#i will go hide in a corner now thank you bai bai

[lorei-writes]

Library Quiet

Chevalier x OC (OC Chart: Esther) Fluff Word count estimate: 1.1k

(Edit by @drewadoodle ; Full picture below the cut.)

... Dear Drew dropped the edit at me, and when I asked how to thank him, he said to make it happen in a fic. So he's part-responsible for this cavity-inducting story. *gestures vaguely, incomprehensibly*

Content Warnings: none

Rows of volumes lining the shelves in the royal palace library seem endless. They stretch from the very floor up to the ceiling itself, each wooden case yet another wall to the alphabetically organised labyrinth that coils through and warps the space. It is quiet there, and the further in one goes, the quieter it becomes… until the silence grows thick to the point of being suffocating, ears ringing due to the absence of even the faintest noise.

Rows of volumes lining the shelves in the royal palace library seem endless. They stretch from the very floor up to the ceiling itself, each wooden case yet another wall to the alphabetically organised labyrinth that coils through and warps the space. It is quiet there, and the further in one goes, the quieter it becomes… until the silence grows thick to the point of being suffocating, ears ringing due to the absence of even the faintest noise.

However, there is a certain place of refuge from this ink-smelling acidic void: the inconspicuous door right at the back of the library, an oaken gate growing from the oaken floor. It is uninviting, perhaps even threatening in the way its handle seems to bare its teeth, as if warning those who reach it not to seek the things they may find behind it. It is best to retreat, of course – after all, it has never been the room itself that mattered, no. The quiet scratching knitting needles produce as they slide against each other was the goal, the nourishment necessary for one to just about make it out of the depths of the library and escape into the corridor.

Some, however, thrive in such an environment, their footstep the only sound needed to carry them down the aisles upon aisles of ever-towering shelves. Chevalier is not affected in the slightest by the quiet of the place. In fact, he even prefers for things to be this way, the absolute peace offering him a momentary respite from the endless stream of information that the world is.

Nevertheless, he still finds himself in front of that oaken door. The handle does not dare glare at him, not even as he presses it down. Just like so, the needles stop.

Chevalier steps inside the room.

Esther’s eyes are dark, much unlike his own; if his were ice, then hers would be sun-warmed soil, made only warmer by the soft glow diffused by the lampshades. He meets her gaze, briefly so, his attention darting towards the volumes climbing up the walls.

“Long day?” she asks from her place on the windowsill, needles resuming their task – knit, knit, purl, purl, knit… “How did the negotiations go?”

“I had to intervene,” a sigh spills from his lips.

Esther requires no further explanations, her brow furrowing as the situation unravels before her. If neither Prince Nokto nor Prince Clavis could sway the emissary’s views on the trading rights… She should consider herself quite fortunate to have avoided the talks. But she can’t.

“I see,” she replies eventually, although he doesn’t seem too preoccupied with the fact. A book snaps open in Chevalier’s hand. A few long strides later, he is seated comfortably over the sofa (the new addition to his private library, alongside a large wicker basket filled with skeins of various colour and texture). He needs a moment – she is not one to deprive him of that much…

… Knit, knit, purl, purl, knit, knit…

The silence within Chevalier’s private library is different than the one outside it. Perhaps the devil lies in the miniscule disturbances that linger just below its surface: pages turning, clothes rustling, quiet breathing, needles gliding, or shy humming… Chevalier raises his eyes for just a moment, Esther counting stitches of her handiwork, seemingly unaware of the tune played in her throat. A crease has formed between her brows, blond curls falling over her shoulder. However, she is too preoccupied to do anything about the fact, even as they make her task all the harder – she merely frowns more profoundly, and he is so close to getting up just to brush them back… But she smiles. At first it is just a twitch, a bud that unravels a second at a time, before finally blooming in full might. For but a moment, Esther is light, a star from the sky, so satisfied with herself even though the work in her hands is not meant to ever serve her. Another favour, if he were to guess, or possibly a gift.

Chevalier returns his attention to the ink. He has already committed the image to his memory; he is not as kind as to let himself be caught staring. The page turns.

… Knit, knit…

The row ends. Esther’s hands stop. She pushes the stitches back, stabs the needles through the skein, and now she is the one to watch. She dares not move – it is not often that her love is that absorbed in a book. She knows it won’t last long, that he’ll feel her gaze, that he’ll notice the slight change in the silence between them. Until then, however, she wants to see him for herself: his eyes hurrying from word to word, the barely visible quiver to his lips, the way he stops himself from snorting at some thought she could only theorise about… The few strands of hair that have dared to fall just – just – a bit out of their usual place.

Esther stands up.

She’ll berate herself later for her selfishness.

The floor creaks meekly. Chevalier does not look away from the volume in his hand – what for? He knows it is her. She probably wants to stretch her arms, or to read herself, or…

Her fingers comb through his hair, her lips brushing just – just – briefly against his forehead. Esther pulls back. She sits next to him, but it takes Chevalier a second to register the fact, an oddly disarming sensation spreading through his body. It is warm and relaxing, almost like a drug that lures people into dreams, little different from the precise moment when one can still lie in bed before having to wake up. It is safe, profound… Not unwelcome, by any means, not unwelcome.

Chevalier turns to face her, eyes searching her face for answers. Esther, however, does not seem to realise what she has caused – and what is worse, he does not understand the reaction he has had, nor does he know how to ask about that of all things. Instead, he strokes her hair, this time brushing it back into its place.

Esther grows red in the face.

She is just about ready to get up, when he catches her hand.

The world turns, the one permanent axis being the heat over her cheeks. Esther blinks in surprise, her back resting over the sofa as her lover moves over her, the book he has so enjoyed waiting on the floor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Chevalier asks, his lips upturned in a smug smile.

“Now… Nowhere,” she replies. No other words can make it out of her lungs.

“Precisely.”

Esther closes her eyes, just as the world is about to stop.

Not that she would complain about that.

Full edit by @drewadoodle .

--

Q: Esther, what have you done to get that reaction?

Esther: Hmm... Huh?!

Chevalier: (... She's missed it. Good.)

Esther: (... I haven't done anything unusual... What could they be referring to...)

Esther: (... We generally spend evenings in the library, so that's nothing worthy being called "a reaction". They don't seem to be asking about the chat we had either, it was fairly normal... The kiss? But it was nothing out of the ordinary... Although I suppose Chevalier is generally at least half-asleep then... ! I've missed something, haven't I?)

--

Tag List: @cilokgoang @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86

[wheres-mylove]

ice-cold revelations - modern!cregan stark x fem!velaryon!reader

Summary: You are in a risky secret relationship with your brother's best friend. What happens when Cregan's unexpected injury exposes your feelings? Well, isn't there somebody you forgot to ask?

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Word count: 2.8k

The wind tore through the streets with a biting ferocity, tugging at (Y/N)’s skirt and making her instantly regret both her outfit choice and this entire trip to the bus stop.

“Stupid winter has to be coming,” she muttered, yanking a colorful scarf up to cover her nose. Her phone chimed in her pocket, vibrating with the familiar sound of a new message. She fumbled with one hand to pull it out, her fingers stiff from the cold.

🐺: jace wouldn’t stop bugging me about that earring under my bed

🐺: i convinced him sara must’ve left it when she crashed at our place lmao

(Y/N) raised her eyebrows, her breath fogging the air as she sighed. The last thing she needed was her brother playing the part of a suspicious rom-com wife, finding random jewelry in odd places and jumping to conclusions. At least he hadn’t figured out where he’d seen that earring before.

Jacaerys Velaryon, as much as she adored him, had a habit of being a little too protective. He was always there when she needed him. But he was also the kind of brother who, despite being only a few minutes older, seemed to think that fact gave him full control over her dating life. Any guy who so much as glanced her way was either a potential threat or one of his friends. And friends were off-limits. Too much drama, he’d say. Too awkward if things went south. Even more awkward if things somehow worked out. Conflict of interest. Absolutely not.

Which was precisely why, in the grand scheme of things, the most logical solution was for her to start dating his best friend and his hockey team captain, Cregan Stark.

Cregan was wonderful. The kind of guy who would do anything for her, no questions asked. That's what had brought them to where they were now. Hiding their relationship from her dramatic brother and quite literally gaslighting him.

Did she feel guilty? Absolutely. Did she know it would be a hundred times worse if Jace found out? Also yes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a bus speeding past the stop, tires screeching as it flew by. Her bus. Of course.

With impressive force, she pressed the green phone icon.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?” Cregan answered in three seconds. Her irritation melted a little at the sound of his deep voice. Down bad.

“Hey, did you guys finish practice?”

“Yeah, just now, I couldn’t cut the boys any slack before tomorrow.”

“Any chance the strict captain could give me a ride home? I missed the bus. Or more like the bus missed me.”

“You’re kidding,” Cregan said, sympathy already thick in his voice. “Of course I’ll come get you.” He paused for a beat, then cleared his throat. “Only thing is… Jace wanted a ride too.”

“The gods are punishing me today,” she groaned.

“Call him. It'll be the same ride. Just, you know, he'll think it was his idea,” Cregan suggested.

“Are we bad people, Cregan?” she asked, half-serious now.

“Nah. He’ll find out eventually, just better if I’m in full hockey gear when it happens.”

“Fair enough,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smile. “Thanks. Love you. Bye.”

She hung up and immediately dialed her brother, requesting the same exact thing.

“Sure, you owe me one though,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t have my car today, so we’ll have to go with Stark. Is that a problem?”

“Nope.” No, her boyfriend wouldn’t be a problem.

(Y/N) Velaryon paced back and forth under the shelter of the bus stop, her boots crunching against the thin layer of frost that had already formed on the pavement. She rubbed her arms, trying to keep the cold at bay, when the familiar growl of a black Jeep Wrangler cut through the quiet. It rolled to a stop near the curb.

She jogged toward the car, her breath puffing out in small clouds, as the driver’s window slid down.

“Your chariot awaits, princess,” Cregan announced with a mock flourish.

“More like a toad,” Jace quipped from the passenger seat, his grin unmistakable.

“One more word and you’ll get my bag to the head. I’ve got half my textbooks in there,” she threatened playfully as she slid into the backseat.

The backseat of this car had witnessed many events, and that was the first thought that crossed her mind. One look at Cregan in the side mirror, and she knew he was thinking the same.

She pretended to be very engrossed in buckling her seatbelt.

“How was practice?” she asked out of politeness.

“Not bad. Stark was all business today, but it was necessary. Big day tomorrow,” Jace replied, fiddling with the radio. Cregan slapped his hand away as he slowed down for a red light.

“Great,” the girl muttered, not trusting her tongue around the two of them together.

An awkward silence fell, broken only by some random song. How long can a red light last?

“So, (Y/N),” Cregan began, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His voice wavered, but Jace was in his own world, watching pedestrians crossing the street. “How’s it going? How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” she replied, playing with the hem of her skirt. “Though the classes dragged on.”

The devil on her shoulder won an uneven fight with the weak angel. She smirked.

“‘M absolutely knackered.”

Cregan inhaled slowly through his nose.

“Dude, it’s green,” Jace informed him, just before the car behind them honked.

“I can see,” Cregan reassured him, finally moving forward. “I’ll need your sister’s address since I’ve never been there before.”

If Jace had one more brain cell, he wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

“Sure thing,” her brother agreed, typing the info into the GPS on his phone. “Hey, kid, are you coming to the game tomorrow?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” (Y/N) asked angrily, kicking his seat. “Baela’s taking me.”

“You know what I think?” Jace started, spreading his arms dramatically. “A girlfriend in the stands is such a power boost. Such a boost… I never play as well as when Baela supports me from the bleachers.”

“You never play well,” His sister muttered under her breath, but Jacaerys was currently listening only to himself.

“Cregan wouldn’t get it,” He patted Cregan on the shoulder in the meantime. “If you combined your skills with that support, if you brought a girl, trust me, your performance would be a hundred times better.”

“Talented people don’t need superstitions to play well, Jace,” (Y/N) chimed in, leaning forward. “Besides, Cregan is single.”

“Because he’s too serious and broody, girls don’t like that,” her brother declared in a know-it-all voice. She gave him a side-eye. “He is afraid of women.”

“Are you afraid of women, Stark?” she asked seriously, barely holding back laughter.

Cregan shot her a look in the mirror, his eyes twinkling with amusement. ���Terrified,” he deadpanned. “That’s why I’m thinking maybe your sister should be my good luck charm tomorrow. Just as a friend, of course.”

“Eh, it’s not the same,” Jace protested, scrunching his face.

“Don’t you believe in the power of friendship?” the driver asked with full seriousness.

“Can I get a jersey with your number?” (Y/N) batted her lashes playfully at her boyfriend.

A jersey with his number was already hanging in her closet.

“Alright, you’ll see, you need deeper feelings for it to work, otherwise it just won’t…”

Jacaerys continued his monologue all the way to her apartment. The girl sighed with relief once she was back in her room, the familiarity of it a welcome escape from the tension.

Two new messages.

🐺: you looked so pretty today

🐺: but next time wear a damn coat, or you’ll catch a cold!!!

The fluorescent light above (Y/N)’s head flickered ominously, casting creepy shadows across the cramped janitor’s closet. She swore that if the bulb died completely, she'd either pee her pants or spiral into a full-blown claustrophobic meltdown. Leaning back against the wall, she tried to focus on the neatly arranged rows of brooms and mops. Soon, the door creaked open, revealing Cregan in all his glory.

Full hockey gear? Check. Helmet? Tucked under his arm. That goofy, ridiculous smile? Definitely check.

“You look so good,” she admitted, grabby hands already in the air. “Come here.”

Cregan shut the door behind him with a soft click, casting a glance at the flickering light overhead. He sighed, took one of her hands, and kissed her wrist softly. 

“We have to tell your brother,” Stark said, his voice serious as he placed his helmet on the wooden shelf beside them. “It’s not right that my girl has to sneak me a good-luck kiss in a smelly closet. You should be able to strut right into the locker room.”

His girl grinned. “You’ve got your gear on,” she pointed out. “We can tell him after the game. Besides, Baela’s softening him up for us. I asked her to.”

Baela Targaryen was known for sniffing out secrets, and the second she spotted (Y/N) wearing Cregan’s jersey before the game, she didn’t even need to ask. Her knowing look said it all, and within minutes, Velaryon girl spilled the truth, enduring Baela’s delighted squeal that had probably echoed for miles.

“I knew you had high standards, girl. Going straight for the captain!” Baela teased, laughing. “Jace obviously doesn’t know? He hasn’t said anything... and Stark’s still breathing.”

Thankfully, Baela had been more than willing to help, distracting Jace so Cregan could sneak away after the pre-game pep talk. Now, Cregan was looking at (Y/N) with pride, his eyes lingering on the jersey she wore. 

“She’s a real one for that,” he mused. “But seriously, we have to tell him. I want a picture of us on my lock screen, and that asshole keeps looking over my shoulder.”

She laughed, pulling him closer and kissing him hard, savoring the way his rough stubble tickled her skin.

“For now,” she murmured against his lips, “just focus on the game. You’re incredible. An amazing captain. And it’s going to go great. I believe in you.”

Cregan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe one more kiss. Just to make sure we win.”

“The power of having a girl in the stands,” she teased, poking his chest playfully.

“Jace definitely exaggerated that theory,” Cregan confessed with a chuckle. “But honestly... I’m just glad you’re here.”

With butterflies in her stomach and a grin she couldn’t wipe off her face, (Y/N) found herself in the stands minutes later, sitting next to Baela. Her friend was watching the silent exchange of glances between her and Cregan with thinly veiled amusement.

“I always knew Jace was blind, but this is just tragic,” Baela remarked, elbowing her in the ribs. Jace, oblivious as ever, waved enthusiastically from the rink. Both girls waved back, cheering with the crowd.

“You’ll boo with me when the Dornish Spears come out, right?” (Y/N) asked.

Baela gave her a mock-serious look. “Technically, we shouldn’t. Obviously, I will,” she promised. 

The game was fast, brutal, and nearly deadlocked until the very end. (Y/N) had never yelled so much in her life, though her shouts were lost in the deafening roar of the crowd. Cregan played like a man possessed, commanding the ice with his usual grace. At least twenty times during the match, she found herself holding her breath, her heart leaping into her throat with every risky play. But she knew he had it under control. He always did.

Of course they won.

