#i just want a jovial conversation w all of them

[anghelflesh]

Going to play the whole COD: Ghosts campaign and make a Janitor AI bot out of all the members JUST WATCH ME

[fuji-sen]

Monachopsis; SAGAU Creator!Reader Headcanon

Monachopsis: the subtle feeling of being out of place.

c/w: angst, homesickness, slight cult genshin impact characters.

synopsis: The adrenaline and excitement had worn off, what replaced it was a sense of detachment and the feeling of homesick-ness slowly building up. No longer feeling joy at being treated like a God in your favorite game, you could only feel that subtle but persistent feeling that you did not belong there coupled with the sadness and grief at your past life.

divider credits: @enchanthings

✨ you wonder how things became like this, perhaps it was because you were constantly detained and kept inside a lavish palace, unable to see the outside world.

✨ or perhaps it was how your acolytes treat you.

✨ they did not harm you, but they might as well have all together.

✨ they treat you so full of devotion and reverence. Their touches stiff and light never holding you for longer than it is necessary, their manner of speech was always formal, never jovial even the bard of Mondstadt had a more serious and deep persona when it came to you.

✨ although their goal was simply to respect you for you were their supposed Creator, that very devotion towards you became the very wall that separated you from them.

✨ you could not get close to them, you could not pass that damned relationship between a Creator and a faithful believer.

✨ Furina had been closed to you at least, perhaps because she understood your plights. However your relationship seemed sinful in the eyes of the other acolyte.

✨ you no longer were able to see the cheerful girl.

✨ Buer or Nahida who's ability to read minds and the hearts of people worked on you, but it seemed she had learned from Fontaine's leader, she did not get close to you, however she left more sincere gifts for you.

✨ handwritten letters, books with annotations, even Aranara's were given to you on the guise of being servants.

✨ speaking of gifts, wealth, gems, lavish furniture, clothes made from the rarest fur and the softest silk had been presented to you. At first it made you overjoyed, to received the things you had long for, to become rich and wealthy.

✨ now seeing the pile of untouched presents all you could feel was cold, it was impersonal really. The clothes did not suit you, the gems and gold were useless for you could not even go out to spend it, the furniture as well for it was too big for you to used by yourself and you lacked the friends to even sit together with and have a chat.

✨ however upon seeing your favor towards the dendro archon's gifts, they tried to follow in suit. Yet their letters were simply filled with compliments of your visage, poems and tales about how great you were, talking about you as if you were a historical person they had studied and were doing a greatly embellished report on but never truly getting to know you.

✨ to fight off the feeling of sadness that began to wallow in you, you asked for them, desperately, "treat me as your friend, if you truly love me as your God then treat me how I want to be treated." you'd say.

✨ they looked at each other, before carefully and hesitantly agreeing.

✨ now you felt guilty, they spend their times on you. Chatting with you, telling you stories.

✨ you feast together, with food made by Xiangling and other characters.

✨ but even as they surround you, their conversations became white noise to you and the food seemed tasteless under your tongue.

✨ you did not feel like you belong among them. especially with that nagging voice in your head, snickering and whispering that 'they aren't your friends, they're just acting like it all because their precious Creator begged them to.'

✨ In the past, or your past life, doing something for yourself, by yourself seemed like a chore. The mundane chores, your job, studying even, but now that seemed like a luxury with the title of God.

✨ they did not ask you to do anything, you did not participate in state of the nation addresses, you could not change laws or fight for the people. . at least they didn't let you.

✨ you could not even clean your own room or dress yourself, Noelle took care of the cleaning, Chiori took care with choosing a set of clothes each day for you to wear like you were a kid and Xiangling did the cooking.

✨ It left you with nothing to do, like you had no purpose other than sitting still and looking pretty like a piece of decoration.

✨ Nobody disagreed with you even, nobody argued with you, they were like yes-men. God you began to miss your parents and siblings, you missed your classmates/coworkers, you missed working, you missed being your own person!

✨ it was beginning to eat you up at this point,

✨ to the point you had became overwhelmed with sadness.

might make a mini-headcanon series for this or an actual series revolving around this idea/angst.

do you want a series like this tho? it'd be heavily angst and might just have a bad ending or good ending.

[taintandviolent]

le petite mort; James March x Reader

summary: After checking into one of the Hotel Cortez, a conversation with the bartender plagues your mind with dirty thoughts. Some guy catches you pleasuring yourself in the hotel room - and that some guy happens to be the owner of the Hotel. w a r n i n g s: 2k words! shameless smut! female masturbation, accidental voyeurism, slight humiliation, choking / asphyxiation, mentions of death (kinda). a/n: this is one of the first JPM fics that I started writing, and I felt that it finally needed to be finished and out of my drafts. hopefully it's not ASS. this is s shorter one, which feels alien to me, but c'est comma ça. hope everyone enjoys it!

full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here!

“Most people who check into the Hotel Cortez are hipsters wanting a taste of the art deco, or junkies and prostitutes looking to have a quick night in a cheap room.” She set the glass down carefully on the ornate bar, sliding it towards you with one finger.

The bartender didn’t hesitate in striking up a conversation after you’d sat down, angling your two suitcases on one side of the stool. The thought immediately manifested itself between your legs, and you shifted. If only. It had been so long since you’d had a good fuck that at this point, you’d even take a quick night. Maybe not with a junkie, but….

“I guess I kind of fall into the first category. But, I am here for a friend’s wedding. I didn’t want to stay where everyone else was staying.” You tilted your head back, letting the remainder of the amber slide down your throat. “I wish I was in the second category… maybe minus the junkies and prostitutes bit. But…” You trailed off with a shrug.

“Oh believe me, sweetheart. I know exactly what you mean. Women have needs.”

As you gathered your bags, your peripheral caught someone with dark hair watching you. Naturally, when you turned to look at them, you were met with an empty bar. Of course, because this is an old hotel and probably haunted.

“Thanks, Liz. It’s been a treat.”

She said nothing, only bowed her head with her long arms resting widely on the bar. You made a mental note to come back to the bar for another drink. But for now, it was time to unwind in your hotel room.

After getting settled, and a much needed hot shower — washing that airplane sludge off you was mandatory — you were finally relaxed. The wedding wasn’t until Saturday, so you had plenty of time to do whatever made its way into your mind. Maybe order some room service. Maybe peruse the hotel for some history, spend hours reading the informative little plaques that decorated the wall — every old hotel had them. Maybe masturbate…. Oh. Yes. Definitely that. That was first on the list, actually.

Dropping your towel to your feet, you pulled an old tattered t-shirt over your head, and hurried to the bed. Silly that you had any sort of modesty in an empty hotel room, it was after all, your hotel room. Could’ve and should’ve just bolted across the floor naked.

Suddenly, the radio on the table across from you crackled to life, the speakers expelling a high-pitched voice singing jovially amongst violins and some sort of wind instrument. After a few moments, it switched off with a burst of static. Lids heavy with arousal, you stared sleepily at the radio, resolving to unplug it before you went to sleep that night. Old wiring could be tolerated, but things turning on in the middle of the night was nightmare fuel.

You pressed the pad of your middle finger between the folds, delving further down to your entrance, where you pulled up some of the slick to lubricate your clit. The sensation made your eyelids flutter. Jesus, that conversation with the bartender had really gone straight to the cunt — you were clearly longing for something. Someone who would bring something new, something exciting to the table. You already dreaded the polite flirting that was going to occur at the wedding.

Your fingers circled your clit, bringing the sensitivity as high as you could for as long as you could before you felt the hot clench of an orgasm rush over you. Expelling a high pitched moan, you slipped your middle and ring finger inside, pumping in and out to bring yourself over the edge. You let out a few hoarse breaths as your hips dug into the creaky mattress, riding out the pleasure.

“My, my…”

You stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling, trying to figure out if that had been some weird, orgasm-induced hallucination.

“La petite mort, as the French call it.”

You yelped, pulling your wet fingers from your cunt. Unless the bartender had slipped something in your drink, the man at the edge of your bed was definitely not a hallucination. Dark hair styled so that not a single strand was out of place, no facial hair save for a thin moustache that decorated his upper lip, and a suit so pristine, you wondered if he’d just come off a film set. It was LA after all.

“Jesus Christ,” you sputtered, panting unevenly. “What?!” The way he stood at the edge of the bed, hands layered atop a cane was so paternal and overbearing it made you feel like a child caught watching porn on a school night. There was nothing to be embarrassed of; you were a grown woman in a hotel room that you paid for.

“A little death,” he replied. “A temporary weakness, a loss of consciousness. It became a poetic euphemism for orgasm in the late eighteen-hundreds.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” you murmured, mouth curling downward in irritation. “Have you ever heard of knocking!?”

He pushed his bottom lip into his top, pulling his chin up in a challenging expression. One eyebrow quirked. “You wouldn’t have heard me if I had.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but promptly snapped it shut. He had you there. A soft, melodic rapping on a door would’ve been lost amongst your whimpers and groans. Laughably so.

“Who the fuck even are you!? I’m going to call front desk — this is weird.” Frustrated, you wipe your slick fingers on the sheet beneath you before reaching for the phone. Suddenly, he was beside you, and the energy that radiated off of him made your leg muscles spasm.

The woman on the other end sounded annoyed.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she repeated, sounding like she was trying to suss out if this was a prank call.

“I would um, like someone removed from my hotel room. Security, or something.”

“We don’t have security.”

“Okay, that’s outrageous, but — there’s just some fucking guy in my room.”

You’re met with silence. The old plastic of the receiver creaked in your grip, your eyes darting back to him. He was smiling. Proudly.

“Tell them my name.”

You jerked your head forward, contorting your face in defiance, and wordlessly asking for clarification.

“Repeat after me, ‘The man in my room is James Patrick March, and I’d like him removed at once.’”

You felt your eyes narrow into slits, confused. Somewhere deep inside your core, you felt a clench at his sternness. “Go on, my dear.” He urged.

You cleared your throat resentfully.

“The man in my room is… James Patrick March and I’d like him removed at once.”

The line crackled. Instead of the usual static one would expect, terrifying sounds blared through the receiver; hisses and condescending sniggering. Eventually, you make out the harsh sound of a full bellied laugh. The woman was laughing.

“The owner? The owner of the hotel?” The laughing continued.

The tip of his cane came clunking down into the switch-hook, where he held it for several seconds — for poignancy? Dramatic effect? The dial tone startled you.

“I paid for this hotel room, okay? I do—“ You started, stiffly returning the receiver to the cradle.

“You did, did you?” He asked, his voice raising gleefully. The change in tone unsettled you. Deeply. Keeping your eyes locked on his, you reached for the edge of the duvet, scratching your nails at it to bring it up around your bare legs.

He watched you intently, almost smiling. Was he waiting for you to say something? Jesus.

“Ye-yeah… I paid for it.”

“Ah!” He exclaimed.

You jumped.

“I own this hotel, you see.” He gestured enthusiastically to the room, your eyes following it as though you hadn’t already spent a night in it. “I own it all. Down to the sheets you were pleasuring yourself on moments ago.”

You glanced at them. “Finished on, actually.”

“Yes — I know. Shame. I would’ve taken great pride in doing that myself.”

Your jaw dropped, and you pressed your legs together until you felt the pressure against your cunt. Your stomach tied itself in knots.

“Is the thought odious to you?” He inquired, almost softly, like he was trying to appeal to your gentler nature.

You remained silent, rubbing at the veins in your wrist. Eventually, after mulling it over (or gaining the confidence to do so), you shook your head.

“I thought not.” He may have been a complete stranger, but the way melodic way he crooned and growled every word made you dizzy. With the back of his hand, he swept a strand of hair from your brow, his knuckles ghosting over your cheek.

“Show me,” he ordered, running a single finger along your collarbone.

His hands wrapped around your throat, and heat blossomed in your cheeks. At first, his fingers were pressing on either side of your throat and the arousal flowed freely again, delighted by the concept of a mysteriously sexual one night stand. Admittedly, he wasn’t going in easy, but you weren’t a saint. You’d had your fair share of dudes who thought they were a Dom. This guy though… he wasn’t that. He didn’t get his tendencies from sneaking peeks at his girlfriend’s Cosmopolitan. He certainly hadn’t killed your arousal with his decision.

He shifted his weight on top of you, pulling the breathiest moan from your lips. The way his pointer finger roughly traced your jawbone drove you wild. His hands were just cold enough to feel unusual, but they were soft and possessed an unanticipated strength.

All at once, the pressure shifted to the front, his palm compressing against your trachea. Your brows furrowed at the sudden discomfort. His gaze was locked on your face, raptly watching the changing expressions.

You grasped at his hand, flailing as the oxygen started dwindling. Your head felt heavy and the sensation of your vision darkening around the edges frightened you. Your muscles tensed instinctively. He didn’t let up, and the panic wound itself in between your ribs like a snake. With your heart pounding, you began fighting recklessly, desperately trying to reach for anything.

James saw the nearly final change, and with a delighted gaze, eased up. “Exhilarating!”

You gasped, your lungs moaning as they sucked in air. The sound was disturbing to you, and sounded inhuman. “You almost killed me…”

“Hardly, my dear! Brain death occurs in four to five minutes. You triumphantly endured a mere ten seconds!”

“A…little… death.” He whispered each word delicately over your lips, hovering mere centimetres above yours. He was intoxicating, whatever it was he was putting off. Unbeknownst to you, your legs dropped open, hungry for more.

He looked down, eyes scanning over your thighs, your knees, and to the lush, inviting garden between them. One hand returned to your throat, compressing it slightly. You whimpered at the now-familiar sensation, and scooted your body down further on the bed, through his legs.

“Good! Yes,” he praised. “Succumb to your urges.”

As though he’d reached into your brain and simply made you do it, your fingers were on your cunt, playing with your wet folds before you had a second to process that you'd even done it. It was already sensitive, your touches had you galloping towards a second, overstimulated orgasm. With his free hand, James enveloped your hand with his large one, cupping it easily. You writhed uncontrollably, whimpering. He growled in delight at the feeling of your vocal cords humming beneath his palm.

“St-stop,” you cried out weakly, the pressure on your throat making you sound altogether pathetic.

“Very well then, I will.” He said, abruptly releasing the pressure on your throat. “I will, but you won’t.”

You almost protested the action, though that would’ve been an embarrassing blow to your ego had you actually done it. Begging him to stop then begging him to continue? Shameful. How much more of a desperate whore could you be, honestly? “Go on - since you’re so fond of it. Show me.”

He took in a seat in the velvet chair directly parallel to the bed, one leg crossed casually over the other. His dark eyes were aflame with interested, erotic hunger. You slipped one finger in, making a slutty show of how wet you were. Two fingers, and you arched your back, moaning loud.

“Another,” he crooned. You obeyed, wincing at the fullness. You curled your fingers up, pressing into the spongy flesh that made you writhe like a worm on a hook. You began leaking onto the mattress below, a mess of cum and sweat. James watched you as you fingered yourself again and again, pleasuring yourself over and over in every way you knew how until your legs were quivering with the overstimulation.

“Die a little death, my darling, go on…”

You came. Hard. Screaming, shaking and spilling out onto the sheets beneath you. With your hand laying limp over your damp cunt, twitching every so often, your breathing gradually slowed. Of course, when you lifted your head, the man was gone, leaving nothing but the quiet echo of his satisfied ‘Mmmm…’

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @thewolveswithin / @kaisbasementwhore / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny /

Ask to be added to the taglist for future fics!!

[soleilnomoon]

Hi again! Still absolutely adore your Kid fic from your last event 💜 Never got around to asking for a Sanji one, so here I am again😅 But seriously, congrats on over 550 followers!! Love seeing your blog grow, cause you’re really talented and deserve them all and legit can’t wait til you hit 1k+ 🥰

For the event order, may I please ask for a #1 with my boi Sanji, with anmitsu, konpeito, and keylime pie and with honey, please? 🥹 i hate this but need some sanji angst 😭

I also dunno if these three would work particularly well together for a prompt, so you can choose whatever! just really feeling angst and sanji rn and maybe comfort if you’d like 🥰

Thank you for all your works you’ve done so far 💜💜

hiiii omg haha i loved that fic fr (i'm obsessed w that man!!!) also ily for requesting sanji i don't write him nearly enough 🥰️ but thank you sm!! 😭 making me all soft and i am so so sorry this took forever, as u know i am so slow but!!! i had fun tormenting sanji w the angst ngl 💓💓💓💓 also those were great choices for the prompt, i wanted to write more but it would've been 8k words before i finished and who has time for that (i do, but listen... that's besides the point) ✨

2k words, fem reader (honestly gn too now that i think abt it), sfw (SHOCKING i know), 18+ mdni, a lil bit suggestive but nothing wild, angst angst angst city babey, fluff if you squint, also i gave u comfort bc u deserve it bb 💗(and sanji does too); feat. sanji being in denial forever and ever, mutual pining, fake unrequited love, reader is determined and sanji is a coward; also i made myself sad writing this but a good sad bc sanji deserves happiness and i'll fight oda if he doesn't get it i s2g... (if u see grammar mistakes/spelling errors... no u didn't 💗)

“loving each other began this way: threading / loneliness into loneliness / patiently, our hands trembling and precise.” — yehuda amichai

STEP 01:

what does it take to kill a soul? —

a question that’s posed unironically, without a hint of remorse or tact, the words precise and venomous, slicing through the thick veneer that he’s carefully crafted. he’s never been able to answer that question — not at six years old, not twelve or fifteen, and not at twenty-one. his siblings took pleasure in taunting him with seemingly philosophical questions, ones that clamped down onto his thoughts with heavy shackles.

even after he’s extracted himself from that life, he can’t scrub those memories from his mind — no matter how hard he tries. they sit, still raw and bloody, giving rise to unpleasant emotions that make his stomach churn from so many things left unsaid. he never set out to be a pirate, but piracy has given him the sort of freedom that he could only wish for as a child.

it’s with tender hands, with nimble yet graceful fingers, and with a fastidiousness that puts him in a category of his own, that he creates and creates and creates —

he’s told he’s an artist, which only pushes him to work harder, to be better. and when he asks himself why, he doesn’t have an answer. or, rather, the answer he does have only serves as a punishing reminder that he’ll never be good enough. no matter how many times his crew mates thank him — their emphatic, genuine praise a soft, warm breeze against his heart, gentle caresses that he commits to memory — despair still manages to infiltrate, a darkness choking out what little light he has left inside of him.

