothing but the most loyal, the tightest of all bosom buddies—” Refer to me as your bosom buddy again and I’ll crush your windpipe, Kusuo interjects without missing a beat, and the EROmag poster in Toritsuka’s hand spontaneously combusts into flames. “Argh, not the panties!!” Toritsuka yelps, watching in despair as the poster shrivels up in the blaze, only to catch sight of the eerie, voidless depths of Kusuo’s inscrutable gaze. The spirit medium pales at the split-second reminder of his fleeting mortality, sweat dripping down his nape as he carefully backs away from the precarious jaws of death. “B-B-Bros! I-I meant that we’re the best kind of bro-some buddies, ahahaha! T-That is to say, brotherly and wholesome—R-right, Saiki-san? So don’t get all conceited just because you’ve got big knockers, Tits McGee!!” “Pfft, brotherly and wholesome? As if!” Aiura scoffs, unimpressed. “You’re about as wholesome as your d*ck aura and a college frat boy’s porno stash. Just admit you ain’t nothing but a tiresome anime trope!” “Look who’s talking, Miss Fanservice. This is a wholesome shounen series, so how about you take those bazongas back to Hooters where they belong!” “Haaah? You looking for a fight, you raunchy racoon?!” “Bring it on then!” Kusuo scowls at the petty squabbling, exasperated at how easily his quiet Sunday was already going awry, much like the metaphorical train wreck poised for a manic spiral off its rails. He decides to take his leave then from the two inconveniences bickering loudly, making his way towards the self-checkout station near the entrance. He pays for his items, stealthily packing them away with a subtle flick of his psychokinesis, and is only a few paces away from complete freedom at last when the generic musical jingle blares from the speakers overhead. “♪~Welcome to F☆mily Mart Konbini, We Guarantee 99.9% Shopping Satisfaction! It’s A Matter of Convenience~! ♪” Kusuo frowns at the jingle. Why is it only 99.9% satisfaction? And really, a matter of convenience? Not when he’d already run into two inconveniences in a row and all in a convenience store. Is God conspiring with the universe and pulling a sick prank on him right now? What a horrible sense of humour. The automatic doors at the entrance slide wide open then, and in saunter three terribly familiar faces—Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, and Nendou Riki. Inconvenience No. 3, No. 4, and No. 5 respectively. “What did I tell you, Aren? Not only did we manage to beat traffic, but this unexpected change in my Sunday routine would’ve thrown a wrench into Dark Reunion’s plans of attempted kidnapping. Too bad I, The Jet-Black Wing, am always several steps ahead. Heh.” “Uhmm, yeah I guess… Hey, Shun, look! There isn’t a queue for the limited edition Ginta-Man figurine raffle tickets here at all. Good thing you insisted we meet at the crack of dawn—Tch, Nendou, don’t dawdle around and block the entrance like that! What’re you looking at anyway?” “Oh? I thought I saw my pal just a few seconds ago...” “Huh, Saiki’s here too-?! Oh, you mean that. Don’t be daft, Nendou, that’s just a cardboard cut-out of that kiddie hero show, Cyborg Cider-man Mark II.” Seriously?? Kusuo curses irritably as he dives inconspicuously out of sight from the passing trio, right into the bath and shampoo aisle. It’s just been a series of inconveniences one after another this morning, the metaphorical train wreck already hurtling itself past the edge of no return. Good grief, what a pain. May as well have the rest of the cast show up next— Another cheesy musical jingle, another swoosh of the sliding doors, and— “Waahh, it’s really you, Kaidou-kun!” “Hello, what a nice surprise to run into everyone here.” “Oh, hey there, Yumehara and... Offu~! T-T-Teruhashi-san?!” Saiki Kusuo, ever the suffering protagonist, drags a hand over his face. See? God hates him. Two aisles over, he can still hear Aiura and Toritsuka’s voices drifting over: “Man, I’m sick of looking at your pervy mug. C’mon, Kusuo, let’s ditch this loser—Huh, where did you run off to, Kusuo?!” “Your petty squawking has given us all an earache and must’ve driven Saiki-san off as well!” Oi, oi, Kusuo flinches inwardly, seized by a helpless fear of watching his quiet Sunday careening off the cliff and further away from his grasp. Quit yelling out my name like that and throwing me to the wolves already! Too late. At the mention of Kusuo’s name, Nendou cranes his neck 270 degrees Exorcist-style like a hideously monstrous owl and rushes over to Toritsuka’s side. “Oh! Did you just say my pal is here?!” he exclaims happily, shaking Toritsuka by the shoulders like a dog shaking an unfortunate chew toy. “I knew I’d seen him when we walked in earlier!” Not to be outdone by Nendou, Teruhashi also leaps forward before Aiura with none of her previous composure, her unblemished, porcelain visage now dusted with a hint of rose, a conflicted mix of perplexity and (envious) shock pooling in her angelic eyes. “D-Did you say ‘Saiki’?! H-Hey, Aiura-san, you did say ‘Saiki’ and not actually ‘Kusuo’, right? M-My, I must have misheard things, right? R-Right?!” “What the heck is going on? Is Saiki really here?” Anxious, Kusuo grits his teeth at the growing clamour as his friends converge from all corners of the store towards the aisle where he’d been forced to hide. Guess there’s no avoiding it after all, he frets despairingly, and in less than a nanosecond, teleports unnoticed from the konbini to an empty street outside. Kusuo sighs, relieved to have finally escaped. Minor inconveniences aside, perhaps a quiet Sunday spent savouring chocolate brownie and cherry parfait in the comfort of his home isn’t beyond his reach yet. What? Didn’t he just use his powers for self-interest to teleport out of a sticky situation? Foolish readers, that was for self-preservation and completely acceptable, of course. He holds his shopping bag close, pleased that he’d managed to avoid a disaster, and begins to walk down the street—only to freeze mid-step when he feels a sudden splitting headache jolt through him… A flash of images appears: Aiura and Toritsuka crouching in fear together, Kuboyasu bracing his bleeding arm, Kaidou screaming shrilly as he shields Yumehara and Teruhashi from a masked man brandishing a gun, Nendou digging his nose with his pinky—That’s just disgusting, no one wants to see that, stop it!! The vision finally ends, and Kusuo lifts a hand to his face, massaging his temple to clear the precognitive fog from his mind. An armed robbery, huh. He lets out another resigned sigh. Good grief—What a pain, Saiki ‘I-don’t-(but I actually really do)-care-about-my-friends’ Kusuo mutters internally in annoyance, even as he yeets himself head-first into other people’s business and right back into the convenience store to stop a future robbery. Still he smiles, eyes soft with perhaps the slightest flicker of affection for this dysfunctional bunch of people in his disastrous life. Someone has to protect them and save the day, after all.