The victory rippled through the stands like a wave, and (Y/N) screamed herself hoarse as the crowd erupted around her. Cregan pulled off his helmet, his eyes scanning the stands until he found her. His smile—tired and breathtaking—was for her, and her alone. She didn’t regret the ringing in her ears or the scratch in her throat for a second. Moments later, he was swept up in a sea of celebrating teammates.

“Girl, are you crying?” Baela asked, pulling her into a hug.

“I don’t know,” She sniffled. “I’m just emotional. I just like that boy so fucking much, Bae.”

“I know, honey. Come on, they’re heading off the ice. Let’s congratulate them, and then have a crazy party or something. No time for tears.”

Cregan was one of the last players to leave the ice, trailing just behind Jace. But before he could step off, the captain of the opposing team, his face twisted with anger, skated up to him. For a moment, it looked like they might talk it out. But then, it all happened too fast.

The player from Dorne shoved Cregan hard against the wall. Stark, ever the calm one, simply raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

And then he took a fist to the face. The sickening sound of bone cracking echoed across the rink.

“What the hell is going on? Jace!” Baela shouted, holding her friend back as she tried to rush forward.

Jace jumped back onto the ice, but by the time he got there, the other team had pulled their enraged captain away. Cregan stumbled off the ice just as (Y/N) reached him.

“Are you okay? Oh gods, let me see,” she fretted, her hands hovering near his face.

“What a fucking jerk!” Jace nearly screamed, skidding to a stop by the exit. “I called for help, they’ll be here in a second.”

(Y/N) carefully moved Cregan’s hand away, revealing the damage. His face was a swollen mess, his nose clearly broken.

“Do you think they’ll make me lie face-down on the ice?” Cregan joked weakly, leaning on her for support.

“Does it hurt a lot? Maybe you should sit down. Oh shit, I can’t believe—”

“Hey, sweetheart. Calm down,” Cregan murmured, his voice soothing despite the pain. “It hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”

Just then, the medic arrived, momentarily distracting Jace. But despite the chaos, he had clearly heard what Cregan just said. For a moment, Jace stood there, his face pale as the words and the image before him sank in.

“Sweetheart?” he echoed softly, but no one paid him any attention.

“Jace, maybe now’s not the time,” Baela said gently, stepping up beside him.

“I feel physically sick,” Jace muttered, staggering to the railing for support.

The medic handed Cregan an ice pack. “Hold this to your face for a bit. I’ll get you something for the pain right away, but a doctor’s gonna have to set that nose.”

Cregan winced but smiled through it. “You might wanna check on my friend first,” he said, gesturing toward Jace. “I can wait. He looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Jace did, in fact, end up passing out.

Cregan had to take a break from sports after that little adventure. He’d recovered, but now sported a slightly crooked nose—something his girlfriend found oddly hot.

(Y/N) saw his temporary recovery as the perfect chance to manipulate him into watching Teen Wolf with her every evening. After all, the title worked in her favor.

They were nestled on the couch, wrapped together in a soft gray blanket. It was their first time lounging in the living room of the apartment Cregan shared with her brother, rather than hiding behind the securely locked door of his bedroom. 

It would be perfect, really. If it weren’t for Jace’s constant, deliberate trips to the kitchen and bathroom, each one an obvious reminder that he was keeping an eye on them.

“Dear Jacaerys,” (Y/N) said, her patience wearing thin, “you do know we don’t need a chaperone, right?”

Jace barely paused, shooting her a sidelong glance before muttering, “You need someone to knock the stupid ideas out of your heads,” as he slammed the bathroom door.

Cregan chuckled softly, pulling her closer. “Give him some time,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “To be honest, I thought it would be worse. He’ll come around eventually.”

They’d already gone through several long, tension-filled conversations, with Baela stepping in as the voice of reason when things got too heated. They were careful now, avoiding anything that might provoke Jace further.

But Cregan was right—Jace was slowly coming around, even if he was still stubborn. The days of silent treatment had finally passed.

“This is on us for hiding things from him,” (Y/N) sighed, watching her brother embark on yet another purposeful long journey to the kitchen. “No more secrets now.”

“Your brother’s just looking out for you,” Cregan called out, raising his voice slightly so Jace could hear. “He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, and I respect that. I don’t know anyone else who cares like he does.”

Jace stopped, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed. His lips curved into a sweet, mischievous grin.

“Yeah,” he began, drawing out the word. “So tell me sister, when are you introducing him to Mom?”

[rubysunnday]

love language

summary: the few ways in which Kaz shows his love for Y/N

Opening night of the new Crow Club meant Y/N hadn't stopped all day. She'd been running around serving drinks and keeping an eye on the Makker's table all whilst making sure Jesper didn't gamble away everything Kaz had given him as a thank you for the Pekka Rollins job.

She hadn't stopped and now, four hours in to the night, she was tired. Her face hurt from smiling and she was almost certain that there were a few blisters on her feet.

As she set the drinks tray full of empty glasses down onto rhe bar, one of the newer members of the Dreg's appeared at her side, silently waiting for her to notice him.

"Yes?" Y/N asked tiredly. She couldn't remember his name.

"The boss wants you?"

"Who? Kaz."

"Yeah. He's in the corner."

Y/N followed the boy's vague waft of a hand and spotted Kaz sitting in a dark, seclude corner, his cane in his hands. She sighed but stepped away from the bar, weaving through the mass of people until she was in front of his table.

"What?"

"Nice to see you too," Kaz replied. "How's it going?"

Y/N's eyes narrowed, slightly suspicious. "Fine."

Kaz waved a hand and suddenly one of the barmaids appeared and set a drink down on the table in front of Y/N.

"For you," Kaz said. "As a thank you."

Y/N picked up the glass, ice jingling inside it. "So, Jesper gets money -"

"This is a thank you for what you've done tonight," Kaz replied. "The other thank you is currently clearing at the bank."

Y/N took a cautious sip. It was her favourite drink. Granted, it was the only thing she tended to order, but she was amazed that Kaz had actually remembered what it was.

"It's not poisoned."

"Even if it was, I'd still drink it, i'm desperate," Y/N replied, taking another, bigger sip.

Kaz nodded. "Don't overwork yourself. There are others who can do it for you."

Y/N smiled slightly. "I know."

Wylan had blown out all the candles in his lab and put his experiments to bed. Their sleeping situation wasn't ideal - at least Wylan's floor was clean and he'd had extra pillows.

Kaz had yet to go to sleep. He doubted that he would at all that night. His leg ached and his mind was racing with plan after plan.

Everyone else had, eventually, fallen asleep. Jesper had been first and was now snoring away, his face buried under the duvet. Nina hadn't been long after him, curled up in a ball, a heavy blanket on top of her, hiding most of her face. Wylan had quietly fallen asleep after Nina, propped up on a pillow, a piece of paper and a pen on his lap.

Inej had been trying not to fall asleep but had failed, her head slumped to the side, her hand on one of her knives.

Which left Y/N. Y/N had been sat up against a wall, numerous pillows underneath her, acting as a mattress. And, as Kaz looked over, she had slid down the wall and was now fast asleep, her chin resting on top of her chest.

Kaz grunted as he stood up. He limped down a step and picked up a folded blanket from the pile Wylan had produced. With a gentle shake, he unfolded it and walked over to Y/N's sleeping body. As carefully as he could, he laid it over the top of her, gently tucking the edges in around her.

Y/N shifted slightly but didn't wake. Kaz stepped back and watched her for a moment before walking back to the steps and sitting back down.

They'd all ran into the chapel without a second thought, slamming the door shut behind them in a weak attempt to keep the volcra at bay.

Y/N fell back against the door, putting her entire weight against it as thevolcra tried to break in. Tolya and Tamar came either side of her, squishing her between them, as they also put their weight against the door.

"Jesper, hon," Y/N said. "Wanna do your magic trick?"

"Oh, yeah, right," Jesper said, handing his revolvers to Wylan. He shooed at the three of them. "Move."

"Please," Y/N muttered, pushing herself off the wall and away from the door.

She walked forward, coming to a stop beside Kaz, her arm brushing the sleeve of his jacket. Wylan, who was stood in front of her, abruptly took a step back into Y/N. Y/N grabbed his arm and was about to ask what was wrong when she saw it.

Slowly forming in front of the stained glass window of Sankt Alina was one of Kirigan's nichevo'ya.

"Um, guys," Y/N called. "There's a shadow thing in here."

Then chaos unfolded. The nichevo'ya launched at them and they all scattered, falling into the pews and onto the floor to try and avoided the reach of the shadows. Wylan threw a small bomb at the advancing shadow and it dispersed into nothing, a few bright blue sparks the only sign it'd ever been there.

Y/N pulled herself up using a pew and exhaled a sigh of relief. She looked up and saw Jesper's face drop from a smile to absolute horror. Y/N turned around and saw another nichevo'ya looming behind her. It's tendrils shot out at Y/N.

Someone tackled Y/N to the side, into Nikolai, sending them both to the floor. The nichevo'ya's tendrils slammed into the pillar beside them before Nadia and Adrik dispersed it with a blast of air.

Y/N rolled over, almost lying on top of Nikolai, and saw Kaz sprawled on the ground beside her. He stood his cane up and pushed himself to his feet, quickly moving out the way as Tolya ran over to check on Nikolai.

"Where does it keep coming from?" Y/N asked. Tolya extended a hand and pulled her to her feet. Y/N groaned, wobbling slightly. Nikolai put a hand on her shoulder as he also stood. She nodded, reaching up and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

As the others began talking tactics and plans, Y/N looked over at Kaz, who was stood apart from everyone else.

"Thank you," she mouthed, putting a hand over her heart for a moment.

Kaz gave her a single nod.

"I've got a delivery here for a Y/N Orlova?"

Y/N poked her head out from under a table and then glanced over at Nina. "What've you been using my name for now?"

Nina held her hands up. "Not me."

Y/N stood up, dusting her hands down on her trousers. "What is it?" She asked the delivery man.

He shrugged. "Don't know, I just delivery it, my dude."

"Helpful," Y/N muttered, taking the parcel from the man.

She set it down on a table as Nina moved over to join her.

"It could be a bomb," she said.

Y/N gave her an unconvinced look. "It's from Johannes' Bakery. Besides, I doubt a bomb maker would go to the trouble of," she unfolded the flaps of the box, "wrapping a box in purple ribbon and writing my name on an envelope."

Nina reached in and took the envelope, pulling the flap open and then taking the card out. "Happy birthday Y/N." Nina paused and looked at her friend. "It's your birthday?"

Y/N nodded. "Ahuh."

"You didn't say anything."

"Never do."

"But we could've -"

"Nina, stop complaining and help me."

Nina put the card down and grabbed the bottom of the box, pulling it down and away from the cake box within. Y/N carefully set the cake box down on the table.

"Who's sent you a cake?" Nina asked, sliding into a chair.

Y/N undid the ribbon, pulling the bow out. "I couldn't tell you. I don't tend to advertise my birthday anymore."

Nina leant forward. "Hurry up and open it then."

With the ribbon undone, the cake box lid came off easily. Inside was a heart shaped cake covered in purple icing with pink and white sugar flowers around the edge. Happy Birthday Y/N was written on the top in white icing.

"Oh, my saints," Nina said. "It's beautiful."

Y/N carefully slid the cake out of the box and onto the table. "What did the note say?"

"Uh... happy birthday, thank you for everything, Mr R," Nina read out. She frowned. "Who's Mr R?"

"Why do you expect me to know?" Y/N muttered. "I've not a clue."

The front door to the Crow Club opened and Jesper and Wylan walked in, hand in hand.

"Who's cake is that?" Wylan asked, dropping Jesper's hand and heading over to the table.

"Y/N's," Nina replied.

Wylan looked at her. "It's your birthday?"

"Yup." Y/N nodded. "I don't tell people."

Jesper joined them and pressed a kiss to Y/N's cheek. "Happy birthday, love. The cake isn't from me."

"I suspected as much," Y/N muttered. "It's too nice."

Jesper laughed sarcastically. "Thanks."

From the doorway leading up to Kaz's office, a shadow slinked away and up the stairs. They pushed open the office door and hovered behind Kaz as he scribbled away.

"Well?" He prompted.

Inej walked forward and perched herself on the edge of his desk. "She loves it." She paused. "I think that's the sweetest -"

"That's all, Inej." Kaz picked up an envelope and handed it to her. "Take that to Johannes' Bakery. It's payment for Y/N's cake."

Inej nodded. She stood up and paused. "I still can't believe you bought -"

"Pay the bakery man, Inej, stop commenting on my private matters," Kaz drawled.

Inej rolled her eyes. "Fine."

She stepped out onto the landing and climbed down the stairs, not bothering to be silet.

"Inej!" Y/N yelled, hearing her friend come down the stairs. "You must try this cake, it is divine!"

Inej smiled to herself and tucked the envelope into her pocket. "You've got a cake?" She said, walking into the main floor and acting surprised. "Who sent you a cake?"

"Not a clue," Y/N replied. "But whoever it was, I love them." She took another bite and hummed happily. "Best cake ever."

Upstairs, Kaz leant over the balcony, evesdropping on his crows below. He smiled to himself and stepped back, retreating back to his office.

[tinkerbelle05]

What are you hiding?

Characters: Jaime Reyes x GN!reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: (Requested) “x reader that figure out jaime’s blue beetle.” thanks for the reqs, I hope you like it! @tacorei

Warnings: arguments, spoilers for the Blue Beetle movie, thoughts of cheating, reckless behavior

-

Jaime have been off for some weeks now, you’ve noticed. He was always showing up late for date nights and hangouts, he’s always talking to himself, and just looks out of it.

You understood, he's been going through a lot recently. With his house burning to the ground and his father still in the hospital, you allowed him understanding and grace. He has a lot on his plate so he’s allowed to be weird and difficult, and you promised yourself you wouldn’t give him a tough time about it.

He was there by you when your grandpa passed and you were a mess. You still are, at times.

That being said though, you’ve been standing out of a restaurant that he suggested y’all go to for an hour. You kept texting him, asking when he’s going to come, and he keeps saying he’s “almost there” and “around the block”.

Which is a bold face lie, and you hated be lied to. He knew that and he still did it anyway. And it wasn’t even a good one at that.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” Jaime ran up to you, holding a bouquet of crumbled-up flowers. “This for you!” His smile dimmed when he saw the state they were in though.

“Gee, thanks,” you replied dryly and walked off. You were annoyed with him. This was the 3rd time he showed up late, looking disgruntled this week. How could he not even have the decency to look somewhat put together if he’s gonna be this late. It was ridiculous.

While you walked away, you laughed bitterly to yourself, “Really thought you found the one, huh?”

“Wait, wait up!” Jaime yelled and ran after you. He looked like he cared that he was late.

You stopped walking to lean on a building, your legs were aching from all of the standing you’ve did. Jaime finally caught up to you. Your back was to him and thankfully he didn’t try to come closer to you. At least he knew boundaries.

“Listen, I’m so, so sorry. Something came up at work and I had to stay late. Really, I’m sorry. I will make it up to you. We could go back to your place, order food, binge the fast and furious movies?” He rattled off an apology.

You couldn’t see him but you can hear how desperate he was in his voice. He wanted to make it right but you don’t know if he could.

“Jaime, this dinner was supposed to be the apology and make up dinner. You know, for bailing on me last time?” You replied to him and tried to keep the tears at bay. You wouldn’t cry, you wouldn’t cry.

This is when he came closer to you, your back was still to him but You can smell his cologne. And you saw his shadow on the pavement.

“I know, I know,” he whispered softly. “I fucked up but-”

And you turned sharply around to finally face him, “Yes, yes. I know Jaime Reyes is busy at his job. Busy, busy, busy. God, what are you? Batman’s new sidekick or something?”

The outburst made Jaime take a few steps back and held up his hands in a surrender stance,“…What? Um, how…how did you know?!”

You tilted your head, confused by what he meant. “Um, know what Jaime? Are you hiding something from me?” You walked closer to him, backing up into a corner. “Is this why you’ve been distant lately? What’s up?”

He panicked, you saw the sweat dripping on his forehead and watched as he played with his hands. Something was up but he wouldn’t tell you. He probably never will.

“Oh, uh nothing. Don't worry about it,” he stammered.

You back away from him, “Well fine, if you want to be like that then. I think…that we should take a break.”