STEP 02:

how far are you willing to go to reach the truth? —

when you join the crew, he’s unnerved by your presence, which is wholly unlike him. usually, he’s able to put on his façade of the flirtatious cook, one that’s jovial and sociable, that lives to serve and please those around him. his first conversation with you ends in disaster; he spills the drink he tried to pour for you, despite your insistence that you are perfectly capable of pouring your own drink — and he knows it’s not out of malice, but it cuts into him all the same.

he tries again and again, bringing you little treats that you only agree to eating if he sits and eats with you; confusion eats away at his mind, and when he opens his mouth to decline, you pat the seat next to you and he acquiesces. he sits stiffly, at first, unsure of why he always feels on edge around you — an irritating need to impress you in a way he’s never wanted to for others grows stronger by the day.

you think it’s cute that he always seems flustered around you — that he stumbles over his words, refuses to hold eye contact with you for longer than thirty seconds — you also think it’s cute that the false bravado that he puts on for the world, diminishes immediately the second you come close to him. if he’s skittish, it’s because you always catch him staring at you; despite his quick reflexes, his reactions around you are slow but pure — childish, almost.

lately he’s clumsier and scatterbrained, nearly burning dinner when you decide to keep him company. you lean against the countertop, a teasing smile on your face — the same one that that caused him to bump his forehead against the cabinet door earlier — as you prattle on about a dream you had. he can barely keep up, his eyes drifting from the skillet to your face, gliding around the curve of your cheek, dipping lower in a slow descent along your neck.

he blinks repeatedly when he reaches your clavicle, stunned at his restraint; and it’s only when you call his name loudly that he realizes he’s left the heat on for too long.

“are you okay?” you ask when you see that he’s fussing over how best to save the dish, mouth moving as he quietly mutters to himself. he barely registers your voice, as an insidious one whispers harshly into his ears about his perpetual incompetence and lack of talent.

you can see that he’s retreated even further into his mind, a feat that also leaves you frustrated. you want to shake him but refrain and grab his hand instead. he snaps out of whatever stupor that held him captive just moments ago, lips parting as he sighs softly before glancing down at you.

“thank you.”

the words are quiet, but impactful, as he didn’t think he’d be able to get them out. you let go of his hand too soon, but he doesn’t say anything else, choosing to focus on cooking than embarrassing himself again in front of you.

you take his silence as a silent dismissal, but you don’t fight him on it — it’s bitter, that sort of rejection, and you swallow back your argument with great difficulty.

STEP 03:

what’s the difference between cowardice and self-preservation? —

frustration bubbles underneath his skin when he can’t find where he placed his lighter; he runs a hand through his hair and tugs on impulse, accidentally ripping a few strands from his scalp. they swirl and tumble onto the ground, pathetic in a way — just like me, but he never really says that out loud. he doesn’t hear your footsteps, although you did your best to remain as quiet as possible.

a cigarette sits in between his lips, and he has half a mind to toss it over the railing of the ship, but a warmth suddenly appears in front of him in the form of a flame. you found his lighter on the floor earlier and meant to give it to him, but every time you got closer, he found every excuse to leave. you don’t realize the impact you have on him — not really, anyway — because he’s genuinely surprised that you can’t hear the heavy beats of his heart that grow more intolerable the longer he hangs around you.

always afraid of being found out, he opts to keep his distance. it’s easier this way, he tells himself, better. but he doesn’t quite believe that; the evidence is plain as day when his tongue feels like its grown three sizes in the span of seconds, where his words get lost and forgotten. it’s all your fault, he reasons; you who insists on talking candidly with him, who insists on listening to him ramble about his dreams, who absolutely insists on stubbornly tearing down his walls, steadily chipping away without a care in the world. he looks at you as if you are the source of all his problems, but he also looks at you as if you’re the solution.

the intensity behind his stare makes your hands tremble slightly, it’s a miracle you’ve managed to keep yourself composed for this long. you light the end of his cigarette with ease, as if you’ve done this for him hundreds of times —and place the lighter into his pants pocket afterwards. if he wasn’t so used to you getting in his personal space all the time, he’d retreat immediately. the proximity is almost too much for him, but he doesn’t step back; you take that as a good sign and keep him company for a few minutes.

you don’t care for the smell of smoke, but on him it smells good. you almost tell him that, but instead bite down on your lip and keep your comment at bay, nerves getting the best of you as you nearly choke on the possibility that your feelings won’t be reciprocated.

another time, maybe. cheeks flushed, you turn your face to look elsewhere. although, you wonder if there ever will be another time. with him, you never know.

he’s still trying to figure you out and why he feels a different sort of calm around you; it’s alarming and new, drumming up an irrational fear within him. he doesn’t think he’s deserving of your attention or affection, and he’s convinced himself that you don’t harbor any romantic feelings for him. and why would you?

one by one, his thoughts pummel into him, acerbic and overwhelming. he exhales a sliver of smoke and puts the cigarette out. he gives you a quick, apologetic look before telling you goodnight, the smile on his face is melancholic and barely existent. you don’t dare say a word, keep your lips pressed together stubbornly; exasperated and dejected, you don’t know what’s worse — his inability to lower his guard around you for longer than ten minutes, or your inability to stop yourself from trying to carve pieces of yourself to give to him.

maybe if you helped him fill the gaping holes in his heart, he’d truly understand how you feel.

STEP 04:

if you had to do it all over again, would you do anything differently? —

sleep evades you after that night, and the night after that, and so forth; it gets so bad that you’re yawning in the middle of the day, falling asleep before you can have a cup of coffee or tea. this does not go unnoticed by the others, and after talking with nami, you feel less out of your element and finally can see the parts of sanji that he wants to keep hidden. her advice is simple: approach slowly and with intent; corner him and don’t let him escape.

you bide your time, full confident that you can find a moment to sit down with him and talk this all out. it doesn’t come easy, but franky mysteriously swaps sanji for the night’s watch — something that should strike you as odd, but it’s a small opening that you take without thinking as you hurriedly climb up to the crow’s nest with a renewed sort of energy.

even with his eyes closed, as he sits lazily on the bench with head tilted back against the wall, he knows it’s you.

“go back to bed,” he says firmly, refusing to look at you.

your stubbornness, unfortunately, wins out. “i’m staying.” at that he sits up, his attention completely on you as his eyes widen at your words. he wants to ask you why, but cowardice wins out — again. as his features soften, a flush crawls along his face, lightly painting his cheeks pink. he closes his eyes again, tries to steady his breathing as he counts backwards, only for his efforts to be obliterated with ease the moment you sit next to him.

as your thigh presses against his, you take his hand and on impulse you trace your fingertip along the lines on his palm. he watches you with a morbid fascination that scares him; but then you start to say things like, “you will live a very long life,” and “you are courageous, and you have a big heart.”

a small part of him wants to pull his hand away, so you won’t say anything else — but he remains put, so still that you almost think he’s stopped breathing. your voice is sweet and disarming, even when you carry on this charade of reading his palm. a belated realization hits him forcefully, making him blink several times; it dawns on him that you’ve always been so kind and gentle with him, even when you teased him. he’s spent all this time overthinking and hiding behind his past, that it never occurred to him that he could have simply let you in. you’ve never given him reason to believe that you’d betray or harm him intentionally.

he takes a deep breath, voice a little uneven, “i—”

you lean in close, adoration dripping onto your words as you interrupt him. “hey, have i told you?” the question glides along his skin, the words seeping into him as you continue, the lilt in your voice a honeyed, melodic spell. “you remind me of starlight and the mysteries of space.” your lips brush against his when you tell him that, and a warmth settles into the middle of his chest, makes it hard to focus. he doesn’t think when he curls his fingers around yours and doesn’t think when heleans down to kiss you — tender yet electrifying all the same.

the move disarms you in a way that doesn’t quite make sense to you, so you simply hum in approval and lean your head against his shoulder. a comfortable silence settles around you both, but you don’t mind that at all; it’s nice, not having to tip-toe around him anymore, and the demons that plagued him for so long don’t seem so intimidating with you by his side.

[therealslimshakespeare]

my dearest darlingest marina i need you to know you have broken me quite thoroughly and i might never ever forgive you for it as long as we both shall live ! ❣️

to clarify- ive been saving "let's fall out of love" to read later ever since you posted it cuz i didn't feel ready- didn't think i was emotionally stable enough to read it then. well, tonight ive been clearing out my list of unread fics from last year aND GODDAMN WAS I EVER RIGHT ABOUT THAT.!!!

started getting all weepy and shaky before that first courthouse bathroom conversation and i didn't ever stop 😭 sobbed so hard and for so long at the unfairness of it all (for both of them !) i gave myself an asthma attack and had to stop reading.. what really broke me was e's bittersweet and somewhat detached realization on the courthouse steps that all their kids had flocked to laney during the divorce. couldn't stop thinking abt how badly i would've wanted to tell jesse off for being sharp to his daddy, and the knowledge that elaine COULDN'T, that it wasn't quite over yet and she still had to save face for a bit longer despite how much it killed them both, despite being the only person who could truly understand just how deep elvis was hurting right then and having been the one who'd made a whole life out of loving him hard.......... the idea of him resigning himself to having lost that forever (false) and her having to go against everything in her nature to let him ache a while longer,, oh it just shattered my spirit to bits right then and there. oh god im gonna start crying again just thinking about how lonely they both made each other 💔💔💔

im literally inconsolable, even with the reasoning behind it/ knowing how it ends beforehand, and having those future timeline fics to fall back on did nOT SAVE ME like . dear GOD woman how is that even possible?!?? if i had any shred of humanity left in my body id wax poetic for three more paragraphs abt how that speaks to your truly absolutely outstanding talent as an author and worldbuilder, but alas i think i cried out everything that was keeping me sane sometime in the last half hour and now i have to go lie facedown on the floor in my hallway and die abt it all instead 👍 fantastic work as always i love all your work so much forever etc etc 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

ps: it took me the better part of an hour to type all this out since ive lost the water content of approxinately a small ocean w my tears and am doing physically poorly in response 🫠🫠 so thanks for ur patience in this trying time 😔🙏

I spun around in circles upon reading this like my poor coon dog when she had a stroke -jovially of course. Like this is the stuff every writer dreams of getting for feedback but holy smokes, your talent for screaming? Beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve always told you how much I appreciate your time and enthusiasm to tell your thoughts Mary Hope, and now is no exception. My babe and co-author @elvisabutler deserves the pleasure of reading what we’ve wrought, as well. I’ll be halving all your medical and psychiatric expenses with her. 😏

Tbh, despite knowing both imminent and longterm reconciliation was to happen after this segment, we were just as cut up about tearing them apart as you were to read it. In fact, it was worse than all the lead up fics where the passive aggressive accumulation of grievances came across as hurts but ultimately only aggravations. This is just…PAIN. Funny how what was untenable before a tragedy suddenly appears to have been idyllic after it. Anyways.

Thank you for reading, here’s some Kleenex, albuterol and do know the sequel to this divorce is in drafts, so not finished AT ALL but it is in the works.

Not that it’ll hurt much less than this one. 😈

[downin-thevalley]

