#i will do a leon playlist soon i promise | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweeterthanficstion · 1 month ago

Text

— between here and there || l.s.k

pairing: ghost!leon kennedy x ghosthunter!fem!reader

tags: set in 2001, graphic depictions of dead animals one is right under the cut, mentions of death, mentions of grief, mentions of violence, themes of obsession and love, implied/referenced childhood abuse inflicted by a parent, typical horror topics. (if i missed anything pls dm me and let me know!!)

summary: Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt. Or: The year is 2001, and you've just found out about a haunted homestead on a prairie, sure to hold a million mysteries within its rotting walls. You've chased rumors of the supernatural before, but this place feels... different. Maybe this time, you'll find the evidence you need to prove the existence of the other side—and finally go viral. But quickly you come to learn that some doors, once opened, can't be shut.

word count: 6.6k

a/n: i wrote 80% of this fic on my phone, so i'm sorry if it reads badly 😔, i hope you enjoy regardless though! and things will make more sense in the coming parts, i promise <3 also; thank you claudia for beta-reading for me!! n also thank you @/uhlunaro for bone-chill, go read their work!! it's so good n inspired this fic.

playlist ⭑ AO3 || back to the party ⭑ next (coming soon) »

You were eight when you saw your first ghost. Your mother had found you with your face pressed up against the living room window, eyes wide as you stared out into your backyard, convinced there was a dog by the fence that was staring right back.

Your mother had ushered you back to bed, murmuring about how there was no dog out there, and you needed to sleep. But you saw him! You swear it! Floppy ears and a bone between his teeth.

You couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning and anxiously waiting for morning to come. By the time the sunlight had crept through your window, you scampered outside to prove it. You’d spent nearly an hour out in the early morning cold, digging, digging, digging with your bare hands, until eventually, you found it, something that wasn’t a dog—not anymore, anyway.

Wrapped in a plastic bag you found it, decayed skin clinging stubbornly to yellowed ribs poking through like splintered wood. Its jaw hung open, snapped and crooked, patches of fur still clinging to the skull, matted until it resembled something more like melted plastic. There was a sense of grief that came with finding its body, a suffocating presence that weighed down over your little lungs, tightened your oesophagus, made your stomach clench.

You gave the rotting dog carcass a proper burial.

A grave by the oak tree, dirt pressed down gently over its brittle body as if the dog might still feel it, a ring of daisies set atop in remembrance. When you finally stood, wiping mud-stained hands on your pants, you could feel your mother’s eyes on you, her silence heavier than her words ever were.

After that, her patience thinned. She’d catch you whispering to empty rooms, her voice sharper each time, the snap of her voice was soon paired with the snap of a belt. The corners of your room were just corners, she’d say. The shadows were just that; shadows.

You stopped talking about it, but the flashes of something stayed—the fleeting movements, the whispers, the shadows that lingered in the corners of your vision. The haunting weight of it all clung to you like a thick blanket, creeping in with every bump in the night, until curiosity bled into something deeper.

Eventually, you gave up waiting and started searching, looking for answers between ghost-hunting forums and haunted houses.

And now, years later, you’re chasing a truth you’re still yet to prove.

You jolt from your thoughts the same time the van does over a potholed, eyes snapping to the stretch of dirt road before you. The homestead comes into view, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it—looking every bit more eerie when bathed in hues of twilight than it did in the grainy two-bit photos on your laptop screen.

Luis lets out a low whistle from the driver’s seat, before he clicks his tongue and puts the car into park. “Well, we’ve seen worse.”

Luis says it with an air of carelessness you struggle to stomach under the looming shadow of the homestead. He’s never believed in the paranormal the same way you do, always the wind, always a shadow to him, everything has an explanation. Never a ghost, never a spirit.

Yet, he sticks with you, out of what sense of loyalty you’re not entirely sure, but you’re grateful all the same. Maybe it’s the remnants of a childhood bond that keeps him tethered to your side, echoes of sleepovers and whispered secrets, of nights spent laughing over nothing, long before you were chasing shadows and seeking the dead.

It’s not that Luis doesn’t care—he does, more than he’ll ever admit. He just doesn’t see the world the way you do. And that’s okay. He doesn’t have to believe. You do.

He slides out of the car easily, no doubt eager to unpack the camera gear. You hear the back of the van slide open, before you finally make the decision to move, feeling as if your bones have stuck themselves together—rigor mortis.

The homestead looks like it’s rotting from the inside out. Once-grand pillars holding up the front porch that have long since bowed, wood that rots and splinters from years of neglect. The windows, fogged over with dust, are cracked and warped as if the house itself has been trying to keep the world out for far too long.

“What even happened here?” Luis asks, eyeing the decayed structure with a grimace as the both of you step onto the creaking front porch.

In truth, the research had been thin. The house didn’t show up on any official ghost-hunting registry, and there wasn’t much mention of it in local history. But there were enough stories, enough pieces of something to make you believe it was worth the three hour plane trip.

If no one else could get proof, then maybe you could. This could be your big break, could be your skyrocket to supernatural stardom—If that was even really a thing.

“A lot. Murders, disappearances, all the fun stuff.” You joke, flashing a wide grin over your shoulder, trying to ease the pit in your chest, and find amusement at the way Luis shivers at the mention of murders. His shoulders stiffen enough to make you bite back a laugh.

Luis fixes you with a hard stare. “You’re not right, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Plenty of times,” you reply, grin only widening. You reach up and give his cheek a playful pat, “You’re not special.”

He rolls his eyes and you’re well aware he doesn’t buy your teasing, but that’s half the fun. You slip past him to check out the entryway, Luis trailing behind with his camera over his shoulder.

Luis keeps his distance as you wedge the door open. A thick layer of dust comes loose with the movement, swirling with the fading light and wafting straight into your face. You cough violently, waving it away with a grimace.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Luis mutters, adjusting the lens of his camera.

“Nothing’s going to happen—” And as if infuriatingly on cue, the door slips from your gasp and slams shut with a bone-rattling thud.

The both of you jump despite yourselves—Luis lets out a yelp that he stifles with a cough, while you freeze, hand still hanging in the air where the door had once been.

The silence that follows is deafening. You stare at the door for a beat, pulse-quickening as if it might just spring open again on its own, while you feel the burn of Luis’ gaze in the back of your neck, waiting for you to explain it away with your usual bravado.

You lower your hand slowly, give him a sidelong glance. You take a step back from the door as if daring it to open or slam shut again. “Well. That’s one way to make an entrance.”

Luis glares at you. “Yeah, real funny. Can we leave now?”

Rolling your eyes, you reach for the handle and tug the front door open again, choosing to ignore Luis’ insistence. The homestead is as quiet as you imagined it’d be, even so you can’t shake the eeriness of the silence. You swear you can hear static in your head.

Luis hands you a flashlight, which you flick on before toeing the warped floorboards. The wood groans beneath you, but it holds, so you plant your foot fully inside, waiting for the house to react. One second. Two.

Nothing.

With a relieved sigh you step deeper into the homestead. The pale remains of sunlight filter through grimy windows, while dust swirls lazily in the beam of your flashlight as you sweep it across the room.

“Are you recording?” You whisper over your shoulder to Luis, who gives a quick nod, a thumbs-up flashing in your periphery.

The homestead opens up around you—parlour to the left, kitchen and dining room through the door on the right, and a staircase, old and worn, curling up toward the shadows in the back.

“We’ll set up in the parlour,” you murmur, moving toward it. Your hand brushes against the wall as you reach for the light switch, fingers hesitant. You flick it, expecting nothing. But then the chain bulb overhead sputters to life, casting a weak, flickering glow across the room.

“Huh,” you breathe. “Not bad.”

Nightfall comes sooner than you would’ve hoped, and you’re starting to understand why there’s so little about this homestead online. In the two long hours you and Lewis have been here, the silence has remained unbroken. The EMF reader has not spiked once and the camera has picked up nothing. No doors have slammed, nothing has creaked strangely, not even an unsettlingly cold gust of wind.

Maybe this place is a waste of time, another dead end to add to your already growing list. You contemplate if packing the van up now is a good option. But yet, yet—you can’t shake the feeling that there is something waiting for you here, just beyond reach. A presence. A secret.

There’s still upstairs, a voice nags at the back of your head. Rooms yet to explore, yet to be turned inside out so you can find what’s hidden in the confines of this home’s brittle bones.

Luis follows behind as you carve a path up the stairs, flicking the stairwell light on and waiting for the flicker of the bulb to cease into a steady hum. It takes a moment too long, and your fingers twitch at the edge of your flashlight.

You never did shake your fear of the dark.

Upstairs, the floor is dappled in the pale glow of the moon. You sweep your flashlight through the shadows, the light catching on each warped surface, every peeling edge of wallpaper, casting lonesome shadows across the splintering floors. You watch the EMF reader calibrate and tick in your hand as you tread further down the hallway. The air up here feels heavier, like it’s holding its breath, waiting for you.

That’s when you see it.

Or him, rather.

At first, you make out nothing but a vague shape standing at the end of the hallway, a shadow where there shouldn’t be one.

But as your eyes adjust, you make out the figure’s skin; a sickly pale, marred with crawling veins like rivers of ink. He has hair like dull flaxen straw, eyes that are such a piercing blue you make them out even in the dark. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as a chill crawls down your spine. You take a step back, stumbling into Luis, who nearly drops the camera.

The light overhead flickers dramatically before the bulb bursts with a sharp pop, plunging the hall into sudden darkness. Your EMF reader spikes violently in time with your heart slamming against your ribs, and in the panic, you scramble to bring up your flashlight—but as the beam sweeps over him, he vanishes, parts of his body disintegrating into the light, like bend the rules of physics themselves, like something wrong.

“Is that—?” it hits Luis the same time it hits you. Not a person. A ghost.

But there’s no haunting glow, no cloud of smoke. He doesn't float; in fact he doesn’t move at all. Instead, the air grows thick, an oppressive weight that threatens to shatter your ribs inwards and pierce into your lungs.

You hear him. The sickly sound of breathing, a rasping inhale followed by an exhale, like a death rattle. The noise crawls under your skin, itches against your bones.

Your own breath catches in your throat in favour of hearing his. The sound swells, crescendos, then tithers to nothing. Silence, like buzzing in your ears, is all that’s left behind. Slowly, you peel your eyes open, the ghost is nowhere to be seen.

You come back to reality like ungluing yourself from a fly trap—slowly, sticky, the numbness in your body ceases.

“Did you.. Did you get that on tape?” You ask Luis between bated breath, eyes still glued to the wall where he had been.

Luis swallows hard, his breathing ragged. He fumbles with the camera, fingers trembling, flipping through settings with a frantic sort of urgency. His face drains of colour as he checks the screen. The camera blinks, sputters.

Panic surges as you rush downstairs, tripping over your feet. Luis yanks the camera from his shoulder, flipping it open to review the footage. His hands move fast, flipping through buttons…

Then, the camera shuts off with a mechanical click, the small screen fading to black.

"No, no, no," Luis mutters, voice tight with frustration. He pulls out the tape reel, and the acrid smell hits you first. He stares at it, brow furrowing. You step closer, peering over his shoulder. The reel is ruined—burnt and blackened beyond recognition, as if scorched by something unseen.

Neither of you says a word.

“Sorry, we’re full.”

The words feel like a death sentence this late at night. Luis sighs sharply, his breath fogging up the plexiglass screen between him and the motel keeper. “There’s got to be something, no? Just one room,” he mutters, pushing the crumpled fifty across the counter one more time, almost pleading.

The motel keeper eyes the money, before shaking her head. “I’m serious, hon,” she says, her voice flat, tired. “We’re booked solid. You can try the highway if you’re desperate.”

You’re really only half-listening to the exchange, shivering from the cold as you lean by the side of the van parked under the carport.

The motel sign above flickers weakly, casting uneven shadows across the parking lot, the words The Black Dog barely legible in the failing neon glow. Cerberus snarls from the sign like a bad omen, one head flickering on and off as if it’s ready to give up entirely.

After the encounter at the homestead, neither Luis nor yourself could shake the feeling of dread that had settled like a thick fog, a weighted blanket that provided more unease than comfort. The decision to leave for the night had been easy, but now, standing outside in the frigid air, you’re starting to feel the sting of bad luck. There are only two motels in this entire town—one’s closed for maintenance, and this one, The Black Dog, is fully booked.

Luis pulls back from the counter with a groan, stuffing the money into his pocket as he joins you outside. “No luck,” he mutters, breath curling in the chilled air.

But you're distracted, focused on the yellowing photographs lining the walls behind the motel keeper’s desk, town history captured in fleeting moments behind dusty glass. Your eyes widen in realisation when you note the homestead is in one of them. A farmer’s family stands at the front of it; a husband, a wife, his daughter and two sons.

You quickly rush up to the window, leaning down closer to the little cutout in the plexiglass as you rest your elbows on the counter. “That photo,” You start, finger pressed to the plastic surface, “do you know who the people in it are?”

The motel keeper swivels in her squeaky office chair, her eyes widening with a sort of realisation. “Them? Well they’re the original settlers of this land,” She hums, turning back. “Their family were the first to come this far east, their father built that homestead with his bare hands.”

“What happened to them?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. Desperate for more, desperate for answers. Although, your ghost looks nothing like any of the men in the picture.

“Well they died,” The motel keeper says, something akin to god-fearing in her voice. “But whatever malevolent force has been haunting that place never did.”

You stare at her, wide-eyed and unblinking. Luis fills in for you where you can’t.

“You’re not serious,” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement.

“Dead serious, hon. That place is no good. They say the prairie wind drove that family mad—” she states, sticking a thumb over her shoulder to point to the picture “—we’re just not so sure it was the wind that did it.”

You decidedly spend that night in the back of the van, parked right outside the homestead on that old gravel path.

The wind whistles terribly and you begin to understand what they mean by prairie fever—you can’t fathom what it would’ve been like, out here, all alone with nothing but the wind and the wolves.

“Something’s wrong,” Luis murmurs just loud enough for you to hear. You turn your head, watching as he stares at the ceiling of the van.

There is a sudden unease that settles in your chest, watching him like this. Luis has never been rattled by the dark, never questioned the supernatural because he didn’t have a reason to. In many ways, he has been your anchor.

And what is a ship without its anchor?