That got him out of his daze, he instantly closed the gap you made between eachother, “What? No, no, no. We don’t have to…you don’t have to do that. We..we’re fine. I’m just busy but-”

“That’s the point, Jaime,” you interrupted him. “You’re always busy, and that’s fine. But maybe you should focus on your work and y’know not lying to me.”

“I’m not lying!” He protested.

“So why were you all jumpy when I made that Batman joke then?” You asked.

“That? I….I said that was nothing. It…”

You shook your head and started back away again, “For someone who lies a lot, you are horrendously bad at it. Bye, Jaime.”

You ignored Jaime for a week. Every text message and phone call. Eventually though, he stopped trying to contact you. Which was a relief, you felt your resolve slipping everytime Jaime’s photo contact appeared on your phone.

It was one of those 0.5 pictures. You took at as revenge for the hundreds he took of you. You remember him being salty about that photo being his contact.

But in the meantime, you went down a rabbit hole of superhero lore. Jaime’s reaction to your snarky comment got you thinking, could Jaime be one?

Your immediate reaction was hell no. But when you started to mull over it, in a crooked way it sorta made sense. For example, Jaime’s behavior has been strange and he’s been looking disgruntled for a while. He has gotten a new job as an intern for Kord but it wasn’t that demanding. Your cousin had the same job and she wasn’t like well how Jaime was.

I mean, you were worried every time he was late or something. Of course, the obvious is, what if he's cheating on you? However, Jaime was many things but he’s not cheater.

So if he really is the Blue Beetle, well you saw his fights on the internet. They looked rough, and if that's him, then maybe you could help.

And maybe he’s looking all tired and being late to a lot of stuff is because he’s moonlighting as a vigilante. Through some digging you made a time line of sorts.

And…it just scares you. Not knowing.

There were some evidence to support your theory. For example, when Jaime’s house caught on fire, many people said Kord and Blue Beetle (the city’s new superhero) was sighted. Kord and the Blue Beetle were some how connected, you saw articles on that.

And around Blue Beetle’s appearance was when Jaime started acting differently. You know this rationale was being held together with glue and a hope that you could at least know where Jaime is.

But how would you even get him to admit it? If he was Blue Beetle. You walked away from and told you wanted a break, and still didn’t confess to it. And all of his texts messages weren’t alluding that he’s Blue Beetle.

Maybe…no, no, that’s dumb. But could Does it work? You think it can, you hoped it can. The Blue Beetle could fly, so if you jumped off the roof then Jamie would have no choice but to transform.

Or call the cops to retrieve your dead body.

The confidence you had in your room began to slowly chipped away as you climbed to your apartment building's roof. Your legs began to shake and your heart was beating faster than before.

But you guessed that's where the "curiosity killed the cat" quote came from. You called Jaime earlier to meet you at the rooftop to talk, he was clearly confused by the location but considering this was the first time you responded to him in weeks, he didn't reject it.

The warm air was blowing in your face when you finally reached up there, Jaime's back was turned to you.

He turned around to face you, "Hey..." He didn't move to come closer to you, just stood in his place, looking at you with those soft brown eyes.

God, he's so pretty.

And liar.

And probably a superhero.

You will find out today though.

"Hey, Jaime. How have you been?" you asked him, sheepishly.

God, why was this so awkward?

He closes the distance between you two, "Um, yeah I've been good. Could've been better, though. You?"

You scratched the back of your neck, "Yeah, I've been good too. But, um, I wanted to talk to you about something. About us." You stepped even closer to Jaime, lowering your voice to a whisper, "I know your secret, Jaime."

Jaime took a few steps backward, a shocked look on his face, "Uh what secret? What are you talking about? Is…is this shout the superhero thing? I thought you wanted to talk about us?"

"This is about us, Jaime! I know everything, why can't you just admit it already?!" your voice getting louder with each word.

You didn't want it to be like this but fine. You walked past Jaime, walking closer to the railing of the roof. You heard him running after you, panicked "Wait" and "What are you doing?" flew from his mouth.

You turned around to face him, "If you don't tell me the truth right now, I'll jump right now! I know you are Blue Beetle, Jaime."

Your declaration left Jaime speechless, all he could do was close and open his mouth repeatedly. "I...okay just get...get down okay? You're scaring me. I am not Blue Beetle, alright? You're just tired, that's all."

"You're lying to me! You keep lying and I'm sick of it! I'm not stupid or crazy, Jaime. There are too many coincidences for it to not make sense. It's not like I'll tell anyone. I just want to know.”

You could see that Jaime looked conflicted, his eyes kept darting back and forth.

Fine, if he wants it to be difficult, then you can make it difficult. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and fell. You prayed and prayed that Jaime was Blue Beetle because if he wasn't...

You heard Jaime scream your name and leaped after you. You saw with your own very eyes, Jaime transforming, the black and blue suit covered his skin completely, almost like the suit was his second skin.

Now Jaime was flying, with the help of blasters, instead of falling with you. He grabbed a hold of you before you could hit the ground, he held on to you tightly. Like you were grains of sand or sugar, ready to slip through his fingers at any moment without much notice.

He flew you back to the rooftop and sat you on the ground, before crushing you into a bear hug. You could practically feel his heart beating through his chest and could hear him taking deep breaths to calm himself down.

You couldn’t blame him, you were in shock too. Your boyfriend (?) was freaking Blue Beetle! I mean you had your suspicions for weeks, and your murder board led you to the conclusion that he was Blue Beetle.

But seeing it before you very eyes was completely different though. You were right! You trusted your gut and you were correct.

But that means that Jaime lied to you. To your face, for weeks. Even when your on the edge of a building, he wouldn’t even admit it!

You pushed him away, glaring up at him and saw him glaring at you with an equally furious expression.

“What is wrong with you?! How could you do something so stupid, so reckless?!” he screamed at you.

His words, though true, offended you nonetheless. And you returned it with the same energy.

“Well, I wouldn't have to do any of that if you would’ve just told me in the first place! But instead, all you did was lie, lie, and lie!” you argued back.

He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, “I was just trying to protect you! This…this life is dangerous, and I…I just wanted to protect you.”

Your anger disappeared when you heard how broken he sounded, saw how distraught he looked. His cheeks were tear-streaked and his eyes were puffy.

“I…I just don't want to lose you,” he admitted.

Seeing him like this, it made your chest hurt. Felt like it was collapsing onto it self. You wanted to hug him, kiss his tears away.

But those feelings didn’t stop the burning anger you feel. God, this was messy. It would’ve been so much easier if he was as angry as you were. You felt like kicking a puppy while it was already down.

“Jaime, being honest is protecting me. How can you not get that? How do you think it feels when you just run off in the middle of our dates? Or when you come late to them, looking frazzled? Or when you just flat out cancel on them last minute with vague explanations as to why. I didn’t know what was going on with you, and that worried me. If you told me you were Blue Beetle, I would have some comfort of knowing where you are. How can you honestly not get that?”

You took a deep breath after letting out that confession. You didn’t exactly mean to say all of that, you would have preferred to have that conversation once you both have calmed down a bit more.

And maybe not on the roof top in the middle of night as well.

Jaime was confused by your confession, “What? So..this wasn’t because you thought I was cheating?”

“Oh Jaime for the love of God, no! I know you, you aren't a cheater. It was because it scared me. I mean, how would you feel if I just disappeared all the time?!” you were back to screaming in his face with just plain annoyance now.

He had a look of understanding now, on his face. He lets out a soft “oh” and then the silence stretched in between you both as he looked everywhere but you.

God, when this become such a mess.

“Um,” Jaime cleared his throat, “So…what do you wanna do? About this? Us?”

“I…I don’t know Jaime,” you muttered. “But it’s getting late and I have work tomorrow.”

Jaime nodded but you could tell that’s not what he wanted to hear, and you didn’t either. But, maybe more space was what you two needed right now.

You watched him shot up into the sky and until he became a small dot, no different from the stars.

-

This was longer than expected. My bad lol

Tags: @fhhahaha12, @allthingsvicf, @louiesdaydream, @herrescasper, @niluuuuu, @666kpopfan, @bluecray0nn, @champagnelovers101, @starii-light, @asvterias, @wintersdeadd, @shslsimpette, @losingmywayyyy, @sodacatz, @scryarchives, @marmar-c, @strawberrycreamb, @nightwingandhissquad, @conicoroahre

Special thanks to @alienstardust for their help with this fic! 🫶🏿

Taglist & Reqs Info & Masterlist & Anonlist

[babygirl-riley]

Reader always wears long clothing even during the summer due to eczema and ghost gets suspicious?

Desert Heat

Ghost has been your LT for couple of months now. It made since to him why you wore long sleeves during the cold season. Now that it is hot, it made him worry, especially when you freaked out when someone tried to pull them up.

A/N: Omgggggg I love soft simon or ghost! I could only imagine that he is very understanding and kind about insecurities.

Warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of anxiety attacks, mentions of self harm, soft!ghost, swearing

Taglist

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst

Ghost always kept a close eye on you. Anytime there was a mission he would make sure to be near you or with you. Soap would tease you about it, saying that the moment you stepped foot into the team Ghost was your shadow. You never truly believed Soap until the summer came along.

In the summer your skin will flare up with your eczema. Even though it’s easier to hide during the winter the summer makes it more irritated and flares up. You had certain medications and only one type of lotion to help it keep it at bay. You never liked it, always making you feel self conscious of how it looks.

So when you didn’t change your long sleeves it was normal for you. Didn’t think anyone would mind or pay attention enough. Oh how you were dead wrong. The heat of the day was little over 100, it was nice out, and due to you used to having the sleeves on it didn’t bother you.

Oh but how it worried Ghost, when training recruits he noticed you looked flushed. Tired. His thoughts ran wild of how it could be the start of dehydration. Or heat exhaustion. You smiled as you watched the recruits reaching the full potential of your training until Ghost came up.

“Fuck,” You whispered, you thought total different reasons on why he was approaching you. You fucked up a drill that is what you could only think of. “Yes sir?” You asked as he approached.

“Ya know it’s 100 out here yeah?” He asked looking at your clothing more closely now.

Confused you nodded. “Of course I do LT.”

“Ya wearing some long sleeves that ‘M sure that is not comfortable.” He commented again, you looked at his eyes, covered worry behind them.

You shrugged. “I’m not too hot but thank you sir.” Before he could say anything a recruit called out for you. “Anything else?”

He shook his head and nodded towards the recruit. Nonverbal indication to go handle it. That didn’t stop Ghost from watching more throughout the summer. He saw that you had different military graded long sleeves. Never once he saw you in any tank, t-shirt, hell even a bra. Always a sweatshirt at night and long sleeve in the day.

It had his mind wonder into different things. One thing that made his stomach turn, could you be harming. That is the one thing that he couldn’t shake off. He has seen it before in other soldiers but never his own let alone…someone he cared for in this type of field. Ghost offered a hand to hand just you and him, practice on close combat.

You were good but long distance was your strong category. It was a long but interesting hand to hand training, you would get the best of him at times but be quickly put on your ass. You would laugh when you would miss foot or kick hard enough on his side to have a huff get out of him.

“Come on Lt, that’s not the best you can do?” You teased, you and him had that ‘married couple’ banter. Both of you were the only ones that could do that to each other. Yeah Soap would give you shit but not like Ghost.

Ghost chuckled. “Just tiring you out doll.” He said feeling sweat gather on his back.

After a couple of hits he got you pinned on the floor. At first it was going to be an easy get away that was until your sleeve was sliding up. Panic coursed through your veins, as you watched through the corner of your eye. Ghost noticed and looked over, that’s when you yelled uncle and pushed as hard as you could.

Ghost snapped from the trance of seeing your skin. He grunted as you quickly stood up. “Thank you sir,” You said breathily. “See you in the briefing.”

And that was that. Before he could even speak a word you were gone. Ghost affirmed to himself that you were harming yourself. So no, you wouldn’t see him at the briefing. You saw him an hour later.

With the knock at your private quarters, you were shocked to see Ghost. “Sir…”

“Don’ sir me,” He started to walk on shutting the door behind him. “I tryin’ to not invade ya space however,” He looked at your sleeves. “I am worried.”

You gave him a confused look then chuckled. “You don’t need to be worried Ghost.”

Ghost still wasn’t looking at you, after a couple of minutes it hit you. “Why do you wear the long sleeves? It’s hot in the summer here and I can tell when you get over heated.” He explained as he looked up at you.

You bit your lower lip as you turned away from him. “Just like them is all.”

Ghost noticed the change in your demeanor nice but standoffish. For a SAS they are trained to see these things, anything that changes can help them through a stand off or interrogation. You knew of it and tried so hard to act it off. But your anxiety said different.

“Don’ bullshit me y/l/n,” Ghost said gently grabbing your wrist having you slowly turn to him. You saw the concern in his eyes. “I-Are-Are you hurtin’…”

Your eyes went wide. “No,” You said ripping your wrist away. “Sorry no…it’s just…it’s not pretty still. My skin isn’t pretty.” You looked away wrapping yourself softly with your arms.

Ghost now was confused, scars maybe? Burns? He understood that, he had them underneath his clothing. He walked closer to you. “I highly doubt that,” You snapped your head up as he grabbed your hand. “You are a-you are beautiful I don’ think scars are gonna…”

You chuckled, not because of his answer but because of everything else it could be he goes to the worst. “No Ghost it’s just,” You sighed pulling one of your sleeves up. Showing the eczema, the way it was bright red, traveling up your arm more. Ghost looked at you then your arm. “My skin just gets irritated and it just makes me feel not beautiful. People used to tell me I was a walking plague in high school because of it. So…”

Ghost scoffed. “Them bastards are idiots to think that,” He looked at you, you can tell he started to smile. “It doesn’ hurt?”

“Not usually, sometimes it feels like it burns if it’s super irritated but nothing crazy.” You said smiling but getting more shocked at the softness that Ghost was displaying.

Ghost sighed and nodded. “Maybe we can find somethin’ more light ya know? Not get too hot,” He stepped back for a moment. “Maybe a tattoo sleeve cover.”

You chuckled shaking your head. “Jesus Ghost.”

He stood there for another moment. “That should do yeah,” He looked up at you. “Debriefing is soon we better go.”

Ghost turned around as you walked with him. “Should have recorded you saying that I was beautiful.” You teased.

“Don’t test it Sargent.” Ghost mumbled feeling his face heat up. He was fucking happy that he had that mask on. Cause he felt like a school boy all over again.

However, you had to hide your face as it turned red. Knowing that your lieutenant thought you were beautiful.

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 27: Backstage Shenanigans

Aurora and Aeon are menaces, and Rain is an enabler. Swiss wonders why he puts up with them some times.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for making us the dividers <3

Aurora doesn't know how to explain it. It might be her air affinity calling her upwards. Maybe it's hiding to brace for a long night. Maybe it's just her near constant desire to be mischievious. Regardless, Aurora's light enough to hide up in the scaffolding above stage right while the rest of the crew works on set up.

It's quiet up here, watching the crew moving below her cartoonishly small. In a couple hours' time, this place will be full to the brim of screaming humans, Aurora perched up on her pedestal in the far corner of stage left. For now, she breathes, trying to keep the anticipation at bay. She's still new to this all; asides from Aeon, her summoning-mate, all of the other ghouls have years of experience on her.

She tries to keep her mind focused, not spiraling into her doubts even though she knows she was chosen for a reason. Soundcheck starts soon (She doesn't know how soon. She doesn't even want to risk pulling her phone out and dropping it from this height) and she knows she'll have to return to the ground once again.

The metal rigging creaks, and Aurora jolts, manicured fingers wrapping tightly around one of the beams as she momentarily loses her balance. Once she's righted herself, she turns, frame relaxing as she sees another figure hauling themself up to sit beside her.

"Hey, Rory," Aeon says, chuffing softly as they press against her side, looking around from this new point of view. They're half-dressed already, in uniform from the waist down, compression shirt sleeves shoved up to their elbows. "I keep seeing you up here. This is nice."

She laughs, knocking her shoulder into his softly. "Yeah, when you can keep your balance. It's, uh, it's quiet."

Below them, a few of their packmates wander onto the stage. Rain stretches his wrists, rolling his neck as Swiss climbs up onto his platform. He's right under the two of them.