Feast of the Winter Star

okay sO for my first winterfest in my favorite save Sebastian was my secret gift giver (it’s meant to be!!) and he gave me a piece of jade, so I wrote this!! i also went out into the real world and purchased a small piece of jade with my real life money and i treasure it because i’m so normal. I know my writings not the best but it makes me smile so I worked up the nerve to share it c:

~~~

The town square looked like a winter wonderland, with the freshly fallen snow and the long red tables set up around the enormous decorated tree. Augustine walked over timidly, looking around at the children playing and the families together at the tables. She suddenly felt very small; here she was, at this great big occasion—her first feast of the winter star in the valley—and she was all by her lonesome.

Sam and Abigail, her go-to companions for events such as this, were busy with their own families. She went over to their tables to give a quick hello and seasons greetings, but she didn’t want to overstep and invite herself to sit anywhere she may not be wanted.

After chatting with Penny and the kids for a bit, she decided to pay a visit to Robin’s table. She wanted to thank her for the carpentry work she had recently done for her on the farm, and it was always nice to chat with her and Maru and Demetrius. Sebastian sat beside his mother, looking on edge; Augustine knew this kind of occasion was far from his scene.

When Augustine first moved to the valley, she was very eager to meet her new neighbors; some were more keen than others to meet her. She met Sam one morning soon after she’d moved, skateboarding down the sidewalk. Both of them being so extroverted, they struck up a conversation and became fast friends.

“Hey, you should stop by the saloon tonight,” Sam had said. “My friends and I hang out there and play pool and stuff—sort of a Friday tradition, I guess. You’re more than welcome to join us!”

Augustine went to the saloon that night, where she was introduced to Abigail and Sebastian.

“Oh that's right...I heard someone new was moving onto that old farm.”

“That’d be me!” Augustine said enthusiastically.

“It's kind of a shame, really. I always enjoyed exploring those overgrown fields by myself.”

Sam shot her a look, but Augustine laughed it off. “Don’t worry, at this rate it’ll still be pretty overgrown for a while.”

“And this ray of sunshine is Sebastian,” Sam said, gesturing to the figure sitting on the big red chair against the wall. Sebastian looked up and met her eyes; she immediately felt butterflies.

“Oh. You just moved in, right? Cool.”

Sam muttered under his breath. “At least someone is polite—“

“Out of all the places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?”

“Wow, two for two,” Sam said. “Don’t mind the emos, Augustine. They’ll warm up to you, I’m sure.”

The memory flashed through her mind as she approached the table. As she got closer, Sebastian briefly met her eyes; again she felt those butterflies that hadn’t ever gone away.

“Hiya, Augustine!” Robin said. “You’re welcome to join our family table if you need company.”

Augustine hadn’t expected such an offer right off the bat. She only nodded, beginning to feel a bit choked up.

“Thank you, Robin, that really means a lot to me,” she said as she sat down between her and Sebastian.

“How’s winter life on the farm, Augustine?” Asked Maru.

Augustine talked and laughed jovially with the family for a long time, telling farm stories and expressing her gratitude for all of Robin’s carpentry work she had done over the past few seasons. She also had a long conversation with Demetrius about the fruit bats he had set up in the cave on the farm; she had lots of good to say about the fresh fruit she could reliably get no matter the season.

The hours went by, and Sebastian hardly said a word. Augustine was a bit disappointed by this, but not at all surprised. She knew he only really opened up around his friends, and although Augustine could tell he had warmed up to her considerably since their first meeting, she still understood his reservations.

Sebastian had more than warmed up to her, however. He had only ever admitted this to Sam one night after a band practice.

“What do you think of Augustine, man? Isn’t she cool?” Sam had asked.

Sebastian nonchalantly flicked his cigarette. “Yeah, she’s pretty cool I guess.”

“You guess?” Sam asked, noticing how Sebastian wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Oooh, someone’s got a cruuuush!”

“Shut up,” Sebastian replied, trying to seem relaxed and innocent, and failing.

“Dude, holy shit, you’re blushing!”

Sebastian popped Sam once in the shoulder.

“Ow,” Sam said, still smiling at him teasingly. He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “what about Abby?”

He took a long drag from his cigarette. “I dunno, man. I just feel like if something was gonna happen it would’ve happened by now, y’know?”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Sam said, nodding. “So,” that mischievous grin was back, “you gonna make a move or what?”

Sebastian looked up at the sky imploringly. “Man, can we drop it, please? We both know she’d never go for me anyway.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You know her,” he went on, “she’s so… bubbly and open, and kind, and… and…” He blushed harder as he took one last drag, then stomped out the butt on the ground. “I’m just not like that. She could have anyone in town if she wanted.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Sam nodded, “but give yourself some credit, bro. I see the way she looks at you.”

Sebastian’s head snapped up. “What way?”

Sam put his hands in his pockets and sauntered off towards his house. “Open your eyes and see for yourself sometime!”

Sebastian looked at her now, the way she animatedly spoke to both those at the table and those walking past. She looked back at him, lingered there for a moment, then looked down at her lap.

“Well, I really should give my gift and head home. I have to get up so early—“

“Oh! Augustine, one sec,” Sebastian blurted out. Everyone at the table looked towards him, making him even more nervous. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a tiny parcel. “I almost forgot. I’m your secret gift giver this year.”

Augustine’s face lit up as he handed her the gift. “Oh! Sebastian, thank you!”

“It’s nothing,” he said quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She opened the present with care, revealing a small, oblong piece of jade. She gasped and held it in her hand a moment.

“It’s not much, but it’s what I could afford,” Sebastian went on.

“Not much? Sebastian, I love it, thank you!” She threw her arms around him, then pulled away quickly.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before I did that,” she said, slightly embarrassed.

“Heh, that’s okay,” he said, trying so hard to play it cool. “I’m glad you like it.”

She looked at him for another lingering moment before she stood and said her goodbyes to everyone else at the table. His ears were ringing and he could only stare at the table in front of him.

“Open your eyes and see for yourself sometime!”

The thought popped into his head and he snapped up, looking around for her. He spotted her just next to the gigantic tree, having just delivered her gift to someone he knew he saw in the saloon all the time, but couldn’t place their name. He saw that she was still clutching the piece of jade in her hand; he saw her look down at it, smile, and look back at him. She seemed almost startled by him looking back, but this time he held her gaze. She waved to him, and he waved back.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, then turned to leave. He watched her until she was out of sight, then slumped back into his chair.

“Open your eyes and see for yourself.”

[voidthewanderer]

5,6,17,18, and 23 for all 3. Hier sind kekse.

@bleumanouche || Fifty OC Questions

Buckle up, because this is a long one! Got to have a lot of thoughts about these guys.

5. What's something you'd never put your OC through again?

Crow + Arsenic: Separating them for as long as they were. The more and more their relationship shows, the more and more I realize that the both of them would have been driven to the absolute brink of depression and hopelessness that they'd never see each other again. It's something that I do want to touch base with in A Different Life, but I'm not sure I'm even ready for those two to have that conversation of what exactly ran through their heads as literal centuries passed. Crow especially so since Arsenic at least made empty attempts to drown his sorrows. Crow never partook in chems, alcohol, or anything; they were stuck with their thoughts. Arsenic could at least get so shitfaced that he'd forget for a few hours.

Ripper: Honestly, him losing his family... twice. He always has that nagging feeling that maybe if he'd just stayed in his lane and didn't destroy that Protectron, that they'd all be together. Deep down, he knows that they wouldn't have been happy at it would have been for the sake of the kids, but they'd all be together, through the thick of it all. At least before the bombs, he did still have contact with his kids even though they were on the other side of the United States.

6. What's your OC's go-to comfort meal?

Crow: Chicken Tortilla Soup; they specifically make it with more of a white soup base and thicken it up enough so it could potentially pass off as a stew. Not only was this something that their mother would make for them when they weren't feeling well, it was the meal they made during a chicken soup 'challenge' Arsenic had posed for his cooking class he'd been hosting. It was the meal that really had caught his attention to them; making the meal even more special and comforting to them.

Arsenic: Creamed Chipped Beef; it's simple, it's quick, and there's just something about it. Yes, he's a foodie, but sometimes the basics is all you need to just enjoy yourself and remember simpler times.

Ripper: Chicken Picatta; Ripper is a picky eater (to put it nicely). But his grandmother always made the best food, even when it was something he wouldn't eat otherwise. This was the best of everything, food he both loved and would reject; but whatever magical thing he thought she did to it made him so happy. Sure, it was more just the capers he'd say no to, but he never would say no to his grandmother. Crow's the only person who's managed to recreate her recipe and it makes him so happy.

17. What's your OC's star sign?

I genuinely have a hard time understanding sun, moon, and rising signs; I'm not gonna lie. I know they involve time, but that's about as much as I know, so I'm gonna just put the simple.

Crow: Cancer (June 29)

Arsenic: Taurus (May 7)

Ripper: Sagittarius (December 11)

18. What kind of drunk is your OC?

Crow: Does not drink. They don't enjoy the taste of alcohol and don't particularly enjoy being around others who are drunk; Arsenic and Ripper included.

Arsenic: The filter is off entirely when he's drunk. If you somehow didn't know if he liked you or not, you'll know. He's also a bit more clingy, especially to people he wants to sleep with. Unfortunately, with his already minimal filter turned down to zero, it also makes him a bit more combative, willing to fight anybody who actually talks back to him.

Ripper: He's extremely jovial, almost to an annoying extent sometimes. He's loud, wants to sing, dance, do everything he can to become the center of attention. He thinks he's helping everyone have a good time, but sometimes people just want to drink quietly and he doesn't realize just how much he tries to force others to join in on his fun. If he were just being like that by himself or with others who are similar drunks, it would be fine, but he tries to get everybody to do the same; which can be quite frustrating.

23. What's your OC's favourite memory?

Crow + Arsenic: Meeting each other. It's cliche, yeah, but these two definitely wouldn't be who they are now without one another. Crow was so proud to have caught Arsenic's attention with just knowing how to cook and the fact that someone that they felt was extremely attractive actually wanted to give them the time of day? And Arsenic actually wanted to be around Crow; he wouldn't ever deny that. He wanted Crow in his life and the fact that they wanted him back was amazing.

Ripper: Holding his kids for the first time. Don't ever make him choose between if it were holding Cody or Amy. Just, getting to hold both of his kids for the first time when they were born. That absolute feeling of nothing else in the world mattering except the tiny little human that he tucked close to his chest. Though, if pushed enough? He will admit he loves the memory of Amy's birth and holding her just a little bit more because seeing his four year old sitting on the hospital bed with Amelia, his daughter gently being held by her so that Amy was resting on Cody's lap. He'll tear up thinking about it every time.

[pirateborn-a]

“S-Sorry... For not answering earlier, I me—mea—meaaAAAN—ACHOOOO!” Buggy sneezed, still huddled beneath several layers of blankets. Though he had somewhat thawed up a bit at the prospect of pirates maybe not being as bad as he had always been told thanks to a certain redhead, the seven-year-old had still curled himself into a defensive little ball, legs hiked up and prepared to make a break for it should the need for it arise.

Buggy had grabbed his mother's throwing knife from the pile of his drying clothes when they hadn't been looking, hiding it in the sash wrapped around his middle. He had been afraid of the pirates taking it from him. It was the only thing he had left of her now. “You can tell your Captain to just d-drop me off at the next island. I promise I w-won't be a bother,” he mumbled meekly, still too scared to meet the mustached pirate's gaze head-on.

“We can't drop him off! He has nowhere else to go!” Shanks suddenly shot up, the cabin boy popping up from out of nowhere to insert himself into their conversation. Buggy froze, shooting the other boy a betrayed look. { from indomiitas ♥ }

@indomiitas  —  son  boy  laddie !

✧.    He chuckled, flippantly waving off the apology as he crouched down nearby the other. Running into the boy while trying to flee from the scene of crime —  adding a just pinch  ( a couple bottles of )  spices into Gaban’s meal  — hadn’t exactly been what he’d had in mind for his first meeting with their now-conscious guest, but he couldn’t find himself at all concerned about it either once they’d found their way back to a more secure location. The extra blankets he’d tossed onto the boy seemed to be doing the trick in warming him up, at least.

     A frown flickered across his face in confusion as he caught one of the boy’s words, lasting moments before he broke out into laughter.

“ You’re not a bother at all, laddie !  We’re pirates, not gangsters, ”   his jovial tone making way briefly for him to scrunch up his nose in distaste —  gangs, he’d never get them  — before smoothing back out with another chuckle. It’d be quite a while before they’d reach the next bit of land, but it wouldn’t be any trouble to provide the boy with the necessary supplies once they did. Or, preferably, figure out the boy’s guardians or friends and ensure his safe arrival. It wouldn’t be an easy task, but they could —

     His train of thoughts was interrupted by Shanks interruption, eyes widening minutely —  how long had his boy been hiding there ?  — but his attention soon returned to their guest in intrigue. The reaction suggested that Shanks spoke the truth.  

“ Is that so ? ”   he asked with a hum, brow quirking up in question,   “ The seas are a rather dangerous place for one as young as yourself to be alone, laddie. Even our cabin boy over there got us to protect him —  ah, sorry, ”   he shot Shanks a cheeky grin, raising his hand in faux apology. His tone was teasing, but warm,   “ To show him the ropes. He’s a big boy, he can protect himself just fine, wahaha. ”

     Still, he tucked his hand underneath his chin and took a closer look at the boy. If he had nowhere to go, if there was no one waiting for him —  and what a horrid fate that was  — then that complicated matters. Or simplified them, depending on the perspective.

     As lighthearted as Roger had been acting since they’d first fished the young boy out, he wasn't completely ignorant of the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t like Shanks, an orphaned baby, for whom full responsibility had fallen upon them. This was a boy old enough to have opinions, thoughts, and dreams of his own. Still young, considerably so, but well on his way to becoming his own man. They had to take into consideration his wants and needs.

     So they could go along with the boy's wishes and leave him to his own devices, providing him with the necessary supplies and food to ensure he found a safe place. But could any of them truly let a boy so young go into the unknown without reassurance of his safety ?  It was a gamble, and while Roger was hardly one to think about risks, it would always be a different story when children were involved.

     The alternative was clear to him, they could be the ones to keep an eye on him. They already had one boy, so what's another ?  Perhaps they could head back to the Blue’s for some time, in order to adjust to another child aboard their ship upon calmer waters. They could even drop by Crocus and give him a checkup in order to be assured in his health. Besides, it could also do well for Shanks to have a friend closer to his age. As much as they all adored their boy —  teasing notwithstanding  — time and age separated them in ways that wasn’t at all fair for Shanks.

     That much, assuming their guest would be willing to stay. But Roger would at least have to discuss the prospect with Rayleigh. The more he thought about it, the less enthusiastic he was about the idea of leaving the child to his own devices. To be stranded at sea, so young and alone.

     He could feel his fingers twitching, wishing to curl into fists though he kept them lax. Sparks of anger rose head each time he thought about how they had found the boy. They were pirates, of course. No strangers to sinking boats or throwing men off their ships. But those were always sailors. Those who had chosen to gamble their lives by setting out to sea. Not civilians or children. If the boy didn’t know the names or faces of those who caused him such a fate, then those bastards would have to kiss their lucky stars. If Roger were to get his hands on them…

     But those were thoughts for another time. The boy was their immediate and main concern, he would take the priority.

“ Hm… if memory serves me right, we’re still a bit aways off ‘til the next island, ”  he hummed, voice remaining cheerful,   “ You can decide your next course of action on the way there.  Or if there’s any place or person in particular you wish to be brought to, just let us know. We’ve got plenty of time and supplies. ”

     The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to let the boy out into the world without some sort of guarantee, if the boy truly had no one to return to. They’d been looking after Shanks just fine; why not add another to the crew ?  It seemed like the most obvious solution. But they could seldom keep the boy around against his will, they’d somehow have to convince him before they reached land. His eyes flickered to Shanks; he’d have to discuss the plan with his boy before he went to talk to Rayleigh.

“ If there’s anything you need or that you’re curious about, just ask around, and we’ll be happy to provide. Shanks can be the one to show you around, he’s a clever one and knows the Oro Jackson well. She is a vessel unmatched by any other, but she’s quite the sweetheart, ”    he gave the wood floor a gentle pat, smiling as she hummed in return,   “ She’ll look after you, as she does for all of us, ”   it was a compromise, and with the decision made, he felt far more at ease, laughter rumbling in his chest.

“ On one condition, ”   he  ( somewhat failed )  to school the smile off his face, attempting to hold a more serious expression as he leaned forward just a touch, his voice a loud whisper,   “ Try not to tell Gaban —  he’s the one with the sunglasses and poofy hair  — that you caught me spiking his meal, hm ?  Could you do that for me, laddie ?  The last time he caught me doing something of that sort, he teamed up with Rayleigh in scolding me, ”   a shudder ran through his body at the memory, pulling a face,   “ It was a nightmare, they wouldn’t even let me go catch a passing Sea King— even after I’d swallowed my pride and begged them !  Can you believe them ?  A man’s pride is far more worth a plate of fried rice ! ”

     His arms flew out to the side in gesture, shaking his head in lingering disbelief. It hadn’t even made sense for them to not let him go, because he’d then been too busy mourning the loss of their feast to pay any attention to their reprimands. The last thing any of them needed was a repeat of the incident with a new member around.

     Ah right, their guest.

“ Wahaha !  But I’m getting off track, ”   his grin easily returned to his face, falling the rest of the way down onto the floor and sitting cross-legged, looking intently —  though not unkindly  — at the young lad with an interesting face,   “ I’ll let the crew know to take it easy around you, but you’re welcome to stay aboard my ship for as long as you’d like, laddie. ”  

     He could only trust in fate that the boy would warm up to them in time. Although whichever way the winds would guide them, there was a certainty in his heart that the coming days were going to be that bit much brighter than they were before.

[lsvdw-blog]

Drained (3/?)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings; Rating: Angst; General

Premise: Serena makes moves and Ethan finds out.

Author’s Note: I'm sorry ☠️ I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading 💖 **HSM reference included

Serena comes to a halt in the middle of a crosswalk. Rebecca continues to lay out the terms of the contract, but time stands still as Serena drones out, shocked.

An offer. 

This is exactly what she wanted. A dream come true for her younger self.

So why does she feel so conflicted? 

~~~~~~

Serena hangs up the phone just as she’s stepping into her apartment, all of her roommates, along with Bryce and Rafael, are gathered in the living room, watching a movie. 

She stands at the edge, absorbing the laughter and camaraderie filling the space. Silently taking in what she would be giving up. 

Although becoming Head of the Diagnostics Team has been far from what she expected, she’s comfortable here — it’s familiar. She knows the ins and outs of Edenbrook now, a far cry from the intern that got lost in the hallways. She has an incredible friend group that would drop everything if she needed them. She knows the language, the culture, the unspoken rules and etiquette. 

She’d go from a three hour flight home to being across the ocean. She’d miss birthdays, holidays, and impromptu get-togethers. She'd miss the mundane things: days out in Boston Common, going on shopping trips with the girls, getting lost in the farmer's markets. 

But this was something she had wanted her entire life. What she’d worked nearly a decade for. 

By everyone else’s standards, for anyone on the outside looking in, she’s flourished in her three and half years at Edenbrook. Yet she feels like a trained falcon: tethered and only able to fly when told how high and how far.

She owes it to herself to make her dream a reality, to spread her wings, and not only fly, but soar.

Her eyes grow misty the longer she stands there, contemplating all of the things that would change. It isn’t until she’s deep in her spiral that Elijah calls out her name. 

“Serena, are you okay?” 

The backlight from the television reflects the tears in her eyes. “I’m really gonna miss you guys.” 

Understandably, she’s met with a room full of confused expressions. While they know about her struggles as Head of the Diagnostics Team, they don’t know about the events of the last forty-eight hours. 

Serena walks towards them, plopping down in the middle of the floor, and begins to fill them in. 

By that night, Serena had signed a year-long contract, shipping out in six weeks. 

~~~~~~

The next few days are a blur: making phone calls to potential movers and storage unit companies and having conversations with her new team. 

It seems as though Ethan finally took the hint that she wanted space. His interactions are gentle, but few and far in between. 

Serena knows it’s not fair to keep him in the dark, but she’s still too hurt and overwhelmed to bring herself to do the right thing.

Ethan interprets her space as her just needing to work through it first, that she’d be ready to talk soon.

How wrong he was. 

~~~~~~

“Great work today, Carrick. There might be some hope left for you after all.” 

Tobias chuckles. 

“Gotta keep the lead on her toes!” He does a little boxing move, causing Serena to laugh. “This will be my team before you know it.” 

Serena sobers at that comment, remembering the big news she has yet to share with anyone other than her family and roommates. 

Tobias notices the sudden change in energy, a cloud of sadness settling over them. 

“Tobias… take a seat. There’s something we need to discuss.” 

His brows furrow and his head tilts to the side in confusion as they both take a seat at the round table. Serena huffs out a long breath, sitting with her back ramrod straight, hands clasped in front of her. Any and all traces of joviality are gone.

“This should be your team."

“Serena, I was just kidding. You know I respect you as Hea—”

“I know. This has nothing to do with that. I wasn't ready then and I'm not ready now."

“You’re doing a fanta—”

Serena's hand shoots up to interrupt him. 

“It's okay. I know you see the way I’m being treated and have heard some… not very nice things said about me.” 

“Well, yeah, but they’re all just boomers who have a stick wedged so far up their asses that they’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a decent human being.” 

Serena snorts. “While that may be true, you know it’s more than that.”

Tobias leans forward, placing a hand over Serena’s that she hasn't stopped wringing. 

He looks at her earnestly. “You are doing an amazing job. And when have you ever cared what other people think? I say fuck ‘em.” 

“If only it were that easy.” 

She brings a hand out from under his, placing it on top. 

“It has been made very clear, time and time again, that I am not wanted here.” 

“That’s not tru—”

“I’ve accepted another position.” 

Tobias blinks rapidly at Serena. 

“With Médecins Sans Frontières.”

His jaw goes slack.  

“In Myanmar.”

At this, Tobias’ eyes look like they’re about ready to pop out of his head. 

“No.” 

“What?”

“I reject this.”

“Tobias… This is something I need to do.”

“You’re an invaluable member of this hospital! Anyone who means anything knows that — I know that, the DT knows that, the Chief—”

At that, Serena scoffs and rolls her eyes. 