You hum, mirroring his movements and righting your neck to stare up at the ceiling. “Luis, you say this every—”

“No, I mean it.” He cuts in, a certain urgency to his words. “We saw something, I saw it. He was–” His words die, fizzle into nothing on his tongue as if it’ll be a sin to refer to the shadow as anything more than just a shadow. “We can’t go back in there.”

You understand… yet you don’t.

“This is the closest we’ve ever been Luis, what do you mean we can’t?” Your words are oddly calm despite the desperation they clearly convey, “You know how much this means to me.”

Luis sighs, “I get it, I’m just not sure this is a good idea.” He hesitates. “I think… I think we’re way in over our heads this time.”

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Luis holds you to it.

A car crash—that’s what you see in your dream. Although, it feels more like a vision; a premonition or maybe a memory.

You’re trapped behind your own eyes, sitting rigid in the passenger seat. There’s the sound of tyres screaming against the asphalt, a horrible blur of red and blue, glass and smoke.

The car swerves hard, jerking your body with it, weightless, floating, falling. The ground falls away, and for a split second, there’s nothing. Just the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You try to catch a glimpse of the driver, but your eyes are glued to the chaos that unfolds before you. You catch a glimpse of the side of his face, shadowed in the flickering lights. Just the curve of his jawline—sharp, familiar.

And then you slam into a tree.

The night is much less forgiving than day. In moonlight, your mind is left to fill in the gaps, pulls at the seams of reality, and paints over it with every fear you’ve ever had the cowardice to bury. A creak in the floor becomes footsteps. A sigh of wind becomes a distant cry.

But daylight? Daylight spills over the horizon like a gentle promise. In daylight, things feel explainable. Safe. You do not falter and question the shape of shadows, each one is tethered to something, tangible and real, solid in your grasp.

Yet the homestead does not follow these rules.

The walls bleed with secrets you’ve yet to learn, each groan of the floorboards underneath your gentle footsteps sounds like another pair is following closely behind. Light spills through windows, but it dies before it reaches the corners, and does not fill the room the way it should.

It’s that morning, one hour into your second investigation, that you smell it—something faint at first that quickly grows stronger, souring the air with each breath you suck in. It’s familiar but unwelcome, the unmistakable stench of decay. Luis notices it too, his nose wrinkling as he glances toward the far end of the hallway.

“Do you smell that?” he asks, his voice quiet.

You nod.

The smell rots. It festers the further you walk down the hallway, intensifying until it clings to you like a second skin. It seeps through the floorboards, through every crack in splintering wood, and it leads you to a door. The one at the end of the hallway from the night before. The one you didn’t manage to open because he had been there.

Luis nudges you with his elbow. “Ladies first.”

“Very brave,” you mutter, pushing the door open.

Inside, the room is cold, the air heavy with dust. Yellowing and peeling wallpaper lines the walls, a dusty bed in the corner, a dresser by the opposite wall and a wardrobe by the adjacent one.

But what draws your attention are the walls—every inch covered in horrifying jagged scratches, as if something had clawed at the walls in a frenzy of desperation.

N-O-E-L.

The letters are scrawled over and over, the same pattern repeated a millennia of times. They twist and turn, written backwards and mirrored, as if whatever had left them behind had longed for a voice it had forgotten how to use.

“What the hell…” Luis murmurs, stepping closer with his polaroid camera, the shutter sounding as he snaps a few photos of the scratches. “What are we dealing with, the ghost of Christmas past?”

You swallow, admittedly now confused. “What does that even mean?” You muse, walking towards a wall and running your fingers over the splintering wood.

“His name, maybe?” Luis supplies, lifting his head from behind the camera.

Without thinking, you speak. “Is your name Noel?”

Silence answers.

You decide to move around the room, keen to find answers where your ghost refuses to give them to you. Your fingertips grazing the walls as if you could pull the truth from the cracks in the old plaster.

“I know you did this,” you say, your voice firm but edged with a strange softness, like you’re coaxing something fragile from the dark. “Why won’t you tell me your name?”

The lights flicker. Luis begins to pray.

The stench grows, grows, grows, more potent with each step you take towards the bed. You fear you’ll find rot when you pull the covers back—a body, perhaps. But what you find confuses you more. You fall to your knees by the bed, crane your neck to peer beneath it, and your eyes catch the glint of silver.

Your hand stretches out, inching under the bed as your teeth catch your lip. When you pull the object free, you look up at Luis, who meets your gaze with the same confusion. In your hands you hold a hunting knife.

And as quickly as it had come, the stench subsides.

You turn the knife over in your hand as you push yourself off the dusty floor, a strange emblem is etched into the heel of the blade.

“Well that’s not weird at all,” Luis mutters, taking the knife from your hand to inspect it himself. You bite the inside of your cheek, about to say something more, when a faint creak draws your attention. The wardrobe. The door swings open, as if nudged by an unseen hand. You meet Luis’ wary gaze, your heart thrumming with anticipation.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, you rise to your feet, walking closer, pulling the door open by its rusting brass handle. Inside hangs a tarnished mirror, and in it you catch your own reflection—dark circles ring your eyes, your reflection looks as drained as you’ve begun to feel.

Luis hums over your shoulder, a spark of realisation lighting his expression as he clicks his tongue. “Not Noel, look.”

You squint into the mirror, making out the jagged inscriptions in the wall that are now mirrored. “Leon?”

There’s a knock on the wall behind you, too loud to be mistaken for the walls of the house adjusting.

“Is that a yes?” You breathe.

Two knocks.

Luis stares at you, his voice hushed, disbelieving. “Are you talking to a ghost?”

“Holy fuck, I’m talking to a ghost.”

Your ghost isn’t as terrifying with a name to its haunt. Leon, you’ve come to find, is gentle. You and Luis have spent the past three hours communicating with him; knock once for yes, twice for no. A language of patience.

You’ve been documenting it all in your notebooks—entry after entry of everything you’ve learnt. It's all you can do, considering the tapes you’ve tried to record burn out. You figure he doesn’t like the notion of being seen. Being known is different, though. You can feel that—he wants to be known.

He cannot leave.

He doesn’t remember how he got here.

He knows only his name.

You find he also likes to move things.

First, it was the photos. Luis had left the polaroids from the bedroom out on the dining room table to develop, safe with the windows drawn. You’d found them around the house later, one in your bag, another nestled between the equipment. Harmless. Cute, almost.

Then Leon started to move bigger objects. Your torch was found in the bedroom closet, Luis’ lighter in a kitchen cabinet, your hairpins scattered like breadcrumbs on the mantle of the fireplace. It’s a game to him, one that you find yourself eager to indulge.

You slip into the kitchen, carrying a small wooden figure you’d picked up from the general store—nothing too special, a simple carving of a bluebird. Ghostly fingers might appreciate the weight of its worn edges, you think.

“Alright,” you say aloud, speaking to the empty room, “I – uh, got you something.”

You place the bluebird on the dining table, straightening the figure before taking a few gentle steps back. The temperature in the room drops suddenly, a chilly cold that you no longer mistake for the prairie wind, a denseness in the air that can only be explained by experience.

Your EMF reader ticks up, and you itch to jot down the reading, yet the moment you turn your back, there’s the sound of wood scraping against wood. You spin back on your heel, only to see that the little bird has moved, facing the window with its beak pointed towards the fading sunlight.

“So you like the bird then?” You nearly laugh, low and under your breath.

There’s another scrape, this time longer. The bird moves again, right before your eyes, closer to the edge of the table.

Despite the absurdity of it all, you continue to talk. “Careful, you’ll knock it off.” You warn softly.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then the bird stops just short of tipping over the edge, as if Leon has taken your words into consideration. You watch as the bird drags back across the table to the centre.

The lights flicker with your laughter, as if your ghost finds amusement in the cadence of your voice.

You begin to wonder how anyone could’ve thought this home was malevolent at all. The unease that had come with your first encounter has long since given way to something deeper—an ache, a yearning, a quiet desperation to understand. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay, to uncover every secret this house holds.

How did he die? Was it peaceful, or something violent? What kind of life did he lead? Did he love? Did he lose?

You sit on the living room floor, your back pressed against the wall, clicking your pen twice as you jot down tonight’s meeting in your notebook. From the wall beside you, two soft knocks answer in return.

There is a difference between an architectural haunting and a hereditary one. There’s a certain comfort in knowing a haunting is bound to a place, that its roots lie deep within the dirt that make up the home’s foundation. That it cannot follow you home.

But when a haunting becomes hereditary—when it latches onto you, burrows under your skin, sinks its claws into your soul, twisting, festering—when it’s tethered to you, that's when the fear takes hold. You cannot outrun a hereditary haunting.

Last night, you dreamt again. The homestead, its walls bleeding dark and thick, like wounds seeping into your memory. The flashes came in fragments: the house, the woods, a clearing bathed in moonlight. A glint of a knife to match the gleam of his eyes. And then, the sensation of cold mud pressed against your skin as you lay in the dirt, helpless, hopeless, dead.

You wake in the middle of the night and wonder when this haunting stopped feeling architectural.

Luis finds you on the third day in the parlour, your fingers curled around the edge of an old, weather-beaten box. It drags across the warped floorboards with a groan, sending up a small cloud of dust.

He pauses in the doorway. “What are you doing?” His voice cuts through the otherwise quiet home.

“Cleaning up.” You keep your eyes on the box, focused as you rifle through its contents.

Luis steps further into the room, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn floor, nearly tripping over the marbles you had laid out earlier for Leon to move. “Cleaning up?” His brow furrows. “Jesus, I thought we were here to investigate.”

“We are,” you mutter, your hands brushing off the dust clinging to your clothes as you turn to face him. “I’m just helping out.”

“Helping out?” Luis stops mid-step, his confusion sharpening. “Helping the ghost?”

Your hands still. The air shifts, colder than before, almost as if something is standing beside you. You glance over your shoulder, but it’s just Luis, a mix of disbelief and frustration in his gaze.

“Yes, Luis,” You sound annoyed now. Tension thick in the air.

His laugh is short and bitter. “This is crazy,” he mutters, his voice rising slightly. “You’re growing too - too attached, we need to leave.”

“No.” You straighten up, the words more defensive than you intend. “He needs help. Look at the state of this place!” You gesture to the peeling wallpaper, the broken furniture scattered, the oppressive sense of neglect.

“He?” Luis tries to be your voice of reason, tethering you back to reality, to the here and now because currently you seem like you’re in a different plane of existence entirely.

“Yes, he.” You drag the box into a corner, your back to him, and run your hand across its lid. The texture feels wrong—too damp, too cold, as if the cardboard itself is rotting from the inside. “He’s trapped here,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Luis. “I don’t know how long, but... it’s been years. He doesn’t even have anyone to mourn him.”

Luis exhales sharply, his breath fogging the air. When did it get so cold? “You don’t know that,” he snaps, his voice louder, louder, louder. “You don’t even know who ‘he’ is!”

The words hit you like a slap. Something shifts, as if the chain binding his anchor to your ship has snapped and broken all at once.

“I’m not—” You stop, swallowing the words. “I’m not crazy, Luis.”

You can see the flicker of regret in his eyes, the way his expression softens, but it doesn’t erase the sting of his words. He hesitates, lowering his voice as if it could take back the hurt.

“I didn’t say that,” he murmurs, “But you’re not thinking straight. You haven’t been since that night. The ghost—or whatever it is—has you hooked. And you don’t even see it–”

Each word feels like a knife twisting deeper. The betrayal coils inside you, bitter and raw. You trusted him to believe in you, to see you, even when no one else did. You open your mouth to argue, but your ghost has better timing.

A sudden, violent knocking echoes through the house, an urgency to each rap. This time, it’s not coming from within the walls, and oddly, that unsettles you more than if it were. The sound pounds from the front door, growing louder, louder, louder with each second that passes. When both you and Luis rush to the foyer, you stare blankly as the door handle rattles on its own.

You don’t think when you walk forward, as if compelled by an unseen force, your hand wrapping around the crystal handle before twisting it and tugging it open. There, crumpled on the porch, lies a bird.

It’s ruined. Feather slicked by a sheen of its own blood, some still fluttering in the wind, others matted to exposed bone. The body is split open, like something had torn it apart with its bare hands, its innards spilt on the rotting boards. Thin ropes of intestine, wet and glistening, loop over themselves.

The head, nearly severed, hangs at a grotesque angle, twisted so far back it looks as though it were straining to see something beyond its reach, connected by just a thin sinew of flesh. One of its glassy black eyes remains open, dull and lifeless, its beak parted in a scream that never came.

The bird has blue feathers. A bluebird, you realise.

Leon doesn’t speak much the rest of the day—if you can qualify the knocks and the flickers of light as speech at all. When you ask him about the bluebird, there's only silence. When you press him on whether he caused it, a vase shatters like fallen stars at your feet.

Perhaps he’s not all gentle. Neither are you, though, so you give him grace. You pick up the shards of glass one by one, wrap them up in a handkerchief, and discard them in the garden.

It’s only when you return inside that you realise you’re bleeding. A thin line of red trails from the split in your thumb, the sting arrives after, delayed but insistent. You watch it drip, swirling with the water as you rinse it away, the crimson draining down the sink.

You’ve grown used to seeing Leon in your periphery. His shadow is a presence that has grown comforting. Unknown to know, unfamiliar to familiar. You find yourself looking forward to the night even more now, eager for a glimpse of him. But tonight, he doesn’t visit.

You think you might’ve upset him. Between the dead bird and the silence, maybe he didn’t like all the arguing, how loud the house had gotten today. You don’t blame him.

“Luis wants to leave tomorrow,” You hum softly into the darkness. You don’t need to see Leon to know he’ll be listening. “I have to go with him.”

Silence.

“I’ll miss you,” You try again, your voice holding a sense of urgency. Please, please, please.

Again, silence.

You ignore the tears that prick at your eyes, upset that your ghost is ignoring you. You fall asleep with a headache and a heartache to match. But when you dream that night, it’s much more alarming than any of the ones before.

You wake in the darkness, your body stiff in your dream like you’ve lost your flesh and have been made up of bones. Rigor mortis once more. For a second you think this might be some sort of horrible sleep paralysis,but before the panic can set in, your eyes focus on the cracks of light in your vision, seeping through the darkness of your mind.