"You wanna cause some trouble, Rory?" Aeon asks, free hand slipping into their pants pocket and pulling out a handful of... something. It's dim up here, but Aurora can see the metallic copper glint of a grucifix, of the stylized word Ghost. They've got a bunch of the picks they're going to throw out at the end of the night, eyes glittering with something mischievous.

She grins, the gap between her front teeth on full display as she carefully reaches out, grabbing a few of the picks from them. "Rainy or Swiss?" she asks, gesturing between the two ghouls below them.

Aeon hums thoughtfully. "Swiss is too easy," he whispers. "He's right there. Get Rain."

Carefully balancing herself on the scaffolding, Aurora closes one eye, pick squeezed between two fingers, and throws. It's so small she loses sight of it, watching carefully at Rain's reaction, if there is one.

They watch from above as Rain's brow furrows, glancing down and pushing at something with his boot. The tiniest speck of black disappears under his sole, and Aeon grins wildly. "Missed," they hiss with laughter.

"Oh, knock it off," she hisses back, suddenly going stock still as she feels eyes on her. She slowly turns back towards stage left. Her stomach drops, and she can almost feel it hit the stage below them.

Rain's staring up at the two of them, a smile slowly growing on his face. He makes a show of bending down to pick up the pick Aurora had just thrown at him.

"Oh shit," Aeon whispers, their two toned eyes wide.

"Fuck," Aurora agrees, waiting for Rain to make them known, call them out on being somewhere they're not supposed to be.

Instead, Rain just smiles, gesturing almost imperceptibly towards Swiss. Aurora echoes his expression, shifting on the scaffolding until she's looking straight down at the multi-ghoul, another pick in hand.

She throws it, and she knows she can't hear it, too small and light, but her brain provides her with the most satisfying "thunk" as the pick hits the top of Swiss's head, bouncing off and clattering against his platform. He shouts, wheeling around and looking for the source. Rain leans back and cackles, watching the multi-ghoul looking around frantically.

Aeon and Aurora can't hold back their laughter, and Swiss looks straight up. His growl sounds weird under his human glamour. "You two!" he yells, but there's no real heat in it. "Gremlins, the two of you I swear!"

Aurora cackles, throwing another one down, delighting in the way he sputters.

[krirebr]

I Know I Should Know Better 3

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Female Reader, past Colin Shea x Female Reader

Word Count: ~4k

Summary: Curtis has been working as your body guard for almost two years now. Standing by and watching you work and party your life away is becoming more and more difficult, but is there anything he can do about it?

Warnings: Angst, adult themes, complicated power dynamics, minor age difference (not explicit in this part, but reader is mid-twenties and Curtis is early thirties), drinking & implied drug use, explicit language, bad boyfriend (Colin isn't even in this part and yet he's somehow even worse??), self-destructive behavior, anxiety, negative self-talk. Everyone's having a bad time, you guys. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Uh... It has to get worse before it can get better?? **runs and hides**

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screaming at me. 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The party was raging.

People filled your living room and kitchen. They were on your deck, in your pool. Curtis scanned the area, trying to figure out where you’d gotten off to. He didn’t like not having eyes on you. 

He checked his watch. It was well past three. Christ. It’d started with you declaring the club you were at “fucking dead” a little before midnight. A small group had followed you home and then they’d called their friends who’d called their friends who’d called their friends. 

People milled around him. Whispers of “Did you hear whose house this is?” “I haven’t seen her, yet. Have you?” “My cousin invited me. He knows her publicist’s assistant’s roommate.”

One woman stumbled over to him. “Hey!” she whisper-yelled. “How much for two?”

“What.” he growled.

“Two!” she repeated, shoving two fingers in his face. “How much?”

Just as Curtis was about to lose it completely, her friend crashed into her. “What are you doing?” The friend asked. She looked at how her companion was holding her bag, ready to remove the correct amount of cash, then up at Curtis and let out a wild cackle. “No!” she said. “That’s her bodyguard!”

“What?” The first woman asked. “You said the guy in all black in the corner.”

The friend’s laughter was nearly uncontrollable now. “Yeah, that corner!” She raised an arm and gestured to the other side of the house.

“Oh my god!” screeched the first woman and also into giggles, as they thankfully made their way somewhere fucking else. 

Curtis pushed himself off the wall. He needed to find you. 

You weren’t in the kitchen, or out by the pool. He’d already been in the living room. He finally found you on the stairs up to the bedrooms, slumped against the wall. He crouched in front of you and said your name a few times before finally getting your attention.

“Mmm, Curtis,” you said, your eyes half-closed. “I’m sleepy.”

He sighed. “Well, it’s almost four in the morning, so that makes sense.”

“I’m gonna go t’bed.” You grabbed the railing above your head and put all of your weight on it as you tried to lift yourself. You faltered and he reached out, a hand on your hip to steady you. “Oh boy,” you whispered as you tried again to right yourself. “Bedtime.”

Curtis said your name again, trying and failing to keep his frustration at bay. “Your house is still full of people.”

You were moving up the stairs now and waved dismissively to him behind you. “Get rid of ‘em. I’m done.”

That’s not my job was at the tip of his tongue, but arguing with you right now would be useless. So he followed you up the stairs to make sure you didn’t fall and excused himself once you were safely in your bedroom. In the hallway, he took a deep breath, trying to push down the anger and frustration he felt. It wasn’t his job. He shouldn’t have to do it. But he would.

Back downstairs, he went straight to your sound panel and cut the music to the whole house. “Alight!” he bellowed. “Party’s over. Get the fuck out!” He had no energy for niceties at this point.

As people, very slowly, started milling out of your house, there was a heavy and demanding banging at your door. He grumbled and made his way to the front, finding two cops standing there. Fucking shit.

Opening it, he plastered on what he hoped but doubted was a friendly smile. “Morning, officers. How can I help you?”

“Is the homeowner here?” one cop asked while the other craned his head around to try to get a look inside. It did not seem to be a professional curiosity. Goddamnit. 

“The homeowner,” he said, trying to give away as little information as possible, “is asleep. But I work here. What can I do for you?”

The first cop straightened. “Well, sir, we’ve had several noise complaints from the neighbors tonight. Looks like you all had quite the party.”

He gave the slightest nod of acknowledgment. “But as you can see, everyone’s going home now.” Curtis moved over slightly to make sure his large frame filled the doorway. Who knew what was still going on behind him?

The officer watched the people stumbling out around him for a moment. “Well–”

“I’m sure,” Curtis interrupted, “that she’d be incredibly appreciative if you let her off with a warning. Just this once. And I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He hoped it was worth the slight acknowledgment of who you were to avoid making this an even bigger problem. 

The cop looked around again and then nodded. “Since everything’s already breaking up here. And you promise you’ll make sure she’s more responsible next time?” He looked to Curtis who nodded, knowing it was a big, fat lie. “Alright, yeah, I think a warning’s all that’s needed here. You have a good rest of your night.”

Curtis’s sigh of relief was cut short by the other cop stepping forward. A closer look revealed how young he was, early 20s. “Hey,” he said, “could you tell her that I really loved her in Sweet Sixteen? I used to have that Teen Vogue cover up in my locker.” Curtis tried not to grimace as the young man fished a card out of his breast pocket and held it out to Curtis. “And maybe give this to her? I know she just broke up with that guy, but I gotta shoot my shot, right?” He was lucky that Curtis just silently took the card instead of commenting on the fucking audacity. It was too late/early to deal with any of this bullshit.

“Well,” he said, trying to prevent an awkward moment and get out of this while he was technically ahead, “really appreciate you both coming out here. Have a good night.” The instant the cops started turning around, Curtis closed the door. He immediately tore up the cop’s card and added it to the mess of the living room.

He spent the next hour or so going through the house, kicking out the stragglers and making sure nothing was irreparably damaged. By the time he was done, it was just about five o’clock. Christ. He stood by the door. He could leave. He should leave. He’d done more than enough. He clenched and unclenched his hands once, twice, three times. He turned around and went to your kitchen, filling a large glass of water. Then he got two aspirin from your medicine cabinet. He took it all into your bedroom and set it on your nightstand. He checked to make sure you were sleeping on your side, then pulled your trash can so it was right next to the bed. Ok, now he could go.

It was after six when he finally got home. He sent a text to Michelle as he got off his bike.

Hey, I’m just getting home now. Last night was bad. She threw a party, cops came. Just a warning for noise complaints, but I’m sure the whole thing will be on TMZ in a few hours. Going to bed. Don’t know when I’ll be in. Only call if you absolutely need me.

He looked at it for a moment, then added

There needs to be a conversation about what my job actually entails

He knew Michelle wasn’t the right person to send that last bit to. She wasn’t his boss. But he was exhausted and he needed someone to know that he was at the end of his rope.

You were going through a hard time, he knew that. You’d ended your relationship with Colin in spectacular fashion, posting a picture to your Instagram stories of the flowers he’d sent the day after your fight on the deck lying in your trashcan, his apology note fluttering above them with the text “No thanks @ColinSheaOfficial.” It hadn’t been your most thought-through decision. Tanya had freaked out and it was deleted 15 minutes later, but it was too late. The post had immediately gone viral. Colin hadn’t been happy and had spent the last month telling anyone who would listen (bro-y podcasts, mostly) how awful it’d been to date you – you were unstable, too needy, a cold fish in bed. That had gone viral too. If Curtis thought he’d get away with it, he’d have driven out to Colin’s house and taken care of the asshole, himself. But his connection to you was too documented. 

You weren’t handling it well. Of course, you weren’t.  But Curtis felt like, while everyone else was doing damage control on how it was affecting your career, he was the one left to pick up the pieces of you as a person. If things had been too much for him before, they were becoming near impossible to deal with now.

It didn’t help matters that after your night on the couch together, you’d started to put some distance between the two of you. He understood. It was the right thing to do. This was his job. You weren’t friends, he was your employee. (Sort of. In a roundabout way. Technically, he worked for your manager. But still.) He couldn’t be your friend and do his job to the best of his ability. Trying to do both compromised your safety. He’d been ignoring that truth for too long. It had been inappropriate for him to stay that night when you’d asked him to. He shouldn’t have done it, no matter how often he’d thought about it after – the way you’d looked fresh out of the shower, how his fingertips had brushed against yours, your thigh resting against–

So the distance was needed. But it meant that all he was able to do was trail after you as you self-combusted with a determination he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. And it couldn’t be his job to hold you together. It was taking a toll. Something had to give.

He entered his house through the back, straight into his kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, surprised to see Edgar sitting at the island in his pajamas, eating cereal. “You’re up early.”

Edgar shrugged. “Didn’t hear you come in last night.”

“Yeah,” Curtis said, bending over to take off his boots. “Had to work really late.”

Edgar just nodded and took a bite of cereal. Curtis finished with his boots and took off his leather jacket, hanging it by the door. He was about to excuse himself to his room when Edgar spoke again.

“I have an interview lined up for this week.”

“Yeah?” Curtis grinned. “That’s great!”

“Mhmm,” Edgar hummed, looking into his cereal bowl as he continued. “If it works out, I probably won’t be able to afford my own place right away, but I swear, I’ll save up and get out of your hair as soon as I can–” 

“Hey, no,” Curtis interrupted. “I told you, that room is yours for however long you want it. No strings attached.” Curtis had known Edgar since the kid had been in diapers, ending up in the same foster home right before Curtis had turned eighteen. He’d been the only one who’d been able to calm the kid down when he’d had a tantrum. After he’d aged out, he’d done his best to keep in touch with Edgar and now that Edgar had aged out of the system himself, Curtis was determined to do whatever he could to help him. Especially if that meant he could prevent Edgar from making the same desperate choices he had. He didn’t regret joining the army, per se, (he was mostly ambivalent at best about his experiences there, but it had opened up opportunities after he was discharged) but it had felt like it was the only choice for him at the time, and he didn’t want that for Edgar. So if having a place to stay that he didn’t have to pay for would help, then that’s what Curtis would give him. “Listen, I want to hear all about this interview, but I’m fucking exhausted right now. I need to crash. We’ll talk later, ok?”

Edgar nodded but furrowed his brow. “Everything alright?”

Curtis nodded and tried to smile at him. “Just a long fucking day. I’ll see you later.”

When he finally got to his room, he let out a sigh of relief as he collapsed onto his bed. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out to find a response from Michelle.

I’m going to have to tell Tanya. Fucking fuck fuck!

Curtis tossed the phone onto the other side of the bed. Yeah. Fucking fuck fuck sounded about right.

When he woke up late that afternoon, he had another message from Michelle.

She’s so fucking hungover. You don’t need to come in. She isn’t going anywhere. See you tomorrow.

So he ordered pizza with Edgar and they watched TV until Edgar fell asleep on the couch. It was a good night.

The next day he got to your house just before noon. On days when nothing was scheduled, you never started early. He stopped short when he saw two cars he recognized in your driveway.

Michelle was sitting at your kitchen island, staring at her laptop, one hand scrolling down the trackpad, the other nervously tapping the counter.

Curtis helped himself to an organic juice from your fridge as he greeted her and asked, “Wilford and Tanya are here?”

“Mhmm,” she said, not looking up.

“House call’s not a good sign.”

“Nope.” She looked up at him, more haggard-looking than he was used to. “You still pissed?”

He sighed. “Not pissed. Tired. Frustrated.” He paused to take a sip of juice. “Worried.”

“She’s fine,” Michelle said, “she just needs to reprioritize.”

“That what this house call’s about?” he asked.

She grimaced. “She lost that big ensemble movie. The director cited his ‘no assholes’ policy.”

“She isn’t an asshole.”

“No,” Michelle agreed, “but she’s getting a reputation as one. High maintenance.”

He glanced out the doors to your patio, where he could just see the edge of you. “So it’s a Come to Jesus talk.”

“Mhmm.”

“I don’t suppose they’re going to do anything to actually help her?”

“They’ll get her career back on track if she listens.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Curtis scowled.

“Listen,” she said, pushing her computer away and giving him her full attention, “my job is the same as yours – get her where she needs to go, on time and in one piece.”

“Yeah?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “And how do you think we’re doing on that ‘in one piece’ part?”

“She’s blowing off steam, that’s all.”

He snorted. “Sure, if you say so. But you’re never around for that part, are you?”

“Curtis–”

He shook his head, “I need to talk to her when they’re done,” then went to wait in the living room.

Wilford and Tanya left about half an hour later. Curtis watched them go, arms crossed over his chest. Wilford, especially, he did not like. They’d only been in the same room a handful of times, but Curtis would swear he could see the dollar signs in Wilford’s eyes every time he looked at you. If Curtis had his way, that man wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near you.

But that was part of the problem, this protective streak Curtis had for you. It wasn’t serving him. And it obviously wasn’t serving you either. It wasn’t helping anything. Protection was the job but from the outside world. Not from your own team. Not from yourself. He needed to get his act together. Set some boundaries. And that’s what he was going to do.

He let himself out onto your deck, expecting to find you lounging by the pool, in a swimsuit probably, maybe a drink in your hand. Instead, you were sitting at your outdoor dining table, knees pulled up to your chest, staring off into nothing, wearing leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. You looked awful, hair sloppily pulled together on top of your head, red-rimmed eyes, a blank expression on your face. He stopped short. Maybe this wasn’t the right time to do this. But he knew that if he waited it wouldn’t happen. And maybe this was the right time, maybe he’d actually be able to have a conversation about everything with you. 

He softly called your name and when you looked over at him he added, “We need to talk about the other night.”

“Oh, great,” you said, tone flat. “You here to yell at me too? Fun.”

“I don’t want to yell,” he said, sitting down across from you. He didn’t want to hover over you. “Just talk.”

You sighed impatiently. “Well, go on. Let’s get this over with. How have I disappointed you today?”

He said your name again, as gently as he could, but your reaction was the opposite of what he wanted. You looked down, shoulders coming up to your ears. Regardless of your size, you looked so small. The smallest he’d ever seen you. But he had to do this. So he plowed ahead.

“What happened the other night, at your party, that can’t happen again. I can’t be responsible for what happens in your house when you aren’t there. I have a very specific job. You don’t get to just use me however you see fit. I’m not here to clean up after you. Kicking people out of your house, dealing with the cops–” He shook his head. “I’m not your bouncer or your babysitter.” 

He saw you flinch at his last word, but you came back with a glower. “Is that all?” you asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m also not going to be working any more 16-hour days. That isn’t fair to me.”