  –End–

[starfirelove]

Photographs

Happy Birthday Remus!!!!

(Ok story time now)

It had been a warm summer evening. The kind with just enough breeze to cool you off but not enough to make you cold— that had been the water's job. They’d sat on the edge of the sand, the waves lapping at their feet and beckoning them forward. Begging them to come off the sand and explore the ocean below.

They’d laid there, staring at the setting sun and enjoying the pure simplicity of the moment. They were Remus and Sirius, Sirius and Remus. The other rest of their friends were scattered around the beach. Playing various games and splashing water at each other.

“Put me down, James!” Lily had said. He didn’t, instead James had only laughed and dumped her into the water. The waves swallowed her. She didn’t come up for air for a while. So long that James had begun to panic, and then, there she was, pushing up from the water and dragging James down with her.

They had all laughed as James flailed about, trying to keep his balance. Then laughed some more as he gave up and went crashing into the surf, spitting out sea water and indignantly shoving water back at Lily.

Sirius took Remus’ hand, lacing their fingers together. Remus looked down at their entwined fingers, smiling softly.

“I’m glad we’re here, Moony,” Sirius had said.

“Me too”

They had stayed like that for a moment, holding hands and breathing in the fresh coastal air mixed with the subtle scent of sea spray. Then, Sirius pushed himself up on his elbows.

“What?” Remus asked.

“Nothing...just—are you happy?” His head had been tilted to the side in a dog like fashion.

Remus had sat up, too. “Why do you ask?”

Sirius shook his head bitterly. “We’re in the middle of a war, Remus, and here we are sitting on a beach and watching the sunset. The world’s crashing and burning around us and I can’t help but wonder, how can any of us really be happy?”

Remus smiled at him, it was filled with love and sadness and pain and memories— so many memories.

“We’ve been through so much together already, seen so much.” He’d turned his head out towards the rest of their friends. Seemingly carefree with lazy smiles and bursts of laughter. Then he turned back to Sirius. “But I’ve always found that no matter where I am or what’s going on I’m always happy when I’m with my friends.”

Sirius snorted, “That’s so fucking cheesy.”

“Well you asked.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “That’s true.” Then he grabbed Remus by the arm and pulled him down into the sand.

*********

They’d been in 5th year when the meteor shower happened. Sirius had heard something from Professor Sinistra about it and made some joke or another about fallen stars.

“I’m just saying I think it’s be right up my alley, what with me being a fallen star whatnot.”