You’re not sure what part of your brain comes to the conclusion, but you realise you’re stuck under something, in something maybe. A coffin? Something wooden. You can smell the musk of the cottonwood.

When you wake from the dream, your headache is pounding twice as hard, you sit up, groaning as you press a hand to your head. When your eyes open, your breath catches in your throat.

Leon.

He's there. Right there.

Closer than he’s ever dared to get, standing beside your bed, watching, waiting, like he always is. Yet, he looks more solid, more here than you’d ever seen of him before. You could make out the shape of his nose, the curve of his eyes, the length of his lashes.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest, bated breath caught in the cavern of your throat as you try to comprehend what you’re seeing.

“Leon,” you whisper his name, your voice shaky, barely more than a breath.

He doesn’t move, but his eyes soften, just slightly, a weight behind his gaze that you can’t quite place. You watch his chest rise and fall with breath that should not be there, lungs that have no reason to expand, a heart that doesn’t beat. And yet, yet, he is here, in front of you, as vivid as anyone else would be.

You lift your hand, your fingers trembling as they hover just above his cheek. You know he isn’t real, not in the way you are, but in this moment, he feels real enough. The heat of your skin, the cool air between you—it all blurs together until the only thing you are sure of is him.

Slowly, carefully, your fingertips brush his skin.

It is faint—barely a touch at all, like reaching through fog—but it is there. For a second, maybe less, his skin feels solid beneath your fingers, cold but tangible. The breath catches in your throat as your hand lingers, the boundary between life and death blurring, blurring, blurring. His eyes flutter closed.

But then, just as quickly, the sensation is gone. Your fingers slip through air, the chill of the room returning, and he is nothing more than a ghost again.

No, no, no your mind screams. A desperation in the way you reach for him again only to feel nothing. A hand over his chest is merely a hand in mid-air. You cannot feel the beat of his undead heart.

Yet, the weight of his gaze remains, heavy with something you cannot name. You want more. You want him to stay. You want to stay.

Leon’s lips part, the faintest hint of a breath escaping, and you swear you can almost hear him say something. Almost. His hand twitches, as if he is also trying to reach for you, but can’t quite cross the divide.

It is unbearable, the way you see him see you.

You don’t tell Luis of what happened last night, refuse to unravel the complexities of the ache in your being that cannot be satiated anymore.

It’s not pain exactly—at least not the kind Luis would understand. It’s deeper than that, a longing you can’t explain. You’re stuck here, you realise, tethered not by chains but by something far less visible, yet much harder to sever.

Luis frowns when you tell him to go without you, that you’ll follow in a day or two. He doesn’t believe you, not entirely. There is scepticism in the way he argues, but you don’t have much fight left anymore. Maybe there isn’t in him, either.

You’d promised yourself this was temporary—a few nights, maybe a week—just long enough to get the evidence you needed. But those days had unravelled into something else. You couldn’t say when you’d first realised you weren’t going to leave. Maybe it was when the lights began to flicker in time with your heartbeat, or when the chill of the air began to feel like a ghost of a touch on your skin.

There was no evidence to gather anymore. No story left to tell but this one.

And perhaps, you think, that’s always been the truth of you—this love of yours, spilling over the edges of your heart until it found something, someone, to hold onto. Living or dead, it didn’t seem to matter. Love for you has never needed a pulse, just a presence.

You walk through the homestead, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your feet, and find that the air no longer feels heavy. There’s no longer that crushing weight on your chest, no musk of decay hanging like a warning. You breathe, and for the first time, the house feels still.

"Leon?" you call, your voice fragile, unsure.

The lights flicker in response, faint and distant.

Maybe, you think, this house has always been your grave.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

#it's DONE. FUCKING FINALLY #and once again - catch the horror movie references for a gold star #amber's haunted prairie party!#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #leon s kennedy #event! ₊˚⊹♡#spilled ink ₊˚⊹♡#sweeterthanficstion

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danganronpa-agere-writing · 3 years ago

Note

hi ! is there any way you could give some little!leon and cg!taka head canons ? i love what you have so far !!

Hi anon! I’m really happy you like what I’m writing :D I’ve actually never written for the specific dynamic both of these characters have, so it was really interesting and fun to do! Thanks for sending it in and I hope you have an amazing day <3

-Mod Mikan

Caregiver Taka and Little Leon headcanons!

•Kiyotaka most likely found out about Leon being a regressor by pure accident— because, really, Leon was rather firm on nobody knowing

•He was the Ultimate Baseball Star! He could not have his reputation ruined because someone found out he was an age regressor

•Well... Leon does also have a tendency to unwillingly regress under pressure...

•So, when he began slurring his words in public and chewing on the sleeve of his jacket, Taka was certain to pick up on it!

•And he was more than aware that Leon probably would feel better regressing in a private place

•So, he was sure to ask if he wanted to go back to his room! And when Leon said that he did, Taka walked with him there, making sure that he was alright before eventually leaving him on his own

•He wasn’t sure if he should have or not, but... he didn’t want to intrude! And it was late, anyways... he was sure Leon would just fall asleep, anyways

•In the morning, though, Leon was definitely more than horrified at the fact someone had saw him like that— but he couldn’t avoid Taka forever

•So, he eventually came up to him and apologized to him, insisting that he was simply tired

•Perhaps blaming it on sleep-deprivation would work... yet, he could tell Taka knew

•Was he really surprised? Taka probably studied more coping mechanisms than drops of water in his body

•But, Taka only promised that he wasn’t going to tell anyone, and that he didn’t mind at all

•So... that was that

•That wasn’t the last time he saw him like that, though, because soon, the Ultimate Baseball Star came knocking on his door holding a stuffed animal close to his chest

•It was originally just a reason for Leon not to be alone when he regressed— He just wanted the comfort of someone being there with him, and now that he knew someone who wasn’t bothered by it, it was all the more tempting to go to them

•And, as the occurrences became more frequent and more comfortable... it was only reasonable to refer to Taka as Leon’s caregiver

•Neither of them were bothered by that— in fact, it was quite a well-liked idea!

•Leon’s definitely the kind of regressor to show out, like, “How many of these animal crackers do you think I can eat?!” or “I could beat you at tag fair and square!” or sometimes even worse, “I bet you I could drink fifteen cups of apple juice without getting sick!”

•And, with Taka’s strictness, it’s certainly an interesting dynamic they have going on, and sometimes even amusing!

•“Wait— Leon! Stop drinking the apple juice!”

•It’s all out of care for his safety, though

•Taka still regards the rules, but he understands that the whole point of regression is to bring back comfort that your childhood may have lacked

•So... he guesses he’ll be fine letting Leon have a bit of his fun!

•Leon is also quite an active regressor, so he’s always wanting to do something like tag, coloring, and not going down without a fight when Taka tries to get him to take a nap

•Taka and him did, however, make a playlist that he could listen to whenever he was regressed to wind down, or just relax

•He helped pick the songs on there to make sure they were properly adjusted to his music taste!

•Leon actually does take a good liking to it

•He also has three stuffed animals!! Two of them are just ones he had beforehand, but one of them is the one that Taka bought for him

•He absolutely loves that one— and has to sleep with them all every night

•If he doesn’t, he won’t be able to sleep

•Leon also quite likes it when Taka lays next to him when he goes to sleep

•He won’t admit it when he’s bigger, but he adores cuddles, and he’s truly a softie for physical touch

•When Taka holds his hand, or wraps an arm around him, he’ll start giggling or grinning with pure happiness radiating off of him

•So, when he cuddles him, it’s almost like Christmas had come early!

•He just likes it when Taka wraps his arms around him and pulls him close— he feels genuinely safe, and the even breaths of Kiyotaka often lull him to sleep

•It can crowded with three necessary stuffed animals, as well as two people, but it’s worth it in the end

•Leon’s happy and safe, and if he is, then so is Taka!

•Taka would also try reading picture/chapter books to Leon

•Leon’s never been an avid reader, but some of the things that Taka suggests for him are rather good!

•Though... Leon’s regression isn’t always positive

•Sometimes he’ll have a nightmare that leaves him trembling, or he’ll simply just throw a fit from the weight of the stress

•Taka’s done a wonderful job at handling it, though, calming him down and promising that whatever is bothering him will be resolved in no time

•He really cares for Leon— he’ll do anything he can to make him feel alright and contented!

•So, really, Taka is a strict caregiver, yet no one can deny that he absolutely adores Leon

•He only wants the best for him, and is more than happy to look after him

•Leon is quite a chaotic regressor, causing minor havoc and seeming to have unlimited energy, but whenever he does have softer moments, those are precious, and ones that neither take for granted

•They’re both happy to have each other— and they couldn’t be more grateful

#age regression #agere #agere writing #danganronpa #danganronpa agere #danganronpa writing #agere sfw #sfw agere #danganronpa age regression #danganronpa age regression writing #sfw #leon kuwata #kiyotaka ishimaru #taka ishimaru #age regression writing

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years ago

Text

Oldstones

Prompt: I got a prompt for you! (but no pressure if you don't wanna): The knights discover that Merlin is incredibly musically gifted but shy about it, and they try to make him see how talented he really is - aeonthedimensionalgirl

*vibes in playlists*

Read on Ao3

Warnings: it's fluff all the way down bois

Pairings: merthur, morgwen, can be platonic or romantic I don't care

Word Count: 2604

Merlin is allowed to keep secrets, yes, but that doesn’t stop people from wanting to find them out.

Come on, the man is literally the most conspicuous person in the castle, one doesn’t rise to that title without sparking at least half a dozen gossip trains each day. Whether it’s where he was when the King was in his private chambers with the knights standing guard, whether it’s how the speech the King hadn’t written is finished by the next morning, whether it’s how often things mysteriously show up just where they need to be…

There are rumors that he sneaks away from the castle at night. No one knows where he goes. Because it definitely isn’t the tavern.

But one doesn’t get Merlin without the host of people that surround him. Arthur, the King, of course. Gaius, the Royal Physician. Morgana, the Queen Regent, at least until her proper coronation. Gwen, who holds the ear of the servants in the castle—the real power here.

And the knights. Brothers, ’til the end. And Merlin is one of them. They couldn’t care less about the rumors flying around unless they hurt Merlin. Then, well, all bets are off. But Merlin is theirs and if there’s nothing wrong, they won’t ask questions.

That is until, of course, there is something that he really should’ve told them.

There is a negotiation with a neighboring lord about whether or not the knights will be allowed passage through his land on patrols. Arthur sends the knights and Merlin to go a broker a brief agreement with representatives before he can join them. The negotiations are long and offset by the fact that the leader keeps shooting narrow-eyed glances at Merlin.

“You sure we haven’t met before,” they ask for the fifth time, “you seem…familiar.”

“I can assure you,” he says, for the fifth time, “I would remember.”

Gwaine and Percival exchange a look. They’re making no headway, the leader is unwilling to accept anything as trade. If they don’t find something soon, the fingers itching towards swords will find their marks sooner or later.

Then Merlin sneezes.

He apologizes for interrupting the negotiations, only for the leader’s right hand to slap their knee and point accusingly at him.

“I knew it,” they crow, triumphant, “you’re the songbird!”

Merlin blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The songbird,” they repeat, standing, “you’re the one who sings in the abandoned arena.”

Well, that certainly explains where Merlin’s been sneaking off to if the way the tips of his ears turn red is anything to go off of. It certainly doesn’t help his case that a few more people run into the room, some of them children, and gasp when they realize that someone’s found the songbird.

“My apologies,” Merlin manages after a moment, the embarrassment still blooming on his cheeks, “I didn’t realize that anyone would—that I—that you could hear me.”

“But your voice is so pretty,” one of the children cries, “will you sing something for us now?”

“Oh, do the one about being happier!”

“No, no, the one about being a bad liar.”

“Ooh! Ooh! Or the one about the bright lights!”

“I’m quite partial to the ‘stay with me’ one,” another lieutenant remarks.

The knights look on, half amused, half bemused, as the requests pile up. Only when Merlin’s mortification begins to seep past his facade do they have mercy.

“That’s enough,” Elyan says gently to the children, “we don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“Don’t we,” Gwaine mutters.

“Well,” Merlin says before Leon can respond, “I believe we’ve found something you want.”

The leader regards him for a moment. Their face twists as they think.

“…and how am I supposed to know that you are the pretty little songbird that’s been singing in there?” They look him up and down. “You could just be using that as a convenient excuse.”

The right-hand snorts. “No one else kriffing sneezes like that.”

Lancelot hides a snort behind a cough.

“You are correct that we cannot offer you anything material or legal in exchange for the deal,” Merlin says, still heroically fighting the blush on his cheeks, “but perhaps this will suffice instead?”

“Entertainment,” they muse, tilting their head back and forth, “a tempting offer.”

“A song for the deal?”

“Not just one song,” the leader huffs, “more.”

They glance back at the knights.

“What you’re asking of us, it’s a lot. That’s a lot of money we’re losing. Damages, labor, replanting.” They glance at the lieutenant. “How much?”

“Three thousand.”

The leader whistles. “That’s pretty steep.”

Their attention shifts back to Merlin.

“Three thousand, huh? Three hours.” They lean forward, their eyes on Merlin’s face. “That’s about how long you normally spend in that old arena. Three hours.”

Merlin nods. “When?”

The leader’s smile grows. “Tomorrow evening, little songbird, when the lord and your king can come to watch.”

They ride back to camp with the paperwork of the deal completed, Gwaine teasing poor Merlin about his habit of sneaking out to an old abandoned arena and singing. Leon watches on, not bothering to hide his smile, as Merlin’s embarrassment fills the air. At one point he shoots him a look that clearly says ‘are you not going to help me?’

The one he sends back makes it clear that this is more than enough entertainment for him.

“Alright,” Lancelot says eventually when he sees Merlin’s jaw start to wobble, the line of embarrassment to humiliation much shorter than he would like, “that’s enough, leave him be. After all, the songbird has to perform tonight, don’t make him lose his voice before he closes the deal.”

“I’ll take it,” Merlin mutters.

They do thank Merlin for agreeing to do this when they get to camp. Leon slaps him on the shoulder and congratulates him for being willing to do it.

“It’s fine,” Merlin says, shuffling a little next to the fire, “I just…wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, no,” Gwaine sighs loudly, “I also wasn’t expecting to find out that one of my oldest friends is a songbird.”

“Merlin’s your oldest friend?” Elyan snorts. “How bad are you at making friends?”

“Oi!”

“No, wait, seriously, do you have no other friends?”

“I have friends!”

“Really? Who are they?”

Merlin grins as the topic of conversation steers away from him and more toward Gwaine’s apparent inability to make friends. Well, meaningful friends. People you down pints in the tavern with don’t really count—no they don’t, Gwaine.

Of course, just because the knights are getting distracted doesn’t mean Leon is getting distracted.

“How long have you been able to sing for, Merlin,” he asks softly, too unobtrusive for the others to notice, “did your mother teach you?”

The tips of Merlin’s ears redden again. “No.”

“It’s alright, Merlin,” he says softly, “there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, it’s alright.”

“It’s—it’s—“ he shifts— “it’s nothing.”

“If the lord was ready to make a deal over the promise of your voice, that’s not nothing, Merlin.” Leon frowns when Merlin just keeps shifting uncomfortably. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“That’s alright.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“Never,” he promises gently, “not if it’s worrying you this much.”

Merlin shifts a little more. “…I’m not actually that good.”

“Lie.”

Merlin’s head jerks around as Leon glances over his shoulder to see Lancelot watching them. The knight nods toward the other three who are now arguing about the precise alcohol quantity of some tavern drink as he scoots closer.

“Lie,” he repeats softly, “I’ve heard you sing, Merlin, you’re incredible.”

“Did you—“ Merlin splutters— “did you follow me?”

“No,” Lancelot says, raising his hands, “but the patrols do go there from time to time.”

Merlin buries his face in his hands. How many people have heard him?

“Shh,” Lancelot says, bringing his hands away, “you’ll do great. And if you don’t, we’ll be the ones who suffer the consequences for agreeing to a ridiculous deal.”

Merlin shakes his head. “I don’t know why I agreed to this.”

“Because it was the first thing they suggested that wasn’t entirely unreasonable.”

“You think this is reasonable?”

“Well, yes, compared to the thirteen caskets of gold, two barrels of opals, and six cartloads of mead.”

“It will be fine, Merlin,” Leon promises, “don’t worry so much.”

Merlin is plenty worried, thank you very much, especially when Arthur, Morgana, and Gwen show up the next day to look very very confused at what the deal has turned out to be. Arthur is fully intent on teasing Merlin mercilessly about his singing only for Leon and Lancelot to shoot him a death glare. He shrugs. He can do it perfectly well afterward.

The lord meets with them, they sit in their places of honor, and Gwaine cups Merlin’s elbow as he steps onto the stage.

“Ready, songbird?”

He sighs. “Are you going to keep calling me that?”

Gwaine just grins.

Merlin looks…small on the stage, they realize, despite the fact that he looks right.

Then he begins to sing.

Gods.

Three hours feel like an eternity, collapsed into an instant. His voice lifts and soars, pouring into the air like an endless well. The happy songs send them into the stratosphere, the sad ones drop them into the planet’s core. Arthur reaches blindly for Morgana’s hand at one point and they cling to each other, there in the upper corners of the theatre.

One song reaches deep into Morgana’s chest and tugs in too many places to be unfamiliar. Wrapped up in power, unable to use it properly, cultivated as a thing, a cog in a machine, trapped. A dangerous flare in her gut, reached only by the way Merlin’s aura hides reluctant darkness, one borne on necessity and resentment.

One song pushes back against Arthur’s shields, calls out to a child. A child, too soon knighted, too soon forced into the mold of the perfect King, still raw from years and years of being overlooked, not being chosen, not being wanted. It calls out in remorse, in mourning for someone lost long ago yet could not be grieved because they’re still here, just buried under layers and layers of armor. The person they used to be.

One song hurts them both.

They’re not sure how long it’s been when Merlin stops for a moment, smiling, before he takes a moment to talk about the next song.

He says that there is a tale, an old one, about a soldier. A legendary warrior, impervious to all harm, except for one spot on his body. His heel. When his mother held him as she bathed him in power, something that would keep him safe, keep him invulnerable. What she did not realize is that her son did not have just physical weaknesses, nor that her son’s supposed invulnerability would keep people from realizing that he was a person too.

He says that the story tells of someone very important to this warrior, someone who realized that he was human, first and foremost, and that someone was taken away. Murdered. And what good was that invulnerability if he could not protect the one he loved? The warrior was only human, after all, and humans make mistakes. And they need to be reminded that’s all they are, behind all the power, all the invulnerability, they’re human.

The name of the warrior?

Achilles.

His voice has a sense of urgency now, one that they’ve only heard once before. When a squire, suddenly happy after months of being lost in their own head, climbed to the highest balcony in the castle and stood there, wobbling in the wind.

The song climbs, higher, and higher, the urgency growing, his light shining brighter and brighter.

Then the trick.

Another voice, dark and distorted, a twisted version of him, ringing out in the theater despite the fact that his mouth is closed. Gasps and shock as the audience tries to figure out what the trick is, how this is happening, too caught up in the thrill of the performance to care that it might be magic. The dark voice whispers temptation, scorns the others, tells the warrior to jump.

Morgana does not let go of Arthur and Arthur will not let go of Morgana.

The dark voice sings alongside Merlin, the theater caught in the storm of his making. The dark voice vanishes into a whisper, Merlin all but pleading the warrior to come down.

As the last verse starts, he looks directly at them.

There is no more facade, no more roles for him to play. This is Merlin, singing to them. The concert may be for the deal, this song is theirs.

Throw yourself into the unknown

With pace and a fury defiant.

Clothe yourself in beauty untold

And see life as a means to a triumph.

Today of all days, see

How the most dangerous thing is to love

How you will heal and you'll rise above.

Crowned by an overture bold and beyond

Ah, it's more courageous to overcome.

When the song ends and the spell is broken, the whole theater has to take a moment to breathe.

There are more songs, more that touch different people in different ways.

“I will say this,” Morgana whispers, still blinking away tears, “I don’t see them backing out of the deal.”

Arthur can’t find the words to reply.

Too soon, Merlin announces that the next song is the last one. The theater crows in protest, Arthur and Morgana among them, despite themselves. A strange look crosses his face as he raises an eyebrow.

“No? You don’t want to leave?”

Another round of ‘no’ goes up.

“But we have to,” he says softly, his voice still ringing as if surrounded by old stone halls, “we can’t stay here, as much as we want to. We have to keep going. We can’t be the rock that the water beats away at, we’ll be worn to nothing.”

To their surprise, he sits.

“…or we’ll fade into ghosts.” He looks around. “But we’d like to stay here, for a moment longer, with the ghosts, yes?”

At the noises of agreement, he smiles. “Then let’s do a different song for the last one.”

And oh, what a song he chooses.

It’s not as vocally impressive as some of the other ones, nor does it tug on their heartstrings as painfully. But this one, more than any other song he’s sung tonight, sounds like Merlin.

A girl, dancing in the ruins of an old stone castle with the ghosts of her loved ones. Season after season, year after year, until she too became a ghost, dancing with them once again.

They can almost feel hands on their shoulders.

The song ends and the deal is complete. The leader approaches to have a quiet word with Merlin before he exits the theater and waits. The lord stumbles to Arthur and Morgana, almost in a trance, with the promise to ride behind them to Camelot to officially sign the deal the next morning. Arthur is only conscious enough to nod and murmur a reply. Morgana isn’t much better. The knights have already formed a protective huddle around Merlin as they return to camp, the little songbird all sung out.

When they get back to camp, Merlin barely has time to thank them for coming before Arthur pulls him into a hug.

“No,” he whispers, “thank you.”

#merlin #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #fic #dragonbabbles #arthur pendragon #morgana pendragon #guinevere pendragon

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your-1up-girl · 3 years ago

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Catalog and About the Librarian

Hello! (she/her). I am the owner of the Library! Thank you for stopping by. I’m a 20-something fanfic writer. This blog will contain my writing and just other general things that I find interesting. This post will be my master-list of sorts so that you can browse the collection easily. The collection is small at the moment, but I am working on adding more works as time allows me.

Currently Reading Novel: The Inexplicable Logic of my Life by: Benjamin Alire Sáenz

Currently Reading Fics: The Ring Bearer Series by: @rolerei

Catalog

While this blog is sfw some of my fics will be/are notsfw. They will be labeled accordingly. Please out of respect of me, don’t read those fics if you are under 18. Feel free to send me a message if you can’t find a work I have listed and I will do my best to get it to you. Thank you and happy reading!

Final Fantasy/Kingdom Hearts

The Flower and The Fighter: Their Resolution: During the events of FF7remake, Aerith visits Tifa in a dream and together, they share a tender moment (Aerith/Tifa ~Bittersweet angst)

Just a Prayer: Having just escaped Midgar, Aerith needs a way to distract herself from all the things that have happened. So she sneaks away to clear her thoughts and pray. (Aerith/Tifa ~Fluff)

This Freedom Doesn’t Scare me at All: Aerith talks to Namine about how she and the others came to Radiant Garden and hopefully, stop some of Namine’s fears. (AU-ish Aerith/Cloud near the end ~Fluff/Angst)

See You Soon: It’s a normal day for everyone in the sector. But for Aerith, things are a bit difficult (No paring ~Bittersweet Angst)

Won’t Be in White: Aerith and Cloud’s wedding day (Aerith/Cloud ~Fluff)

Beautiful Girl: A young Aerith shares a moment with Elmyra after she has a rough day with the other kids of the sector (No pairing ~Hurt/Comfort)

Birthdays and Promises: People lead Aerith on a wild goose chase to distract her from the surprise on her birthday (Cloud/Aerith ~Fluff) (Dedicated to @sammilimyy)

Working on Weapons: Cindy closes up shop early to modify your weapon but that doesn’t end up happening that night (Cindy/Fem!Reader ~18+)

*WIP* Vanilla Sundae: Soft moments with your girlfriend Jessie are interrupted by an unfortunate event (Jessie Rasberry/Fem!Reader ~Songfic/Fluff to Angst)

Resident Evil

Beneath Your Beautiful: When Leon decides to take a dangerous mission he might not make it back from, there is only one person who can talk him down (Cleon ~Bittersweet Angst/Songfic)

*WIP* In Another Life Series: The four times Claire and Leon lost each other, and the one time they didn’t (Dedicated to @kefliboo)

Of Knights and Royalty (Coming Soon)

Sirens and Mermaids

Lost to the Sea, but not From Me

Palace

I Feel Like We’ve Met Before

Buko No Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Todoroki Shouto

*WIP* Kalimba: Shouto was very observant when it came to you, but there was one thing he could never figure out, until one day he hears music coming from your room (Shouto/Fem!Reader ~Fluff)

*WIP* Playlist of Our Lives Series: Song inspired fics about you and Todoroki (Shoto/Fem!Reader)

#masterlist #catalog #the library #my writing #my work #this is very messy but I want my writing to be found easily

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sstarcry · 3 years ago

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Into the fire chapter 1

The once bright white room i had been confined to became shrouded in darkness. I recognized a voice coming from the hall, the voice that belonged to carlos. I watched as my cell door opened, I hid further in the corner, not wanting to be poked and prodded again for the third time today. A mop of messy black hair came into my vision. It wasa carlos.

“It's okay, I'm here to get you out. I'm not letting them turn you into one of those things. But we have to move fast.” he said, hoisting me up off of the floor.

Could I really be getting out of this hellscape? He quickly grabbed a small bag from one of the lockers as we ran.

“Carlos? Why save me?” I asked, my voice strained after not talking for years.

“You deserve a future, not torment. I refuse to let them take you to South america. There's a rescue team headed our way.” he said, pulling me up the stairs of a clock tower. The city looked different. Cars were on fire, and it smelled of death and decay.

“Jill? Are you okay? I'm back and I have him with me. We can get out of here as soon as they arrive.”

That was over 20 years ago. In Raccoon city.

“Kole, are you even listening to me?” Chris, or captain redfield, asked me

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” i said still looking at the table below my arms

“Chris calm down. The kids been through hell, show some sympathy.” Jill said, giving him a smack on the back of the head. “I know you're bad with rookies but c'mon, he's only 28. He got out of Raccoon city with Carlos and i. God knows the horrors he's seen.” she said, ushering me out of the conference room.

“Are you okay?” she asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Im fine, it's just. Been 23 years since then and I can't shake it. I'm sorry.” I said looking down.

“Why don't you go sit with Leon in his office? He needs the company, even if he says he doesn't.” she softly spoke, rubbing my shoulder.

“I'll see if he’ll let me.” I said turning away from her.

“If he says no, tell him he’ll have to deal with me.”

“Thanks Jill, really.” I said, offering her a small smile.

I hesitantly knocked on his office door, still shy even after knowing him since he got back from Spain in ‘04. “Leon? Can I come in?” I asked behind the closed door.

“Sure thing kid.” he said as i opened the door “You okay? You seem lost.”

“I'm surviving, just memories y'know?” I said sitting in my usual spot in the corner chair beside him.

“I heard Chris from here. I dont want you to take this mission. Its too much like raccoon city, and I don't want to put you through that again. Okay?” he said, turning away from his pile of paperwork to look at me. “I still can't believe that you made it out. Hell, I'm still in awe of your resilience. And carlos’ dedication to get you out.” he said, placing a hand on my knee. “Stay in here as long as you like. I’ll be doing paperwork but if you feel like talking, just speak up okay?”

“Okay. thank you.”

Almost as soon as I finished my sentence Chris barged in.

“Kole, what are you doing. Were supposed to be leaving for Delena in 20 minutes.” he practically yelled at me

“I'm not letting him go. It's too similar to Raccoon city. That's an order Redfield.” Leon said, looking at the boulder of a man. “Besides, I'm sure you've got this handled. I'm not letting him go through what i did.”

“Just because he's still young doesn't exclude him from his duties, Leon.” Chris said with unwavering intensity.

“But he's still a DSO agent, so what I say goes in case you forgot. So get out of my office Chris.” Leon said, waving his hand in the direction of the door.

By the time they finished their conversation I was shaking, memories flooding my head of the cruel basement of umbrella. “It's time for your treatment, Kole. Follow Wesker.”

“N-no please no.” “grab him. And don't hurt him too bad we still need him alive. This is Austin, subject 0-009 is showing resistance.” “P-Please dont hurt me. I-i’ll be good promise…”

The room felt like it was closing in and the air became harder and harder to breathe. I felt a whimper escape my throat as I curled up into a tighter ball.