“Are you going to quit?” you asked, voice somewhere between angry and pleading.

“I don’t want to,” he said, keeping his voice firm, “but I’m serious that what happened was unacceptable.”

You swallowed visibly and nodded. He waited for you to say something, but when you didn’t, he asked, “Are you ok?” 

Your head shot up. “What?”

There was something in your eyes that told him to proceed with caution, but he still repeated his question. “Are you alright?”

You looked at him carefully for a moment, then "Are you my friend?"

Now it was his turn to ask "What?"

"You said you aren't my bouncer or my babysitter," you said with a challenge in your eyes. "So what are you? Are you my friend?"

He had to look away, understanding now what you were doing. "No," he said quietly, "I'm not your friend. I'm just your bodyguard." 

He hadn’t looked up yet, unable to tear his focus from his hands in his lap, but he could feel you nodding in his periphery. “Right,” you said, voice low. “Then whether or not I’m okay doesn’t really matter to you, does it?”

Shit. He had fucked this up so completely and so quickly that he wasn’t sure exactly where it had gone wrong. He looked up to find you twisted around to stare over your pool, your knees still tight to your chest, your hand visibly gripping your chair for dear life. He breathed out your name, but you just shook your head.

“No, I get it,” you said. “You’re here to do a job. Because I pay you to do it. I understand. Consider me put in my place.” Your hand not holding the chair swiped furiously at your face, wiping away a few stray tears that fell down your cheek. You took a deep breath. “I’d like you to go away now.” 

He stood up, wanting to give you what you asked, but he just couldn’t seem to pull himself away from you. He wanted to reach out to you, touch you, give you some sort of comfort, but what fucking right did he have to do that? 

“Curtis, please,” your broken whisper was what it finally took to get him to move. He paused at the glass door back into the house. He wanted to say something, but he had no idea what. So finally, he ducked his head and went back into the house. 

He tried to pass through as quickly as he could, but when he walked by Michelle, she started, “Hey, how’d it g–”

“I need a fucking minute,” he growled out. 

He slammed out the front door of your house and began to pace behind your privacy fence. What the fuck had happened? It wasn’t supposed to go like that. He should’ve been able to set professional boundaries without feeling like he was tearing his own heart out. He’d done it before, countless jobs and assignments, where he’d drawn lines and it’d been expected and appreciated. It’d never hurt like this. No job he’d had had ever been this messy, this difficult, this all-consuming. 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? His mind was always here, always on the job. He thought about you all the time. He worried about you constantly. You were always on his mind. My god, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say–

He froze next to your gate. No. No no no no no. Absolutely not. He could not. That– That was not possible. He started to walk again. Now that he’d let it in, this goddamn intrusive thought just got bigger and bigger as he paced around until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

He was in love with you.

What a fucking disaster. He almost laughed. And he’d worried he couldn’t properly protect you when he thought you might be friends. He was completely fucking compromised now. He should quit. He needed to quit. He should quit. He should quit. He should quit. 

But the idea of leaving you hurt even worse than he already did. You weren’t ok. It was obvious. And even though he had no idea how to help you, he couldn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t do that. Not ever. Not until you asked him to leave. Which you eventually would. Of course, you would. What could he possibly offer you when you already had all this? But he would stay until that moment. As pathetic as it was, he didn’t think he could do anything else.

The gate opened and he had to scramble to get out of the way of the car that drove in. It stopped on the driveway next to him and the driver’s side window rolled down. Jensen leaned out. “Hey man, you okay?”

Curtis just stared at him for a moment before he got his bearings. “I’m fine.”

Jensen looked at him skeptically. “You sure?”

“I’m fine, Jake!” he gritted out. Without giving Jensen time to respond, he continued, “I’ll meet you inside. I want to go over the exit plan for her appearance tomorrow.”

“Again?” Jensen asked.

“Yes, again. We need to be prepared.”

Jensen gave him a look and sat back. “Yeah, sure whatever you say,” then finally began driving to the back of the house.

Curtis put his head in his hands. He felt so fucking transparent. Everyone must know. Looking back, it felt so incredibly obvious. But no one had said anything. You certainly hadn’t, so he was hopefully safe there. 

He took a deep breath. This was fine. He’d tamp it down. He’d ignore it. He’d do his fucking job. He began walking up the path back to your front door. He’d be there when you needed him and that would be enough.

It’d be enough.

Taglist is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @drabblewithfrannybarnes @thezombieprostitute @before-we-get-started

[grandlinedreams]

Hey hey hey! Your writing captures these characters in ways that I could never. I’ve had this idea wracking my brain, of Ace as a mechanic for some reason- but, hear me out. The shop owner is Whitebeard, and Ace meets Pops daughter when she comes in to help out one day at the shop not knowing who she is, and I honestly think you can bring this vision to life.

Thank-you, it really is an honor to hear that and I appreciate it!! But also BESTIE UR BRAIN MWAH MWAH MWAH that is SUCH a good concept and I hope that I can do it justice!!

[Heads up!: mechanic!au, afab!reader/gendered terms]

ㅡ

It's sheer luck that lands Ace the job. He's been looking for a while now, desperate to land something that pays more than pocket change an hour because even with Sabo and Luffy also employed, they've been barely making ends meet.

He won't tell them that though, swipes bills out of Sabo's hand before his brother can even open them. "Not your job to worry about it," he tells him when Sabo glares. "It's mine."

He doesn't want them to have to worry about things like that, not when Sabo's found a good balance in college and Luffy's finally considering college at all. So when he finds the ad for the position while aimlessly scrolling through one of the many job application sites, he offers up a plea to whatever god might be listening and applies.

And he gets an interview.

The shop, aptly titled 'Whitebeard Mechanics' is surprisingly in the nicer end of town, situated at the very edge just before the road leads into the sprawling heart of stores and gated communities.

The smell of motor oil is what he catches first, the muffled sound of voices overlapping from an open garage bay and undercut by the whirr of machinery.

"Are you Ace?" He pivots to find the speaker watching him, a man with an interesting cut of blond hair and blue eyes that evaluate him in a way that makes Ace's nerves all the worse. When he nods, the man holds a hand out. "I'm Marco, co-owner of the shop."

"Nice to meet you," Ace says, shaking his hand. Marco's grip is firm, his fingers calloused and seemingly permanently stained with axel grease.

"Pops is waiting for you," Marco says, jerking his head for Ace to follow him into the main building. There's a waiting area with worn chairs and a coffee machine set onto a wheeled storage cabinet, the only decor that of a tropical plant in the corner. "He's in his office."

Ace follows his gesture, a door with a shiny gold plaque that labels it as such and swallows, moving towards it. Steeling himself with a breath, Ace steps inside.

The man sitting behind the desk is Edward "Pops" Newgate ㅡ or at least that's what the little desk tag says, and Ace can tell that the older man would tower over him if he stood. 

"You must be Ace," he greets, gesturing to the plush chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat." 

Ace does so, hands resting on his knees to hide the nervous tremor of them as he watches the other man rifle through a folder ㅡ his application.

"Your references are acceptable," Pops says, and tosses his folder down. "Background checks out, no criminal history…" He leans forward, staring at Ace over steepled fingers. "But why do you want the job?"

Ace blinks. The threat of my brothers and I going homeless and hungry is a great motivator, he wants to say, but he doesn't. Instead he thinks for a moment, shaping his words carefully. 

By the time he's done, Pops is smiling. "Congratulations," he says, "you've got the job." 

ㅡ 

Settling into his new job is surprisingly easy. There's a natural camaraderie when there's no hierarchy to be found ㅡ and friendship comes naturally.

So it's to be expected when Ace comes into work and stops by one of the garage bays, he makes a beeline for the pair of familiar boots sticking out from beneath the undercarriage of a vintage car. 

"Marco," he says as he approaches and knocks his own boot against the one closest to him. "You should come out with me and my brothers for drinks sometime." 

He expects the blond to answer and when he doesn't, Ace frowns and nudges his boot again before stepping back when the dolly begins to roll from underneath the car.

It's only then that he realizes that the boots are not Marco's, and the person on the dolly is not his friend. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't kick my feet while I'm working."

Ace stares for all of thirty seconds before his mouth starts working again. "You're a girl," he says and immediately kicks himself for both how dumb he sounds and how your eyes narrow. "I ㅡ no, I just mean ㅡ I've never met you before."

"It's because she only shows up when she wants to," answers Thatch from behind him, and he watches you roll your eyes and scrub a hand against a smear of oil on your cheek as you get up from the dolly. 

"More like whenever dad decides he wants me to come in and lend a hand," you huff, taking the towel that Thatch hands you to wipe your hands off before you turn towards Ace. "So you're the new guy, huh?" 

"Yeah, I'm Ace," he says, mentally patting himself on the back for not stuttering. Your eyes flick over him, assessing him with a curious gleam to your eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Ace. I'm [Name]." Your attention shifts to Thatch as you clap him on the shoulder and begin walking away with him. "Please tell me dad hasn't killed that plant in the lobby while I've been gone." 

Watching you go, it's only then that Ace registers that you've called Pops dad.

ㅡ 

"So…is Pops really your dad?" 

Weeks worth of tentative exchange and working together has afforded him the chance to eat lunch with you when you're at the shop and with the way you look at him over your sandwich, it's clear that you still think he's a little strange. 

"It's what it says on my birth certificate," you answer, and Ace catches himself watching the movement of your mouth as you talk, hurriedly averting his gaze before you can call him out. "Most of the guys are like brothers to me since I've grown up around them. Dad has a habit of pseudo-adopting the people who work for him." 

He knows that well, the parental warmth with which Pops has a way of talking to him making him try not to think about his actual parents. It doesn't matter, not when he has Sabo and Luffy. 

"And what about me?" The question is out of his mouth before he can stop it. "Am I a brother to you?" 

For one horrifying moment, you stare at him as though he's grown two heads ㅡ and then you laugh. Not mocking, not teasing, a full bodied genuine laugh that Ace swears sounds better than anything else he's ever heard. 

"You're still the newbie," you say, but your tone is colored with affection even as you raise an eyebrow. "Thought you already had brothers."

"I do," Ace answers. He's mentioned them to you a couple of times, entertained the idea of introducing you ㅡ and then immediately scrapped it for fear of the resulting potential disaster. 

But he wants to know where he stands with you, aware that his own feelings for you are a little deeper than just that of coworkers. He's also aware that his boss is your father, and that there are a thousand ways this could go very, very wrong. 

Doesn't stop him from wanting to try, though. And it gives him hope for the fact that you're not immediately writing him off, compelling him to continue, "Let me take you out on a date." 

Of all the things you'd expected Ace to follow that up with, asking you out is not one of them. It's rare that anyone isn't spooked off by your circle of pseudo-brothers, and even rarer still that they don't tuck tail and run when your father is involved. 

You should say no. You should make it clear that there's a boundary not meant to be crossed, even without the fact that your father is his boss. But you can't deny that he's grown on you, with his spatter of freckles and loud laugh, a magnetic charm that draws people to him, yourself included. 

"Okay," you say, surprising both him and yourself. "But you better not disappoint me, pretty boy." 

Ace grins. "Wouldn't dream of it." 

[millie-multifics]

Though I Yearn • Part 2

Masters of the Air

Secret Admirer x Reader

A string of anonymous letters causes a stir at Thorpe Abbotts. Who could be the author of the tender correspondence you have been receiving?

Warnings: Reader is a “Red Cross Girl”, cringe flirting, alcohol consumption

Word Count: ~1.1k

Masterlist Previous Next

x x x

The pub was loud. The small space was filled to the brim with American and British soldiers, a few locals sprinkled in the mix. Men cheered as they gambled, the smell of beer and stronger liquor filled the air while cigarette smoke created a haze. You needed some fresh air, your senses becoming momentarily overwhelmed.

You lay your hand on Helen’s arm to pull her attention away from the gossip the other ladies were sharing, “I am going to get some air.”

“Are you sure you are alright?” She asked, still skeptical as you had seemed for distracted the past few weeks.

“Of course, just need some air.”

The letter had been on your mind, the possability of who may have written had been consuming your thoughts just as they claimed you had been consuming theirs. Every time the mail was delivered you waited patiently, hoping that maybe another anonymous letter would arrive. The message had seemed sweet so you were not concerned with ill intention, just curious as to whom it could be.

The fresh air felt good against your skin, the warm air in the pub had made you feel clammy. You leaned against the wall, your eyes fluttering closed as your fingers traced the grooves in the old brick. The street was quiet, only a small bit of noise emitting from the pub and a few passing cars. The sound of boots stumbling out of the pub had you opening your eyes, your brow furrowed as your easily recognized the navigator as he stepped into the light.

“Bubbles?” You were concerned, he did not seem like the type to overconsume. “Are you alright?”

He looked as clammy as you had previously felt, fatigue weighing down his limbs as you approached. “Not feeling too hot, calling my night early.”

You nodded, “Would you like me to walk back with you?”

“I should be alright, enjoy your night ma’am.”

When you returned to the pub, the table that you had previously occupied was empty, the ladies scatttered around in their own conversations. You were thankful that for a moment Helen wouldn’t have the chance to treat you like you were a fragile egg. Though you enjoyed the quiet of sitting alone for a moment, it was interupted much too soon by James Douglass, a man you were not to keen on as he stood across the table with his much more tolerable friend, Everett Blakely.

“You look a little lonely over here, mind if we sit?”

You nearly glared at the bombardiers audacity, but managed to keep it at bay. “If I say yes, I am making it clear now that I will not be interested in anything other than just a friendly chat, ever.”

“That has been taken into consideration.” His body fell into the opposing chair, his friend taking the other much more gracfully. “So what has got you so blue?”

You huffed, leaning your chin on your hand as you thought. “The English rain.”

He sent you a questioning look, eyebrow raised with skepticism. “But it ain’t raining.”

You cross the man off the mental list of potential authors, eyes landing on the quiet pilot who seemed to be hiding a smirk behind lighting a cigarette. You wondered if maybe the Pilot could be the mysterious author, but you figured you did not know the man well enough to make an informed decision. Though, you would not mind if he was the culprit as he was quite handsome.

James glanced around the pub, his eyes briefly pausing on the group of Red Cross ladies that had accumulated in the corner, more so one in particular. “Listen, I would like to make an exchange. Your friend-“

“Helen?”

“Can you put in a good word for me?” He borderline begged, trying his best attempt at ‘puppy dog’ eyes.

“Is he always this desperate?” You asked the pilot, who merely just shrugged at his friends dog antics. “What is the exchange?”

“A dance. You were sitting here looking terribly alone before I sat down.”

“You are an asshole, you know that?” You scoffed, your arms crossing over your chest as you leaned back against the chair to get a broader view of the men in front of you.

“Are you sweet on her or are you just interested in being a ‘gentle’ man?”

Your callback to your first encounter on arrival day had his reassuring smile resembling more of a grimace, knowing that if he lied to you would likely just tell him off.

“You are insufferable, but fine. My word is only going to be as strong as this proposition was.”

He seemed to accept your response as he stood from the chair, straightening the ends of his jacket before offering his hand to you. “The dance floor awaits.”

As you accepted the outstretched hand you turned to the pilot being left on his lonesome. “Have a good night, Lieutenant Blakely.”

You sent Douglass a playful yet stern glare as he led you through the crowded pub, causing you to bump shoulders with many of the men who were trying to enjoy their evening. When you reached a large enough clearning in the crowd he stopped, twirling you until you were face to face. “No funny business, hands stay above the waist… and no touching any bits and bobs above that either.”

The hand he was about to place on your backside quickly corrected itself to rest on your spine, “Cross my heart and swear to die.”

Soon it was time to stumble back to Thorpe Abbotts, all the men and women eager to rest their tired heads unknowing that they would be woken in just a few short hours to prepare for another tirade. You would have missed it in the darkness of the billet if the moon had not been shining through the small window above your bed. The white envelope propped against your pillow, only your name sprawled across the front in pen, identical to the previous letter you had recieved. As the other ladies peacefully slept, you sat under the moonlight with more questions than ever running through your head.