Remus has smacked him in the arm. “Shut up with your disowned Black jokes. You’ve made enough to last me a lifetime.”

Peter said, “Well he’s not wrong.”

“I hate you all,” Remus grumbled.

“Even me?” James asked.

Remus didn’t even turn to look at him, continuing out the portrait hole, blanket in hand. “Yes, James. Even you.”

At the top of the astronomy tower Peter and James had laid on the ground on the blankets. While Sirius and Remus sat on the railing. Sirius with his feet dangling off the sides and Remus leaned back against one of the pillars, legs pulled up to his chest.

“This is nice,” Sirius said.

“Yeah,” Remus agreed.

Nothing had happened yet, the sky was still and filled with hundreds of thousands of twinkling stars.

Then Marlene had appeared, more people slowly trickling in behind her.

Lily lifted her camera, pointing it at the Marauders.

“Smile!”

They did, the shutters of the camera going off with a faint click.

Then, like a switch being flicked, the sky lit up, filled with streaks of fire and bright lights. A collective gasp echoed through the astronomy tower. Funny how even though they had magic the most mundane of things could still be counted on to amaze.

“Very nice,” Remus amended. Then they’d all sat back and watched the sky fall.

**********

The flat hadn’t been new when they’d bought it and it certainly didn’t look new now. It had gone from slightly dirty floors, to stained and damaged within a week.

Mismatched furniture and odd posters spelled to the walls. The eyes of the animated pictures following them around the room.

The smell of ash burned into the air from cigarette smoke. But it had been theirs and that’s all that mattered.

Somehow Remus and Lily has managed to get a TV working. It’s for entertainment, they’d said, when the others had objected. It won’t hurt to have it.

And it hadn’t. You couldn’t count the number of times they had sat on the patchwork couch watching movies.

James and Remus and Peter and Sirius. The Marauders. A family. They’d invite the girls, too. And Fabian and Kingsley. All of them crammed into that small flat. Sitting on the edges of the sofa and spilling onto the floor. Shushing each other as the movie played.

Remus had chosen that time. Some old Muggle flick with lots of singing. Nobody — save for Lily — had expected to like it, but they had. That was to be expected—when was Remus ever wrong?

The twins had brought firewhiskey over. Sirius, Gideon and Marlene playing drinking games, a hiccup between every word. Slowly they roped in the rest of the group, Remus and Lily being the hardest to convince. Lily figured that someone ought to watch them so that they don’t kill themselves. Remus warning that he would win.

In the end, they’d all succumbed. Minds spinning as they belted out lyrics to songs they didn’t know. Off beat melodies somehow blurring together into continuous hum. They’d finished out the night passed out in the living room. And in case you were wondering, Remus of course, had won the drinking games.

*******

Another summer came to pass. A different one with different meanings and higher stakes. Order meetings in the dead of night and mysterious missions.

People had been going out and some never came back.

The Marauders had been gone, too. Especially Remus. There some days and gone the next. No one knowing where he went or why.

Tensions had been high and everyone was on alert. Nobody had been cleared of suspicion. Except for tonight.

Tonight everyone who was supposed to be there was there. Everyone gathered in the hall. Placed in rows from tallest to smallest.

The Marauders has been scattered around on opposite sides of each other. But they weren’t worried. They were unstoppable, unbreakable, they were the Marauders.

They were all facing forward, smiling faces masking secrets. Secrets that didn’t matter right now. In that moment everything was fine. Nothing had changed and would ever change.

********

Harry stared down at the photo album smiling sadly at bittersweet memories that weren’t his own.

The images flickered, capturing frozen moments in time when they’d all been alive. When they’d all been well. He didn’t often open this photo album. Too many things to do and so little time. But it was nights like these that he felt he should. Let himself dwell on what could’ve been.

March 10th 2020. Remus’ birthday. This book was one of the only things he had left of him. Teddy, was another. The stories of friends a third, but none of them, he thought, showed Remus as well as the pictures did.

The showed another side of him, a side he’d rarely ever seen when he’d known him. That Remus was long gone. Even longer gone than the man himself.

Part of him wished he could have him back. Ask him things he should’ve thought to ask before it was too late, before he was gone. Another, stronger part of him knew it was for the best. Harry knew Remus never would have wanted to leave Teddy or him for that matter. Yet he couldn’t help but feel happy for him. He remembered that night in the forest when he’d died. He remembered the train station that would take him someplace new, someplace unfamiliar.

Harry had been able to come back. It wasn’t his time to leave yet. Remus had gone though. He’d taken that train to wherever it went and Harry could only hope that the ride would share the same purpose as Remus’ first trip on the Hogwarts express.