“Kole, hey. It's just me, Leon. It's just us.no one else is here.” I could barely hear him over the sound of them. “Wesker, put him in the room. We need him to be calm for this one.” “Yes sir. C'mon kid, don't make this any harder than it has to be.” “Wesker, please don't make me sit in the room again…” I said as sobs racked my body.

“Hey, hey now. Look at me.” Leon said, placing both hands on my shoulders and giving them a small rub. “I need you to breathe. Wesker isn't here. He got what was coming to him. I promise.” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “Shhh it's okay. I'm here now. And I won't let anyone hurt you, okay?”

“O-okay.” I said, mimicking his breathing, still shaking.

“Dont worry ill talk with Chris when he gets back. I hate seeing you this way.” he said, placing a kiss on the top of my head and rubbing my back. My grip on him got tighter as he rocked us back and forth. Soon my breathing evened out but his grip on me didn't falter. “I'm gonna make a quick call to Hunnigan and have someone do this paperwork so we can go home okay?”

“Okay, as long as we can cuddle for the rest of the day. I'm just drained.'' I said leaning into his chest as he picked up the phone on the desk.

“Anything for my baby.” he said before dialing Hunnigan. “Hey Hunnigan, I'm gonna need the rest of the day off. Yeah it was another bad one. Alright thanks.” he said into the receiver then hung up, helping me to my feet. “You ready to go baby?” he asked, standing up and grabbing my hand.

“I guess so.” I said following him out of the office and into the elevator. “Sorry for being a pain in the ass.”

“You are the furthest thing from a pain in the ass. Now Chris on the other hand.” He said with a light chuckle, wrapping his arms around my waist. “You, my sweet boy, are absolutely perfect in my eyes.” he softly spoke before kissing my forehead. “I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”

“Wow Leon, getting soft?”I asked him as the elevator doors opened to the car park. “Who'd've thought that it'd take a traumatized man to make you soft hm?” I asked him as we approached his car. Usually he'd ride the ducati but it was raining so he left it at home.

“I get that Chris is pushing 50 but he doesn't have to play the grumpy old man act.” Leon said opening the car door for me. “At least Jill keeps him in line.”

I couldn't help the laugh that escaped my throat. “Damn babe tell me how you really feel.” I said watching him put the key in the ignition, cranking it. “But you aren’t exactly wrong.”

“Besides, he shouldn’t be that harsh on you. I've told him once before not to do that but I have no problem reminding him. Well, let's get home before the storm gets any worse.” he said exiting the parking deck.

The ride home was mostly silent, minus the soft music coming from the speakers and the occasional boom of thunder. I'm surprised that he still listens to the playlist I made him a few years back.

As we opened the front door we were greeted by our two cats, Ghost and Monty. “Hi boys, did you miss us?” I asked them, getting a loud meow in response from Ghost. “C’mere buddy.” i said picking him up and walking to our shared bedroom.

“You sure have a way with animals” Leon said as he took off his shoes, then followed closely behind me. “Don’t let them take up all the space in the bed will ya?”

“No promises. They have a mind of their own.” I said putting Ghost down and proceeding to take off my work clothes. I looked over my shoulder to see Leon doing the same.

“Cmere.” He said, opening his arms wide. I returned his embrace as he slowly walked back to the bed, pulling me down with him. “Move kitty. I want to cuddle with him, not you.” He said getting a meow in response.

“I don’t think he liked that Leon.” I said resting my head on his chest allowing his heartbeat to calm me.

He chuckled and pulled me closer. “Eh, he can think what he wants.” He said kissing my forehead. “Besides, the second the storm picks up again, he’ll be scurrying under the bed.” Sure enough, bright flash of lightning came through the window followed by a loud clap of thunder. I watched as ghost went from enjoying the pets Leon was giving him to running as fast as he could to get under the bed. “See?”

A small laugh escaped my lips as I watched the whole thing. “What can I say? He’s just a ScaredyCat.”

“Hey, I’m the one who makes the bad jokes!” He said pulling me up on top of him.

“Well looks like I just beat you to the punchline then.” I said sitting up slightly to look at him. His icy eyes held a gleam of happiness in them, a rare sight for him. His hand came up to caress my cheek and pull me into a sweet kiss.

“How did I get so lucky to have this. I thought for the longest time that I’d never feel slightly normal but I wouldn’t trade this for the world.” He said, carding his fingers through my short hair. A hum of content left my throat as I laid my head back down on his chest, just savoring the moment before something inevitably interrupted it. And to my surprise, I was able to drift off into a peaceful sleep as his hands rubbed patterns into the small of my back

Tag list

@thatgoblin @void-of-anarchy @questionedturkey

#leon s kennedy #resi #resident evil #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #Leon s Kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader

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thisispurpleyam · 4 years ago

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Surreptitious Candor part 4

A beautiful lounge singer and Napoleon Solo cross paths during U.N.C.L.E.’s mission in New York.

Napoleon Solo x WOC oc

I thought that this fic would only need 4 parts, but apparently it calls for two more...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Playlist

*****

Knocking out and tying up the owner of the invitation was much simpler than Gaby and Illya expected. The man was the personification of nervous, awkward, and clumsy. He tripped over his own feet and started sobbing immediately after Illya kicked his door down. When Gaby suddenly appeared behind him, the poor guy just couldn’t take it and passed out. They finished the job quietly and swiftly before their oblivious victim’s neighbors noticed something was amiss. Shortly after, they set off to the rendezvous point the team had agreed on.

At the soiree, Napoleon was blending in with the crowd perfectly, being the usual charmer he was. Amalia and Bernard didn’t even recognize him, as he had anticipated. So, when they paused to ask him who he was, he flawlessly delivered his story of being Alan Sinclair, the only child of the late Mr. and Mrs Sinclair. Everything else would have gone smoothly if it wasn’t for the gossip filling the room unnecessarily dragging out his job.

“Leon?” he heard a familiar voice call out to him, distracting him from his thoughts.

He turned around and faced the singer whom he had recently become very well acquainted with. “Ah, Eula. Fancy seeing you here.”

“After last night, who would have thought we’d run into each other again so soon?” she responded with a suggestive smirk.

Napoleon knowingly smiled back, taking pride in the secret only they had the privilege of knowing. He took her hand in his and kissed her gloved knuckles. “Fate has its ways.”

“I thought you didn’t like to dance, though?” Eula slyly asked, making a point of darting her eyes toward the dance floor.

“I suppose I could make an exception for a certain chanteuse again, considering how well my night ended the last time I did,” he replied with a wink, taking the lead and joining the pairs swaying to the music.

As the two of them moved in time with the song, it dawned on Eula how much time she had been spending with Napoleon. She preferred to be detached from people, being the independent and self-sufficient woman she was. Every involvement she ever had with a man, and they were very few and far between, only lasted a night. All of them, she either met at the lounge or worked with during one of her side jobs before she became a regular at the diner. She seldom let things get far as breakfast. Yet here she was, in her highest heels and most expensive dress, dancing with the devilishly handsome spy and enjoying his company for the fourth night in a row.

“Alan,” Amalia Fernsby called out. “I see you’ve gotten comfortable enough to partake in the festivities.”

“Mrs. Fernsby,” Napoleon greeted as he pulled away from Eula, noticing her expression sour the moment they heard Amalia’s voice. He pretended to not notice and settled for an arm around her waist instead. “I couldn’t possibly say no to such a lovely dance partner.”

Amalia turned her focus to the singer and remarked, “you never told us the two of you know each other.”

“I prefer to keep our conversations on a need-to-know basis,” Eula responded curtly, flashing an artificial smile to emphasize her point.

Bernard sensed the tension and stepped in, “I’m really glad you and Alan Sinclair are getting along well, though. His mother really meant a lot to our family. She was a wonderful tutor to you, and we’ll forever be in debt.”

“She absolutely was. Maybe you could come over for dinner sometime, Alan,” Amalia excitedly added. “How your mother didn’t talk much about you, I will never understand. If I had a son as handsome as you, I would-��

“Mother,” Eula sternly cut in. “Let’s not make our guest uncomfortable, shall we?”

Before the conversation could get any further, their assistant came to inform Bernard and Amalia that their presence was requested by an important guest.

Napoleon waited for any woman’s reaction whenever they realized a man had been dishonest with them. He anticipated Eula’s rage or tears, but neither came. Instead, she took her parents’ absence as an opportunity to get away from the crowd.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said as she grabbed him and pulled him to an empty hallway, leading him to the fire exit door. She looked both ways to make sure the area was clear before dragging him inside the stairwell.

Napoleon lazily raised both of his hands and offered Eula a sheepish grin, “Alright. You got me.”

“Relax, Alan,” she said in sarcasm and leaned her back against the door. “I’m trying to help you.”

Napoleon incredulously eyed the brunette. “You are?”

“Yes! So you better listen carefully before anybody notices anything out of the ordinary,” she responded all in one breath.

Still doubtful, Napoleon inquired, “but why? Considering you just found out I used you and lied to you, the last thing you should be feeling is generosity.”

Eula rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Leon, I knew. From the moment we first met, I knew you weren’t who you presented yourself to be.”

“Alright, humor me then,” he challenged. “What do you know about me?”

“First of all,” she started, taking steps closer to him and meeting his piercing gaze, “I know that you’re a conman. You always don designer suits that only the upper class of New York can afford, yet your hands are way too rough to belong to a man of wealth. Hell, even your car is more expensive than any I’ve driven before. As far as I know, no man can get that rich off physical labor alone. Hands like yours could only mean being heavily exposed to either field work or combat. My suspicions were proven right when I saw your scars last night. I’ve had my fair share of men, and I think I can tell the difference between a puny heir with no backbone and someone who had to do whatever he can to survive.”

Napoleon could only look at her in wonder. None of the women he had been with were as observant. They usually swooned over the smallest things and bought whatever persona he sold to them.

“I also know that you’re a thief. A good one, I might add, who would have gotten away with stealing my bracelet if I didn’t know the contents of my jewelry box like the back of my hand. After all, how can my bracelet disappear after I first spoke with you and suddenly turn up in my jewelry box after you spent the night?”

Napoleon snickered. “A good thief probably shouldn’t return items they’ve stolen.”

“Even if you hadn’t given it back, I still would have figured you out,” Eula confidently retorted.

“Oh really? Why’s that?”

“Simple. You’re not at all the type of man to stick around. You’re the type who leaves after you’ve had your fun. And if the object of your desire doesn’t take you up on your offer right away, you move on to your next conquest. With me, you actually waited for three days and even visited the diner despite barely knowing me. What other reason would you have to stay other than the fact that you’d already figured out who I really was?”

Napoleon hated to admit it, but he was impressed. The CIA and U.N.C.L.E. had done a good job covering up his criminal record, yet Eula was able to glean that much information simply by paying attention. She might not have figured out the exact circumstances, but she got pretty damn close. “You’re perceptive, I’ll give you that.”

“Alright, then. My turn to ask now. How did you find out I was a Fernsby?”

“Your bracelet,” he answered nonchalantly.

“My bracelet?” Eula asked in puzzlement. “But it’s a unique design that never reached the market.”

“Precisely. At first I considered it was a knockoff brand, seeing as it had an emblem vaguely similar to the Fernsbys’ trademark logo, but the quality was way too high to be that cheap. Then I found out that in every photograph taken of the Fernsby women from different generations, each had that bracelet in common. I gathered that it was a jewelry unique to every woman in the family.”

Eula shook her head and scoffed. “I knew I should have thrown that stupid thing away. It never did quite fit me right.”

“But there’s just one thing I couldn’t quite figure out.”

“And that is?”

“Every single Fernsby woman of the last three generations have their photographs in the paper, except for you.”

“I don’t really like to associate with my family. That’s the whole reason why I left the day I turned 18. I’ve been working at the lounge since then and even took up graveyard shifts at the diner.”

“So that’s why you’re helping me? Because you hate your family?”

“Don’t mock me,” she firmly told him. “They’re not as ‘glamorous’ as they make people think. I may not know the exact details, but I was groomed to be the company’s heir and trained to understand the ins and outs. I know they’ve been caught up in human trafficking and drug dealing of some sort. I can’t exactly report them to the cops because even they can be bought by our family name alone. The money from the business my ancestors started deserves to be put to better use.”

“And you think I won’t misuse the money?” he sarcastically asked.

“I think, you’re not doing this heist completely out of selfish reasons.”

“What makes you say that?”

“When you left the diner, I saw what you did to that young news boy. I saw how you bought all of the papers he had left just so he could go home. I also know that on the evening we met, when it was a really slow night at the lounge, it was you who tipped every single server on duty. Leon, you’re not as terrible of a person as you seem to think.”

“You’re trusting me way too much, Eula” Napoleon warned her.

“Well, I’d rather trust you than my manipulative and controlling parents. At least I know you’re capable of helping people on your own free will. They only do it for show.”

“If you hate them so much, why’d you come to the soiree?” he questioned.

“Because it’s part of the deal,” Eula bit back. “I promised I’d show up to every stupid gathering they’d hold in exchange for them getting their ‘henchmen’ off my back. It doesn’t guarantee my safety from the tabloids, but it’s worth a try…”

Napoleon wordlessly studied the brunette. All the years he spent in his trade taught him to recognize dishonesty, and Eula showed no sign of it. “Fine,” he gave in. “When do we start?”

“We? I can’t go with you. I go on stage in a few minutes. You’ll be on your own, so you have to pay close attention to everything I tell you.”

“Alright, what do I have to do?”

Eula looked around the fire exit staircase to make sure no one could overhear and hurriedly instructed, “go into the janitor’s closet at the end of the hall. The wall on the left side of the door is hollow and has a hidden elevator behind it. You’ll need this,” she took off her bracelet and handed it to Napoleon, “because the emblem on the pendant unlocks the elevator doors.”

“Ah, so this ‘stupid thing’ has a use after all,” Napoleon teased.

She let out a dry laugh and answered, “yes, but I won’t be needing it anymore, so you can keep it. The elevator takes you to the most restricted area of the building. When you get there, you’ll see a steel door with a passcode. I would tell you the code, but they change it every 12 hours. You get past that, and then there’s a safe you gotta crack.”

“Lucky for you, safe cracking is a part of my skill set. But I suppose you already knew that otherwise you wouldn’t be telling me all this.”