“I yearn to approach you so freely, take you into my arms for a dance and confess my admiration. Though I yearn, I cannot allow myself to taint such a beautiful flower and so I stay, watching from a far as you dance in the arms of another.”

x x x

Tags: @canyousmelltheflowers

I’m glad you are enjoying this one so far ❤️❤️@jointherebellion215 @gretagerwigsmuse

[cursedseabunny]

Jaune and Woomy (New Designs)

Updated Jaune and Woomy's look cause I didn't like they're old designs, now Jaune actually looks like a Searchlight lmao-

(Same lore from the old ref blog with some updated stuff:)

Classification: Z-??? [Juvenile Vultus Limunaria] Nickname given: "Jaune" Gender identification: Female [She/her] Size: 6ft Status: Alive

Classification: Z-SQ-V-13 Nickname given: "Woomy/Wom" Gender identification: Non-Binary/Masc leaning [It/It's/He] Size: 3ft Status: Alive

She was a juvenile Searchlight who was forcibly taken into the foundation for experiments. Combined Human dna for intelligence and axolotl dna to keep her alive and durable for tests. Was made as a life form to communicate with the other creatures in Urbanshade under the water so that scientist didn't have to and risk their lives.

She has a shop set up right after the Searchlight Grand encounter. She likes the Searchlight there because "It protects me from the scary scientist men" She always has medkits and batteries, but the other items vary. "Shocked yourself? Here take a kit, but it's gonna cost you..." She stays in a pool of water in the middle of the room, the floor looks cracked and the body of water under her seems to go very deep. She can access Sebastian's room to get supplies or have a chat with him. If her room is found during an underwater section, her whole room is also underwater and she's in the middle of it where you can see her whole body

Her and Sebastian have a sibling like relationship, younger sister to older brother kind. She'll lightly flash him with her eyes just to mess with him

She has a Squiddle friend named Woomy who holds the keycard to the next room. "Hmm? Oh him? That's Woomy, he don't like lights much but he's super sweet, wouldn't hurt a fly" Woomy hides in a dark corner only really visible due to it's purple eyes.

Reactions to being flashed by the Flash Beacon: [She has a very low chance to just straight up kill the player instantly, but that chance raises each flash] *blinks* "... I can do that too, you're not special..." *blinks* "... rude..." *blinks* "I give you items and this is the thanks I get?" *instantly uses her 5 eyes to flash back brighter, stunning the player for 5 seconds* [BADGE EARNED: Hydrogen Light Vs Coughing Beacon] "Think fast chuckle nuts!" *Flashes the player* *after 5 flashes:* "Ok you can stop now" "Knock it off" "I'll kill you, don't test me"

Sebastian comments after being killed by Jaune: (handing the file) "Well what'd you think was gonna happen?" "She warned you" "Dang, not even a warning?" *Chuckles* (Instantly killed after 1 flash) *Holding back laughter* "You REALLY don't learn do you?" (If flashed Sebastian earlier and lived/Death coined after being killed by him) "Guess you didn't think fast"

(Closing file) "Guess she wasn't in a good mood huh?" (Instantly killed after 1 flash) "That wasn't the Brightest idea, was it?" *Chuckles* "Even after what I did... you still insist on doing that to others..." (If flashed Sebastian earlier and lived/Death coined after being killed by him) "Maybe don't flash the only people trying to help, hmm?" (If flashed Sebastian earlier and lived/Death coined after being killed by him) "Epic light battles of history, Hydrogen Light Vs Coughing Beacon!"

Jaune kills the player by stabbing them with her hooks/harpoons and drags them underwater where she stays, she doesn't say anything, just makes an angry Searchlight noise. But if her shop is underwater, she's still grab the player with the harpoons and then slam them on to the wall. She'll also steal the intercom thing from Sebastian while players are waiting in the Submarine bay and say various things: [Jaune] [Sebastian] -"Jaune- JAUNE GIV-" "LET'S GO GAMBLING WOOOO" -"What are you-" "Mods, Pandemonium room 30 this Expendable" -"You can't keep m- *Rustling* Wait Jaune- stop-" "Oh look at me, I'm Sebby Shoelace, I'm an edgy little- *THUNK* OW-" -"I've come to make an announcement, Urbanshade is a... *whisper* What do you mean I can't finish this reference?"

[arctrooper69]

🎊 Congratulations on the milestone!! 🎊

Your writing sparks so much joy, you deserve every single follower (and the many more yet to come!) 😄

I'd like to drop a request for Kix (beloved..), from the hurt/comfort prompts:

"How long did you think you could hide that?" + "I'm sorry you had to see me like that."

And if I may be so bold, reader is the one chastising him? 👀

Thank you so so much for your love and encouragement ❤️❤️❤️ I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to write this! I realize it's been in my inbox for several months now but here it is! I hope you enjoy!

ALSO... I loved this prompt so much and had a similar idea for an OC of mine, so there will be a Kix x OC version of this as well!

Prompt #20: "How long did you think you could hide that?"

Prompt #26: "I'm sorry you had to see me like that."

Beta-read by the amazing @staycalmandhugaclone

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Busy, Busy

Kix is stubborn. He's ways taken care of everybody else. Maybe it's time you took care of him.

Warnings: Mentions of sickness and injury.

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The med bay on the Resolute was quiet for once - not that Kix would ever say that aloud. He didn't want to jinx anything. Every healthcare worker knew that once that Q-word was uttered, all hell would be soon to break loose - a silly superstition, but one that had been proven true time and time again. Kix, however, did not have time to prove or disprove anything like that. He was just glad that none of his co-workers were here to tell him off for being so careless. Especially you.

He must've been allergic to something down on the planet they'd just been on. It was stupid, really - clones weren't supposed to get sick or have allergies.

I'm supposed to be better than this. Kix thought miserably. Yet here he was - snivelling like a child, sinuses so clogged that it felt like his head was in a bubble, and he was so damn tired.

Kriff... if it wasn't for this karking brain fog, maybe he wouldn't have slipped off the loading dock like that - landing on his side among boxes of medical supplies that he just now finished cleaning up.

The med-droid on duty stood quietly in the corner, ready to be turned on should an emergency arise but Kix quickly passed it by, opting to take care of himself in secret.

He groaned quietly, holding his side as he reached for the bacta at the back of the cold-storage unit. He grimaced, gingerly palpating his side with practiced fingers. Nothing felt broken, that was good. Just bruised. Nothing he could really do for bruised ribs. Maybe that was for the best. Kix still had a lot of work to do - reports to file, miles of inventory to catalog, and two med-droids to repair. Just some bacta for the pain and stiffness and maybe a stim for good measure - that would keep him afloat long enough to get all this shit together. Kix was short staffed, very short staffed. You had just finished up a triple, going on quadruple shift when he'd ordered you to get some rest.

"Makes no sense having a sleep deprived medic on the field, not to mention how dangerous that is," he'd scolded, now internally wincing at his own hypocritical actions just hours later.

But you're a clone. You can take a lot more than any nat-born. He nodded to himself, scrambling to find any justification for his actions.

"Alright," he grumbled, "quit stalling, Kix. You've got work to do. Then you can sleep."

He settled down in the small office behind the medbay, bacta on his ribs, a stim in his system, and a large cup of caf in hand - not the best combination, but it would work for the time being.

***

It seemed like only minutes had passed when the door slid open with a hiss. Kriff. He knew it was you despite the boxes of medical supplies that blocked his view and the stacks of datapads littering his desk. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, and stood up. He gripped the edge of the desk as a wave of vertigo nearly brought him to his knees.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he grunted out, surprising himself with the way the rough edges of his voice seemed to grate against the dryness of his throat. "I lost track of time."

He heard you shift and lean against the doorway. "That's alright. I figured that's what happened." The tone of your voice did not match the carefree understanding conveyed by your words.

You knew something was wrong.

Kix winced quietly as he eased himself back into his chair. Staying seated and unmoving was the best way for his side to heal up on its own. It was better for you not to see him. Until he could finish these reports, it was better he keep to himself.

"You wanna join me for breakfast?"

Breakfast!? It couldn't be time for breakfast yet. Maybe you'd just woken up early. Very early.

"Kix?" Your voice startled him from his thought-drifting fatigue.

"Huh?"

"I asked you if you wanted to join me for breakfast."

This time the worry in your voice was apparent and Kix felt his heart sink. The last thing he wanted to do was worry you.

"I'm really busy. Another time maybe."

"Kix...

"Your shift doesn't start for another three hours. You shouldn't be here." He snapped.

"Uhh...actually it starts in half an hour," you responded slowly. "Yours on the other hand, was supposed to be over like six hours ago. What are you still doing here?" The question was laced with the same sharpness he'd just directed towards you.

"Quinn called out. Their kid is sick." He spoke of the civilian contractor they'd been assigned.

The black and gold zabrak made a great medtech but, between various other assignments and six children, their appearances in his medbay were few and far between.

"So... you're going on four shifts in a row now?"

Kix grunted. He wished you would stop asking him questions. Talking made his throat feel as though he'd swallowed the general's lighsaber. "I'm fine."

"When was the last time you ate? Or slept!?"

He shrugged absentmindedly, concentrating on the datapad in front of him when it was suddenly snatched from his hand.

"Hey!" His head snapped up, glaring at his fellow medic who met it with an equally annoyed fire in her eyes.

"Give it back!" Kix made a grab for it but was suddenly and painfully reminded of his aching ribs. He collapsed back down into his chair with a defeated hiss of pain at the way the muscles balked at the tension. The movement took his breath away for a moment.

"Kix!" Your surprised cry pounded through his head as you dropped to your knees beside him, eyes widening as you thoroughly surveyed him for the first time since stepping into the room.

"Oh Kix..." you shook your head, reaching for a handheld scanner. He watched with heavy, lidded eyes as you swept the scanner over him slowly and methodically.

You set down the scanner with a sigh, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Kix, what happened!? Your shift was supposed to end at 2300 hours! You need to go to bed!"

Kix rolled his eyes. Only a few more things to do and then he'd gladly follow your direction.

"Relax, I'll just be a few more minutes! It's only -" he paused, looking at the chrono around his wrist. It read 0725. "Oh."

"Yeah."

He winced at your deadpanned tone. "Sorry. I guess I lost track of time."

"I'll say." You placed the datapad back onto the desk but didn't remove your hand. "You didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"What the hell happened to you!? You look awful, you sound like your entire head is clogged, and you've got two cracked ribs!"

Oh. Cracked. Not bruised.

He opened his mouth to respond just as one of the datapads let out a beep. You frowned and put a hand up, cutting off yet another desperately fabricated excuse. "And don't tell me Quinn called out. You just got a message from the Admiral asking you why you canceled Quinn's shift."

He sighed defeatedly, suppressing a wince at the twinge of pain in his side. He didn't meet your eyes. "I fell."

"You...fell!?" you questioned, sounding a bit incredulous. "When? How?!" He'd seemed fine when he'd ordered you to take off.

"'Bout an hour after you left," he admitted. "Must've been allergic to something in the dust planetside. I was unloading some supplies, got dizzy, and fell off the loading dock."

"And how long did you think you could hide that?" Your voice had once again taken on that scolding tone which for some reason made him feel both guilty and proud. You'd been a timid shiny when he first met you. Now here you were, taking charge of the situation with an air of authority and sass he likened to one of his generals. He shrugged.

"As long as it took to finish all of this." He motioned to the cluttered desk, immediately regretting the movement causing his ribs to tense painfully again.

Your eyes were piercing - full of concern and disbelief. "Why are you acting like everything is fine!?" you snapped, suddenly angry at his seemingly unphased attitude.

He didn't answer.

You shook your head. “Why didn’t you call me, Kix? If I’d known you weren’t feeling well, I could’ve at least helped you with the work!”

Kix didn't blame you. He'd probably have reacted the same way if he were in your shoes. He looked away.

"I just... I didn't want you to see me like this." he muttered softly. He sounded hoarse and miserable.

You sighed. "Let me get this right....You didn't want me - a medic - to see you sick and injured? So you - also a medic, who should know better, might I add - decided to hide it from everyone so that you could get your work done!? You sent away our best medtech so that you wouldn't be bothered by them realizing something was wrong!?"

Kix frowned. It did sound bad when you put it all out like that.

"Guess that sounds about right."

You stared at him. "That was really dumb, Kix."

"Yeah."

You sighed. "How long has it been since you've eaten anything?"

Kix thought back. When was the last time he'd eaten? His stomach revolted with just the thought. There was no way he'd be able to eat anything right now.

"I...I don't know," he admitted, not meeting your eyes.

You sighed. "Okay, come on. I'm gonna go get you something to eat."

He shook his head, resting it in the palms of his hands, rubbing his eyes. You were right about one thing, he was exhausted. But duty came first.

"I can't. I have so much to do." He nodded to the screen of his datapad. It was full of messages, requests, reports, and a number of reminders and meeting invitations flashed across the screen.

You laid your hand on his shoulder.

"Just humor me, please. Eat something, take a nap - "

Kix shoved your hand from his shoulder, then instantly regretted the action. Maker, if his ribs weren't killing him, he could just scream. All he wanted to do was sleep. But he had work to do. Why couldn't you understand that? He knew he was irritable but his rude reaction towards you - his friend - flooded him with even more guilt.

"I can't! I just can't! Admiral Yularen needs these reports in by tonight and I'm only halfway through them because I got interrupted by General Skywalker needing additional information for the next mission, so I spent two hours tracking that down, come to find out it was all for nothing because the kriffing Jedi council decided to send them elsewhere."

He took a gasping breath. Fire burned through his side, igniting a feral panic that gripped his chest with an icy grasp. His ribs were screaming. His head felt as though he’d been forced beneath the rabid jaws of Kaminoan ocean waves - descending ever downwards, pressure rising in painful crescendos. His hands were shaking and he couldn't make them stop.

"Hey! Kix, hey!" Gentle pressure pulled him from his spiral with a grounding hand rubbing circles on his back. Concern clouded your face as you knelt beside him.

"Breathe, Kix. I need you to breathe."

"Can't," he panted.

"I know," you responded evenly, holding an oxygen mask to his nose and mouth. "Just do the best you can."

"No!" He swatted the mask from your hand. He really had to get this done. Just a little while longer, then he'd rest - then he'd let you do whatever you needed to do.

You pursed your lips looking at the delirious medic in front of you.

"You know, I really didn't want to have to do this but I - "

Kix rolled his eyes, unconsciously gripping the oxygen to his face as he took another short, gasping breath. He knew what you'd say next. It was the same thing he'd say to Captain Rex, or even General Skywalker when they fought him on coming to the medbay.

"Are you really gonna pull the medic rank card on me?" He interrupted.

"Do I have to?" You looked pointedly at him. You were annoyed, yes, but you were also concerned. He knew you'd seen dying patients with more life in their eyes than he currently did.

He looked down at the long list of tasks he had yet to do and sighed in defeat. "No. I guess not."

"Good."

He couldn't identify the look on your face as he allowed you to lead him to a bed. Your hand lingered on his arm for a moment too long as you delivered a sedative into his veins. But for some reason he didn't mind.

"Don't worry, Kix." you said softly as you watched his eyes flutter shut. "You're safe. I'll take it from here."

Kix allowed himself to succumb to the peaceful allure of sleep even as your words echoed through his brain. "Let me take care of you, you stupid, beautiful, stubborn man."

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@zoeykallus @ttzamara @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @viva-la-whump @thrawns-teef-weef @dumpsters-little-matchbook @nekotaetae @ladykatakuri @loverofclones @heyitsaloy @padawancat97 @jambolska-grozdova @flyingkangaroo @melymigo @rain-on-kamino @jiabae @my-own-oracle @dragonrider9905 @queenofspades6 @ordinarylokix @jupitersaturnapollo @queencousland101 @vampire-rouge @southernbaguette @staycalmandhugaclone @dalu-grantkylo @dangraccoon @aconstructofamind @blueink-bluesoul @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @atomickidsoul @caitnotfound @temmiegailg @skellymom @freesia-writes

If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Steve Harrington is used to suffering in silence.

Steve conditioned himself to stay quiet when he gets hurt. It doesn't matter it he stubs his toe on a chair, gets punched or has his flesh eaten by vampiric bats. He will just suck in his breath and grit his teeth. If others don't worry, neither does he.

Steve doesn't cry. He feels the bitterness rising in his throat, but he takes a deep breath and swallows, once, twice, clenches his fists until he can breathe again. Eventually his tears simply won't fall anymore. He wonders if he's even human anymore, he just feels numb and hollow.