“No, he doesn’t.” 

“What are you ta—”

“I’ve already signed the contract. I’ll deploy in five weeks.”

“What?”

A booming voice echoes around the room. Serena jumps backwards, extricating her hands from Tobias’, and looks at the floor. 

This is so not the way I wanted to tell him. 

Serena gives Tobias a curt nod, letting him know that it’s okay for him to leave the room. 

“Page me if you need anything,” he whispers before exiting. 

“Serena, what the hell is going on?”

“Ethan, sit down.”

“No! I’m not going to ‘sit down.’ Tell me what’s going on right now.” 

Serena sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’ve accepted a position with Médecins Sans Frontières in Myanmar. I start in five weeks, so you can count this as my four week notice.” 

“Is this one of those pranks from social media that I don’t understand?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” 

“Well, you must be. You were just made Head of the Diagnostics Team! This is your dream job.”

“It was. It’s not anymore.”

“Oh, but moving to Myanmar is?!” 

Serena gets out of her chair. “You’re missing the point.” 

“Then enlighten me!”

Ethan knows he needs to get a grip and control his emotions, but the utter fear coursing through him is paralyzing.

“I have been so busy supporting you in the last three years that I lost sight of myself.

“And I’m not saying it’s your fault, it’s not, I happily put you first. I wanted to put you first. With Naveen, Louise, Edenbrook possibly shutting down, everything. 

“But I had always dreamed of leaving our planet a better place than we’d found it. Of traveling the world while volunteering with different organizations… Did you even know that?" Serena whispers.

“You’re making a difference here.” 

Serena shakes her head furiously. “It’s not the same! Life kept getting in the way and I lost myself in the process, don't you see?!” 

“So what?! You felt sorry for me, is that it?! You saw me as some pet project — someone you could fix and mold into your perfect vision, so you stayed. My savior." 

The word drips with disdain, mockery, disgust.

Ethan expects Serena to yell obscenities at him, but when she speaks, eyes locked on his, she's deathly calm. 

Which causes Ethan to become even more frantic.

"I never wanted to save you. You were never broken, not to me. The things you see as flawed and jagged all fit together perfectly to create you. 

"'The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.' And you, as a whole, as your entire being, is the man I fell in love with.

"But my love for you has nothing to do with the struggles I've faced in my short tenure as lead. 

"I've done my absolute best to carry this team to new heights, to carry on the legacy and the mission. But it's become practically impossible to do when everyone in this hospital constantly undermines me, questions my competence, and makes bets on when I'll fail." 

"Not everyone. I don't—"

Ethan is interrupted by a barking laugh of disbelief. 

"It seems you've already forgotten, so let me remind you." 

~ 2 Months Ago ~

Serena exhaustedly walks through the door of Ethan’s apartment, the tail-wagging greeting of Jenner always a welcome, and much needed, dose of serotonin. 

Ethan follows closely behind the golden retriever, greeting Serena with a lopsided grin and kiss.

They have a nightly routine whenever she stays over, which is more often than not nowadays, and tonight is no different.  

Ethan notices that Serena is quieter than usual as they go through their ritual. He doesn’t bring it up, but keeps a close eye on her, ready to talk if and when she feels ready. 

Cuddled up on the couch after dinner, watching some brain-numbing show, is when Serena decides it's a good time. She pushes herself off of Ethan’s chest and sits criss-cross applesauce as she turns to face him. Her hands are in her lap, fidgeting in nervousness, internally trying to hype herself up. 

Ethan places one hand over hers in a reassuring gesture, patiently waiting for her to speak. 

“I’ve, uh—” Serena clears her throat. “I’ve been having some management challenges. Senior personnel in other departments have created a hostile work environment that isn’t letting me adequately step into the role as Head of the Diagnostics Team.

“There is no level of trust and this is shown day in and day out, in any decisions I make; I receive constant pushback, refusal to cooperate, and at times, am completely ignored.”

Serena’s heart is hammering in her chest and her palms are sweaty as she waits with bated breath for Ethan’s response.

“Tension is never one-sided. Be careful and cognizant of how you are treating others as well.”

Serena is taken aback. “That’s not me and you know it. There was practically no handover period, let alone adequate training. I was left to my own devices. Everyone assumed I would ‘figure it out,’ but it seems to have been forgotten by literally everyone that I don’t have anything to base this on in order to ‘figure it out!’”

Ethan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is that what this is about? I can’t just give you handouts because you’re my girlfriend.”

“When have I ever asked you for a ‘handout?’” Serena stands from her spot on the couch. “Why are you being so unsupportive? Don’t join the ranks of the people who think I slept my way to the top,” Serena says, a challenge in her tone.

Ethan is stunned into silence, bewilderment in his eyes.

The tension between them fills the penthouse, engulfing them in a silent standoff, neither backing down. 

Until Ethan says something that completely breaks Serena’s resolve. 

“Maybe you’re not mature enough to handle this yet. Perhaps I should have given the team to Tobias.” 

Ethan’s statement is coming from a place of hurt, her previous flippant remark cutting deep, as if his greatest fear concerning their relationship is becoming a reality. But it is also coming from a place of mentorship, invoking the “tough love” tactic he is so renowned for. The tone reminiscent of the very first day they met, following the thoracotomy in the waiting area. 

Tough love that pushes her to be better, to reach the staggering heights he knows she’s capable of, to fulfill her full potential. 

But all Serena wishes for is the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She wishes she hadn’t said anything at all, that there was a time machine that would take her back. Because how foolish of her to assume that Ethan could set aside his role as Chief to be the loving and supportive boyfriend she needed, not only in this moment, but also in the past four months. 

"You single-handedly tore a wound that I've been bleeding from ever since. I wasn’t confiding in you as Dr. Harlow; I was confiding in you as Serena. As a woman who, in that moment, needed the man she loved to love her.

Ethan is utterly horrified by the conversation from a couple months back and he grows ever more appalled with himself as Serena continues to put her feelings into words — yes, taking over as Chief was a bigger task than he had anticipated, but how could he not have noticed her cries for help? 

*"What about us?" 

Of all the thoughts and emotions swirling within him, this is the only one Ethan cares about right now. 

“What about everything we’ve been through?” Ethan presses. 

"You told me that you don't need me to take care of you. I realize now that I threw myself on the fire to keep you warm, but you'd say that you never asked me to. So I'll keep myself warm from now on."

“What am I supposed to do? I don’t want to lose you.”*

The words come out jumbled, rushed beyond measure, as if they'd be lost to time forever if Ethan didn't get them out right that instant.

His heart is beating like a hummingbird's wings, but it stops dead in the next second.  

"You've been too distracted to realize that you've already lost me a long time ago.

But you got what you wanted after all — this is Tobias' team now.”

[calaofnoldor]

Fake It ‘Til You Make It

Characters: Sam x Reader (gender neutral), Dean

Words: 3,295

Summary: Dean and his lady of the night are being obnoxiously loud, so you and Sam devise a plan of retaliation.

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, wee bit o’ language, mutual pining and other fun tropes

A/N: thank you for all the love and support on “Dean, Don’t” (there will be a sequel due to positive feedback!) tbh, i’m not sure how i feel about this one, but every single like, comment, and reblog is always super-duper appreciated!

MASTERLIST

Another hunt for the books, another bar tab for your fake credit card. Another leggy blonde for Dean, and another evening spent harboring your secret yet ever-growing crush for Sam Winchester. This was becoming a pattern lately.

You'd decided to join the brothers on their last several hunts after bumping into (and nearly decapitating) Dean in a vamp-infested warehouse in Colorado. That night, you bought him a beer to recompense, but he was rather swiftly distracted by the busty barmaid, and you ended up talking to Sam all night instead.

There was an instant chemistry between the two of you, what with your shared passion for monster lore and college dropout histories, conversation always flowed easily and often without end.

Tonight had been no different, from the moment you walked into the rundown bar in Iowa, and immediately placed a bet on the fate of Dean's evening entertainment.

"Twenty bucks says he goes home with that blonde in the red dress over there," you jerked your head towards the woman in question.

"Oh, you're so on L/N. She's way too classy for him. My money's on that short one over there with the space buns."

"Deal," you shook on it, while struggling to ignore the spark his touch ignited.

Three beers in and you had almost completely forgot about your bet, until Dean swaggered over with one arm draped casually around the shoulders of his blonde conquest. "We're gonna head out for the night, see you guys later."

You waited until the front door closed behind them before turning to Sam with a triumphant grin. "Pay up, Winchester," you held your hand out expectantly.

“How are you so good at that? I’m the one who’s been watching him my whole life.” He shook his head with amiable amusement while digging out a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket.

You shrugged a little, “You learn to read people fairly quickly on the job.”

“Y/N, we have the same job.”

You pretended to ponder this fact for a moment, your brows furrowing, “I guess I’m just a better hunter then?” It was an obvious jest, and you both knew it, as evidenced by the wide, matching smiles that broke out across both your faces.

God, how you loved his smile, especially the genuine ones that brought out his dimples and lit up his eyes, but even more so, you adored any smile behind which you were the cause. Those you stored amidst your most cherished memories and replayed in your mind a hundred times over on nights when the insomnia hit… Oh no, had you been staring for too long?

Abruptly, you turned towards the bartender, waving the newly acquired bill in your hand, and proceeded to order the next round.

Fortunately, the night carried on with its jovial tone, and you were almost able to disregard the desire to touch Sam’s veiny forearms when he rolled up the sleeves of his plaid, or the need to run your hands through his luscious locks whenever a wayward strand fell before his glimmering eyes.

“I guess we should head out soon. Dean’s probably gonna want to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Right, yeah.” At this point, you were feeling a little woozy from the alcohol, and Sam’s hands were suddenly grasping your biceps as you rose unsteadily from the barstool.

“I’m OK,” you laughed it off, but instantly missed the warmth of his palms that seemed to seep through your clothes and set your skin alight. Sam simply smiled at you, yet something in his eyes was so resplendent you felt goosebumps replace the fire along your arms. You must have been staring again, for Sam looked away somewhat embarrassedly and asked if there was something on his face.

Ugh, why did he have such an effect on you? You’d been around plenty of male hunters in the past, some nearly just as attractive, but you’d always managed to keep your wits about you. Indeed, your unrelenting rationality was usually a subject of pride for you, yet here you were, a blubbering mess after a mere touch on the arm and that stupid smile.

Looking down, you grumbled a quick apology and a senseless explanation that involved blaming the booze before you took off.

Sam followed after you, but not before double checking that you had grabbed all your belongings. There was a strong and instinctive urge to look after and protect that stirred within him whenever you were around, and he couldn’t neglect it if he tried.

It wasn’t that you were weak and needed someone to look out for you. Sam knew you’d been more or less hunting on your own for years now, and could certainly roll with the best of them, himself and Dean included. No, Sam knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, yet he still could not brush the nagging need to keep you safe and by his side whenever possible.

At times, he felt as if a spell had overcome him and he was no longer in control of his senses when it came to you. It was annoying, really.

Tonight, for instance, Sam could have sworn he spent the better part of your time at the bar glaring down any man who came within three feet of you, foolishly daring to try their chances with you. He was sure you’d notice his strange behavior at some point, but you simply talked the night away with him, smiling that stupendous smile, the one that made him lose his breath.

Everything about you enchanted him, and Sam often found himself wishing he could just dive in and kiss you, hold you in his arms and never let you go. He was sure you could read it all in his eyes by now.

To his disappointment, however, you never gave any indication of reciprocation, always treating him in a strictly platonic manner, whether intentionally or out of ignorance, Sam didn’t know. But he never dared make a move, and he convinced himself that he felt fortunate enough to have you as a friend.

The walk back to the motel wasn’t long, although Sam took deliberately small steps to prolong your time together. When you reached the brothers’ room, your eyes fell upon a grey sock dangling unceremoniously from the doorknob. So Dean had taken Blondie to his motel room.

“How’s that for classy?” you looked up at Sam with a small smirk.

He let out a huff of a laugh and shook his head while staring at the sock. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he spent a night in the Impala.

“Hey, why don’t you just come over to my room,” you suggested as you motioned next door, “We can chill in there for a bit, wait it out?”

Sam’s eyes shot up to your face. All he had to hear was “come over to my room,” and his brain immediately began imagining all the potential scenarios those five little words could lead to… if you felt even an inkling of what he felt for you. He gulped and tried to reel his thoughts in, meeting your gaze with a dreamy look.

“Um… yeah, OK, sure, yeah. That sounds good. I mean, you sure you don’t mind?” he stumbled out.

You laughed that brilliant laugh, “No, I should probably sober up a little before I sleep anyway.”

Sam nodded, afraid of what words might escape if he opened his mouth again, and the two of you made your way towards the adjacent motel room. He watched as your delicate hands worked the key and instantly took note of the angry red scrapes and cuts along your palm when you turned your wrist to unlock the door.

Brows knit with concern, Sam silently berated himself for failing to take better care of you. He remembered you took a nasty fall when the ghost had thrown you aside to get to the brothers as they burned the necklace that tethered it to this realm. You must have landed on the concrete and braced yourself with your hands.

As you both stepped into the dim and modest room, Sam was about to ask for your first aid kit when you suddenly brought your arms overhead and stretched out your lithe body with a soft, satisfactory grunt. When the hem of your shirt rode up, Sam had to look away to stop himself from staring at the anti-possession tattoo that peeked out above your hip bone. Just that sliver of skin was so alluring to him; he really was in deep.

When you lowered your arms back down, you sent him a small, apologetic smile, “Sorry, it just always feels good to do that after a hunt and a night out in town.”

Sam nodded again, still finding it difficult to come up with the right words, but then he remembered his previous mission. “Give me your hand.”

“W-what?” you stuttered, dumbfoundedly. It was your turn to wonder if you’d heard right.

“Your hand, let me see it.” He repeated, and this time he simply caught your wrist and took your hand gingerly in his, turning it such that your palm faced up, so he could examine the extent of the damage.

“Oh,” you breathed out, slightly relieved, “It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.” You tried to pull your hand out of his intoxicating grip, but he held on quite firmly.

“Y/N, we need to clean these and bandage them so they don’t get infected.”

He had pulled you rather close to him, to the point where you could feel his body heat emanating towards you, and you hated to admit the proximity was really messing with your mind. All you could think about was the deliciously muscled torso that surely lay beneath those layers of cotton, and what it would feel like to run your hands across it.

Sam took advantage of your lack of response and led you to sit on the edge of the bed. As he went to look for the first aid kit, you couldn’t help but admire his backside, especially when he bent over to rummage through your duffle bag in the corner.

When he returned to your side, you quickly closed your jaw and reached over for the cleaning supplies, but he held it out of your reach and grasped your hand again instead. Your eyes met for moment, and almost as if on cue, a loud, lascivious moan came through the room’s thin walls.

Sam felt his cheeks heat up, and hastily averted his gaze. He mentally cursed his brother’s wanton ways, but when he heard your giggling, all was forgiven.

“I guess someone’s having a good time.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think this’ll be quite as enjoyable for you.” He motioned to the alcohol in his other hand with a sheepish smile, “I probably don’t need to tell you this is gonna hurt.”

You shook your head slightly, but still winced a little when he poured the disinfectant over your wounds.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Sam sounded truly remorseful and you chuckled.

“What are you sorry for? It’s not like you threw me to the ground, and besides, you’re helping me now,” you murmured softly.

“Well you did get in it’s way to protect m- us. And I don’t like to see you in pain.”

He meant ‘people’ of course, you told yourself in vain. He’s obviously a nice guy and he doesn’t like to see anyone in pain. That’s why he’s a hunter. Duh.

You were trying, unsuccessfully, to slow your heart rate when another emphatic cry came from the direction of the older Winchester’s room.

“Oh! Oh my god!” The high pitch had your eyes widening.

“You can call me Dean, sweetheart,” came the muted reply.

You and Sam both rolled your eyes before he continued to treat and bandage your hand. His fingers, though rough, were improbably gentle against your skin and frequently sent shivers down your spine. It was all making you quite jittery and you really weren’t sure you could take it much longer. To exacerbate things, Dean and Blondie managed to vocalize their passions on at least five more occasions by the time Sam completed his work.

It was becoming rather aggravating, particularly because you found it extraordinarily hard to look Sam in the eyes or maintain a normal conversation with him when you were constantly getting bombarded by the sounds of his brother and his lady of the night copulating next door.

You stood as soon as Sam let go of your hand, needing to release some energy. “You know what, we can’t just let them dick us around like this all night!”

Sam laughed at your word choice and looked up at you, a fond curiosity shining through his eyes, “OK, but what could we possibly do to get back at them?”

You paused your pacing for a minute, racking your brain for an answer to their impudence. Sam watched as a gleam appeared in your eyes and a mischievous smile took over your features.

“I’ve got it! My friend and I used to do this back in college when our roommate brought dates home and they got a little too carried away. It’s basically a game of chicken.”

Sam raised his brow in question so you continued, “If they’re gonna be obnoxiously loud with their fornication rituals, then we can go at it too.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s simple. An eye for an eye. We don’t even have to make it sound real, just as long as it’s equally loud and disturbing.”

“Y/N, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting? That we pretend to have s-sex?” Sam was feeling considerably dubious about your plan, as he couldn’t imagine himself holding back if you were to act in any way sensual around him, even if it was all make believe.