“I didn’t really know. But considering the magnitude of this larceny, I just figured.”

“Hmm, fair enough.

“Best be on your way before people start to miss you,” Eula ordered him. “Oh, and the password for unlocking the steel door from the inside is ‘awanggan.’ It’s Tagalog for infinity.”

“Listen, Eula,” Napoleon began hesitantly, “I’m sorry for-”

“It’s okay,” she interjected with a genuine smile and joked, “I always knew you weren’t a ‘coffee and breakfast in the morning’ kind of guy from the get go.”

Napoleon began to make his way to the door until he paused in his tracks and turned back around. He caught her off guard by pulling her in and capturing her lips with his. After she got past her initial surprise, she eagerly responded almost immediately; each of them moving with an amount of aggression to ensure neither would easily forget the physical memory of the experience. He gave her bottom lip a soft bite before slowly pulling away.

“Don’t miss me too much,” he smugly teased.

“Whatever you say, Leon. Now hurry!”

#Napoleon Solo #the man from uncle #The Man from U.N.C.L.E.#tmfu #tmfu fanfic #napoleon solo fanfic #napoleon solo x oc #woc oc

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zenonaa · 5 years ago

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any chance you’d be willing to write ikuzono with (sfw) mistletoe?

Ikuzono + mistletoe

Bits of paper pepper the wooden flooring of the classroom, much to Kiyotaka’s chagrin. It trails down aisles between desks and piles around furniture, especially those belonging to certain students. Kiyotaka marches through the paper shreds to one of the desks, his chin held high.

“Don’t forget to recycle when you clean up your mess!” Kiyotaka pipes up, angling the metal can in his arms toward Leon. The object resembles an ordinary trash can but bears a label that has ‘paper recycling’ written on it, both in Japanese and English text, courtesy of Yasuhiro.

Leon props his arm on the back of his chair and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll pick them up after.”

What he means by ‘after’ isn’t immediately clear. It could refer to when he has finished cutting out this snowflake, or all of the snowflakes, or after the snowflakes have been hung up alongside the other handmade decorations. Or it could mean after the whole classroom has been made festive, or even after the class returns from winter break.

Kiyotaka’s lips compress as he regards Leon, who brandishes the scissors and snips at another piece of paper. Flecks of white sway on their descent to his desk and the floor, joining the rest of the excess paper, and Kiyotaka’s features harden further.

“If it bothers you so much, perhaps you could clear it up?” suggests Celes, who had been assigned the task of drawing some Christmas pictures with Hifumi. She sits at an adjacent desk to him, occasionally glancing at the large piece of paper Hifumi pores over while her hands stay neatly folded on her lap the entire time.

“It will just refill while we’re working,” Kyouko points out next to the Christmas tree. Nearby, Chihiro sits on Mondo’s shoulders, holding a bauble that Kyouko passed to them that is yet to be given its place on the tree.

That seems to be the same thought Kiyotaka comes to, because he folds his arms over his chest and pouts.

Everyone in the class has a role to play in the run-up to Christmas, an idea started by Makoto that soon spread to the others. By now, most of the work has been done, with just a few bits and pieces left to do in the classroom. With Kiyotaka acting as supervisor there, different jobs apart from the usual decorating involve putting up lights, organising Secret Santas and compiling playlists.

Half the students in the class sort out their classroom while the rest toil in the kitchens, preparing various foods. Cakes. Treats. Southern fried chicken that had to be bought a month in advance. The door to the kitchen area opens, and Sayaka and Mukuro walk out together, both carrying a large platter between them.

Sitting on the silver dish is a Christmas cake, snow white and topped with strawberries.

“Phew! Togami-kun can sure be very intense, can’t he?” chirps Sayaka, her hair tied into a ponytail.

For a guy who gives no impression that he has ever set foot in a kitchen before this season, Byakuya sure did have a lot of confidence belting out orders and pointing his finger at everyone and everything. Mukuro nods, focused on their footing. All it would take is a careless student to barge into the two of them, and their mission would be a failure. Cake would be on the ground. Ruined.

Therefore, they have to remain alert. Hyper aware of their surroundings. As if to reaffirm this point, at that moment, someone skids around the corner at the other end of the corridor, practically on all fours.

Akane Owari.

Sayaka widens her eyes and before either of them can dodge, Akane hurtles toward them. Her eyes look past the cake, at the door that had let out a waft of cooked goods.

As Akane rockets past, Sayaka overbalances, and the metal dish begins to flip.

Mukuro springs into action. Their grip twists and in one fell swoop, they have the dish perched on one hand, cake intact, and their other arm around Sayaka’s slanted backward body. Her face hangs just beneath Mukuro’s, their lips almost touching.

The world stops for a few seconds that feel like minutes.

“T-Thank you,” Sayaka manages first. She shifts slowly. Mukuro backs up and watches Sayaka straighten and brush off her skirt. Their eyes linger on Sayaka’s thighs until they realise and drag their gaze up.

“No problem,” mumbles Mukuro. They position the dish in front of themselves, placing their other hand beneath it so they carry it in both hands.

“It’s no problem thanks to you,” replies Sayaka, tilting her head to one side. “If you hadn’t acted so quickly, the cake would have ended up on the floor.”

Then Sayaka has the audacity to look at Mukuro with that cute face of hers, brow creased, big smile. Mukuro’s cheeks burn.

“W-We should get a move on,” says Mukuro. They clear their throat - away from the cake, of course - and take one step forward.

Sayaka reaches a hand toward them and leans in. “Hang on! You’ve got some icing on your cheek.”

Mukuro turns their head and opens their mouth, about to speak, and freezes as Sayaka casually wipes her finger across Mukuro’s cheek. With a grin, Sayaka withdraws her hand and gives the tip of her finger a lick.

“There,” she says. “Perfect.”

The connection between Mukuro’s brain and mouth detaches, and they just stare, open-mouthed. Sayaka squirms and flutters and takes an end of the dish, and once she starts trudging onward, Mukuro follows suit.

Fortunately, the cake is still in one piece when they arrive at their classroom, and Mukuro opens the door before reversing inside.

“Mistletoe!” shouts Leon. Everyone else in the class whips around.

Mukuro and Sayaka jump, look at him, then each other, then upward. A sprig of mistletoe hangs over their heads, pinned to the doorframe. The two girls lower their gazes and see the others staring. Waiting.

“Um,” goes Sayaka, blushing, her voice cracking the silence like a foot stepping onto a sheet of ice, “we don’t have to if Ikusaba-san doesn’t...”

A rush of confidence bubbles in Mukuro’s chest, shooting out sparks, and they surge toward Sayaka, planting their lips against Sayaka’s cheek. Sayaka jolts with a gasp and whirls her head around so Mukuro’s lips slide from her cheek to her lips.

She doesn’t pull back. She pushes into Mukuro.

The dish crashes by their feet. Kiyotaka chokes, falling to his knees.

Leon nods at Kiyotaka and says, “I bet you’re glad we didn’t clean up yet, huh?”

Sayaka and Mukuro promise to make another cake for them.

#ikuzono #mukuro ikusaba #sayaka maizono #danganronpa #fanfiction #one shot #requests #and others but w/e #tenmiu

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carlotta-the-nerd-winters · 5 years ago

Text

Rough Diamond - Chapter One: Supergirls Let Go

Watchtower Ruins, Galar…

Ten Years Later…

Her fingers smoothed along the stone, looking for a small gap. Discovering one high on her left, she gripped it tight and proceeded to continue to scale along the wall. Her muscles burned, sending a warm heat through her body as she continued to climb.

“Corv.”

She glanced up, seeing Rookie sitting comfortably along the edge, almost smirking at her. Rolling her eyes, she scaled the rest of the tower and joined him at the top.

“Flying doesn’t count. I’d like to see you climb,” she told him, placing her bag down. Romie flew around, snapping photos of the incredible view. “Getting some good shots?”

“Yeah! Did you want me to upload them to your Snapgram?” the Rotom asked as she dug out her sketchbook.

“Later,” she answered, studying the landscape for a few minutes. The breeze blew gently through the Wild Area, moving through the dozens of meadows below. Pokémon of all types and shapes were out and about. From the lakes, land and in the air…it was the untameable Wild Area. No matter how many years pass and how many times she explores it, Gloria knows she’s only discovering a tiny glimpse of it.

Her pencil began to move, putting her image onto the paper.

She had been so absorbed into her work that she failed to notice the passing of time. It wasn’t until Rommie alerted her to an incoming call did she break out of the zone.

“Nikki is calling,” the ghost Pokémon alerted her, appearing in front of the sketchpad. Pausing, she put the pencil down as the Rotom accepted the phone call.

“If you’re done sitting up there, come down and have some lunch,” Nikki told her as Gloria glanced over the edge. At the bottom of the ruined tower, stood her sister with her Lopunny holding a picnic basket. Gloria waved as Rommie ended the call. Packing up, the teen put her gloves on as Rookie stood on the grappling hook.

Having done it hundreds of times before, Gloria easily abseiled down the tower as Rookie continued to keep the hook in place. Once she had her feet on the ground, he flew down with the hook in his claw.

“How long were you up there today?” Nikki asked as Gloria packed away the rope.

“Not sure. I got here around seven-ish this morning,” she answered, glancing at the swollen belly her sister was sporting. “Are you sure you’re not carrying twins?”

Nikki laughed as Lopunny laid out the picnic blanket. “Positive. Rai would have a stroke if it were more than one bun,” she replied, accepting her sister’s help to sit down. She released two more of her Pokémon out of their balls, a Ninetails she got when she was in Alola and Luxray. The two sat close by, enjoying the sunlight.

They chatted about everything and anything, catching up on all of the latest news within their family. Nikki was the only sibling she had that still lived in Galar. Their eldest brother, Teddy was still posted in Almia from the last time Gloria spoke to him.

“Evie, Charlie and Victor mentioned they were coming back next month,” Nikki brought up, earning a frown from the youngest child. “They’ll be staying over the Gym Challenge season.”

Gloria groaned, laying back on the picnic blanket. “I’m not participating. I’ve told mum and da that and I’m tired of repeating it.”

“Ria, you’re graduating school soon. Do you know what you want to do?”

“No but—”

“Then participate in the challenge. It’ll be a good way for you to keep yourself occupied over the summer and figure out what you want to do. It’ll keep mum and pa off your back for a while,” Nikki suggested, sending her sister a wink when she sat up. “And it’ll be nice to have the others home for a while.”

“Teddy’s not coming?” Gloria asked, hugging her knees and resting her chin on top.

Nikki shook her head. “Unfortunately, he and Kate are still cleaning up the mess from that terrorist group. But he did promise to visit when this little guy is born,” she stroked her large belly, smiling down at it.

“You’re gonna be a great mum,” she told her sister after they packed up their lunch.

“Aye, I better be. I had you to practice on,” she pinched her sister’s cheek, laughing at Gloria’s attempt to swat her hand away. “You heading home?”

“I promised mum I’d help out,” the teen nodded, walking with her sister back to Motostoke City. They parted ways at the train station, with Nikki taking one back to Hammerlocke. Gloria stood on the platform, waiting for her train with Rookie resting on her shoulder.

The station was almost empty, it being a slow hour of the day. Something she wasn’t going to complain about. It was nice to have some room as she texted her mother that she was on her way back.

Participate in the challenge. It’ll be a good way to keep yourself occupied over the summer and figure out what you want to do.

Arceus, I still don’t know what I want to do, she thought, biting her bottom lip. That was the hardest part about being the youngest of a large family. The pressure to graduate with top marks and have her future mapped out. Gloria didn’t know what she wanted to do in life and the rush to decide wasn’t helping. Maybe the challenge can help.

“Corv,” Rookie tapped his beak against her cheek, bringing her out of her thoughts as the train pulled up. She scratched his side as she climbed aboard.

oOo

Three Weeks Later…

“—Graduation will be held at the end of summer. Pick up your gowns from the office this afternoon,” the teacher informed them from behind his desk. “A reminder to those who are hoping to participate in the Gym Challenge for the season. You’ll need a letter of endorsement and no, your parents do not count, Michael.”

A few snickered as the class was dismissed. Gloria was gathering her things when Hop leaned against her desk. From his smirk and bright yellow eyes, he was up to something.

“If it’s illegal, your mum will kill us,” she reminded him, rising to her feet.

“Nah, nothing like that. You said Charlie’s coming home today,” he said, and she nodded. He threw an arm around her shoulders as they headed out of the classroom. “Then let’s get our gowns and head off. I wanna see all the eeveelutions he’s got.”

“Hop, Gloria!” Samantha called out as they paused in the hallway. “I heard you two are entering this season.”

Hop straightened up, grinning. “Aye, you’re looking at your future champion. I’ll be knocking the crown off Lee’s head,” he boasted as Gloria elbowed his side.

“Is Leon going to sponsor you both?” she asked, glancing at the brunette. “I understand him sponsoring Hop, but—”

“—He’ll sponsor Ria. He’s known her since we were toddlers,” Hop interrupted firmly, and she held her hands up in defence. “See you at graduation, Sam.”

“You too,” she replied before skipping off down the hall.

Hop squeezed her into his side, smiling down at the teen. “Don’t worry about her, mate. Lee’s gonna sponsor both of us,” he reassured her as she rolled her eyes.

“Raihan could sponsor me too. You know he’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“Oh! Imagine if he did, we’d be the second gen rivals.”

She laughed, pulling away and walking backwards. “You are dead set on us being rivals,” she commented as he shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. “How’s Wooloo doing after his grand adventure?”

“Fine. Apparently, he ended up in Tuffield,” he answered as they headed to front office. They grabbed their gowns and left, saying their goodbyes along the way. Hop was itching to get to Wedgehurst, practically dragging the brunette along with him. As soon as they stepped off of the train, the teen had sprinted ahead.

“Hop!” Gloria called out as he ran around the corner. Shaking her head, she followed after, jogging towards the research centre. When Charlie called her last week, he told her he’d be helping out at Professor Magnolia’s lab. Apparently is was part of an exchange between Magnolia and Professor Rowan to swap assistants.

When she stepped into the lab, she found an Eevee and its seven evolutions running around with Sonia’s Yamper and Wooloo. The pokeball in her pocket vibrated as Rookie released himself.