Happy birthday Remus, Harry thought to himself, shutting the cover of the book. I hope you finally were able to go home.

[fullmetalscullyy]

a conspiracy theory - chapter 5

co-written by @snowdog49 and @jeanhaavoc

summary:  Detective Roy takes on a challenging task… To find Olivier Armstrong’s sword. However, he has a beautiful woman to distract him along the way. Will he, Jean, and Ed be able to find the sword in time, or will they succumb to the conspiracy?

warning: graphic depictions of violence

tags: conspiracy, pining, unresolved sexual tension, private detective au, royai, havolina, mystery, violence, modern au, coffee shops

rated: m | words: 4697

read on ao3

Ling had insisted on Roy and Ed meeting at his apartment, which was fine if Roy knew what he was going up against. When he parked the car and got out, the apartment proved to be the whole house. It was on the river’s bank, two stories, and a large garage. The lawn was well kept, with a large tree shadowing the grass and a cherry tree on the other side by the garage. There was a silver motorcycle parked out front in the driveway as well as a black sports car. Roy had to roll his eyes. If there was ever a definition of a politician’s kid, Ling was proving himself one even before meeting Roy. Ed stared at the bike, then back at Roy, who just kept walking up to the door. He half expected a butler or some kind of servant to answer the door, but instead, the young man himself did. Ling was barefoot with dark jeans and a white t-shirt on, covered by a sports coat. He grinned ear to ear and waved them in.

“Mustang right? Come on in!” He was cheery and almost carefree. His shoulders were relaxed and his legs walked easily as if he was inviting friends into his home.  

Roy already found Ling almost too happy. He was just a little taller than Ed, black hair pulled back with wild hairs in front of his face. He had on this goofy smile and a bounce in his step. He had nothing to hide, and it showed in the way he welcomed them both into his house without another thought. Roy noted that behaviour, but didn’t think there would be a reason to agonize over it later. After all, he was just a kid.

As they walked through the hallway, Roy noted the house was decorated rather normally, and Roy felt as if Ling’s parents were going to come out at any time. The living room had a couch and a coffee table, a big TV on the wall above the fireplace. It wasn’t ‘fancy’ by any means, but neither modest. Taking in more of his surroundings, Roy noted the large picture of the Xing capital on the wall.

“Is that your bike out there?” Roy heard, pulling him from his observations. He turned to look over at Ed.

“Yeah!” Ling nodded excitedly. “It’s the X-3005!”

“That’s freaking sweet!” Roy couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Ed so happy. His face lit up like a child’s on Christmas Morning. “I was trying to get my girlfriend to let me buy the BDR-889 but she says I’m only going to hurt myself.”

The young Xingese man laughed, holding his stomach as he did so. “All girls would say that. No! Don’t sell yourself short. The X class is where it’s at,” he gushed. “The BDRs are bikes for commuters. I will give credit where it’s due, they have great gas mileage, and they’re incredibly reliable, but they just aren’t as powerful.”

Roy’s eyes widened as he saw the connection right away.

“Come check out my garage!”

And just like that, his protege and Ling walked through the house and into the garage. Slightly bewildered, Roy watched the two of them walk off without him. Roy didn’t even think they remembered why he was there, or even if he existed at all. That was fine, though. It gave him time to walk slowly through to the garage after them, and take in as much as he could about the house.

It was quiet, the boards creaked under his feet. There was Xingese music playing in the garage and he heard Ed laughing. The kitchen was full of dishes, and there was a pizza box on the counter. It was finally starting to look like a young man lived there. On the dining table, in the same room, there was a computer and several books. As Roy rose onto his tiptoes to see as he passed by, he noticed Ling was studying law, Amestrian Law. He nodded and walked down the hallway. There were more pictures of Xing, and one of Ling, and what he guessed was his entire family. There were nearly 20 people in the photo. Maybe they were his friends? There were older people in there too. Roy tilted his head as he began to wonder who was in the picture.

“My girl Lan Fan hates it!”

Roy raised his eyebrow. Ed was doing exactly what he needed to be doing. It’d loosen Ling Yao up just enough so that he’d talk more casually.

Roy peered carefully into one room as he walked by, noticing that it had a few sets of weights in it. On the wall sat a few Xingese-type swords. They weren’t Amestrian at all. Leaning slightly further in the doorway, he also noticed some kunai knives. They sat more as a decoration on the wall, though Roy was curious if Ling knew how to use them. There were two mats on the floor, a mirror on the wall, and resistance bands on the floor. He nodded, his hair swaying as he returned to the hall. There were stairs on his left before he reached the garage, but Roy decided not to push his luck. He’d seen enough in his slow sweep. The house was just too clean. It was too big for just an Ambassador’s son to be living in by himself.