Just then, another resounding squeal of pleasure travelled to your ears and before Sam could stop you, you took the opportunity to show him what you were talking about.

“Oh! Yes!” You exclaimed salaciously in return.

Sam’s eyes grew as he stared at you in disbelief. Your own eyes were closed and your face contorted to an expression of intense pleasure that Sam had only dreamed about. He couldn’t stop fidgeting in his place on the bed, thankful that the first aid kit still sat on his lap as he adjusted his trousers a bit.

“Y/N, I don’t-“

“Come on, Sammy, join me! Trust me, it works every time.”

Sam didn’t have time to contemplate how much he loved the sound of his childhood nickname rolling off your tongue because a second howl came from the next room, this time lower in pitch, though you were there to answer regardless. “Oh my gosh, yes! Right there!”

If Sam thought the effect that you had on him normally was overwhelming, he was undoubtedly unprepared for the way his body responded to you making ludicrously pornographic sounds not two feet from him. Everything seemed to disappear around him until only you remained and held the entirety of his focus.

“Ooh, faster! Harder, Sam!”

Fuck. You said his name. And you said it with lust in your voice. It was as if all his fantasies had come to life before him in some twisted and desperately maddening form. Something in him snapped, and before he knew it, he was standing across from you, staring fixedly at your face, as you shouted in unison.

“Ungh! Oh god, Y/N!”

“Yes, that’s it! Don’t stop!”

Sam’s deep voice compelled your eyes to snap open. He was already looking straight at you, and you could almost taste the tension.

“Oh, baby! You feel so good!”

You didn’t join him this time. You couldn’t. He had you in a trance, his lips, jaw, neck, shoulders, the way his chest moved towards you when he inhaled, the sheer size of him. It was all too much. So you simply stared, feeling your breath come and go faster than you were used to.

There was a split second, or perhaps it was a lifetime, in which the two of you stood still, eyes locked in a fiery exchange, but in the next instant you both lunged forward, lips and teeth and noses and bodies clashing in a passionate, long-awaited display of carnal thirst.

But the kiss ended far too soon for your liking. “Wait, wait, Y/N. I really want this, but you’re probably still drunk, and I don’t wanna take advantage of you or the situation.” Sam panted hurriedly.

You smiled at his chivalry yet shook your head in disagreement, “Sam, don’t be an idjit. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sober, and I definitely haven’t wanted anything more than this, right now.” Your voice was just as breathy.

Sam moved his hands back to your face and that glorious, dimpled smile returned, “Baby, are you sure?”

The nickname brought a flutter to your heart, “Yes, I swear to heaven and hell, if you don’t kiss me again, Sam Winchester-“

His lips cut yours off in another bruising yet completely satisfying declaration of need. Your back arched and he brought one hand down to pull your waist flush against his solid form.

“Mmph,” you moaned against his mouth.

God, Sam couldn’t handle the sounds you made. A man could only hold back for so long. His enormous moose hands frantically grabbed at your ass, hoisting you into his arms in no time and carrying you back towards the bed.

Let’s just say Dean and Blondie truly had no idea of the spectacular and thunderous show they were in for.

The next morning, Sam awoke with a warm weight on his chest. He looked down to find your slumbering form nuzzled against him, head tucked beneath his chin and legs messily intertwined. A fond smile crossed his face as he subconsciously tightened his hold on you and pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. The feeling of elation didn't fade as he closed his eyes to rest again, but it did recede ever so slightly to the backburner when the door clicked and his brother came barging in. “Alright, rise and shine, lovebirds! That was quite the show you guys put on last night, hope it didn't-“ “Shhh! Dean, shut up!” Sam shushed his brother with a stage whisper whilst scrambling to cover your bare back with the disheveled sheets surrounding you, but Dean had already glimpsed the evidence. “Sammy, you sly dog!” He wiggled his brows, grinning proudly at his little brother, "And here I thought I was the only one who got laid last night." “Dean, get out.” "Yeah ok, I'm gone," he raised his hands in assent. "But tell your sweetheart we're leaving in twenty," Dean added before he finally let the door shut behind him.

His sweetheart. Sam sure liked the sound of that. The corners of his lips struggled not to raise with glee. "Mm, was that Dean?" you mumbled against Sam's chest, fingers tracing the ink of his anti-possession tattoo with half-lidded eyes. "Yeah, just came to tell us we're leaving in twenty." He gave your hip a gentle squeeze "He knows, doesn’t he?" You rubbed your eyes with a yawn. Sam chuckled at your adorably sleepy state. “Yeah, sorry…” he trailed off, unsure of how you would respond to the news.

“Well, don’t be. That just means I get to do this whenever I want.” You lifted your head to kiss him hard, and his hands instinctively cradled your face, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap and completely awake.

“You know, I think we still have about 15 minutes.”

“I like the way you think, Winchester.”

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading! i’d now like to apologize for this obligatory self plug, but there’s new stuff available at lexicolor.redbubble.com, just fyi :)

[rosy-cheekx]

for the kiss prompts... 16 with jonmartin?

Combined this New Years Kiss prompt with @ombreblossom‘s prompt for “a giggly kiss" and an anon prompt: “I wish you would write a fic where martin scoops Jon into his arms and Jon realizes how strong he is” damn if i dont deliver

Just a good vibes fic while I’m dying over the pre-finals stress. Check on your friendly neighborhood psychology students, especially juniors. They’re a-struggling. 

Enjoy!!

Resolutions, 2.2k

CW: alcohol

--

“Happy New Year’s Eve!”

Jon wasn’t sure what he expected of Tim’s house. Maybe something haphazardly designed, with takeaway menus pinned to the fridge? Maybe the epitome of the bachelor pad?

He definitely hadn’t expected the open floorplan, spotlessly cleaned and well-organized, with furniture complementary to the walls and each other. Warm light spilled from every lamp, with purple and silver decorations inscribed with “2015” and “Happy New Years” dangling from almost every surface.

“You can close your mouth now, buddy,” Tim elbowed him lightly. “I keep my spaces clean, what can I say?”

Jon clamped his teeth back together and held out a bottle of white wine mechanically. “I brought this. Er, sorry I’m late.”

Tim shook his head jovially, taking Jon’s coat and scarf along with the wine, before handing the bottle back to him. “Party’s just getting started. We’ve been drinking a bit, playing some games.” He winked before nudging him toward the couches, where Sasha’s dark curls were just visible. “Go on, I’ll be right behind. They’ll be happy to see you!”

“Jon!” The man in question jumped and craned his neck to see Martin—or, more rightly, his hand—from over the edge of the couch cushions. “Good, you’re here! Sash and Tim are kicking my ass in Scrabble.”

Jon approached the living room, spying Martin, sitting on the floor in front of a coffee table, another bottle of white wine between him and Sasha, along with the aforementioned Scrabble board. “Scrabble isn’t a team sport?”

“Hey, Jon. Ooh, more wine, thank god, this one’s just gone.” Sasha scrunched her nose with her greeting, reaching for the bottle in his hands. “And no, it’s not,” she continued as she spun a corkscrew between her fingers. “But Tim is missing like half the tiles so we can’t play four.”

“Tim’n’Sash ganged up on me,” Martin mumbled, the edges of his words softened, Jon assumed, by wine. “I didn’t even��I’m new to research, issnot fair.”

Sasha pulled the cork from the wine as Tim leapt over the cushion of the suede couch, landing neatly next to her. “I told you, you would get Jon when he showed up, which evens it out anyways. Stop pouting.”

“Am not.”

Jon folded his legs beneath his hips as he sat, examining the board and taking a proffered glass from Sasha’s hands. “Don’t worry, Martin,” he offered, smiling gently at the man, taking in the flush of his face and the rolled sleeves of his dress shirt—maroon, he filed away. Looks good with his hair. “We’ve just got to last long enough before Tim gets drunk or bored and starts to throw letters at us. Did he tell you that’s why they’re missing?”

Martin laughed aloud and the noise caught Jon off guard. It was a low, warm sound, loud in a way that suited the man. Jon smiled to himself, proud.

“I do-I do not,” spluttered Tim, pointedly ignoring Sasha’s raised eyebrow. “…I stopped that when we were down to one W.”

Jon nudged Martin, gesturing for the block of letters in front of him. “You’ll see. Our turn?”

--

Eight rounds, three glasses of wine, and a dodge from the letter E later, Jon was feeling properly comfortable. They were all properly buzzed, if not a little tipsy, and the clock ticked steadily closer to midnight. Martin and Jon had continued to be partners for all the other games they played: Charades, Pictionary, and a silly game Sasha had made up where they had to describe concepts like colors or sounds, without using words directly related to them. Martin had carried their team for that game, explaining through an embarrassed blush that he liked to read a lot of poetry. Jon elected to ignore that statement, though he was grateful for the edge it gave them; his competitive streak was willing to ignore a multitude of sins.

At 11:15, Tim flipped through the television programs, searching for one doing a proper countdown. One of the BBC Music channels was playing a Countdown playlist, with an eclectic variety of music on the playlist if the presented queue was any indication. Remote in hand, Tim spun on his heel, lip-syncing voraciously to the song, some dreadfully cheesy rock ballad. In turn, he focused on Sasha, then Jon, then Martin, hand outstretched to each of them in a mockery of longing. When he turned his attention back to Sasha, the chorus swelled and she took his hand, swinging herself under his arm with a grin on her face. Jon settled into the couch cushions, a warmth running through his chest as he watched the two spin with each other in a pseudo-dance. Martin sipped his glass of water on the other end of the couch, seemingly as happy as Jon to just watch.

As the song ended, the rock ballad was replaced by a pop song, one Jon didn’t know but it was apparent everyone else did. Tim sang along in a horrendous shout-sing, and Sasha grabbed Martin’s hand, tugging on it lightly. Martin rolled his eyes, resisting briefly as Sasha wordlessly argued with him, but her will was stronger and he laughed softly as she pulled him to his feet and jumped around to the beat, air-guitaring in circles around him. Eventually, Martin closed his eyes and leant into the dance, reminding Jon vaguely of his club days with Georgie, the dozens of hot, sweaty young adults without a care in the world of who saw them dance. And, most importantly, dance badly. Martin was truly terrible, but Jon was unable to tear his gaze away. He wasn’t matching the tempo and he knew about half the words as he joined Tim in singing the chorus, but there was something about him that was absolutely intoxicating, more than the wine Jon had consumed.

The Beatles played next, and of course Jon knew them. They had been his grandmother’s favorite, and for good reason. He hadn’t even realized he was singing under his breath to Come Together until Tim’s TV remote was shoved under his lips unceremoniously. Without thinking, he accepted the faux-microphone and joined the trio, standing from the couch to the coffee table in socked feet. As he sang, voice growing in intensity, he swung his arms wide, the images of clubs and dancers and stages at the forefront of his mind.

When the song ended, Jon was breathless, and the smattered applause from his friends brought him out of his reverie. He blushed, suddenly acutely aware of the blood rushing through his body and the heart that was pumping it. he handed the remote to Tim and moved to step off the table, chewing on his lip as he did so. Before he could make the awkward step to the floor below, he yelped as he was suddenly swept off balance. The spinning of his mind, thanks to the alcohol, confused him briefly before he realized he hadn’t fallen and was actually being clutched in a pair of strong arms, bridal-style. Martin’s arms, to be precise. His brow was furrowed in concentration, though he held Jon like he weighed almost nothing.

“Ah, you said you didn’t want to fall.” Martin shrugged and bounced Jon in his arms slightly as if that explained everything.

He had? “Mmm-thank you Mar’n,” Jon murmured, eyes unsure where to land and deciding on a loose curl that hung over Martin’s forehead. He wanted to pull it, Jon realized, and he did so, gently, giving the coil a tug, and giggled to himself as it sprang back in place. Martin was a lot stronger than Jon gave him credit for, and warmer too, though that may have been the alcohol. It was nice, being held like that, and Jon felt himself nestle towards the heat of Martin’s barreled chest without thinking about it.

Tim and Sasha, to Jon’s relief, hadn’t seemed to notice, deep in conversation. Martin deposited Jon safely on the couch and slumped next to him, unbuttoning his collar a little more and turning his attention quite intently to his phone.

The music carried on, and Jon was pulled into a few more dances with Sasha and Tim but felt himself gravitating towards Martin as the hour pursued, making excuses to scoot closer on the couch. A few videos of kittens later, he was properly next to him, watching Tim and Sasha tango to Britney Spears and the clock that ticked steadily towards midnight.

As 11:50 hit, Tim lowered the volume and flopped next to Jon, sweat beading on his forehead. “Alright, mates, resolutions for 2015, go.” He popped a grape from the platter that rested on the chair nearby. “Mine’s to get outside more, I haven’t been able to get out of London much. Maybe go backpacking, see the world.”

Sasha shrugged and perched on the armrest of the couch, feet resting on the cushion next to Tim. “Patience, I think. Listening to people better.”

Jon surprised himself by speaking. “Work-life balance,” he mumbled, dragging his eyes from the coffee table to meet Tim’s curious expression. “It’s not like Elias cares much what the researchers do.”

“Hell yeah, mate!” Tim clapped him on the back. “Maybe you’ll finally come dancing with me. You’ve clearly got the skills.” He turned his attention to the final member of their party. “Marto? What about you?”

Martin shrugged, lips pursed in thought. “Mm, be more honest with people, I think.”

Tim nodded excitedly. “Oh yes, I would love to see Martin Blackwood, The Director’s Cut.”

The ginger shrugged. “I don’t think you’re missing much, honestly, just maybe a little more negativity, a little more feeling.”

“Regardless,” Tim waved the thought away. “Can’t wait to see it.” He cast his eyes to the ceiling and crossed his arms under his chest. “What do you think the illustrious Elias Bouchard does on holiday? I swear that man lives and breathes Magnus Institute.”

Sasha grinned. “Bet he wears nothing but a silk robe, with the Magnus owl embroidered on the chest, skulking around the house and drinking scotch, grumbling about budgets and paranormal stories.”

“Bet he has a cat he strokes menacingly while watching the stock market,” Martin added, sighing. “We can agree he’s a total Tory, right?”

“Oh, for sure,” came a chorus of affirmation.

The group sat in comfortable silence as an upbeat love song played on the television. Jon’s eyes were starting to feel heavy, like how they felt when he got them dilated at the optometrist. Midnight couldn’t come soon enough.

“Hey, guys?” The voice from his right was quiet, hesitant. Martin’s eyes were glassy, phone abandoned on his lap. “I’m really happy to be here, with you all.”

“Martin!” Sasha and Tim cooed happily, rushing to coat his words in affirmations and gentle kindness, sweet gifts with which to end the year. Jon opted for a quieter approach, not the verbally affectionate kind of man, placing a hand over Martin’s gently, squeezing his wrist once. He wasn’t even sure if Martin noticed it—he didn’t move his hand before Tim was shouting, hauling them up as 11:59 flashed on the screen and a countdown began to shout its way from 59 on the screen.

“Come on!” Tim crowed. “My mum always said you can’t stand still when midnight hits, or it’s bad luck. Something about starting the year moving.” Tim led them all in a sort of march, stomping forward and back, spinning in circles, and swinging each of his friends under his arms, though Martin had to duck rather considerably. All four of the research staff members were laughing through their words as they tried to add their discordant shouting to the last few numbers on the TV.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!” Tim grabbed Sasha around her waist and dipped her low as he kissed her, both grinning into the kiss. Jon chuckled and shook his head at the pair, before feeling the hand that was still on his tug gently.

“I-I said I wanted to be more honest,” Martin murmured, voice low in his throat. Jon nodded wordlessly, indicating for him to go on. His words seemed caught somehow.

“If I’m honest,” Martin continued, eyes flitting over Jon’s face before landing back on his eyes. “I really want to kiss you.”

Jon giggled, actually giggled at Martin’s words, the boldness of the wine piloting his voice for a moment. “What are you waiting for?”

So Martin did, one hand on Jon’s waist and one tangled in the hair behind his ears, pressing Jon close and up towards his lips. It was a warm kiss, soft and gentle, and Jon’s head was spinning, not from the buzz or the dancing but from the four points of contact he had with MartinMartinMartin Blackwood is kissing me and Martin’s hand is on my waist and my hand is on Martin’s cheek and his skin is so soft I think I could kiss him forever. Screw 2015; I’ll come back for 2016 and just kiss Martin for a year—

Martin pulled away, smiling down at Jon with a look of utter adoration. “Happy New Year,” he breathed. “Here’s to 2015.”

“H-Happy New Year,” Jon returned, ducking his head shyly at the gaze Martin was casting on him. “Let’s hope it’s a good one.”

[quirrrky]

ZODIAC COMPATIBILITY ΘεΘ KNY EDITION (PART 1)

PART 2 - PART 3

PERSONAL PLANETS: SUN (EGO, SENSE OF SELF), MOON (EMOTIONS, INNER-SELF), MERCURY (COMMUNICATION), MARS (SEX & DRIVE) & VENUS (LOVE & AFFECTION)

A/N: STILL DON’T KNOW YOUR OTHER SIGNS? GET THEM HERE Moon signs are considered to be more important in relationships and Mercury signs play a big role long term. 

ARIES - SABITO

“There’s no other way to go but move forward!” 