“Wow,” Gloria commented, spotting her brother coming down the stairs. “It’s like the day-care in here.”

“Just prettier,” Charlie agreed with a laugh, hugging his sister tightly. “Good to see you’re still the midget.”

“Oi, watch it you nerd,” she warned as he winked. “Has Hop been a maniac?”

Charlie put his hands in his coat pockets. “Aye. He’s even tried to convince me to part with Glaceon over there,” he nodded his head at the younger teen who sat cross-legged on the floor. Glaceon and Espeon were climbing into his lab while Flareon climbed onto his back. “Which is not happening.”

“Aw come on, mate! You’ve got plenty of Pokémon with you.”

“Don’t be daft and catch your own,” he shot back, glancing at his sister. “But I hear Leon’s back in town tomorrow. Da says he’s grabbing some Pokémon off him to give you two.”

“He told me this morning,” Hop confirmed, gazing at the brunet. “Do you know which ones? Cause your da has a lot.”

“It’ll be a surprise, I’d imagine,” Gloria crossed her arms over her chest and looked at her brother. “You coming ‘round for tea?”

“You bet your arse. I’ve missed mum’s beef stew. Sinnoh is great and all but I do miss a good serving of chips.”

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Songs: Supergirl by Stefania. Let Go from Bratz Forever Diamonds soundtrack.

I’ve been posting this on my archiveofown under the username MysteriousMew if y’all wanna check it out there. But please enjoy and let me know what you think.

Also, I’ve created a Spotify playlist for this fic. Under the same name as the fic itself so check it out!

#Pokemon #sword #shield #hop #gloria #hop x gloria #postwickshipping

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isabeaued · 5 years ago

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hello , world . i’m so stupid & it took me too long to write this & it ? still didn’t turn out good anyway , so that’s just where i’m at . i’m cc , nineteen from the cst w she / her pronouns & this is isabeau , who’s a brand new muse that i’m ? already loving sm & i can’t to develop her here , i think she deserves a little growth fjdslkfjdslfsj . but please like this & i’ll come to you , or let me know if you prefer d*scord !

stats / pinterest

* muse 3 seems like isabeau hwang , a cis female from edinburgh who graduated from oxford with the class of 2019 . apparently she is a twenty - one year old economics & business administration student at st. astor , so they must be pretty smart , or just pretty damn lucky . i heard they’re a taurus & quite hedonistic & gallant , which kinda makes sense , but i also hear that they can be habituated & fleeting , which puts me off a bit , to be honest . what do you think ? i’m not really sure how i feel about them . the fact that they resemble jeon heejin sorta helps , though . three things that immediately come to mind whenever i see them are hiding hot tears while being ankle deep in ocean water while clad in expensive silk , champagne stained dresses , & redacted ; but keep that last one between us , yeah ?

𝓲. 𝕒𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕘𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 .

birth name : hwang soo min current name : isabeau hwang nickname(s) : not a nickname person . age : twenty - one gender / pronouns : cis gendered female / she / her / hers orientation : pansexual / panromantic hometown : edinburgh , scotland faceclaim : jeon heejin muse : 3 , who is stuck in an arranged engagement .

fun facts : daughter of two business moguls who combined their talents & business into one big company ( HHW – a global financing company ) , was hauled all over the world as a kid but still sports a SCOTTISH ACCENT , annoyingly good at drawing & art – but it’s just a hobby , has a closet full of designer & still prefers ratty old clothes that smell like home , always smells like a mix of jasmine & orange blossom – but doesn’t wear perfume , skipped a year of school & was usually a year younger than her peers in her class , currently spiraling VERY badly .

aesthetic : hiding hot tears while being ankle deep in ocean water while clad in expensive silk , waking up alone on cold silk sheets despite a full list of contacts , floating face down in an infinity pool to see how long she can hold her breath , the wind picking up raven locks that blow around her face as she regains her control , an ever present lump in her throat that she’ll never get to rid herself of , a cursed engagement ring she’s already thrown over a cliff just for it to reappear on her finger & dimming the sun with every step taken toward a future she can’t escape .

playlist : pan!c by audrey mika , to die for by sam smith , cautious by max leone , modern loneliness by lauv , kings & queens by ava max , wicked game by grace carter .

𝓲𝓲. 𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕝𝕖 .

oh , how the birds sang the morning of her birth . with aphrodite & hera as witness , soo min is born with a strong cry , her mother exhausted after an extensive labor . the first thing her mother does is cry – because she didn’t want a daughter . what a cruel world to be born in as a female , what a barbaric father to be raised by as a daughter . but , soo min is born & she is blessed by the ANGELS ; the cherubs that linger over her as she grows from baby to toddler to child . hair in pigtails , soo min adopts the name isabeau from a caretaker – a nanny in gray who speaks with an accent she’ll soon acquire for herself . her parents try to teach her how to drop the scottish , but it’s her mother tongue – if they didn’t want her speaking that way , they should’ve stepped in & raised her themselves . but isabeau knows , even at a young age , that her parents are busy . mother is starting careers , sending young stars onto stages while father is content with giving out loans to the most corrupt of companies . she’s seven , blowing out her birthday candles while her father makes a deal to give money to the devil – one million dollars to destroy a couple of lives . is there a price on life ? yes , it’s the first thing she remembers .

but not even the devil can dim the starlight that shines within her . pure sunlight , isabeau is raised with a quiet glee in her system . she skips down sidewalks clad in yellow dresses , her hair is pulled back by ribbons while she holds hands with her nanny , excited about her life & everything the world has to offer . the older she gets , the less she smiles , the harder it becomes to see the sunshine through the gray clouds called in by her parents . her mother works with father now , they swindle the poor with promises of a better future , they invest in corporations who shoot bullets at the atmosphere , they dip their hands in blood as long as it gives them a hefty paycheck . isabeau lacks the same fire she used to equip , scarred & hurt by parents who tried to teach a rabbit to be a wolf . she goes to sleep with her nanny stroking her hair , crying over lives ruined by money , greed & corruption . isabeau is GOOD at heart , she wants the sun to shine on everyone that walks the earth . so while she puts on a mask , becomes a predator the way they want her to be , isabeau never loses her soft heart .

& they should’ve chosen their wish carefully . every wish has a price . she can maneuver her way around a conference room before she’s eighteen , can close a deal with men who look down on her before twenty - one . her words masked with honey while her parents look on with pride , unaware that she’s not on their side . deals she makes that harm the company , but nobody will know until it’s too late . isabeau is talented , manipulative for the good – not for the army of evil she was raised in . then , slapped across the face on the day of her graduation with an announcement . marriage , at twenty - three when she finishes her master’s , an engagement ring she doesn’t want to wear , betrothed to a boy of evil . he’s a remnant of everyone isabeau knows , corrupted by the devil , blessed by the demons & she is to join hands with him , join their families so they can continue a path of wickedness on earth . she’s never felt so hopeless , quiet & small while being fitted for wedding dresses at twenty , hiding her tears while she throws a damned ring into the sea – only for it to be fished out hours later . she runs as far as she can for higher education , hiding behind rehearsed smiles & her wealth . the closer she gets to twenty - three , the less the sun shines . isabeau becomes less like herself , waking up in clothes that aren’t her own , acting out of character , losing time . but , a sliver of hope ; because it doesn’t matter how far gone she is , isabeau was blessed by the angels – hope is always with her .

𝓲𝓲𝓲. 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 .

exterior . almost mirrored to her parents , people know isabeau from her parents – the ruthless , cold financial company holders who are famous for funding the most corrupt companies . equipped with a resting bitch face ( taught by her mother , of course ) exterior wise isabeau is unapproachable , unattainable . her wealth holds her above ninety - nine percent of the population & people know that – from the way she talks & walks , how she holds herself , how she behaves at social gatherings . almost royalty , she’s cut herself off from many friends – most leaving anyway when they find out who her parents are & what they’ve done .

even so , a girl who always knows where the fun is – she’s clearly stuck in a spiral , falling deeper into a hole that she seemingly doesn’t want help with . isabeau is friends with a lot of people , but not many people are friends with her . stuck in a path of self destruction , she’s lost the sunlight that used to lead her life . often found at night , kneeling by the waterside shedding drunken tears because she’s losing control of her life . isabeau knows she’ s worth so much more , but in every way – she’s trapped & locked in for a fate she doesn’t want .

interior . she’s sharp & witty , remnants of the brightness still remain when focused . she excels at classwork , top of her class while she sits front row with glasses on , answering questions & befriending professors . it’s evident that there’s so much more to isabeau than just the daughter of two bringers of evil , but heartbreak & lost friendships hold her back from making new friends easily . a girl who longs for GOOD , there’s no other way to explain that isabeau is good at heart .

she will always fight for the light , stand up for the underdogs in the most elegant ways . her mind is always running , schemes playing out in her head when it looks like she’s spacing out . she is manipulative & always calculated , does nothing without a motive , without a deeper meaning behind it – but there’s no malice behind her intentions . isabeau does bad for good , fights for the just cause by fighting the way she was taught . not to be trifled with , but not to be worried about lest you’re as evil as the devils she was raised with .

𝓲𝓿. 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 .

these are all most wanted !

betrothed ( m / nb ) , which is a long shot , i know – but please give me the dude who isabeau is engaged to . he doesn’t have to be as evil as described , but his parents aren’t good people either & he doesn’t exactly give off the image of a pristine person ( not , that isabeau does either – but ... you know ) . give me the drama & the angst of “maybe i do care , but i shouldn’t” while she spirals & the “you think i wanted this , isabeau ?” & all the fuckin PAIN !

rich kid trio ( any , 2 ) , people as wealthy as isabeau that she knows of due to family dinners , event galas & being products of the dirty , rotten rich . sure , they’re really only acquaintances , but nobody protects their own like the one percent , so these three have joined forces & have had each other’s backs since arrival at st . astor .

everything else , a roommate ( probably in some high end house they’re renting together ) , a business partner , a study buddy / someone she tutors , party buddies , someone who pushes her further into her spiral , anyone else with a funky accent that she likes to hang out with & their accents get stronger together , anything with angst please !

𝓿. 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 .

i’d love to get all these plots filled up , or any ones that you might have bc i’ve got sm fuckin’ muse for isabeau & this ! but if you’ve read this whole thing jesus , you’re amazing & i love u sm . please like this & i’ll come to u or lmk if u prefer disc & we can go there !

#euphoriahqs:intro #y'all want a mid - spiral b - i - c - t - h ?#here u go !

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madpanda75 · 6 years ago

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“Roadtrip with Rafael: Part One”

Ok, I had this idea in my head for ages and it took me forever to get it done (writer’s block is a bitch!) I hope you all like it!

Part Two

Epilogue

Thanks for all the likes, reblogs, and comments! I read them all and they make my day! 😊

Tags: @amirightcounsellor, @obfuscateyummy, @sweetsummertime99, @lyssa1385, @letty-o and if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know ❤️

Rafael stood outside the precinct, tapping his foot impatiently and checking his watch every few minutes. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed your number for the 5th time that morning.

You heard your phone buzz in your pocket. “Must be Barba.” You thought to yourself. Speeding down the road, you glanced at the clock, it was 6:45 am. Both of you were on your way to Buffalo, New York for an assignment and you were late picking him up.

A week ago, your squad had arrested a serial rapist and murderer, James Cleary. Cleary had terrorized the city for a month, raping and murdering 5 young college girls. There were also several other cold cases which you believed were linked to him. During an interrogation, he had let it slip that his killing spree had begun in Buffalo with his old army buddy, Michael Shaw. Shaw had already been arrested for theft and murder in upstate New York, your lieutenant had arranged for a meeting with him in the hopes he would provide information on Cleary and his victims. Rafael had made an agreement with the DA in Buffalo, Shaw would get a deal in exchange for his testimony against Cleary.

Rafael turned his head and held his arms up in exasperation upon seeing you pull up to the front of the precinct. “You’re 45 minutes late, Y/N!” The ADA exclaimed as he got in the car. “We have a scheduled appointment with Shaw at 2:30! It’s a 7 hour drive upstate. What if we miss it?”

You rubbed your temples, it was too early in the morning to hear Barba barking in your ear. “Calm your tits, Barba! I’m sorry, I set my alarm for “PM” instead of “AM.” Besides, the way I drive...we’ll be there with time to spare.” You said pulling back onto the street and speeding down the block.

“Great...as long we make it there in one piece.” Rafael grumbled. You reached down into the car console and handed him the extra coffee and breakfast burrito you brought him. “Just relax, Rafael. Have some coffee, eat some breakfast and we’ll be there before you know it.” He graciously accepted both, “Thanks,” he replied.

When you first found out that you would be accompanying Rafael to Buffalo, you were less than thrilled. This was your first big assignment and you wanted to do a great job without any distractions or fighting. You and Rafael always seemed to be butting heads. Your first time meeting the ADA, he had mistaken you for an intern and tried to shoo you out of his office. A year later and you both still pushed each other’s buttons, but as much as you bickered with Rafael, even you had to admit that the two of you did make a great team. You both brought out the best in each other, always pushing the other to be better, get more evidence, find a new way to prosecute a case.

Underneath the arguing, there was also an undeniable sexual chemistry between you two. He may have been an ass, but Rafael was incredibly sexy, many times you would watch as he confidently strutted into the bullpen. His seductive green eyes, lustrous hair and that ass that reminded you of two scoops of butter pecan ice cream, you didn’t know if you wanted to fight him or grab him by the lapels and kiss him hard. For awhile, you thought your lusting after Rafael was completely one sided but there were moments when you would catch him staring at you. As soon as your eyes would meet, he would adjust his tie and clear his throat, a flush creeping up on his face, which made you think perhaps this lust filled infatuation was mutual.

On your way over to the precinct this morning, you made a pact with your head and your heart. You would try to be more open to Rafael’s side, especially when it came to this case and squash any burning desire you had to ride his thick Cuban cock into the sunset. “Open mind, closed legs” was your mantra for the trip. Of course being inches away from Rafael, breathing in the heady scent of his cologne, was making the closed legs portion of your promise incredibly difficult to uphold.

You stopped at a red light and turned to face the ADA, “Look, I know we don’t always see eye to eye on certain things, but I want to try to work together and not argue so much. Let’s just have a good trip and nail this bastard.”

Rafael smirked and nodded his head, “I agree.” You smiled and waited for the light to turn.