“No way!”

Roy gave in and walked the last few feet towards the garage, coming to a stop so he could lean on the doorframe. Ed was sitting on a jetski with a huge grin on his face.

“I’m serious,” Ling nodded excitedly. “We can go out! I’ll take you anytime!”

“This weekend?”

Ling nodded to Ed.

“This is freaking awesome!” Ed thrust his hands into the air.

Roy couldn’t help but laugh.

“Even for a twenty-year-old, you have so many toys.”

Ling laughed loudly again. “I’m eighteen. I just look older.”

Ed’s hands fell to his side. “You’re younger than me?”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“But,” Ed blinked with a sad face. “You’re taller than me…”

The two stared at one another for what seemed like too long. Roy finally spoke. “I don’t mean to interrupt. I just have a few questions to ask, then I can let you two go back to the jet ski.”

“Sure,” Ling crossed his arms and turned to face Roy.

“You remember Selim Bradley’s birthday party two weeks ago?”

“Oh yeah,” Ling nodded as he put out an arm to lean on a car in the garage. It was another sports car that now had Roy distracted. “Crappy party. There wasn't a birthday cake. There was this rich fudge stuff and they gave me a little spoon.” He pinched his finger and his thumb together to indicate ‘small.’ “There wasn’t an actual meal, just o’dourves. They were good though. And they didn’t have beer either! Usually, I don’t mind wine, but a beer would have been great since they didn’t have a regular birthday cake.”

Roy nodded his head slowly.

“I actually brought the kid a birthday present and didn’t even see the kid!”

“I just wish I went to a party that had o‘dourves,” Ed commented quietly behind Ling.

“Well,” Ling turned now to face Ed. “I was there by proxy. Ambassador Fu likes to take me so that I can learn the tricks of the trade.” He faced Roy. “To be political,” he made quotation marks with his fingers.

Roy nodded slowly. Didn’t Raven say…

“I really didn’t want to be there. My girlfriend, Lan Fan was having a bonfire. I left as soon as I could. Bonfires have better food anyway. I think I ate fifty marshmallows.”

Ed laughed. “That’s easy.”

“Next bonfire,” Ling pointed his finger at Ed, challenging him. “You are on!”

“Okay,” Roy interrupted calmly as he raised his hand. “So you left…”

“Yeah. That was that.”

“Did you see a sword?”

Ling scoffed. “No.”

“You didn’t see a military sword?” Ed clarified.

Ling shook his head. “I would’ve been all over that.”

Roy nodded and sighed loudly. “I’m guessing you’re not one to show off swords of all kinds?”

“The only real sword is from Xing,” Ling laughed loudly. “Sabers are of Amestris. I think you also have a few rapiers, but Aerugo traditionally fights with rapiers.” Ling took a fencing stance and acted as if he was fencing. The young man was very amusing, and free talking.

“You don’t want an Amestrian sword?”

“A saber? Naw,” Ling snorted a laugh. “I’m from Xing. What would I do with a saber?”

“Just to show off. I saw your work out room. You have some nice swords on the wall.”

Ling nodded. “But you don’t see any saber -” he stopped and his face became serious. “Are you insinuating that I stole something of King Bradley’s?”

Roy chuckled. “Maybe…”

“No, Man.” Ling shook his hands in front of his face. “Stealing is low. I’m the Xingese President’s son! I do not stoop that low. In fact, I’m offended that you even insinuated it!”

“No offense meant,” Ed quickly called from behind. “We just have to ask. We were asked to find it and were hoping you knew where it was.”

Ling shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have it. I ate a few of those fancy finger foods and left.”

“No sword?” Roy asked seriously.

Ling shook his head.

“I’m sure you hear quite a bit, being in and out of official offices.” Roy reached into his pocket. “Will you call me if you hear anything, anything at all?”

Ling shook his head and put his hands in his pockets. “Not my thing, Mr. Mustang. It’s not my property, not really worried about it.”

“Can you give me a call,” Ed asked, walking up next to Ling.

“Yeah, le me get you my info and we can go out tomorrow or Sunday and ride some waves!”

Ling and Edward pushed past Roy and into the kitchen. He nodded with a grin.

Ling was as innocent as they could get. But a frown soon followed on Roy’s face. Now the investigation was getting deeper than a stolen sword. He walked to the front door and leaned against it, hearing the two young men exchange contact information. It was obvious that Senator Raven lied about it being invitation only, and it was Bradley’s house. He scratched his cheek in thought.

“Are you going to see King Bradley?”

Roy turned to see the two walk from the living room to the entryway.

“It was his house. Oh! I have tickets to this dinner they are having. The Bradleys like to entertain, but they are so annoying.” Ling dropped his head to the side with a groan. “They talk too much. Anyway, it’s some fundraiser for exchange students… or something like that. I have no idea. It’s invitation only. You should go! Maybe you can talk to someone there!”

“Will there be the same crowd there?” Ed walked next to Roy.

“Mostly. Maybe more.” Ling ran over to the mantle and grabbed two letters from it, handing them to Roy. “That will get you in. Free fancy food and wine!”

“Thanks!” Ed raised his hand and the two high-fived.

“See you Saturday!”

Roy opened the door. “Thank you for your help, Ling,” Roy called as he walked out the door.

They walked calmly to the car, Ed trying not to jump in excitement too much and remain professional. Roy could see right through it.

“You did really well in there,” he complimented.

“Huh?” Ed opened his door.

“Just… Good job.”

“What did I do?”

Roy just grinned and got into his side of the car. “You did everything you should’ve done.”

*          *          *

A headache was beginning to form fairly quickly in Roy’s head. He’d spent too long looking at the same photographs, with his mind going into overdrive, trying to write up motivations for possible suspects. His eyes drooped as he looked at his computer screen, typing up the last thought he had so that he didn’t lose it. Even that felt like an extreme effort. Hitting period, he sat back in his chair, defeated at the moment. This was taking too long. Everything felt unorganized and he had no solid lead yet. He hated it. He needed results, he needed something to go on, he needed…

“I need a coffee,” he muttered to himself.

A good boost of caffeine would fuel him for the rest of the afternoon. Rebecca and Jean were already out on their lunch. Edward had left to do the same shortly after the couple, mumbling about going to meet his girlfriend, Winry. Roy had been adamant he’d work through lunch and try and get a solid lead by the end of Friday afternoon, but that goal was slowly becoming impossible. Admitting defeat and locking the office door, Roy made his way tiredly to his car.

Although there were two coffee shops closer to the office than Metric Coffee, Roy felt he needed some good coffee for his lunch break in order to get him through the rest of the day. Plus, they did delicious doughnuts. He could use a doughnut.

He pulled up across the street in his car and parked. As he crossed the road, his heart leapt in his throat as he spotted a familiar-looking dog outside. He faltered in his step before picking up his pace to almost jog to the cafe. Feeling flushed, Roy pushed open the door, as his eyes instantly searched for a familiar blonde head. Despite the excitement, he reminded himself that there was more than one Shiba Inu in Central.

Looking down the line, he didn’t see her. Riza wasn’t at any of the tables either. His face fell, and he sulked as he moved to the line. She wasn’t here. Roy exhaled loudly, feeling disappointment wash over him.

It was short-lived. To his left, he caught movement out the corner of his eye, slightly behind him. The door to the customer toilets opened, and Riza walked out of it. She turned, making sure the toilet door closed softly, before shouldering her purse more securely, and moved to join the back of the line. She didn’t see him, he was too far up the line, and she didn’t seem to be paying much attention to her surroundings. She was dressed in what had to be her work clothes, wearing a simple white blouse and black dress pants. A black cardigan covered her shoulders, which looked light enough that it wouldn’t be too warm to wear in the summer heat, but would also protect against the gentle breeze outside.

Roy took a step forward in the queue, momentarily distracted. His emotions whiplashed as excitement coursed through him. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but promptly closed it. If he didn’t say anything, he would be able to buy her a coffee like he’d offered to.

“What will it be, Sir?” the server asked politely.

“A black coffee, please.” Indecision ruled him for a moment before he grinned with confidence. “And a caramel latte as well, please.”

“Of course.”

With both drinks in hand, he walked towards her, unable to keep the grin off his face. Noticing movement out the corner of her eye, Riza looked up from her phone. Her eyebrows had been drawn together again, a deep frown on her face as she studied the contents of her phone. However, her expression relaxed as their eyes met, and a smile spread across her face in a way that made Roy’s heart skip a beat.

“Hey,” he greeted. It was like he was welcoming a long lost friend back into his life, that’s how happy he was to see her.

“Hello, Roy.” She glanced down at the drink he’d extended to her. “What’s this for?” She looked slightly confused at the offer, but still looked happy to see him.

“I did say I would buy you a coffee,” he reminded her.

“You did,” she agreed dryly. “That was very kind of you.” She took the drink from him carefully but their fingers still brushed, her fingers slipping alongside his. Roy felt a jolt go through his hand and he tried to hide his breath stuttering and the way his hand flinched at the electric sizzle of their connection. He kept his eyes on her drink and ignored the strong urge to look up to see if Riza had a similar reaction. Instead, he heard a sincere, “Thank you, Roy.” He glanced up at her face this time, noticing the softening smile gracing her features.

“Don’t mention it,” he beamed. His fingers were still tingling after brushing against hers, a feeling he relished. Roy slipped his free hand into his pocket, making a fist as the warmth there continued to spread through his hand.

“You got my order right as well,” Riza commented with a raised eyebrow. “I’m beginning to think you really do stalk me,” she smirked.

Roy held up both hands in surrender. “I’m not. I promise,” he urged. “I overheard you order it the last few times and I took a wild guess of what you might like today,” he joked.

“I’m kidding, Roy,” she laughed, patting his shoulder playfully. Her smile reached her eyes as she grinned at him. “Listen...” Riza turned to look outside to where her dog was waiting patiently for her. “I’m going to take a walk to the park with Hayate on my lunch break. Do you want to come?”

“Yeah, of course!” He was ecstatic. She’d offered him the chance to accompany her and he wasn’t going to turn it down. Riza eyed him for a second, clearly amused by his enthusiasm, but Roy didn't care. His headache was very quickly dissipating and his mood was rising exponentially. He hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten about his doughnut.

So, the two of them walked to the park with Hayate, each sipping at their hot drinks. They crossed over the street into the shade. Every so often there would be a break in the buildings and the sun would pour through, turning her hair golden. Roy felt as though he was caught in a trance every time he noticed the change in colour. That was his downfall because she must have felt his eyes on her. Riza looked over and found him staring. A light dusting of pink covered the bridge of her nose and her cheeks as she looked away. He felt embarrassed for gazing at her so openly so he coughed nervously, tearing his eyes away.

“Do you always walk Hayate on your lunch break?” Roy asked.

Riza nodded. “I do. My apartment isn’t too far from my work, so I go home and pick up Hayate to let him out for a while.” She glanced down at the pup. “I don’t like leaving him home alone all day.”

“He seems to be a very well behaved dog,” Roy commented, watching Hayate sniff at the ground as they walked.

“He is. I hit the jackpot with his temperament. He’s the calmest dog I’ve ever met.”

Hayate would stray off towards something that caught his interest as they walked, but wouldn’t pull or walk too far from Riza’s side. His tongue lolled happily as he explored the world, curiously looking up at people who passed by them. Every time someone showed some interest in the dog, his tail would begin to wag.

“That’s good then,” Roy considered. “Especially if he’s home alone quite a lot.”

Riza agreed. “It certainly makes things easier. I haven’t come across him destroying anything yet while I’m at work,” she chuckled. “But I like to think that he knows better than to try a stunt like that.” She tilted her head forward, narrowing her eyes playfully at Hayate.

Hayate barked in response, walking closer to Riza’s side and remaining there.

They arrived at a crossing, so stopped as they waited for traffic to stop. Roy noticed Hayate heeled perfectly without any need for a command from Riza. Across the road, the greenery of the park stretched out before them.

“I normally take Hayate to the dog park instead of walking around the park itself,” Riza explained. “It means I can let him off the lead and not worry too much about where he will wander off to.”

“Is he a wanderer?” Roy smiled.

“Hm… He likes to explore.” Riza glanced down at her dog affectionately. “And can get a little hyperactive if he finds something really interesting. But he always comes back.”

The park was busy. Like them, there were business people sitting on benches and chatting as they enjoyed their lunches. A couple of cyclists passed by them, giving poor Hayate a fright. He jumped and scurried close to Riza’s side as they walked towards the dog park. Riza stopped in place, crouching to soothe him. She smiled kindly at her dog, explaining that it was just a bike that had given him a fright, letting out a short laugh. From her tone, it was like a mother talking to a child. It endeared Roy to her even more.

Again, he was caught staring, but this time Roy grinned at her as Riza straightened and they continued to walk.

“Poor dog,” Roy commented. Hayate still stuck close to Riza’s side as they walked, head looking around for any more potentially frightening things coming his way.

Riza shook her head fondly. “He doesn’t like cyclists.”

The dog park wasn’t too busy, but there would be plenty of dogs for Hayate to play with if he decided to venture their way. People were walking around the path inside the fenced-off area. Owners sat at the various benches spread around the park while their dogs either sat obediently by their side or running around and playing with other dogs. Riza crouched and let the Shiba off his leash, giving him a free run of the park. Anywhere he went they’d be able to see him. Riza was happy to let him go off and do his own thing.

“I normally sit for a while as Hayate runs around for a bit.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Roy agreed. It would give them time to finish their drinks. Roy didn’t have anything to eat, but he could always pick something up on the way back and eat it at his desk. It was only then that he remembered about his doughnut quest. He felt he didn’t need it now though. Talking to Riza was a better remedy than any sweet treat.

From her purse, Riza pulled out a prepacked sandwich and began to unwrap it. She glanced up at him expectantly. “Do you have anything to eat with you?”

He shook his head, lifting up his coffee cup. “This will fuel me for a little while.”

“You should still eat,” she frowned. Looking over her shoulder, Riza turned to look for something. “There’s normally a food van around the park.” She turned back to face him but looked past his shoulder, still searching. “I don’t know where it is though. That sells hot food.”

He appreciated the effort, but reassured Riza he’d be fine. “I’ll pick something up on my way back to the office.”

“Are you sure? We can walk around and look -”

“I’ll be fine, Riza. I swear,” he chuckled. His expression softened as she met his gaze. “I promise, I will eat. I may be a bachelor but I can still look after myself,” he smirked.

“Good.” Riza relaxed.

He hoped offering up some more personal information about himself would steer the conversation towards getting to know each other better. Riza had been a mystery to him for so long that he was eager to learn more. From what he already knew and had witnessed, she endeared him. Even as she ate her lunch, she took dainty bites of her sandwich and met his gaze while they spoke, but every so often she would glance away to check on Hayate.

“So, will it be a busy afternoon for you once you go back to work?”

Riza shook her head. “It’s a Friday and work can slow right down in the afternoon. However, I do have some reports due for an audit soon.” She shrugged. “It’s easy enough, just a lot of paperwork to trawl through.”

“I hear you,” Roy replied.

“Will it be a late one for you?”

Roy grimaced. “Probably. I think I’ll need more coffee later,” he laughed. “But I don’t mind too much. I get intrigued easily by cases and often fall in deep if they’re good.”

“And your co-workers don’t mind working late?”

Roy shook his head. “They’re not required to do overtime. I wouldn’t ask them too either unless they were really interested in a case, so they’re free to go whenever they want to. I’ll probably just order some take out later and eat it at the office.”

“I’m lucky then that I don’t have to work late at the office.”

“Would anyone mind if you did?”

She offered him a wry smile. “Someone is fishing,” Riza snickered.

Roy was confused by her comment, then his eyes widened. “Oh no! No, that’s not what I meant,” he stammered. “I meant, if your friends would mind if you worked late. It’s a Friday night, after all. Surely you have some big plans?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “No. I’ve got no plans this evening. I foresee a large glass of wine in my future while I sit on my couch with my dog.” She glanced back over to check on Hayate. He was busy chasing a large labrador.

“I’m surprised,” Roy replied. “I mean, that kind of night in does sound great…” He wished he had a plan like that for this weekend, but duty called. “But I would’ve thought a pretty lady like yourself would have grand plans for the weekend.”

Her cheeks turned a light pink and she dropped her gaze with a smile, observing her sandwich and picking at the wrapper. Roy grinned to himself, enjoying how beautiful the light blush looked on her cheeks.

“No grand plans,” she replied.

“Okay then… Well, what would you say to dinner sometime then?” he ventured.

She lifted an eyebrow. “So you were fishing then?”

“That’s for me to know,” Roy smirked.

“And for me to find out?”

“Come to dinner with me, and you might find out,” he quipped. He wasn’t desperate, it was an innocent offer, but he couldn’t rid himself of the jolt he’d experienced when their fingers brushed together earlier.

“Hm, that’s a lot of effort just to try and find that out,” she hummed, lifting her cup to take a sip of her latte. Riza looked at him expectantly after her light challenge.

Roy’s stomach dropped. “Lunch then?” he asked.

Riza regarded him quietly, then her expression softened. “I can’t do lunch any time soon.”

Roy’s face fell, but he nodded in understanding regardless.

“So, I guess, dinner will just have to do.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she spoke.

The widest smile spread from ear to ear across Roy’s face. “Great! I mean, great. Good. I know it’s short notice, but how about tomorrow?”

Riza cocked her head to the side in thought. “Tomorrow should be fine.”

“Where do you want to go?” Roy asked eagerly.

“Nowhere uptown,” Riza shook her head. “Anywhere else… Will be fine.”

Uptown… Roy nodded. He could do that. He didn’t particularly enjoy that side of town either. It was too fancy for his tastes, and his wallet. Simple meals were far too expensive, and after his week of dealing with rich people and their associates, Roy was more than ready to just unwind and go somewhere simple with good food.

“It’s a date.” Excitement and happiness coursed through his body.

Riza laughed quietly at his statement and glanced down at her paper cup. After a brief second, she looked back up at him with a small but entirely genuine smile on her face.