He searches for a genuine connection and cannot find it, but he can't blame the girls. They all like him well enough when they start dating, but he can't relax, can't let them in, and eventually they notice he's not really there. They push, prod, blame or try to help, but it doesn't matter how they approach him. He can't tell them what happened to him, can't tell them why he can only sleep with a light on, why he checks all doors and windows before going to sleep. So they part ways and Steve knows he's broken, another failed relationship to prove it.

Steve does exactly what is needed when others break down. He allows others to grieve, takes on their responsibilities. While Dustin screams and cries, while Robin chokes out a sob and nearly throws up, Steve kneels over Eddie's lifeless body and performs CPR. He yells at Nancy to start a fire, cauterizes Eddie's wounds to stop the bleeding - if he ever wakes up, but then he does, takes a breath, two, winces in pain. His pulse is weak but present and Steve, still unsteady on his feet after being choked by the vines in the Creel house, cradles Eddie close, lifting him up.

Steve doesn't break down at the hospital when the nurses attempt to reject treating Eddie. He uses his family's influence and threats of legal action ("try to justify letting an innocent man die based on a rumor to my family's lawyers. I dare you") and doesn't leave's Eddie's side, distrustful of the doctors. He is quiet when his wounds start bleeding again from the exertion, he grabs some gauze and presses it against his sides, only taking a sharp breath. He doesn't let anyone touch him, not until Eddie is stabilized. And even then, he demands to stay in the same room with Eddie, not bothering to hide the disdain for the nurse and the glances the doctors exchange now and then.

Steve doesn't dare to sleep. He won't accept anesthesia to have his wounds cleaned and checked. He feels it all, even when the doctors try to numb his pain, and he's gritting his teeth, not letting a sound through - what if they drug him? What if he stops being vigilant for a few crucial minutes, what if he isn't there to save Eddie again and this time it will be too late? He grasps the edge of Eddie's bed and wills himself to stay conscious as the disinfectant stings his bared flesh.

When the doctors finally declare Eddie as stable as possible and force Steve to rest, he doesn't comply until they give in and add one bed to Eddie's room. Steve keeps pinching his hand until it's red and swollen, keeps his exhaustion at bay. He watches the steady rise and fall of Eddie's chest and thinks that maybe if he doesn't close his eyes, the breathing won't stop. The heartbeat won't fade, not this this time.

Steve Harrington is used to suffering in silence and not asking for anything for himself. But when Robin, Nancy and Dustin finally barge in, disregarding the nurse's orders, he doesn't even need to say anything. As Dustin checks on Eddie and babbles rushed thank yous to Steve, as Robin grasps his hand and checks his wounds, Nancy pulls a chair to the corner of the room, facing the door and grasping the handgun in her purse. She smiles at Steve, small and pained, but a smile nevertheless. "Thank you for watching over him, Steve. Max is stabilized too, Lucas is with her. We'll take over now. Go to sleep."

Steve falls asleep, his hand warm in Robin's, knowing that Eddie is protected, that he can let go for a moment. As he feels his body being enveloped by the softness of the bed, he has a brief realization - it doesn't matter if he's quiet when he suffers. With friends like these, he doesn't need to say anything, he doesn't need to scream in pain to be cared for. Not when Robin doesn't leave his side and has a bottle of water and some light food ready for when he needs it, when Nancy's sharp eyes never leave the door and when Dustin body blocks Callahan trying to arrest still unconscious Eddie. With friends like these, maybe he isn't broken after all.

And he gets the proof that he is indeed still human when Eddie wakes up and his first words after blinking and adjusting to the hospital light are "wow, you look like shit, Harrington." Because Steve lets out a sob and hey, are these tears? Probably not, because tears never felt this good, but something in Steve shifts, glues itself back together and he's whole again, he's himself and maybe with friends like these, he is unbreakable.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Teaser! GOH: Chapter Twenty

Gates Of Hell

A/N: So much has happened in my life lately that I've had absolutely no time to write, much less even think about my fics. I've missed writing and even though I'm in a serious creative rut right now, I have a little something to keep us going until I can finish the next chapter. Thank you again for the love and the patience x

Chapter Twenty: Friend Or Foe, Part I

He can’t stop replaying that moment in his head.

“I’m gonna turn any minute now.” You place your hands on his cheeks, making sure he was listening to your every word. “And I don’t want my last memory to be crossing back into our home knowing I won’t make it 5 steps before the virus kills me. Okay? So, you’re gonna go through the gate and you’re not ever gonna look back. Please. Don’t come back for me.”

“I can’t-” He cries and you bring his forehead down to touch yours, nodding.

“I know.” You whisper, leaning forward to leave a feather-light kiss on his lips.

His eyes are still closed when you lean back, studying him one last time.

“Which is why I’m sorry.”

Steve’s eyes snap open just in time to watch your hands find his chest and shove him as hard as you can, his body ripping through the gate faster than he can experience.

His back hits solid concrete, making him groan. It takes a second for him to blink away the dots in his vision, slowly sitting up. He can see your figure clearly, your sad eyes, the smile gracing your lips.

And then the gate starts to sew itself shut.

Your words are stuck on a never-ending loop, the bittersweet memory of your voice floating past his ears every morning he awoke since he lost you. It replays because his subconscious wants to torture him, remind him of everything he could have done but never did.

If he had just opened his eyes. If he had opened his eyes, you wouldn’t be trapped in the upside down. If he had opened his eyes, Jonathan Byers would still be alive.

The ceiling he stared at never crushed him like he wanted it to every time he woke up to the realisation he was a failure. He couldn’t do anything right. Everyone around him would be better off if the murky grey ceiling caved in and buried him under its rubble.

And yet even with all his silent prayers, the building stayed steady, and he was forced to push himself out of bed and face the reality. He messed up, twice. And now everyone else had to pay for it.

Just as he pulled a shirt over his head, a drone of voices could be heard from the living room. He cracks open his door, Hopper’s rough words echoing loud.

“They’re forcing us to leave.”

Steve sobered up fast, quickly and quietly descending the staircase and rounding the corner to a view of, well, everyone. Hopper must have called everyone in for a meeting. Everyone but him.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, ignoring the looks from the Party. They always greeted him with such pity now, sorrow lacing their features like he was a kicked puppy that needed cheering up.

“Just in time.” Hopper greets, running a hand down his face. “The military are expanding the quarantine.”

“When?” Steve crossed his arms, frowning.

“Tomorrow morning.” Hopper sighs and Steve’s heart sinks. “Unfortunately for us, we’re close to the danger zone already. They want us packed up by tonight or…”

“Or?” Nancy prompts. Steve notices the worn expression she tries to mask, another shot at his chest. Losing Jonathan was sucking away her life force. And he did that to her.

“Or they’re forcing us out of here.” He says grimly, a few scattered mutters filling the silence. “They’ve tried keeping the monsters at bay but it’s a losing battle. I tried arguing, but they’re not looking for opinions. They’re doing a full sweep of the danger zone borders and moving everyone out. Our hands are tied.”

“What if we hide?” Dustin suggests, nodding wildly. His friends nod too, but with less conviction.

“Not that easy.” Hopper tightens his lips. “Our last search attempts for food have been failures. We won’t have enough rations to keep going even if we found a way to avoid the quarantine. The infestation is beyond our control without those gates. We’ll have to… give up.”

His eyes wander down to the map displayed on the table in front of him, staring at the crossed out circles of missed opportunities. The watergates, as the young boy had dubbed. And the pattern you found even when all hope felt lost.

“But we can’t find those gates if we’re not… here.” Dustin deflates as gravity pulls him back down to the suggestion in Hopper’s words. “We won’t find Y/n if we’re not here.”

“We can’t find her anyway.” Robin mutters, folding her arms tighter against her chest. Steve sends a startled look her way, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. He understands why she must be so bitter, losing her best friend like that- her only friend, as she had reminded him before. But he didn’t expect her to be this cold, even if it’s taking longer to find you than anticipated.

“I’m going to give the search one more shot.” Hopper announces, running a hand down his face. He clearly hadn’t slept, tone too low, his body slumping against the table as he fought against exhaustion. “If there are no rations left for us, we’ll have to pack up and leave with the rest of them. I can lead the search if no one wants to-”

“I’ll do it.” Steve steps forward, surprised expressions adorning everyone’s faces. Steve hadn’t left the house since they lost Jonathan, and he had made no suggestion until now that he was ready to do that.

“Kid-” Hopper begins with a sigh, but Steve shakes his head.

“It’s supposed to be my turn anyway.” She shrugs, ignoring his bubbling fits of anxiety growing in his stomach. “No point sending too many people out in case it is a lost cause.”

“You can’t go alone.” He responds, brows furrowed. He knew better than to argue with him when they were running out of time. “That’s the rule.”

Steve mentally sighs. Who would want to go with him? The last time he led a mission, he fucked it all up.

“I’ll go.”

He grits his teeth. Great.

Billy emerges from the shadowed corner he had watched from, smirking at Steve as he approaches the table.

“I’ve been out there more than anyone, I know how to get into the stores undetected.” He practically boasts. Steve wanted to groan, a sickly feeling in his stomach when Hopper agrees without reservation. Does he know what Billy did to them last year?

“That’s settled then. You two head off when you’re ready. I think… I think I’m gonna head back up and keep searching.” The last part was mumbled under his breath as Hopper leaves the table and trudges back up the stairs. Steve stares almost mournfully after him. He was in so much pain and, even so, he would never show it.

Like father, like daughter.

“Ready when you are, buttercup.” Billy grins, folding his arms.

Steve bit his tongue, glancing over at a punchable face if he ever saw one. “Sure.”

He starts searching for a bag when a hand is thrust into his view, the very object hanging from their fingers.

“Take mine.” Nancy offers, and he takes it with a timid smile.

Since the mission, Nancy has barely uttered 5 words to him. Well, 7 now, which Steve thinks he should be grateful for. After all, if it had been Nancy searching for Jonathan, if it had been you being the one caught in the crossfires of shapeshifters because Nancy wasn't focused, would he have ever talked to her again?

“Thanks.” He says, and she walks away without so much as a second glance, heading for the staircase. She’s been more adamant on spending time with Will than he has been lately.

“Good luck.” Dustin calls when he reaches the door, Billy behind him.

“Don’t need it.” Billy responds, and Dustin purses his lips.

“Wasn’t talking to you.” He mutters and Billy frowns.

“What did you say?” He growls.

“I said, break a leg!” Dustin throws two thumbs up, grinning.

“And an arm.” Max whispers, and Lucas stifles his giggles.

“Whatever.” Billy swings open the door and steps out without so much as a goodbye. Although, Steve wondered who he’d be needing to pay his farewells too. The only person who seems to have ever shown interest in his care was, well, you.

“I’ll see you later.” Steve smiles at Dustin, the boy throwing out a salute that made him smile.

Even if Steve was stuck with his worst enemy, at least he felt like he was finally contributing something. Something Dustin could be proud of.

Maybe even something that could help find you.

the unlikely duo will be returning for the rest of the chapter, coming soon...

taglist:

@toomanyfandomsimfanvergent . @sheisjoeschateau . @kthomps914 . @curled-hair-red-lips . @nix-rose .

@palmtreesx3 . @kryztalglear . @sattlersquarry . @hey-barnes-stole-a-jeep . @sadslasher13 .

@iliveonteaandbooks . @innercreationflower . @newyorkangelbaby . @totally-bogus-timelady . @pansexualhoor .

@kitdjarin1 . @chiliwhore .

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Something Special

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x gn!pilot!reader

Masterlist Part Two

Summary: “Oh, am I supposed to break orders just for you? Like you’re special or something?” OR You aren't sure where you stand with Rooster, but you know he didn't tell you that he might not make it back from the mission.

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: Angst. Swearing. Sadness, some more angst

A/n: This one's pretty sad, I might do a part 2 to make up for it lol. I'm just a sucker for angsty Rooster though. I'd love to know your thoughts, thanks for reading! <3

--

The path your heavy footsteps took felt sickeningly familiar, your body knowing the way to his room with your eyes closed. Stalking through the barrack’s halls, you turned corners with only one thing plaguing your mind, torturing it. 

Other pilots passed your reddening vision, ones that you might’ve smiled at on other days – but not today. Not even to Coyote still laying in the med bay you passed as he recovered from passing out. Not when your fist balled so tight your nails dug into your palm and your throat tightened with each step, threatening to choke you out before you ever made it.

You spotted his door, the one you’d knocked so quietly on for months now so no one would hear – only for him to kiss you breathless on the other side of it. But you didn’t bother to give him any warning this time. The hinges creaked as you threw the door open, screaming at you to stop before this all started. Your eyes found Rooster’s as he startled, sitting up from his bed with a hand on his chest.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of–”

“Shut up,” you told him, almost relishing the way hurt flashed across his face. The door clicking closed behind you was the only thing accompanying your ragged breaths you couldn’t care to hide. “When were you going to tell me, Bradshaw?”

His eyebrows sunk together, his head tilting to the side. “Oh, of course. I’ll tell you right away about whatever vague thing you’re yelling at me about,” he said, his voice coming with a slight bite.

“You’re an ass. You know that?” You crossed your arms, gritting your teeth so hard your jaw began to ache.

He let out a disbelieving laugh as he stood. “And you’re a stubborn dick. Now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries, can you actually use your words and tell–”

“Are you going on a fucking suicide mission? Is it true?”

You already knew it was. But your face hardened, refusing to show him any emotion. Covering up the heart on your sleeve. Maybe you should’ve started this with honesty, that you were more hurt than angry, more scared than anything. But the deep ridges of your rage felt comfortable, right, for what he’d done to you. Or hadn’t done.

Rooster’s mouth opened and closed, his mustache twitching as he struggled to say anything. You just raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to tell you that somehow this was all a misunderstanding. You could handle looking like an idiot, but this? The truth? You weren’t so sure.

His hand dragged down his face, the brown of his eyes void of its usual warmth that you often sought out – passing in the halls, across the table in boring meetings, standing before your plane with your heart in your throat.

“Who told you?” he asked, looking everywhere but you. And his question brought a horrible realization in front of you, trickling down your spine alongside other secrets he kept from you. 

“Rooster,” you gritted out, forcing your voice to stay steady. “When Coyote couldn’t fly, and they were looking for someone to replace him… did my name ever come up?”

The silence left between you two vibrated, buzzing so hard it ached in your chest. “Tell me you didn’t talk to Maverick, or Cyclone for christ’s sake, and convince them not to pick me.” Too many moments passed, his face unyielding and so unlike the man you’d come to know. When he didn’t answer, just shifted his body from one foot to the other, you tiredly whispered out, “Bradley…” 

“Who told you? The mission is confidential.” Rooster moved toward you, his jaw hard set and ticking. You weren’t on the mission – thanks to him apparently – but with being at the same base, you’d found opportunities to get bits and pieces out of Hangman and Maverick. The fact that Rooster didn’t tell you though weighed heavier on your mind.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me? Because it’s confidential?” you spit out, voice mocking. It was a valid reason, but he told you everything against your lips, bodies facing one another on his too-small bed in between dusk and dawn.

He came closer still, angry breaths filling the space between you two as his eyes refused to leave yours now. “Oh, am I supposed to break orders just for you? Like you’re special or something?”

That made you pause, the first time you’d done so since learning the news. Your gaze unfocused, drifting down until they fell on his hands. Hands you had once trusted to hold you despite everything else going on – now they merely looked like a stranger’s. Had you so badly misunderstood where you fit into his life?

With a sad laugh, you shook your head as you thought out loud, “Yeah, guess I thought so. Especially when you’re going off to get yourself killed.”

A groan came from the back of his throat. “I… this is bigger than us. I just–”

“It’s fine,” you told him, raising your hands up in surrender. As you stepped back, you could’ve sworn his fingers twitched, shifted toward you just an inch. “It was my mistake.” Your voice came out as a whisper when you opened the door, letting it close behind you softly. Biting the inside of your cheek, you didn’t let tears fall until you made it back to your bed, alone.

–

You didn’t hear the news from Rooster, that he’d been chosen to go on the mission. No, you’d picked up on it as the whole base seemed to come alive as the day neared. And he stood at the center of it. You’d done your best to avoid him and his usual routine that you had memorized just to sneak spare moments together here and there.

Time you might have had to yourself was spent in the gym, or anywhere but your room in case he decided to come by. You knew he hadn’t though, not with the mission hanging over his head. 