While you were focusing on the road, Rafael looked over at you, studying your profile. He thought you were an amazing detective, which is why he would push you as much as he did. He also liked that you gave as much as you got. Although you and him always seemed to disagree, there was something more between you two, bubbling beneath the surface. Often Rafael would find himself stealing glances of you, taking in your large eyes, shapely mouth, the way your hair framed your face, he thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Over the months, his desire for you grew stronger. While laying in bed, he would think about what it would be like to kiss you, to taste you, to feel your legs wrapped around him while you moaned his name. Sometimes, he would catch you out of the corner of his eye, staring at him, blushing and biting your bottom lip, only causing blood to pump further south to his shaft.

“You’re awfully quiet, counselor.” You casually said waking Rafael from his reverie. “Do you want to listen to some music? If I have to drive for 7 hours in silence, I’ll go crazy.” You handed your phone over to the ADA. Rafael looked through your playlists, amazed at your collection. “Oh my God, Y/N. How can you have so music! You really listen to all of this?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I love music, how it makes you feel, the significance behind songs, the artistry. It’s really beautiful. I can go from listening to Spice Girls in the morning, by lunchtime I’ll switch over to Hole or some Fleetwood Mac and end the day with Childish Gambino or Leon Bridges. It’s amazing how in one day, your mood can just change all through music. It can make you happy or sad, it’s like….art in motion, people baring their souls in just a few short minutes of a song. Nietzsche said, “without music, life would be a mistake.”

Rafael looked at you amazed, he had no idea how passionate you were about music. “So do you always make your passengers the DJ and quote German philosophers?” You giggled, blushing a little. Rafael deciding it was the cutest thing he had ever heard. “German philosophers no, but I always let my driving partner pick the music and the squad loves it. Fin plays 90s hip hop, we listen to Wu-Tang Clan while we debate about who shot Tupac and Biggie Smalls. Sonny and I rock out to The Ramones and The Clash. Amanda has opened me up to country music and we both love Old Crow Medicine Show. Mike is all about the Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel.”

“What about Olivia?” He asked. You looked over at Rafael. “Promise not to tell?”

“Of course,” he replied with a smirk. You let out a breath, “Olivia loves disco.” Rafael began to laugh upon hearing the guilty pleasure of his good friend. “You’re lying, Y/N.”

“Would I lie to you? I promise, she is a major disco queen. We listen to Abba, Gloria Gaynor, Donna Summer, the Bee Gees, everything.”

“Olivia Benson….disco queen.” Rafael mumbled as he looked through your playlist, finding his choice. “Ok, Y/N. You ready for my song choice.”

You playfully purred, “Mmmmm do your worst, Rafael.” He smirked at you and pressed play, suddenly the car was filled with the opening song to Hamilton. You smiled, surprised at his choice. “I never took you for a Hamilton fan, counselor.”

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, detective.” Rafael replied. “Well we have 7 hours, tell me everything.” You playfully demanded.

The two of you rocked out to Hamilton, even singing a few songs together, when the soundtrack finished, there was still 5 hours left of your road trip. The two of you passed the time talking about everything, your childhoods, likes, dislikes, your passions. By the time you reached Buffalo, you both had a new found appreciation for each other, you really enjoyed talking to the ADA. The conversation felt comfortable, it was almost as if the walls Rafael had built up over the years were starting to break down and you were just now getting to know him for the first time.

The two of you made it to Buffalo Correctional Facility with 20 minutes to spare. Sitting next to the ADA, you both waited for Michael Shaw to come out of his cell.You jostled your leg, starting to feel nervous, you really were hoping Shaw could give you the information you needed. You felt Rafael’s hand on your shaking leg, his fingertips radiating warmth, “Hey, Y/N. It’s going to be ok.” You gifted him a small smile, while he gave your leg one last squeeze. Finally a buzzer rang and in walked Michael Shaw.

Shaw licked his lips and looked you over, his gaze made your skin crawl, but you pulled your shoulders back and sat up straight. “Wow, if I had known that someone as beautiful as you was coming to talk to me, I would have combed my hair or something. Mmmm I bet you get all the guys going where you work, darling.” Shaw said before looking over at Rafael and winking.

The ADA clenched his jaw. You were gorgeous and he was used to seeing men at the precinct stare at you, even some of the perps would make crude comments to you, but something in Shaw’s mannerism was making Rafael feel uneasy. He felt a deeply rooted urge to protect you from Shaw.

“We’re not talking about myself, Mr.Shaw. Let’s talk about your friend, James Cleary, remember him?” You asked the inmate.

Shaw looked up, as if the answer to your question was in the air. “James Cleary….sounds familiar. Maybe?” Rafael slid a file across the table to Shaw containing James’ photo along with photos of the missing girls, “Perhaps this will refresh your memory.”

The inmate looked over the pictures while you began to talk. “You tell us what you know about Cleary and any of these missing girls and there may be something in this for you.”

“Quid pro quo, Mr. Shaw. With the information you provide, we may be able to strike a deal and lessen your prison sentence.” Rafael said. Shaw mused over the files before looking up at you, “These girls don’t hold a candle to you, gorgeous. Too bad we didn’t meet a few years ago before I ended up here. I would have rocked your world, baby doll.”

You kept your poker face, when deep down you wanted to throw up at Shaw’s insinuation. “You couldn’t handle me, honey.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Shaw said as he licked his lips. Rafael clenched his fists to keep from beating the man up, “Do we have a deal or not, Mr. Shaw?” He barked at the inmate.

Shaw leaned forward and looked directly at him. “That depends, is she part of the deal? I get a little conjugal time with your pretty little detective here?” He replied motioning towards you. Rafael stood up and banged his fists on the table with such force, you jumped. “That’s enough, Mr. Shaw. Either you tell us about James Cleary and these girls or you rot here in your cell.” He growled at the inmate. You had never seen Rafael this angry and defensive, he stared at Shaw not backing down.

The inmate looked at the two of you for a moment and laughed. “Relax, I was just messing around. Sit down counselor and I’ll tell you all about Mr. Cleary, provided the deal is still on the table.”

Rafael sat down and looked over at you with a hint of a smirk. “Start talking Mr. Shaw.” You said to the inmate.

After Rafael threatened to take away the deal, Michael Shaw was more than willing to spill the beans on his friend and you were able to identify two more of his victims. You left on a high, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. “Well I don’t know about you, Barba, but I could use a drink and a steak. Want to check into our hotel and then grab some food maybe.”

Rafael was grateful it was beginning to get dark to conceal the flush he was getting on his cheeks. It’s not like you two hadn’t had causal drinks with the rest of the squad before, but now it was just the two of you alone. After everything that had happened today, it felt different. Not wanting to seem overeager, Rafael maintained his composure, “That sounds great, Y/N.”

The two of you got in the car to head towards the hotel. Before you put the key in the ignition, you squeezed the ADA’s shoulder, “I meant to say earlier….thank you for defending me back there with Shaw. He was a real creep and I really appreciated you having my back.” You placed your hand in his own, Rafael looked down, it looked so small compared to his larger paw. He smiled back at you and gently squeezed your hand, “You’re welcome.” The two of you kept each other’s gaze for a few moments. Rafael’s eyes moved down to your lips, desperately wanting to just reach out and kiss you. You blushed and pulled your hand back, starting the car.

“So Y/N, where would you like to go for dinner.” Rafael asked, hoping the topic would help to dissipate the sexual tension. “Well I did a bit of research on this area and I think I know the perfect spot. You up for a little fun, counselor?” You said with a mischievous smile. Your flirty comments sent a tingle straight to Rafael’s groin, “Lead the way detective.” You pulled out of the parking spot and headed towards the hotel, excited for your evening with Rafael.

#rafael barba #rafael barba fic #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #barba fic #barba imagine #barba x reader #law and order svu imagine #law and order svu fic

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musicallisto · 7 years ago

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Hey! Can I please get shipped with a female from ES and ILITW? I'm 5'6, blond (shoulder length), female with blue green eyes. I like swimming, playing videogames, working out, listening to music (BlackBear,ChaseAtlantic), binge watching shows and making lame jokes. I'm shy until comfortable with someone (then I never shut up), kind, witty, oblivious at times, strong-willed, opinionated, honest, a perfectionist and a nerd when it comes to my grades. Thank you so much, have a great day/night😆

here you go Anon! Hope you like it!

I Ship You With…

E S T E L A M O N T O Y A

(faceclaim: Lucy Vives) • She would be intrigued by you as soon as she meets you, wondering what could be hiding underneath all those layers of shiness. Once you warm up to her, you start showing your true self without any mask on, and Estela is very impressed by your strong, determined mind, and your stubbornness when it comes to your projects.

• Okay so this is a v random headcanon but I actually see you starting a band together with a few of your other friends in Hartfeld, after La Huerta or like if nothing of it ever happened? I don’t know why, but I can really see Estela’s musical taste being close to yours, and you would jam to the same songs and artists. So maybe you could make your own indie/alternative band with you on the guitar or the bass and she would sing, because I can imagine her having a really good voice.

• Estela never was one for commitment, but it completely changed as soon as she met you. She was quick to realize that you were one in a billion and that letting you go would be plain stupid. It really hit her when you were lazily playing videogames with her in her living room, and she was so content with you, surrounded by your peaceful breaths. She had never felt so simply happy, doing nothing in particular, stopping and relaxing for a second, and you were the only one who brought her that kind of quiet. That’s when she promised herself that she had to make you hers for the rest of her life, one way or another.

S E A N G A Y L E

(faceclaim: Broderick Hunter)• Your kind and strong-willed nature strongly suits Sean! He would be the most amazing best friend in the world, and the most supportive person you’ve ever known. He would always encourage you to outdo yourself and go out of your comfort zone, and he’s also the number 1 fan of your band with Estela like he’s there at literally every gig and at this point he’s basically a honorary member and has written half of the songs

• You two would have kinda “best friend dates”, where you would hang out in downtown Hartfeld, grab ice cream and then spend a few hours on the field, where you would watch Sean practise, run around and try to improve his passes. He loves asking you for feedback because you always tell him the truth, with a little bit of harmless of teasing. You basically always end up playing tag you’re it or another child game on the field, and he always wins, because have you seen those legs?? he’s a giant he could literally catch you just walking?? and it’s a mess of laughter and muddy hair and clothes but none of you care, you’re just so caught up in the moment and it’s amazing

• He’s also your Netflix buddy when Estela is in class or just can’t spend time with you for some reason. He’s more of a movie guy, rather than TV shows, but you were so persuasive (cough, try desperate) that he finally agreed to watch your favorite show with you. He expected to just watch the few first episodes but you ended up watching the entire first season in one night, slumped on the couch and drowned under several packets of potato chips.

S T A C Y G R E E N

(faceclaim: Gigi Hadid)• You two are badass females who know what they want and are determined to get it whatever it takes! You would be a very sporty couple I think, always taking part in very different sportive activities, and alternating cheerleading, swimming, running. I can see you both getting very cheeky and competitive when it comes to those fields! Literally any activity where you two are together can be transformed into a date because you are so creative and always find ways to have fun, but your favorites are undoubtedly coffee/diner dates! You often go to this diner after school to the point that the waiters know you and don’t even have to ask for your order.

• At first Stacy was super oblivious and didn’t see at all that you had feelings for her, because she was too absorbed in her own self-loathing and the blackmailing problems with Britney. Fortunately, you managed to steal Britney’s phone from her locker and delete the video while she was doing her routine in the gymnasium, so Stacy was freed from all that pressure. When you announced her the news, she had the hugest smile in the world; she couldn’t believe it, started to jump and dance around, giggling, until she stopped in front of you and exclaimed “oh wow, I could kiss you!”. She stopped dead in her tracks when she realized what she had said and blushed lightly; you took it as an opportunity to kiss her softly, and since that day you two have been inseperable.

• You are Stacy’s favorite shoulder to cry on, especially because of her family/mother trouble. She gradually starts to gain more confidence as days pass and thanks to your prep talks and reassurance, and was more and more able to stand up for herself. You also helped her confront her mother, discuss openly and calmly with her, and she felt much better after affronting her thanks to your advice. You’re so happy that she’s starting to feel more confident because she’s absolutely gorgeous and awesome and you wish she would see herself the way you see her. Luckily, after lots of work, she’s almost stopped feeling self-conscious and you quickly become THE Power Couple™ of Westchester High, both being Homecoming queens because you are, indeed, queens.

L U C A S T H O M A S

(faceclaim: Brandon Arreaga)• So you would meet because you’re both on the student council, being very good, responsible students, who somehow had never talked to each other despite being very alike, personality wise. You found out that Lucas was - or more precisely, used to be - one of Stacy’s closest friends, which intrigued you, and you couldn’t help wondering why they weren’t in touch anymore. Lucas amazed you; you didn’t expect him to be that intelligent, thoughtful and friendly. You had to admit you thought he would be a little-bit of a stuck-up, but turned out he wasn’t at all. Stacy thought it was very funny that you progressively became best friends with the guy who used to be hers as well - it showed that you lived in such a small town that everyone basically knew each other.

• There would be a ton of disagreements between Lucas and you. I don’t necessarily mean really violent fights or anything, but since you are two strong minds with firm beliefs, it often leads to differences of opinion. Neither of you is willing to back up from their position and your pride can lead you to give each other the cold shoulder for days… Until Stacy gets tired of your endless whining and complaining about your best friend and how stupid and stubborn he is, and forces you two to apologize and make peace. tbh you’re usually very bored during those periods because you can’t share anything with Lucas so you thank Stacy for putting up with your obstinacy.

• You’re also there for Lucas all along his drug use recovery. He was afraid you would runaway or despise him after learning that he had a past with drugs, but you were particularly worried and disappointed. You didn’t want him to relapse, so you helped him by throwing his pills away when he asked you, distracting him when he felt the urge to take them, forcing him to go to sleep early instead of killing himself on a paper… it was a lot of work, but you were ready to make efforts if Lucas was willing to do some too.

Moodboard

bigger version

Playlist

Fifth Harmony | That’s My Girl

Kings of Leon | Waste A Moment

Ke$ha | Woman

Elle King | Good Girls

R.E.M. | Losing My Religion

#ships #ship requests #playchoices #choices stories you play #pixelberry #endless summer #estela montoya #it lives in the woods #stacy green

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