If that quote of his can’t prove how Aries this guy is, I don’t know what will (Though he doesn’t have reported birth date yet, it’s kinda’ fitting to associate him w/ this sign)

As an Arian, Sabito always have his head set on his goal and he will stop at nothing to achieve them

He can come off as impulsive though, because he’s quick-witted and dauntless, not second-guessing his worries and fears.

His passion can often be mistaken as aggression because he sets fire to his trail

Whatever his other personal planets may be, he will never waver and he always stands up whenever you got him good on the ground. (He’ll also get you so good on the ground too, even better!)

Even when feeling low, he’ll have a part of him that will fight to be optimistic

A leader that will push you to be the best you can be!

AS A LOVER

Sabito will always suggest new things for the both of you to try, because he’ll always find one and he’ll want to try them with you

His flirting will always be like a chasing game and he loves chasing you so playing coy will only get him to pursue you more eagerly

Playful and child-at-heart, he loves teasing you just because he thinks it’s cute. Tease him back and he won’t resist you

He’s fiery passionate and driven so brace yourself for a ride. Again, not afraid to try something new! 

Compatible with personal planets in Leo, Sagittarius, Gemini and Aquarius also: Personal planets in Aries, Libra and Scorpio

TAURUS - KYOJURO & INOSUKE

Grounded, confident and competent. Driven to achieve their goals no matter what. (They’re the next sign after Aries after all)

Both love anything that revolves around hedonism (food food food) and that can be their weakness uwu

Loyal to their friends and loved ones and would fight anyone to death if they are being harmed

However, can be stubborn af, could have tendency to drive things suuuuper slow and can be possessive

As an Earth sign, Inosuke and Kyojuro are practical, devoted and responsible

Taureans usually have beautiful faces and charming features

AS A LOVER

Inosuke and Kyojuro would flirt with you by sharing their food or making you one. 

They would bring you to places that have an over-all sensory pleasing vibe like a butterfly garden with a beautiful pond. Imagine Singapore’s Gardens by the Bay vibe

Extreme lover of nature they’d take you on gardening dates and anything that’s naturally visually appealing 

They like it if you’re also firm and loyal like them, because they’ll stand by you no matter what the odds are and won’t come to bring themselves to ever hurting you

OTHER TAURUS CHARACTER: KANAO TSUYURI

Compatible with personal planets in Virgo, Capricorn, Cancer and Pisces also: Personal planets in Taurus, Scorpio and Libra

GEMINI - MITSURI 

ROFL the GIF shows just how Gemini Mitsuri is

A lot of people mistyped Gemini for having two personalities, but the truth is nope, they don’t, because they have multiple 

As a Gemini, Mitsuri is very flexible in any situation

She is friendly, chatty and jovial which makes exchange of information very easy for her

The cutest thing about Geminis is they’re goddamn curious and very quick to learn this is more prominent to those who are Gemini Sun, Rising and Mercury

Although she’s adaptable, this can sometimes cause her to be nervous and indecisive

Geminis can be super flighty and detached if they don’t have enough  Water or Earth signs

Very intelligent and incredibly fun to hang around with

AS A LOVER

Mitsuri would prefer intelligent conversations, exchange of ideas and having a witty banter

Showing her how smart you are to talk to regardless what the topic is, it will definitely turn her on

She also loves adventures and would enjoy exploring new things with you, so inviting her over a new burger joint or ice cream store would very much pique her interest

Can be easily bored though, so you must keep up the pace with something engaging and exciting to keep her attention 

Compatible with personal planets in Libra, Aquarius, Aries and Leo also: Personal planets in Gemini, Sagittarius and Virgo

CANCER - TANJIRO

Cancer is the eternal mom of the zodiac that’s why it’s no doubt that Tanjirou is nicknamed “Mom” by his training mates

As a Cancerian, Tanjirou is gentle, kind and empathic

He is highly intuitive thus making him easily identify the feelings of those around him

He can be moody and emotional though and most of his actions can be driven by his feelings causing him to act impulsively when provoked

Being nurturing and caring is his second nature and would give his best to protect and ensure the comfort of his loved ones

AS A LOVER

Tanjirou would prioritize your safety and comfort. Looking after you would be his responsibility

 Would most of the times prioritize your own comfort on top of his

Will make sure you get enough snuggles and cuddles and even if he’s a mom most of the time, he’d enjoy it if you baby him too 

Will validate your feelings no matter what it is. Don’t be shocked if he knows what you’re feeling more than you do.

Definitely a fan of soulmates, etc

Compatible with personal planets in Scorpio, Pisces, Virgo and Taurus also: Personal planets in Cancer and Capricorn

☾ collections: KNY ☾ ⁺˚*·✧ navigation ✧⁺˚*·

[onionsoop]

Regrets /// Oikawa x nb!reader

Summary: After the last day of school you go over to Oikawa's house and start to talk about all the things you regretted not doing in high school. During that time though you confess to him after he pesters you about who you were interested in.

Length: 2.1k

Tags: Fluff, Childhood Friends, Kissing

Author's Note: Heyo, this is just some silly Oikawa fluff I decided to write cause I wasn't really in the mood to write smut these past few weeks. I might add more parts to this, but for now I'm working on Part 2 to the Nanami fic. Anyways, sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes and enjoy :)

The clink of ice in a glass sounded from the other room. You let out a long sigh, closing your eyes, letting the buzzing from the cicadas outside fill your mind. Warm sunlight beamed in from the sliding glass door, lighting up his bedroom and falling across your legs.

It was the last day of the school year. The last day of school before you headed off to college. It had been a long and twelve years, filled with some of the hardest work you had ever done, but now that it was over you felt was a slight sadness. Thinking about what you had ahead of you felt overwhelming and you just wanted to spend your time enjoying this last summer break to its fullest.

The sound of footsteps approaching from the kitchen made you open your eyes, turning your head to look at him as he entered the room. Casual as ever, Oikawa entered the room holding two full glasses of lemonade and smiling at you. Oikawa, your neighbor and childhood friend since you were seven-- looking at him now felt no different than it had when you first met. Despite the fact that he had grown twice as tall and now had his hair styled in those perfect waves the cocky look on his face had remained the same. You followed his movements with your eyes as he set one of the glasses down next to you on the floor before sitting down with a heavy sigh, admiring the way the muscles under his shirt moved.

“So, how long until you leave?” he asked, staring out the window into the garden in front of you.

“Two months. I’m leaving for Tokyo a month early to get set up,” you said dismally. Thinking about how little time you had left made a shiver run up your spine. It felt like there was a foot on your back pushing you to move on while you still held on to the last scraps of your childhood.

“Any closer to deciding on what you’re going to do?” you asked, shifting your eyes over to look at him. He was sprawled out on the floor, back resting against the side of the bed and lemonade glass in hand, slowly swirling the liquid inside. He shook his head, a slight, sad smile forming on his lips in response. Both of you felt the same way about high school ending-- you knew it was unavoidable but neither one of you liked the implications it held and the future it brought.

“Did you make sure to pick up all your equipment? You know Matsukawa was annoyed last year when you forgot your uniform,” you said, nudging his shoulder, trying to liven up the conversation. His eyes flicked over to you, giving you a fake exasperated look that contrasted the smile on his face.

“Of course, of course, Iwaizumi pestered me about it endlessly, there was no way I could forget,” he said, nudging you back a little harder.

“Say, why didn’t you ever join the team? You were always so invested in all of my games and practices.” You fixed your gaze back on the garden in front of you, feeling the jovial mood in the conversation seep out of the atmosphere as memories of things you missed out on flooded into your mind.

“I’m not sure,” you said truthfully, “I guess I was just too busy. I wish I had.” Oikawa nodded, letting out an “mmm” in response.

“Well, it doesn’t matter too much, I’m sure you’ll have a chance in college,”

“Probably, doesn’t feel the same though. I know it stupid but it feels like high school is the time when you’re supposed to do things like that. Makes it seem like I missed a lot of opportunities,” you said quietly, sadness seeping into your tone.

“I doubt that, you were always a hardworking student so if anything you just prepared yourself more for the future. Things like clubs aren’t important,” Oikawa said, trying to lighten the mood. Even though he was usually able to distract you and cheer you up, you still felt the weight of your future still pressing on your emotions.

“I feel so left behind though, like I don’t have these core experiences that everyone else does,”

“I don’t think volleyball is that much of a core experience-”

“It’s not just that, there’s lots of stuff-- I was never in any clubs, I never made that cliche friend group you’re supposed to have, I’ve never even had a first kiss! Do you know how embarrassing that’ll be for me to go into college without even a first kiss?” you exclaimed a little louder than you wanted to. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes but you quickly forced them away, returning to your depressed composure. There was no reason to get so emotional. You glanced over at Oikawa who had a surprised but concerned look on his face.

“I… I don’t know, I think this is all just weighing on me cause school just ended. I guess I don’t feel prepared,”

“It’s alright, I understand. I’m sure everything will get better in the next few months though.”

“Yeah, probably... I just wish I could go back and redo things, I feel so much regret…” you said, staring down at your drink, watching the condensation drip down the sides. You felt a little guilty putting this all on Oikawa, but you couldn’t quite shove away the depressing feeling that clung to you. There was an awkward pause and you felt Oikawa shift beside you.

“What would you go back and change?” he asked tentatively, meeting your eyes. You opened your mouth to answer but stopped when you realized you weren’t quite sure. You had never really thought about what exactly you would go and change, it felt like there was never really any point.

“I’m not exactly sure. I guess for starters I would go and join the volleyball team, then maybe try and connect with people more often. I was pretty standoff-ish most of the time wasn’t I,” you said, earning a chuckle from Oikawa.

“Makes sense, what would you do about that first kiss situation though? You seemed pretty distressed about that,” he said, a slight smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. You let out a small laugh, rolling your eyes and feeling heat rush to your cheeks. Out of all the things you felt you missed out on, that was the one you had actually given some thought to.

Over the four years you were in high school, you had multiple crushes on different people, but had never really been able to connect with them. At the current moment though the only one you remembered was the way you had liked Oikawa ever since elementary school. You had tried to build up the courage to confess to him back then, but once middle school hit and he got a girlfriend you buried your feelings as much as possible.

“I-I’m honestly not sure. There were a couple people I was interested in but I’m not sure anything would have ever really worked out with them.” You averted your gaze from him, trying to hide the blush forming on your cheeks, making you miss the intensity in his eyes as he asked you the next question.

‘Oh? Like who? Anyone I know?” he said, leaning forwards with a teasing grin on his face.

“I- I don’t think so, it wasn’t really anyone ever well known,” you said a bit too quickly, trying to blow it off with a slight laugh. You thought about all the times you had wanted to tell him about how you felt. You knew you had wanted to for so long, but was it even a good idea?

“Aw c’mon, can I at least get some names? You shouldn’t hold back information like this from your best friend Y/N,”

“I-... um-...” You couldn’t think of anything to say. The name of every guy you had ever known vanished from your head and the only one left was Oikawa’s. Your mind raced to try and think of something to say but nothing came to you. The room suddenly felt too hot and the noise from outside buzzed in your ears, distracting you from thinking properly.

“I-It’s a secret,” you said, regretting the excuse as soon as it came out of your mouth. Oikawa’s smile quickly dropped to be replaced with an expression that said “seriously?”

“We’re not even in school anymore, how can it be a secret?”

“It- It just is. I don’t want you to know, it’s embarrassing,” you said, becoming more aware of the hole you were digging yourself. There was no way you’d be able to lie your way out of this. The blush on your cheeks had transformed into a crimson shade that ran all the way up to your ears, showing that the words you said were lame excuses if it wasn’t already apparent.

“Come onnnn, it can’t be that bad, just tell me,” he said, poking you in the arm. Oikawa’s prying was becoming harder and harder to manage as you scrambled to find a way out of it. Your mind was barely working and had formed into a mess of pure panic. You wanted to give up and just tell him, but your mind was jumping from pros and cons too quickly for you to choose. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as you tried to answer.

“W-Well… it’s you.”

It felt like everything in the room stilled as soon as you spoke. The panic you felt before almost seemed to enhance and you felt a feeling of regret slam into you. What were you thinking? Your eyes flicked to Oikawa who was staring at you wide-eyed with his lips slightly parted in shock. Your lower lip began to tremble and your palms felt too sweaty where they were in your lap. Every atom in you felt the urge to run, but you were frozen in place. Fuck.

“W-What?” he said, finally breaking the silence.

“I-I’m sorry, pretend I didn’t say anything,” you blurted out, whipping your head back to face the garden. You started staring intently at a bush outside to try and concentrate on anything but the rising fear in your throat.

“You like me?”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I-I don’t know, I didn’t think you would reciprocate. W-Which it’s okay if you don’t...” you said, slowly shifting your gaze back to him, searching for any emotion on his face besides the intense stare he was giving you. You felt like your heart was about to pound out of your chest. Finally telling all of him this wasn’t as relieving as you thought it would be. Instead of feeling like a weight was lifted off your chest, being in this limbo had caused you to feel even more crushed by your decision. You closed your eyes and took a shaky breath, trying to calm down.

Faster than you could process, you felt his hand reach up to cup your cheek and his lips press up against yours. Your eyes shot open and you scrambled backwards, pulling away from the kiss.

“W-What are you doing?” you said, eyes wide and staring at Oikawa who was inches from your face.

“I-I’m sorry, I like you too, I thought it would be okay-” You didn’t let him finish his sentence as you slammed your lips back into his. Finally, you felt that wave of relief wash over you. Happiness swelled in your mind. You had to concentrate on keeping the corners of your lips from forcing your mouth into a smile. Your first kiss. Right then and there. It was all you could have ever hoped for and with the guy you had always dreamed it would be with.

You felt Oikawa’s arm move from its place on your cheek to reach around your back. He pulled you closer to him and you wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling his soft hair brush against your fingers. You melted into the kiss, savoring the warmth of his lips against yours.

He pulled back looking into your eyes as you let out an unsteady breath before smiling up at him. You could feel almost every part of you shaking from the adrenaline. You were lightheaded and found it hard to breathe, but you felt like you couldn’t be happier at that moment.

“So… would you like to be my significant other?” he asked, rubbing you back with his thumb.

“Yeah- yes please.” You beamed up at him, letting out a small laugh.

“You sure were surprised at that kiss, huh,” he said, a smirk coming across his features.

“Shut up!”

You gave him a slight push, both of you laughing as he held you in his arms, relishing the feeling of finally being with him.

[c-rose2081]

Finding Home

Chapter 1 [Part 1] (Dave & Roxie)

—

“Are you sure you wanna do this?”

The chopper pilot’s voice was stolen by the wind as Roxie and Dave leaned out the side door to have a look at Isla Nublar approaching on the horizon, “this is a suicide mission! You’ll probably die! I can take you back to the mainland right now!”

“Not a chance!” Roxie yelled back to him, tightening the backpack they had filled with rations and camping gear for the trip, “I’ve waited three years for this! Drop us there, on the North Shore!”

“You’re both crazy!” The pilot complained, turning the chopper anyway to begin descent towards the Island, “I’ll be back in four days for you! If you’re not there, I’ll assume you’re dead and leave without you. This is an unsafe fly-zone!”

“Just do as the lady says!” Dave called through the wind, clinging to the doorframe and his own backpack of supplies, “you don’t wanna be on her bad side!”

“It’s your money, amigos! I won’t be landing here though, you’ll have to jump for it!”

Nodding affirmatives, and with Dave throwing up his thumb, the pilot shook his head in disbelief and lowered the chopper down close to the shore. In the midst of billowing sand clouds, Dave and Roxie leapt from the chopper and onto the beach. Their boots sunk in the soft dunes, and ache from the landing quivered up into their knees. But as they turned, they could only see the bottom of the chopper’s blue and white cabin as it rose back up into the pristine sky.

“We made it,” Roxie breathed, brushing herself off and turning to look at the jungle ahead of them, “we’re actually here.”

“You know he’s right though,” Dave commented, ruffling his hair as to shake away sand grains, “we could get eaten before four days is up. We might not even get past today.”

“I’d rather die trying then never have tried at all,” Roxie shot back, “you’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No. Just making an observation, that’s all. So, where exactly are we?”

Removing a folded paper from her interior pocket, Roxie scanned the map of the island. There was a red X on their landing spot, and the place they’d have to get to should they catch the chopper again.

“We’re here, on the north shore,” Roxie said, pointing to the spot and tapping it, “Camp is...was...just across the main Gyrosphere paddock here. It’s a straight shot, we could get there before nightfall,”

“And what if we encounter a dinosaur before then?”

“We shouldn’t if all the fences are still up. A Compy or two perhaps,”

Dave didn’t appear to agree with her assessment of the situation, as his normally loose and humorous brows furrowed up into his hairline. But he said nothing on it, merely exhaled a puff of air and nodded.

“Ok. You have the map memorized, you lead the way.”

“Keep close to me,” Roxie insisted, reaching out her hand for Dave to take and giving the warm palm a solid squeeze, “this place has probably grown a lot in three years. It’ll be a miracle if there’s anything left to see,”

Walking carefully into the underbrush, the mission was officially underway. Roxie wasn’t sure what she was expecting upon finally getting back here. After all, it felt like a lifetime ago. She could memorize and map all the trails and access roads she wanted, but jurassic undergrowth was a menace. For a while, the two of them walked in silence, listening to a slight breeze which rustled the leaves in the canopy. They strained their ears for noises which sounded out of place, but there was nothing but nature.

“So...” Dave spoke up eventually to break the silence, nearly giving Roxie a heart attack, “have you thought about it?”

“It?” Her heart jumped at the oddity of the question. Of course, she knew what it was, and the truth was that she had put quite a bit of thought into it.

But marriage?

It was a lot to take in.

“Though I appreciate your transparency on the matter, love. I’m not sure this is the right time to be having this conversation,” Roxie managed out finally, placing each word together as though pulled from a scrabble bag.

“I don’t see why not,” Dave complained jovially, “I mean, it’s kinda romantic being out here with you. And we don’t have much else to talk about,”

“I hate when you make good points,” Roxie mumbled under her breath, only to stop and slam her arm out for Dave to halt as well, “hold on,”

“What?”

“Shh...I hear something,”

Roxie listened hard again, and for a second she thought maybe she’d just imagined it. But then, somewhere in the distance, was a familiar guttural roar. But it wasn’t my dinosaur which Roxie knew. No, this roar was something else...something far more familiar.

“Is that a car?”

“Rox...”

“No, no I’m serious,” listening harder, Dave was moving across the ground, causing it to crunch under his feet.

“Roxie...”

“It’s an engine. But that not possible...”

“Roxanne!”

Whipping her head up, Roxie was just in time to duck as something was swung at her head. The whoosh of air made the skin on her ears tingle as the attacker pulled back for another go. In a blur of motion, Dave reached up a hand and grabbed whatever was being swung, only to grunt as a foot made contact with his exposed chest and sent him reeling backwards.

“Dave!” Roxie cried, wincing in solidarity as her boyfriend hit the ground with a moan of pain. She was just in time to move as a baseball bat nearly crashed into her outstretched arm, and she realized finally that this wasn’t any animal attacking them, but another human being.

Shuffling backwards to put a few more feet between her and the newcomer, Roxie wondered how they hadn’t seen or heard them coming. Hidden in the deep indigo shadows of the trees, a pair of shining green eyes stared out intently.

“W-we don’t mean you any harm,” Roxie said, grappling for the pepper spray hooked via carabiner to her backpack strap, “please. We’re here to help,”

The stranger said nothing, merely shuffled closer as the baseball bat in their hand dragged across the dirt. To Roxie’s surprise, it fell to the ground with a wooden clunk a moment later. For a second, she wondered if the person would stop. If they would leave them alone. But there was a silver glint in the dark as a knife was pulled from inside a hidden sheath, making a horrible scraping noise.

“Oh...god,”

Jerking as she found herself with her back against a tree, Roxie yelped in panic as the figure leapt at her. She saw a metallic shimmer as the blade sliced through the air and forced her eyes closed. She waited in anticipation for the pain, or the feeling of flesh tearing open. But there was nothing; just a pained, raspy panting and the overwhelming smell of forest and decay. Cracking one clenched lid back open to see what happened, the serrated knife was still held in the air, poised to strike.

The person holding the knife was now fully illuminated by a patch of sunlight, and Roxie had to pause. Green eyes met brown, and the knife lowered as a teenage girl stepped back with a harsh gasp of surprise. Roxie opened her mouth to speak, but there was only a croak.

“...Brooklynn?”

The name almost didn’t fit on her tongue. How she somehow connected the pink haired social media star to the figure before her, Roxie want sure. The stranger — identified now as Brooklynn — tilted her head, furrowing her brows up into her hairline. Unlike three years ago, the pink to her hair was all but a memory. A brown, ratty mess was pulled up behind badly sunburned ears, and skin freckled by long afternoons sparkled with a sheen of mud and sweat. Some of that mud was more red then brown, and Roxie realized it wasn’t just dirt, but also blood that coated her body.

Brooklynn stared at Roxie for a hard moment, her brain whirring behind those piercing green eyes. She then turned to where Dave was now sitting up, rubbing a hand against where he’d been kicked.

“...oh...”

Had she not been so close, Roxie would’ve missed the word. It was barely a whisper, one which was easily taken away by the breezes. Two adults stared down a teenager who had been ready to kill them not a moment before, jaws agape.

“Brooklynn...?” Roxie asked, causing the girl to glance up at her. Her eyes were wild and uncertain behind long bangs, “what...w-what happened to...you?”

It wasn’t a good question; but what really was at this point? What could she ask that she didn’t already know deep down somewhere? Roxie had dreams of rescuing children; the children she had left behind. The children who’s eyes would light up like fireworks at the mere mention of Dinosaurs. But she wasn’t expecting them to actually be alive after three years. She had been expecting to pick up some old relics to bring back, to show the families just to prove she had been on the Island and had done everything in her power to make things right again.

She wasn’t expecting to nearly be murdered by one of the kids she was supposedly here to save.

Brooklynn didn’t say anything, merely pressed her lips together and glanced down at the knife still held in her hand. It almost appeared as though she were forcing it away; like her arm wouldn’t respond to the command of letting them live. The metal scraped back into its holder, and Brooklynn mechanically walked back towards where the baseball bat lay in the grass. She picked it up, clutching the bottleneck grip in both hands.

Then, in a second, she was gone.

Roxie didn’t even have time to call out; the girl had vanished while her eyes were wide open. Were she not still pressed up against a tree with the smell of decay lingering close to her nose and throat, Roxie might’ve believed she was simply seeing impossible things.

“Rox? You ok?”

Jumping as Dave’s hand brushed against her shoulder, the woman opened her mouth but no sound came out.

“No,” she choked finally, turning to the broad chest beside her and seeking solace between his arms, “Dave, we thought none of them survived,”

“Yeah,” glancing down at one another, Roxie felt a horrible thought creep into her gut, “you got really pale all of a sudden,” the man above her commented, “what is it?”

“Dave, what if all of them survived?”

[squadrablog]

ok I've joined the Ghiaccio hype train, could I request a Ghiaccio fic with a reader who doesn't like sudden loud noises and will definitely cry if you yell at them? they're really intimidated by Ghiaccio but they're comfortable with the rest of La Squadra, so he's struggling to be a good team member to someone who's always nervous around him. feel free to make it romantic or platonic, your writing is amazing!! 💕💕

Here you are! With the stuff I ended up focusing on I thought that shoehorning a romance in would feel weird, so I focused more on exploring the beginnings of a platonic friendship with him. Lots of awkward Ghiaccio and miscommunication but it all ends up good. :^)

Ghiaccio & Reader (platonic, gender neutral)

Ao3 Mirror Here.

Word Count: 3921

Warnings: Reader has childhood trauma w/ loud noises, not gone into in depth. Assassination job implied but doesn’t happen in text.

Under cut for length!

The last thing you saw yourself doing with your life was becoming an assassin, but here you were. You were a tough kid, scrappy and resourceful when it came down to it, but only because you had to be to get by. You always thought you’d eventually leave that old life behind. The gunshots echoing into the night from rival mafias squaring off to claim the neighborhood you lived in as their territory. The shouts from the man who took you in when you had nowhere else to go, only to berate you when you failed to pick enough pockets to meet his quotas. The way the older and meaner children would torment you, taunt and deride you, whenever you let your vulnerability show.

And you had, more or less, left those parts of it behind at least. When you joined Passione as a last ditch effort to survive you were given a sense of stability that you had never had before, and after initiation when your stand manifested as something powerful and deadly, it didn’t take too long for you to get placed into La Squadra di Esecuzione, Passione’s team of elite assassins. 

As a stand user working with other stand users you rarely relied on guns to get your work done. You were no longer struggling to get by, and although your new Capo held his team to high standards he made sure you had ample training and was patient with you while you were still getting your footing. All your teammates were surprisingly supportive; even if they were wary of outsiders, when it came to their own family they looked out for each other.

It was a dangerous life, not without its own anxieties, but it was a much quieter life. It was a life in the shadows, with a roof over your head, with work that allowed you to use stealth and silence. Even if you couldn’t exactly say you were thrilled about being an assassin you were at least surrounded by people who genuinely cared about you now, watched over by a man who never raised his voice at you for things outside your control, and most comforting of all: you never needed to use a gun.

Not all loud noises set you off, just the ones that reminded you of the violent instability of your childhood and the cruelty of your guardian and peers. Your new teammates could get pretty noisy and spirited, but the boisterous and jovial nature of their laughter, even from their more intense teasing, was a comforting change of pace. You didn’t doubt your value or the fact they respected you.

Well, mostly. There was one teammate who was a bit harder for you to let your guard down around.

His name was Ghiaccio, and to say he was loud would be an understatement. When you first met him he had been a bit standoffish, but so were Risotto and Prosciutto. You knew it would take some time for everyone to accept you as a real part of the squad, and you were ready to be patient. But as you quietly observed everyone for those first few weeks, getting a feel for their individual personalities and their dynamics with each other, you found yourself very intimidated by Ghiaccio. He was able to pal around with the rest of them, even if he was gruff as a default, but when something upset him it was like a switch had been flipped.

He was critical of his squadmates’ performance out in the field, and he never hesitated to offer his critiques regardless of how little anyone wanted to hear them. He was critical of the way people talked, constantly nitpicking everyone’s pronunciations and word choice. He was critical of the way that chores around the house got done, judging everyone’s efforts by timeliness and thoroughness.

Everyone was able to brush him off most of the time without problem. When they actually valued what he had to say they never seemed to take the mean way he said it personally. They’d had plenty of time to get used to him and sift through the bullshit. They knew when something actually mattered to him and when something was just him blowing off steam for the sake of it. They knew when it was fair to ask him to shut up and when it was best to let him get it out of his system.

You steeled yourself as best as you could in those first few weeks, just telling yourself you needed some time to understand his quirks like the rest of your squad did, but your opinion changed immediately after your first mission with him.

“Is Prosciutto teaching you anything?” he barked out at you after you two finally managed to take out your hit. You flinched and looked away from his intense gaze. You were a bit anxious about being alone with him for the first time, and you wanted to give him your best effort to impress him, but being on so on edge caused you to make some big mistakes.

“Well?” he demanded when you said nothing. You had assumed it was a rhetorical question.

“Y-yes?” you stuttered out.

“Then you’re the one accountable for fucking up today. What the hell was that?” he asked, his question ending in something similar to a snarl.

Something that was different about working with Ghiaccio as opposed to working with the others was that he argued out loud to no one in particular about random topics that pissed him off. At first you thought he was expecting you to talk to him about how nonsensical some phrase was that Formaggio used before the two of you left, and you listened attentively, but he never gave you any room to respond. Eventually you realized he wasn’t really conversing, just yelling to yell. It was very distracting and it only made you fidget and lose focus.

“I… well…” you choked out. “It’s usually quieter… on my missions, since my stand is- well, since my stand is made for stealth and-”

“Me talking prevented you from doing your job correctly?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. You just shrunk even deeper within yourself. The last thing you wanted to do was insinuate your mistake had been his fault. There was no way that wouldn’t provoke his ire.

“N-no! You didn’t do anything wrong! It was me, I’m really sorry! It won’t happen again!” you squeaked out.

“Better not,” he grumbled sarcastically with a huff before turning to walk down the street towards his car. You followed, keeping a good distance behind him, not looking forward to the ride back to the base.

---

That had been weeks ago. While you had been doing a decent job at tolerating Ghiaccio before that mission, afterwards was a different story. You actively avoided him, checking if he was in rooms before entering, excusing yourself when he came into a room you were already in, shutting yourself in your room upstairs when you heard him start up on a rant somewhere on the main floor.

Eventually it was shamelessly (or perhaps shamefully) obvious to just about everyone.

“Dude, what happened on your mission with them?” Formaggio asked in a hushed tone one time after your footsteps had disappeared up the stairs. “They’re terrified of you.”

“How the fuck should I know? They haven’t said anything to me about it,” Ghiaccio shot back.

“Uh, yeah, duh. That’s what I’m saying. They won’t even sit in the same room as you,” Formaggio muttered.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” he said, scrunching up his eyebrows. “But it’s not like they talk much to begin with.”

“Are you kidding?” Illuso interjected, inserting himself into his two teammates’ conversation, much to Ghiaccio’s annoyance. “I can get them to prattle on for hours about themself. They’re a real chatterbox once you get to know them.”

“Illuso, dude, have they told you the story about their mission with Pesci down at the wharf?” Formaggio asked with a big grin.

“Fuck, I almost forgot about that,” Illuso replied with a chuckle. “What about the time where-”

“Hey! Shut up for a second,” Ghiaccio snapped. “We’re all talking about the same person, right?”

Upon being interrupted Illuso narrowed his eyes at Ghiaccio before turning to Formaggio. “It’s obviously because of Ghiaccio’s poorly controlled rage. Have you ever seen the poor thing freeze up over a gunshot before?”

“No, but I can imagine. One time I tried scaring them from behind and it took them ten whole minutes to recover,” Formaggio responded.

“I haven’t done shit to them, what possible reason do they have to be scared of me?” Ghiaccio asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, what happened on that mission?” Formaggio asked again.

“It was pretty standard, I killed the bastard while they assisted. They did fuck up pretty bad, which is typical during training, so I pointed it out for their benefit. Then we left,” Ghiaccio recounted. “Nothing else happened.”

Formaggio raised an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“I don’t know! I think I asked if Prosciutto was doing his job right since they didn’t seem too confident. I asked if there was anything that might have contributed to their lackluster performance, but after thinking it over they said that it was on them.”

“Sounds pretty level headed and analytical of you,” Illuso said, stroking his chin. “Are you sure that’s how you said it?”

“Probably not in so many words, I was probably more casual about it,” Ghiaccio grumbled. “Why does it matter how I said it? What’s important is what I said.”

“Ghiaccio, your brand of casual is a few decibels above what’s average,” Illuso said.

“Not to mention the casual expletives, or the casual sarcasm,” Formaggio added. “Are you sure you didn’t casually tell them to go fuck themself without realizing it?”

“No! I mean, if I was stern with them it was in the context of training!” Ghiaccio insisted.

“Are we being trained right now? Is that why you’re yelling at us?” Illuso asked with a smirk.

“This is just how I talk!” Ghiaccio said, bringing a hand up to his temple. “Ugh, I don’t fucking know! Maybe I yelled at them? I remember being very straightforward. They seemed kind of on edge, but I just assumed that’s how they always are!” He dropped his hand and turned to look at his two teammates. “Are they really not like that on missions with you?”

“Not anymore,” Illuso said with a shrug. “At first a bit, but they’re pretty reliable now.”

“You’ve got to go slow with them. They’re easily set off, but if they know they can count on you they’re able to push through it,” Formaggio said.

“My stand is invincible and I never even let the guy near them. There’s no one better suited for watching someone’s blind spot than me,” Ghiaccio said with his hand splayed out on his chest.

“I mean, like… emotionally,” Formaggio said, scratching the back of his head. “If I was to put myself in their headspace I’d say they probably think you hate them.”

“I don’t hate them,” Ghiaccio spat loudly.

“Good! Now step two is letting them know that,” Illuso said, clapping a hand on Ghiaccio’s back, causing his glasses to slide down his nose.

Ghiaccio grumbled and pushed his glasses back up. He knew that things were weird between the two of you ever since your mission, but it never even crossed his mind it was because of something he said. Is this what Prosciutto felt like training Pesci? But even Pesci had never been avoidant or scared of Prosciutto for all the tough love that he gave him. Pesci looked up to him like an older brother.

If he was really the only one in all of La Squadra that you were uncomfortable around, then he supposed it was on him now to figure out why.

---

The base was pretty quiet today, with a lot of missions landing on Risotto’s desk this week. While you were quite fond of your new teammates you liked having the common area all to yourself on a quiet evening, especially if you were curled up with a novel. When you first started living at the base it felt like a luxury, but even after you had gotten used to the quiet its novelty hadn’t worn off for you.

The sound of a key jingling at the front door had you peeking over your book. When Ghiaccio appeared framed by the living room entrance you held your breath. Hopefully he’d be going upstairs… no, it looked like he was coming into the common area. That’s okay, you could move, so you started standing up, except… he was looking right at you, heading in your direction.

“Sit down,” he said stiffly, and after a beat he added, “Please?”

“Uhh! Okay!” you said, sitting back down and bringing your book right back up to cover your face.

“Can you also, uh. Please. Put the book down?” Ghiaccio said, his voice strained to maintain a monotone and flatten out any inflection. You did as he asked, although you still couldn’t meet his eyes, and he just stared at you awkwardly.

“Uh-”

“Hello,” he said, and it left his mouth at the exact same time your muttered exclamation had. Another awkward pause.

“Hi?” you said, unsure. This wasn’t what you were expecting from your next conversation with the man, for as long as you had postponed it. You thought he’d be demanding to know why you were ignoring him, or getting on your case about being too sensitive to handle his criticism on your last mission. Maybe that was yet to come?

“You are afraid of me,” Ghiaccio stated flatly. Then perhaps he realized he wanted to ask it as a question. “Yes?”

“Oh, no, I’m…” you muttered.

“Of course you are,” he said quickly, cutting you off before you could mumble out an excuse. You got pretty embarrassed by that, but you swallowed and moved your eyes up to gauge his expression. He didn’t look angry, but he looked hyper focused to the point of distress. His lips were pressed together tightly as if he was trying to hold back from speaking again.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For being scared of me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He was being sarcastic again, wasn’t he?

“No, I… I mean… I’m sorry for,” you started, trying to think of something legitimate to actually be sorry about. “For fucking up on the mission.”

“Did fucking up on the mission really bother you that much?” he said. Not only were you stupid for fucking up the mission, but you were also stupid for letting it bother you for so long! What did he want you to say?

“No, I mean…”

But Ghiaccio cut you off with a long loud exhale. “Look, I’m not great at this kind of thing. I understand that I make you anxious, and I understand that for whatever reason it’s hard for you to talk to me, but I really can’t understand what people say unless they drop all the bullshit.” When you frowned and looked away he tried again. “Not bullshit, fuck, uh. No, not fuck... It’s just that. I need you to say exactly what you mean. I can’t tell what people are thinking unless they make it… easy for me.”

You looked back at him. Whatever he was here to talk about with you, he was trying very hard not to raise his voice. The way he was talking to you was too stilted to be anything but intentional. If he was doing this for your sake, then you would try to meet him halfway. You took a moment to think, to choose what you wanted to say carefully.

“I don’t do well with loud noises. I also… take things very personally. I’ve been worrying that you…” You took another second before committing. “...Hate me.”

He pressed his lips in a thin line again as some noise tried to escape his throat, perhaps an instinctive denial. “What about me makes you think that?”

“Well… you seemed pretty disappointed in me after the mission.”

“I was checking in with you. I wanted to make sure Prosciutto was properly training you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But… but you sounded really angry and sarcastic.”

Ghiaccio closed his eyes and thought about that for a second. “I probably was angry, but not at you. You just fucked up on something so basic that I had to wonder if Prosciutto was actually teaching you anything useful.”

“That’s… not how you said it though,” you said, feeling defensive. “I… I know I did something dumb… but I’ve never messed up with my stand like that before. It was different on that mission.”

“Me talking to myself?” Ghiaccio asked. He had been fixating over what he said to you at the end of that mission for days now, trying to remember all the details. He recalled how you had started with one explanation, but you quickly retracted it.

“You were… so angry the entire mission,” you complained. “Everyone else is quiet on missions with me because my stand is better suited to it.”

“It wasn’t a stealth mission,” Ghiaccio countered. “We were using your stand for something different. I wasn’t even talking to you.”

“I know!” you groaned. “You weren’t trying to distract me, but when things get too loud I…”

“But you took it back. You said it wasn’t me,” Ghiaccio said, leaning forward. His voice had risen just a little, but when he noticed how you reacted to that he tensed up.

“I took it back because I was afraid of upsetting you!” you said, leaning back into the couch as far as you could. “Because when I brought it up… you were mean about it… so I took it back! I thought you were trying to tell me it was my fault, so I took the blame like I thought you wanted!”

“I was… I was asking for clarification! If I did something that caused you to fuck up then I want to know that I did so we can talk about it!” He was clenching his fists to keep his upward inflections from becoming full-blown yelling.

“None of that came across!” you complained. “Like… maybe you technically said those things, but the way you said made it come across completely different!”

“What about you? Now you’re telling me that you meant something completely different from the things you actually said to me!?”

“I-I… but I was obviously upset! I was obviously just trying to appease you!”

“How was it obvious? I thought you were upset because you fucked up! No one likes fucking up!”

“Yeah, no kidding!” You realized at this point that your own voice was starting to rise, which was making Ghiaccio raise his to match yours, and you took a deep breath before speaking calmly again. “I was upset because I was afraid.”

It was quiet again for a little while until Ghiaccio broke the silence.

“Being mean and angry comes really easy to me,” he said, running his fingers through his curls. “Even when I don’t realize it, I still am. Even if I think I’m being reasonable, people misunderstand. I’ve been so used to the others actually being able to take it that I forgot how bad it was.” He scratched at his head a bit. “I also have a hard time telling how loud I actually am until someone points it out.”

You sat there for a moment, soaking that in, before you gave a small amused huff with a half-smile on your face. “I’m not great with loud noises because of what they mean to me. Gunshots remind me of a time when I wasn’t safe… but I can protect myself now, and I have other people who will protect me too. But yelling reminds me of… how I was never good enough for anyone.” You tapped your fingers on the cover of the book on your lap and shrugged.

“I hear from the others that you’re really skilled and reliable on missions,” Ghiaccio said. “I didn’t see that from you when we worked together, but maybe that’s because I was the one who fucked up.”

“But you didn’t...” you started.

“I fucked up by not meeting you where you were at. You’re new. I don’t know you, I don’t know what you’re like. If we had talked beforehand, if I had worked with you, then you probably wouldn’t have made that mistake. I was taking the lead on that mission, it was my job to train you to use your stand in an unfamiliar circumstance. I use missions to get out all the shit that makes me angry, since I don’t need to stay quiet. You don’t work like that. You had no idea what I was yelling for. I never told you how I do things, I just expected you to brush it off like everyone else does.”

You blinked a few times. You had been pretty quick to blame yourself for your own shortcomings, but hearing him say that really recontextualized that entire mission experience.  You might have fucked up, but it was now obvious that he did not hold it against you. “That’s surprisingly self-aware of you.”

He rolled his eyes and set his elbow on the couch’s armrest, plopping his head on his fist. “You don’t know me either. I’m more than a raving heartless bastard. Stuff like this… not understanding why other people think the way they do, or what I’m doing wrong… it really fucks me up. I don’t hate you. You’re a part of my family now and I genuinely want to help you get stronger. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Ghiaccio was nothing like you thought. He was actually really sensitive and introspective. You could tell it was hard for him to confront you like this, almost as hard as it was for you to be confronted. You appreciated that he wanted to put in the effort to have a relationship with you.

“Thank you Ghiaccio. And I’m sorry I avoided you instead of trying to talk about it like this.” You reached over and placed your hand on his shoulder with a gentle smile. He seemed taken aback by the contact, but he relaxed after a moment.

“Are we… good?” he huffed out.

“I think so!”

He let out one long exhale that seemed to go on forever. “Thank fuck,” he muttered, before turning to look at you. “Goddamn it, sorry.”

“It’s not the swearing that bothers me,” you clarified. “It’s the intention behind it. You’re… uh… fucking good, my dude.”

He let out a snort at the awkward way you said that before bringing his hand up to cover his face, looking away in embarrassment.

“Aw, no, that was cute,” you assured him, which only made it worse.

“Well, if we’re done here then I’m heading to bed,” he said, and you glanced at the clock in the living room. It had gotten pretty late. He stood up and started walking towards the stairs.

“We have a mission together again this weekend, right?” you asked, and he looked at you over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said with as much enthusiasm as you could muster. And you meant it. “Goodnight!”

“...Night,” he said, before he disappeared around the corner.

[little-ideas]

Once Upon a Fantasy

Invitation to The Mystic Dance hosted by @little-butterfly-writes here

This was so much fun to do! Thank you for having me :3 I started writing and the story just took on a life of its own resulting in my longest piece yet ^^;

I know I don’t usually write OCs, but this story centers around Vanderwood and my CMC Ao (though Saeyoung also features a bit). The setting is supposed to be in an older time, but I have no sense of history’s fashions, technologies, and music, so please just consider this either a fantasy world or some hodgepodged amalgamation of decades/centuries

Hope you enjoy! ^ w ^

Lengthened shadows flickered about the fringes of paper, the glow of lantern flame warm yet small in the dawn of night. Said paper was of fine quality but wanting in splendor next to the companion twould respond. The clinking of metal nib against glass dotted silence, followed by the soft scratch of pen on the paper’s surface.

Dear Mister Vanderwood,

the letter began, each character drawn slow and exact, crafted with as much precision their writer could muster. Before her leaned a slate, smudged with chalk and the scribbles of drafted note from which she now copied. Ao much preferred the flow of ink on parchment to the drag of chalk on rock, but paper cost a pretty penny and could not be wasted on the idle ramblings of initial thoughts, so the slate had done until she knew precisely what she would write. She only wished she knew where to send her letters instead of waiting for Saeyoung to take and deliver them; but no matter, such were simply the ways of the rich, she supposed.

Glancing at the box upon her shelf, she wondered when she might receive another letter from the gentleman.

~*~

He came the week the invitations were delivered. Town abuzz and bursting with excitement for the Mint Palace Ball, Ao had nary a hope she might see Saeyoung’s companion once more before the festivities began, yet he had appeared at her door in lieu of his friend.

“Saeyoung’s busy with the dance, then?” Ao questioned, pouring two cups of coffee. “Couldn’t escape with you?”

“He’s under extra watch after sneaking away too many times.” Vanderwood responded.

Ao flinched, had it been her fault? Vanderwood must have noticed for-

“He likes to skip his tasks to play with the town’s strays,” he explained, sipping from the cup she handed him. Ao smiled, where once Vanderwood had hesitated to drink, now he waited no longer.

Taking her own sip, Ao mulled over Vanderwood’s recent tidings. Saeyoung would be unable to visit until after the dance -her cats would be displeased at that for he always brought them delightful treats- and she would be unable to send any letters. A shame, but she understood and selfish she should not be. Not now, for if Saeyoung was busy, then surely her guest must also be, yet he was spending time here, with her.

“Vanderwood,” she began, trying to keep her tone light, “is it really ok to be here? Surely, you must be busy, too.”

At this he grinned, and for the briefest of moments, Ao felt her heart stop.

“Whose work do you think Saeyoung is doing?”

She blinked, answer unexpected. Then, slowly, his words sunk in and Ao, too, began to smile. Then giggle. Then could not help but laugh alongside him, tears dotting the corners of their eyes. Through Vanderwood’s letters and his own boasts, Ao knew that Saeyoung -their energetic, brilliant, rapscallion of a friend- had a habit of absconding to destinations unnamed and, though she knew not what it might be, forcing Vanderwood to do their work instead. How appropriate, then, that Vanderwood act in kind for the busiest event of the year. They both knew Saeyoung would not learn his lesson.

As the laughter lulled and soft silence settled betwixt them, Ao could not help but admire her friend- the ease of his countenance; his acceptance of her “tiny beasts” pawing at his sides -creatures she and Saeyoung adored but he was not particularly fond; the divide between his conversations both oral and written -the former dictated by necessity, the latter far more relaxed. Upon their first meeting, Ao had found Vanderwood to be terse and intimidating, despite Saeyoung’s introduction, but through months of correspondence, she had grown to know him -far more verbose in letter- and thought him endearing. She feared not the silence amongst them anymore.

It was he who spoke first.

“Will you be going to the dance?” His voice startled her, causing her to jump, and he hid his smile behind the rim of his cup.

“Pardon?”

“The Mystic Dance at the Mint Palace, will you be attending?”

Ao paused before responding. She supposed she should, the whole town would be off, the food was sure to be delicious, and she might even perchance to see her two friends; however, people were different in the eyes of society, and she wondered if the night might end what little relations they currently had. An event open to all, free of status on paper, did not mean such conventions would be adhered to in practice. Looking at Vanderwood, though, she shook head of such notions; he and Saeyoung would not do such, and to think as so would despair their reputation. She smiled at him.

“I will if you teach me to dance.”

~*~

The counts had been easy; the closeness, movement, and posture, not so much. Vanderwood had come several times since his last visit, true to his promise of being her instructor, and Ao might have felt bad were it not for the heat flaming her cheeks whenever she recalled Saeyoung’s laughter at her miserable attempts at turning during their last visit (how he escaped, she knew not, only that she pitied the poor soul waiting on him). She would learn, she’d vowed, if only out of spite.

Determined not to become a spectacle again, Ao’s evenings had been filled with enough practice that her head was now constantly counting off 3s, her shoulders held a dull ache, and the furniture had been misplaced for days. Yet as Vanderwood now led her around the room, she had not glanced at her feet and had only stepped on his once. Maybe twice. Alright, three times, but in her defense, she had tripped! Or so she insisted to Saeyoung, whose rapid applause came the moment they separated.

“Marvelous, indeed! Would have thought you a different lass!” He teased.

Ao stuck her tongue at him, and Saeyoung leaned against his friend, arm draped across his forehead. “Forsooth, Mary, our lady doth wound me!”

Vanderwood sighed at their antics, yet his smile betrayed his amusement.

“Perhaps you’d care to dance with the lady?” He gestured to Ao; brow quirked.

“And risk my toes?” Saeyoung gasped, “I’d never!”

“Saeyoung Choi!” Ao shouted, attempting to stomp on his shoes. “You absolute heathen!” She missed and the two began a chase about the room, jerking knees and squashing stones, until Saeyoung ran back towards Vanderwood.

“Help me, Vandy!” He cried. “A demon gives chase!” His attempt to hide was thwarted by Vanderwood’s arms surrounding his own and holding him in place, grin stretched across his face. Saeyoung gasped in mock betrayal -twisting to get out- before slumping forwards and extending a foot in defeat. A firm press upon the top of his shoe and Saeyoung was freed, rejoining his friends’ sides to complete an afternoon of mirth and merriment.

~*~

Laughter echoed down the streets as people clapped and cheered -fiddlers skipped along the cobblestone roads whilst onlooking peddlers tapped rhythms with the boxes of their wares. Shops were closing, but with the dawning of the ball in a few days’ time, taverns opened early, seeking to make coin from their many guests. In town, nary a room twas available at any inn, yet still the folk kept coming.

Parading after the fiddlers, people poured into the streets, bouncing with the beats as they sashayed along towards open spaces. All this Ao and Vanderwood had witnessed through her windows yet remained inside. Now, rocking upon her heels, Ao grabbed Vanderwood’s hand, tugging him towards the door and the festivities beyond.

Initially, Vanderwood had no intention of participating in such jovialities -his latest letter from the week prior apologizing for his previous and most likely continued absence- but Saeyoung had pulled him from his desk, knocked upon Ao’s door, thrust him at her, and vanished within the throngs of people scurrying about. Graciously, she had offered him welcome and rest in her abode, but Vanderwood had caught her gaze frequently flit to the outside merriment. Having arrived unannounced, it would not have done to kept her from whatever plans she may have had, or so he told himself. Truthfully, he, too, wished to join the crowds -the carefree and lively spirits of the townsfolk were always a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness of High Society. As Ao sternly told her cats to mind the house and behave, before pulling him with her into the party beyond; however, he wondered if perhaps that were not his only reasoning.

*

It was not his only reasoning, Vanderwood realized, watching his friend dance about, the fires illuminating her smile as a new tune picked up. He saw her beam when her eyes met his own, then beckon him over, but he shook his head, lifting his goblet. She rolled her eyes and huffed at him, yet quick as her smile had fallen, it returned, and she twirled around once more.

Vanderwood took a swig of drink, attempting to ignore the beat which seemed to thrum louder now in his chest. He should rest while he could -Ao would soon drag him out to join her, of that, he was sure.

*

True to form, she had sought him out after a few more songs had pass, laughing as she spun and planted her feet firmly in front of him.

“Mary Vanderwood!” She panted, grin undermining her admonishment. “One does not simply turn down an invitation to dance!” Vanderwood merely watched as she struggled to regain her breath.

“Drink?” He offered at last, holding out his cup as the notes of a new song began. He chuckled when Ao frowned at him before downing its contents.

“Well,” she sighed, “one song can wait.” Then, as though realizing what she had just done, stammered a “thank you” and handed back his cup.

When the music began anew, Ao tugged Vanderwood towards the crowd of dancers, weaving betwixt the bystanders, pattering along seemingly as though she had missed not a beat of song. And as she kicked up her skirts and twirled about, pulling him deeper in with her, Vanderwood was glad the fire’s glow concealed his cheeks’ blush.

~*~

Well, tonight was the night. Donning the dress before her, Ao prayed it would be nice enough -what little remnants of her wages she had after necessities and paper, she had saved for the fabric to sew a proper, formal dress. Though simple in design and decoration, the dress fit her well and complemented her complexion -vibrant red to catch the eye, with a silhouette that tapered in towards her waist before flowing out about her once more. Practicing a few steps, Ao found she rather liked the way it fanned around her when she spun.

Against her neck sat not pearls, but a ring -a memento of family long gone- and she gripped it tight, wishing for all to go well. Drawing her cloak about her, invitation in hand, Ao left for a fate unknown.

~*~

Ao blinked once. Twice. Pinched her hand and -ow! - this was real. The gentleman before her -noble of birth, correspondent of the treasured letters she kept within the box upon her shelf, beloved friend- stood now with hand outstretched and crown atop silken, brown locks. He chuckled at her reaction.

“Well?” He asked, nudging her hand. “I believe one does not simply turn down an invitation to dance.”

Timidly, Ao placed her hand in Vanderwood’s, and he pulled her closer -left hand closing around hers, right palm tucked against her back- before leading her about the floor.

“You never told me!” She hissed, gaze flickering to his crown before eyeing those around them. He laughed, a familiar sound in so foreign an environment.

“You never asked.”

Ao frowned, about to retort when they spun and she tripped, stepping on his foot. For a moment, they both froze. Then, slowly, they giggled, chuckled, laughed, roared -voices filling the room, and their eyes with tears. Vanderwood took Ao’s hand once more and continued leading her around the space, and for the first time that day, she relaxed.

And if Saeyoung saw the pink that tinged both their cheeks? No, no he did not.