It wasn’t until the morning of the flight that you saw Rooster again in the hallway outside the locker rooms – you on your way in to change for a workout, him on his way out, carrying his flight gear.

“Oh,” you said, stepping back so you didn’t bump into his chest. You stared at his helmet, the design on it so him. And all you could do was focus on your even breathing as he cleared his throat.

“Wasn’t expecting you here,” he said, his voice void of the anger it had before.

“Could say the same.” You still kept the grit to your words, unable to let them go as he stood there before you – ready to go on a mission he wouldn’t let you take. 

Rooster nodded, pursing his lips. “I, uh, couldn’t wait around. Too many nerves, so I got ready early. Before we head out on the aircraft carrier.”

“I know how that is,” you breathed out, knowing you should offer him some sort of reassurance. But couldn’t he offer the same? Give you something to hold onto besides hope. Hope. As if that could make you feel any less helpless standing back here while he soared above. Alone.

You nearly couldn’t take the silence crackling between your bodies, hanging much too heavy on your already aching shoulders. Picking at your nails, you were about to wish him luck when he spoke up.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, exactly?” you asked, voice tight as you stared at and through him.

You saw the way his jaw ticked for just a brief moment before he let out a long breath. “For not telling you the truth… about everything.”

Trying to focus on the grounding feeling of your arms crossing over your chest, you whispered, “But you’d do it again if given the chance, wouldn’t you, Rooster?”

His chest heaved when he answered, “Yes, baby, I would.”

And you couldn’t stop the scoff that escaped your mouth – at the pet name, at his answer, at everything he seemed to stand for.

“Were you trying to protect me from danger, or were you protecting yourself from this?” you asked, gesturing between the two of you. “That fear you’d have of me flying up there, of getting my chance to be more, is what I now have to live with. Maybe forever if you don’t come bac–”

“I’m coming back, okay?” You stared him down like you didn’t believe him, and you weren’t sure he believed it himself.

Shaking your head, you gritted out, “And if I had gone on this flight, said this exact BS you’re trying to tell me, you wouldn’t have batted an eye? Bradley, you’re a fucking hypocrite and you’re god damn scared.”

“Of course I’m scared!” he shouted, moving forward until his body pressed against yours. “Maybe I don’t make it back, but you will. You’ll be here, and you can keep living.”

His anger seethed from him, his throat straining. Still, you pressed your hands against his chest, pushing him back. “Or it could be you here, on the ground and safe. Since when do you get to choose who lives and who dies?”

“Since I lost my fucking parents, that’s when. If I have the chance to stop from losing another person I love, I’m going to take it,” he said, ripping your hands from him. His eyes, now turned dark and pupils large, moved frantically across your face. 

Your stomach sank, dropping down, down, down and turning to stone. “Don’t,” you whispered, the corners of your eyes beginning to sting no matter how much you begged them to quiet, to dry, to shove any emotion away.

“I…” he stammered, reaching out to grab you again. “It’s true, I love you.”

Gritting your teeth, you turned your head away. “Don’t, Bradley. You don’t get to do this to me.” Tears finally spilled over and onto your cheeks. The feeling that this conversation was a goodbye seeped through your skin, settling into your bones.

“Please,” he begged, grasping onto your arms. Maybe you loved him too, maybe that’s where your unyielding rage stemmed from as he caused you this pain. But you wouldn’t let that hurt you, not when him dying would kill you.

You grabbed his hands, giving them a final squeeze. “Good luck up there.” The look of his tearful face as you backed away wouldn’t leave your mind, not when you refused to leave your room until you were sure Rooster was gone.

--

@reidslovely

[bluebeary-jay]

hiii!! I LOVE ur writing so much especially your fluff sooooooo

fluff w this prompt?

“fine, keep acting like you hate me.”

CONGRATS ON 1K U DESERVE ITTT ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

HIIII MY FIRST LOVELY 1K REQUESTER 💕💕💕

Okay okay okay so you didn't specify which character you want so I picked Javi cause I already have a few Joels in my ask box buuut I'm actually really happy with how it turned out so I hope you'll like it!! ((There's so much fluff in this one though it's only 1.4K words))

Thank you again, darling, happy reading and i love youu!!! 💖

Javier knew that he made a mistake.

Maybe not a mistake – mistakes so very often had grave consequences in his line of work. More like a miscalculation. A stupid prank.

“A mistake,” Steve told him sternly. “You absolute moron.”

Peña just flipped him off.

Okay, maybe flirting with that secretary in your plain sight was a dumb move, but at the time it seemed like a perfect retaliation. And really, it was you who started all of it by wanting to prove to Javier the night before that he does get jealous when it comes to you.

He didn’t. He doesn’t. What he felt when you let that man at the bar flirt with you for at least twenty minutes had nothing to do with the fervor of hot kisses and passionate words that poured out of Javier after he whisked you back home.

“You were practically green,” you said softly later that night when you two were lying in bed. You had your head on Javier’s chest and he was stroking the skin of your back softly, trying to silence the whirlwind of conflicted emotions inside of him.

“F’course I wasn’t. Just had to make sure that guy wasn’t gonna try anything with you.”

“If you say so. But I think you’re full of it.”

You acted so smug about it, and only stopped after Javier completely tired you out. But what he tried to hide by biting your ear gently and kissing his way down your body was how true your words really rang.

Because deep down Javier Peña knew that he was jealous. He had a good reason for it, of course – you were fucking gorgeous, after all, and maybe he was still slightly insecure about what such a sweet angel was doing with a sinner like him. And besides… This was the first serious relationship he had in years. It was hard to separate the wary side of him that instinctively denied any sentiments and kept everyone at bay from the new him who tried to embrace the warmth and safety your love was giving him.

So that was probably why he decided to get back at you.

And the next day when you stepped out of the chief's office, you were greeted with a sight of Javier tucking the hair behind the ear and complimenting the earrings of the new secretary he was talking to. He made eye contact above her shoulder and sent you a wink when you squinted with disregard, obviously knowing what he was up to.

He also made sure you saw him swiping his bottom lip slowly with his thumb – a move he very well knew always got you hot and bothered.

Though when he looked up again, you were gone.

Maybe he could’ve guessed it’d end like this, Javier thought as he casually (and not at all nervously) walked around the embassy, looking for you. It was supposed to be a payback – for what exactly, even he didn’t know – but it backfired immensely when after his little stunt you opted to avoid him the rest of the day.

And that was a low blow. Because while your attempts at ignoring him were futile, only serving to get Javier going and making him eager to rile you up and see you break, it didn’t give him the same satisfaction when you weren’t there to witness his teasing.

Since you worked in the same building, you couldn’t exactly avoid him forever, but damn if you didn’t try. It took Javier half a day to finally escape work and manage to corner you in one of the file rooms.

You didn’t look up even when he locked the door, obviously aware that it was him you now were trapped with.

“You sure are good at hiding from a DEA agent, cariño,” Javier rasped, a little breathless but weirdly excited from the chase.

But you didn’t move, still casually gathering necessary files. A hint of a smile was dancing in the corner of your mouth and that was the thing that confirmed his suspicions that you weren’t actually mad at him, but only beating him as his own game.

And honestly, as Javier’s eyes wandered over your silhouette, admiring the beauty of the woman he fell in love with, he was willing to let it go.

He slowly sauntered to you, feeling all hot under his suit the closer he got. You always seemed to have this effect on him.

“Are you still mad?” he asked huskily, circling you like you’re his prey. You lifted your shoulder in a half-shrug, and your fake disinterest only turned him on even more. He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you against him and humming with satisfaction when he saw you pressing your lips together to suppress a smile. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, querida.”

You didn’t take the bait like he hoped for, and Peña groaned in small frustration when you continued to give him the silent treatment.

For fuck’s sake, you really had him wrapped around your little finger.

“Fine,” he murmured, breathing hot air on your ear and smirking with delight when he felt you shiver slightly against him. He pressed his lips to the spot below your ear softly, and then continued to go down the column of your neck. “Keep acting like you hate me.”

You didn’t move or acknowledge him in any way, but Javier could see your hand, which was previously sorting through some papers, gripping the shelf as if you tried not to lose yourself in his ministrations. It made him smile to himself and wrap his arms more securely around you, forcing you to take half a step back so that your bodies fitted together perfectly.

“We both know that’s all it is. An act,” Javier murmured, peppering your neck and shoulder in slow, tender kisses. He sighed heavily, with peace he rarely experienced these days, and closed his eyes as he felt your form melting into him. “Serás mi muerte, bebita.”

You stifled a laugh and leaned your head back on Javier’s shoulder, glancing at him with twinkling eyes. “What are you even doing here, agent Peña? Didn’t you have some unfinished business with that secretary?”

“Why, you jealous?” he asked, nibbling at your skin, and you snorted.

“You wish,” you replied but then squealed when he bit your neck unexpectedly.

“Mi nena terca.”

You stopped hiding your beautiful, radiant smile and turned around in his arms, leaning back against the shelf. Javier kept his hand between the small of your back and the harsh metal, not wanting it to dig into your skin uncomfortably.

“You didn’t last very long,” you said, but now your tone was soft, with no traces of mockery or playfulness he heard earlier. “I thought that given how things once were, I’d be the one to eventually seek you out.”

“It’s ‘cause I don’t wanna go back to how things were,” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours, trying to convey to you that he meant every word. “I don’t care about anyone else, bebita. You are the one for me and I want you to know that.”

“I know, Javi,” you reassured him gently, brushing some hair away from his forehead. “You don’t need to explain.”

“Still.” He nudged your nose with yours, inching his lips closer to where he desperately yearned to put them. “Let me make it up to you. Take you out. Somewhere romantic, not that dingy bar like the last time.”

“Because you don’t want to see me flirting with strangers?”

Your seemingly innocent question made the hold he had on you tighten, and Javier exhaled heavily through his nose.

“Fuck, bebita, have you seen yourself? Of course I don’t. You are mine, and mine alone.” He planted a soft kiss on your lips, not looking away for even a second. “And I’m yours.”

It didn’t feel weird, anymore, to say it. It felt right and warm, and wonderful. Javier never would’ve guessed he’d feel like that about anyone, but here you were – so perfect and standing right in front of him.

“I really wanna kiss you,” you whispered, and he mirrored your bright smile, something very few people have ever seen.

“Just to shut me up? Or have you perhaps missed me, too?”

Your lips surged forward, smashing into his eagerly and not bothering to answer him. Agent Peña let the overwhelming love for you guide his movements as he cradled the back of your head and pulled you closer and flush against himself.

Seemed that from the very beginning he didn’t need to feel jealous.

It was clear that you were his and his only.

Serás mi muerte, bebita - You’ll be the death of me, baby

Mi nena terca - My stubborn baby

[theink-stainedfolk]

Proud snippet tag

Thank you for the tag @frostedlemonwriter !

Post a snippet of something you are proud of.

---

In the dead of night, Anathimun and Darian found themselves crouched side by side behind an old stone wall, its surface chipped and cracked from years of erosion. They were hiding from a group of rogue Sitharae, drawn to a disturbance in the realm that had shattered any illusions of peace.

The glow of firelight flickered in the distance, casting a faint glow on their faces. Anathimun, ever calm and collected, was leaning against the wall, his long fingers tracing patterns in the dust absentmindedly. His eyes sparkled, not with fear but with a sly, almost mischievous anticipation.

“Are you enjoying this?” Darian hissed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Anathimun cocked an eyebrow. “Did you expect me to panic, Officer Darian?” he said, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You wound me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Sitharae (a race of creatures like demons). I just don’t want to end up dead tonight, thanks to your superior aura of calm.”

Anathimun chuckled, low and quiet, his amusement rippling through the air between them. “Trust me, I’m far too invested in keeping you alive, if only to make sure you don’t accidentally get yourself killed on my watch.”

Darian huffed, rolling his eyes as he surveyed the area. Shadows flickered and moved in the darkness beyond, and every now and then, a rustle of leaves or the crack of a twig kept their senses on edge. The tension weighed heavily on Darian, yet he couldn't shake the faint flicker of trust growing in the back of his mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

Anathimun tapped him lightly on the shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. “Remember, keep your stance low. These Sitharae like to hunt high; they'll look for shadows on rooftops, not in the dirt.”

The edge in his tone betrayed a rare vulnerability, a flash of genuine concern that startled Darian.

“Why do you care if they catch me?” Darian said, his voice a little softer than before.

Anathimun paused, his face inscrutable as he held Darian’s gaze. “Because, Officer, as much as you might dislike the idea, we’re in this together. And—” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I promised myself that I’d get you back to the capital alive. Though you certainly make it hard.”

Darian bristled at the jab, though he couldn’t help but notice the faint warmth behind Anathimun’s words. “Well, that’s comforting,” he muttered dryly, casting a cautious glance over the wall. “Look, if we’re going to move, it has to be now.”

Anathimun followed his gaze, studying the clearing ahead with the calculating look of someone who’d spent millennia maneuvering through worse situations. The brief silence between them was heavy, charged, and for a moment, Darian caught himself feeling oddly… safe. As if the entire chaos of the night was held at bay by Anathimun’s calm.

Anathimun’s fingers brushed Darian’s sleeve, pulling him from his thoughts. “Follow me. And keep quiet. I’d rather not have to save you twice in one night.”

With a swift and silent motion, Anathimun darted across the clearing, his movements graceful and unnervingly smooth. Darian hesitated, taking a deep breath before following. His heart hammered against his chest, but he pressed forward, keeping his footsteps as light as he could.

They slipped through the forest, weaving between trees and shadows, each step taking them closer to safety—or so they thought.

Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the trees. Darian barely had time to react before a dark figure lunged at him from the shadows. He stumbled back, drawing his blade in time to parry a vicious blow. The Sitharae snarled, his eyes wild and feral, his teeth gleaming in the dim light.

Anathimun moved in an instant, his body a blur as he struck the Sitharae, knocking him off balance. He turned to Darian, his expression dead serious for once. “Stay close.”

Darian nodded, bracing himself as more figures emerged from the shadows, their eyes gleaming with an unnatural hunger. The odds were stacked against them, yet Darian felt a surge of determination he hadn’t felt in years. He tightened his grip on his sword, meeting Anathimun’s gaze with a fierce, unspoken resolve.

Side by side, they fought, their movements strangely synchronized despite their differences. Anathimun’s blows were precise, each one calculated and efficient, while Darian’s were raw, fueled by adrenaline and grit. It was a dance of chaos and control, and for a moment, they moved as one.

After what felt like an eternity, the last of their attackers fell, and the forest returned to an uneasy silence. Darian panted, exhaustion settling in as he leaned against a tree. Anathimun, still composed as ever, gave him a once-over, his gaze lingering on a small cut above Darian’s eyebrow.

“You missed a step back there,” Anathimun remarked, his voice betraying the faintest hint of worry.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Darian replied, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Not all of us are immortal Sitharae gods with endless centuries of practice.”

Anathimun smirked, crossing his arms. “I never claimed to be a god.”

“Well, you act like one.” Darian wiped the blood from his brow, his frustration giving way to a grudging respect. “But… thanks. For having my back.”

Anathimun tilted his head, his expression softening. “Of course, Officer. What kind of ally would I be if I let you get killed so easily?”

They stood there in silence, the weight of their shared battle hanging in the air between them. Despite everything—despite their pasts, their differences, and the invisible wall between them—a bond was beginning to form, tentative but undeniable.

Darian’s voice softened. “Why are you helping me, Anathimun?”

For the first time, Anathimun hesitated. His eyes grew distant, shadows flickering across his face. “Perhaps,” he murmured, “I’m simply tired of watching this world tear itself apart. Perhaps, I’d like to see it change. And perhaps… you, Officer, remind me of someone I once knew.”

Darian didn’t press for more. He only nodded, a quiet understanding passing between them.

“Well,” Darian said, breaking the tension with a faint smile. “Try not to get sentimental on me, Sitharae.”

Anathimun laughed, a genuine sound that surprised them both. “You have my word, Officer. Now, let’s get out of here before you end up needing me to save you again.”

Together, they walked through the forest, side by side, two warriors from different worlds bound by an unspoken promise. As they moved deeper into the shadows, Darian couldn’t help but feel that this was only the beginning—and for the first time, he welcomed the unknown path ahead.

---

I'll tag @finickyfelix @willtheweaver @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @the-golden-comet @thecomfywriter @thecomfywriter @roarintheheavens @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable