#it's the kind of headache where i am struggling to think and form words. hell world.

[orcelito]

Tfw u wake up with a Headache and ur just trying to. Do what you can. To get rid of it...

Can't even finish my breakfast bc of how much water I've chugged. And yet the headache persists.

[riversimmone]

Heartbeat

Heartbeat

RiverOfTheSand

Summary:

It was a power she'd never imagined: a skill not to be taken lightly. And when Sakura heard his heartbeat through his shirt, she knew this was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. Neji was more nervous in her presence than he let on, and she fully intended on taking advantage of him… uh, that.

Notes:

This is a very strange one-shot that started off a series on ff.net (marked as a multi-chapter because ff.net doesn't do that). Rereading it, it's so cliche but it was meant to be that way. . Cross-posted from fanfiction.net. First chapter in a series. . Original Author's Notes: So… I'm sitting here with my hot chocolate, freezing my arse off (well, not literally) and wondering, where the HELL is my NejiSaku inner fan girl? She went on holiday apparently. I hate being ignored. *sighs* And I'm getting frustrated writing SasuSaku. Both are good enough reasons for a change. I'll get back to it, but right now, it's NejiSaku time. ;) Anyway, my motivation for this series of one-shots is to form all the light hearted NejiSaku ideas rattling around in my head into something cohesive. These one-shots are romance but the second genre is malleable. I won't be putting angst or tragedy on them though: just remember, it's all in good fun. ;) Every updated "chapter" will have its own title and summary anyway. Heads up. :) Read, love, and review! ^_^

Rated T. Read and review. :)

"That is so hot!" Ino Yamanaka squealed loudly. "Do me! Do me!"

There had been a price for everything she loved in her life. She'd endured ridicule to figure out what was the right kind of attention and struggled for years to become the respected Kunoichi she was today. But there was one thing Sakura Haruno had yet to overcome on her chosen path: loud, obnoxious blondes. She rolled her eyes at her best friend and repressed the shudder she always felt coming when Ino got too excited. "Do you have any idea how that sounded, coming out of your mouth?"

They were in a crowded restaurant, enjoying their respective lunch hours, and every ninja and civilian in the area had just stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at them. And with Ino's reputation, Sakura could see their suspicious (and in some cases salivating interest – Genma Shiranui for one) minds musing on the implications of the blonde's words.

"Ino!" She snapped hoarsely, when her friend just ignored the attention she'd brought down on them both. "Keep your voice down."

"Oh, relax forehead." Ino spun around on her chair and addressed the other customers. "I wasn't talking about sex."

'Why am I not surprised people thought that was what she meant? The girl has no shame.'

In all the years she'd known Ino, Sakura had never seen her hold back what she was thinking. She heatedly told her friend to kindly shut her mouth, and once they were done with their lunch, the blonde made her promise to show her the new technique she'd learnt after they were both done for the day. She wasn't really asking, as Ino laced her words with a hidden threat to embarrass Sakura in public with a worse spectacle than she'd just endured.

Ino was very interested in what Sakura had picked up.

It was no big deal really, but it opened up a world of possibilities. She'd first felt it happen while sitting next to Naruto. Her fear and confusion was quickly dismissed when she realised he'd been reacting to the approaching figure of Hinata Hyuuga. His heart rate had increased with every step Hinata took toward them and if she hadn't been fixated on the thrumming of his pulse, not to mention its affect on his chakra system, from a purely medical point of view, Sakura might've gone deaf at the sound. She was glad that the idiot had finally noticed Hinata, but it had taken the pinkette hours to get rid of her headache after that.

Lady Tsunade had been quite interested in Sakura's idea of decreasing diagnosis time by learning how to detect a patient's heart rate before all the instruments could be hooked up to them, or her chakra inserted into their system. Sometimes, though not often really, the invading chakra of a medic can hasten some injuries – especially those connect to the cardiovascular and pulmonary organs (heart, veins, and lungs). On top of that, in the heat of battle, she didn't always have the chakra to waste on a diagnosis. A medic's duty was to stay out of the fight and heal as needed, but it didn't always go according to plan.

It turned from a strange little side project to a weekend of educational fun. Sakura had picked it up rather quickly and experimented on her mentor after a few rounds of sake (not to mention Shizune when the brunette woman was talking to or about Genma Shiranui).

Naruto had been her first test outside of controlled conditions.

'And then I just had to go blab to Ino!'

Now the girl wanted in and there was no wrangling this mare once she decided to buck. She was especially interested in what had happened shortly after Sakura's run-in with the Naruto/Hinata marching band. Sakura hadn't thought about anyone romantically since Sasuke, but there was a certain brown haired Hyuuga who had noticed her at least.

– Heartbeat –

It was an hour after leaving Naruto and Hinata… alone, in the woods (she mentally shivered at that), that Sakura decided to visit the Konoha Library, where at least there would be some peace and quiet. She had thought Neji would be more comfortable in the massive library in the Hyuuga estate, but there he was, standing next to an aisle of medical volumes, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared apathetically at the words on their spines.

Sakura waved as she walked toward him. "Hiya Neji!"

And of course, he offered his usual: a formal greeting complete with the correct suffix and even voice she knew. It pissed her off, but more than anything, she wanted him to loosen up. Sakura had the perfect thing, and winked at him seductively.

"Aaww, Neji-pyon!" she teased, giggling softly. "It's okay to admit you're excited to see me." [pyon: slang for calling someone their sweetie]

And then… there it was... she couldn't believe it. The stoic ice cube was normally so calm and collected. But Sakura was counting his heartbeat and was, for the first time since learning this technique, blushing at the revelation it had brought her.

He hadn't moved an inch as she walked toward him. He didn't bat an eyelid as she calmly asked him to move out of the way. He didn't respond other than to shift slightly, indicating there was enough room and he wasn't moving – he did look quite comfortable when stiff as a board. Sakura was just trying to get past him to grab the medical text book behind him on the shelf when she sensed it: his heart started hammering in his chest and it didn't stop until she was out of his personal space. His face and stance showed nothing of his accelerated heart rate however, and a part of her wondered if it had actually happened. His voice as he said his formal goodbyes before he left gave nothing away.

Sakura thought she had been imagining things until it happened again. Later that day, she'd visited the Hyuuga estate to ask Hiashi if she could sneak a peek at some of his medical volumes like he'd promised via Tsunade four months ago. Neji was the only one in Hiashi's office, and calmly told her the old man was off training with Hanabi and didn't want to be disturbed… the slippery arse. So Sakura was demanding that Neji talk some sense into his uncle while standing a foot away from him, pointing a finger at his eyes (those… mesmerising… gorgeous… eyes…), when the beating interrupted her tirade.

Neji half frowned at her abrupt halt and his eyes widened slightly at the blush lining her cheeks.

'Fuck this,' she snapped at herself.

Sakura did the only thing she could think of – she pulled him into a tight hug and whispered "god, you're hot" before making a mad dash for freedom.

– Heartbeat –

Needless to say, Sakura was embarrassed. But it also offered up the perfect opportunity for giving her love life a kick in the arse. Ino was still badgering her about teaching her the technique but Sakura couldn't face her right now. She wanted to see how far she could take this (whatever this was) with Neji… Ino would forgive her if she found out why she was skipping out on her… right? Tsunade was out on one of her binges and Sakura had a messenger "summon" Neji. She felt no qualms about pretending he'd been summoned by the Hokage and then thoroughly seducing him.

The room was empty when Neji knocked, was bade to enter and did as he was told. "Lady Hokage, what–"

"Neji-pyon," Sakura whispered from behind him, closing the door. "You and I have some unfinished business, starting with this."

Neji felt his body go still… the knowing look on her face gave her away: she knew how he felt. But how? She was pulling on his shirt – the Hyuuga Kimono he'd adjusted for his missions as a part of Team Guy. He swallowed heavily, realising the only article of clothing Sakura was wearing was a pink satin robe.

"W-where is the Hokage?" He asked, getting a strange feeling about this.

'Okay,' she thought, clenching her fists tightly. 'Let's bite this in the butt, shall we?'

Sakura ignored his question and pouted. "Wouldn't you rather kiss me, Neji-pyon?"

She smirked as he gripped her tighter, taking the bait. She closed her eyes, heat pooling in her stomach as Neji kissed her, pushing her roughly against the wall.

Fifteen minutes later, an angry blonde stormed into the Hokage's office, and Sakura started, terrified of being caught by her shishou. The woman was supposed to be out for the rest of the afternoon! But it wasn't Lady Tsunade who'd almost knocked the door off its hinges.

"FOREHEAD! I HOPE YOU'RE READY TO BE HUNG AND QUARTERED! YOU'RE SO–"

Ino stopped midsentence, taking in the scene before her: Sakura and Neji, flustered, wrapped up in each other's arms, and naked on Tsunade's desk. A quirk of her lips told the pinkette what was coming next…

"YEAH-HEH! SAKURA FINALLY GOT LAID!"

X X X

[deadlysilencebeach]

Some words on Cyberpunk 2077 and existing

“You get to a certain age, you drop all your illusions. Life just gets easier from there.” ♫

I’ve said it enough times in my life, but existing is exhausting. To be perceived by the world in any form is among some of the most harrowing shit in life. I have enough trouble trying to cope with existing in my own terms, but to exist in yours, too? It’s a perpetual headache - one that I can’t seem to shake or make sense of this far into my life.

In spite of that, I find comfort in the fact that life goes on at a merciless, never ending pace. Nothing ever stops, no matter what I do or where I am. There is no scale at which my potential fuck-up will cause our planet to screech to a sudden halt. Even like, if I were to die at this very second, it wouldn’t do a thing to you from where you’re going. I always have trouble putting a feeling like that into words, but it’s like... I don’t know, liberating? It makes me feel like I’ve wriggled out of a tangle of chains that would’ve kept me from being who I am. I can choose to live however I want to.

It’s funny - the worry that anxiety will continuously force into your brain, is that everything revolves around your failure. It almost sounds self-centered as shit, if it weren’t for the fact that it forces you to carry an insurmountable burden that doesn’t even fucking exist. Besides, it’s not like I don’t deal with that burden every other waking moment of my life. There’s a very delicate balance between finding liberation and existential dread in the passage of time. That is something that I’m still working on. Shit’s tough, man.

Anyway, the point I wanted to make is that the struggle to come to terms with my existence is part of why I like big cities so much. The bright lights, loud streets, bustling lives - it’s a proverbial beating heart that draws in me and cradles me with a big blanket. It’s a double-sided blanket, too. A double-sided blanket with one side that allows me to show off to the world, while the other lets me blend in and disappear into the crowd for a little bit. Both sides provide me with their own kinds of comfort depending on what I need.

There are times where I need to be a part of a space in order to feel valid. This is especially true for being a trans gal, because the little things like passing and pronouns and all that stuff, are little boosts I need to feel like I am who I think I am. Sometimes, I need my body, and my voice, and my clothes and my hair to be perceived (no matter how) to feel attractive - to feel like I am allowed to exist, y’know? Other times, it is the gentle glow of the night time sky that I find appealing. To disappear, and observe the world as if I was never there, is... well, there’s a beauty in the particular sense of loneliness that it makes you feel. Life goes on.

“We’ve got a city to burn.” ♫

I had a lot of time to think about these feelings while thoroughly playing the shit out of Cyberpunk 2077. It was one of those “right time, right place” sorta things that feel prophetic as hell, like the world knew this was something I needed. Don’t be fooled, though - there’s a ton of commentary on trans-humanism, souls, corporations (of which the irony is staggering at times) but none of that stuff was the real takeaway for me and Cyberpunk, at least in this context. That stuff was cool and all, but the part of Cyberpunk that truly struck a chord with me was the big, bright hellhole of a city it puts together.

My time with Cyberpunk is done for now, but I cannot seem to get Night City out of my fucking head. I cannot stop thinking about its claustrophobic, overcrowded markets and cramped megabuildings brimming with rejects and wannabes from the city’s underworld. Pipes, exposed wiring, dirty street corners and tiny nooks at every turn - it’s like everywhere you look could be someone’s favorite place, or the best noodles in town, or a creepy little shop where a weirdo is selling discount body modifications. The mechanical immersion doesn’t go as deep as allowing you to sit at a food stall and eat, but that kinda doesn’t matter to me because the entire thing sparks my imagination in a way I’ve rarely felt.

I get lost in Night City, but not in the weird video game-y that nerds talk about when they like a mountain in Skyrim or think the grass in Horizon is pretty. I genuinely find myself mesmerized by the soundscape of beeping cars, indistinct chatter, coughing, arguing, even down to the little details of miscellaneous future beeps and boops. It is comprised entirely of its influences - forming a whole from the steamy streets of Blade Runner, the hyperbolic 80s fashion sense of Akira and the part of Ghost in the Shell where massive, sanitized corporate towers linger as predators over a sea of lights. Though, my personal experience got a bit more Serial Experiments Lain out of everything. Whenever there wasn’t pounding trance music in dark clubs or desperate husks of chrome and flesh roaming the streets, there were low hums of hard drives buzzing and electronic fans cooling off heat in dark rooms dimly lit by a single computer screen. There will always be noise.

“Don’t want people gettin’ stuck in a rut, stuck in the past. Want them to change. Them and the world.” ♫

I consistently find myself describing periods of my life as “weird.” It’s always something like “things have been weird lately,” or “I’m going through a weird patch right now.” Day after day. It has gone on for so long, the thing I call “weird lately” has now gone on for most of my life. Thinking about it, I tend to say this more often in stretches that feel transitional. The bit of time between college and university? Weird as shit. In fact, the entirety of my time at university felt transitional - as if I had spend the entire time trying to settle and find my place when I never did. I don’t remember much from those years, because it felt like I was going to eventually land on my feet and I would finally make sense of the world, of my life. I never did.

Currently, I would describe this period of my life as “weird.” Somewhere between finding the most incredible person I’ve ever met (hi, Jace) and figuring out what I can do with that to make a life that matters to me. Because for most of my life, there was nothing to live for. Each and every thing I did were varying means to making sense of why I am in this world. Will I be inspired at school to make good academic decisions? Will university spark me to find a real-world profession and be a part of everyday society?  Fuck no. Not a single time. All I ever wanted to do was push myself further, and further away, especially if it meant it would kill me.

The allure of the city makes me forget all about that, because for once, my existence is unconditional. I don’t exist for you, or for money, or for profit - for anything other than to exist in my own terms. To be in a crowd that crosses the street is blending into the world, homogenizing myself for just a little bit. To order a coffee and sit in the comfort of my own company, so I can lose myself in lives gone by. To dance in a crowd, or commute in a lively train, or even just... lay there and take it all in. Night City reminded me of all of it.

There’s probably something profound I could say about how capitalism, and social pressure and the structure of the world forces my hand to find a purpose that provides value to the world, but I am not looking for it here. Someone I love deeply once taught me that there are things in life that do not make sense, because they just are. Life has no grasp of meaning, or rules, or time, or purpose, it merely exists how it must, on its own terms.

I don’t want to make sense. When I get lost in like I did in Night City, I lose the concept of sense. Instead, I inhibit this desire to just be. To listen, to observe, to look cute, to indulge, to consume, to be as passive or hands-on and I want or need to be. It is such a distinctly human feeling to free myself from unwanted perception and exist as I want. If you see me, it is because I want you to see me. If I disappear, it is because I want to disappear. There is little more that allows me to feel a sense of agency over myself.

And... I don’t know, there’s something empowering about knowing that I don’t have to be anything that I don’t want to be. Until recently, I had the impression that in order to have a fulfilling life, I would have to be something or someone big. I would have to make a lot of money, or be seen by a lot of people and those are the validations that really mattered in life. That it didn’t matter what I really wanted, just that I had to mean something to the world in order to be a real person.

V, the playable character in Cyberpunk 2077, has her own reasons for wanting to be a legend in Night City. Her goal is to be remembered by everyone. Seeing what V wanted made me realize that wanting to be known is no longer something I desire. I wonder if it is something I ever truly desired at all. I do not want to be useful to you. I do not want to be talked about by you. I want to be.

I still have a lot of growing up to do, don’t I?

Ajay

01/08/23 @ 00h48

“The world’s gonna hear about you.”

[systlinsideblog]

PART 1

There have been many Ubaras in the history of Gor. Indeed, even today there are many, who rule this city or that land, sometimes alone and sometimes alongside mates. Our own beloved Ubara of Turia is well known as a fair and just lady, and a great patron of the sciences.

But forever when the words “The Great Ubara” are uttered, there will be no doubt as to who they refer to. She came from nowhere, and in her hands she brought power, and it was that very night that the beginning of the time of the Great Burning of the Whips commenced…

-Sansha, scholar of the Tower of Tyra, history division, 537 AGU (After the Great Ubara.) Excerpt from her work “The Great Ubara; the coming of Systlin, the Warrior, Lady of Swords, Lady of Burning Whips, and the ending of the slave culture of Gor.”

   It hurt, the...whatever it had been. One moment, and she had been preparing herself to ride out to hunt wraithen with her Bloodguard, and then there had been the scent of rising Power, sharp as the air before lightning, and the world had gone dark. 

When her senses returned, she had a splendid monster of a headache, and she could see nothing but tall bronzed grass. Her cheek was pressed against the ground, and every joint hurt. 

She blinked, blearily, and the grass came into slightly sharper focus. She was lying prone in a field, that much was clear. 

Systlin made an effort to push herself upright. Her arms trembled and gave out, and she got a mouthful of dirt and grass for her efforts. 

"Pitting hells." She spat dust and tried again, this time managing to rise to her knees. 

The grass rippled in the breeze, empty and endless. She spat more dirt and wiped her mouth on a sleeve. 

Something was niggling at the back of her mind, sending little alarm bells up. Wrong Wrong Wrong Wrong!!!

"Of bloody course something's wrong." She muttered this to herself. "Bloody fuck am I?"

The grass whispered in the breeze, rippling like a sea. She did not know this plain. 

She had walked and ridden through every land in the North, had ridden the southern deserts, had walked the walled gardens of Myr. 

She did not know this plain. 

Her hands dropped to her belt on instinct. The hilts of Ice and her dagger were comfortingly solid. 

Something's wrong something's wrong. 

She got to her feet. The motion was easier than it should have been. She paused, and bounced on her toes a few times, testing. 

Systlin Stellas had spent the majority of her life training her body into a supremely tempered tool. She knew herself well. And she knew, immediately, that her weight was wrong. Wherever she was, the pull of gravity was less than what she had been accustomed to for the last fifty years. 

"Pitting hells."

On the horizon, dust clouds were rising. She shaded her eyes to see, and could pick out dark moving figures, coming her way.

If Systlin had been in any doubt as to the wrongness of this place, the riders approaching her removed it. The riders were men, that was clear enough. But the creatures they were riding, while they resembled horses, very much were not. 

If horses had paws and claws like great cats, eyes set forward in their head, and fangs like a wolf, then perhaps they would look like the creatures the men were riding. 

I am going to flay whoever did this to me alive. 

She held her ground as the riders approached. Their beasts had caught her scent; that was clear enough. 

Perhaps fifteen feet from her, the men pulled their beasts up. They began to circle her, curious. Systlin tracked them, listening to the pad of those great paws in the grass. 

Finally one of the men spoke, and Systlin blinked. Because the words he was saying...the words themselves meant nothing. Systlin had been well educated as a child; she spoke eastern and western Northron fluently, and even the dialect from the Skyfire Reaches. She spoke Rabi almost as well, the less formal clan dialect as well as the formal, stuffy Myran form. (Sura claimed she still had a Northron accent, even after all these years, but also claimed to be fond of the 'exotic' way it made her sound. Systlin, therefore, had never tried too hard to lose it.)

She spoke Siulekean passably well. All in all, Systlin could make herself understood no matter where on Ellinon she found herself. 

And yet, these words were strange. And still, though they meant nothing to her ears, she felt a flicker of Power, and in the back of her mind she heard the words in her own native Northron. 

"Wench!" The taller of the two men, riding a mount of a handsome bay, was looking her up and down in a way that raised her hackles. "Look here! A wench who thinks herself of warrior caste!"

They both laughed. 

"I don't think it." Thirty years on the throne and fifty of dealing with the curse of her Power had given Systlin self control of tempered steel. She kept her voice mild. "I know it." 

She spoke the words in Northron. But the same little tingle of Power rose, and she saw the faces of the men register surprise. She grinned then, showing her teeth. 

"I want," she said, with all the command that an upbringing as a Crown Princess, commanding men and women in war, and thirty years on the throne had given her. "To see a witch." 

They looked at her for a heartbeat, and then as one both men threw their heads back and laughed as if what she had just said was the most wonderful joke. 

"A wench commands!" The man on the gray cackled. "You'll hold your tongue, wench, when spoken to. You are our prize, now." He grinned at her, leering. 

"No." Systlin said, voice level. "I will not, and am not. And if you call me 'wench' again, I will cut your tongue out of your head and make you wear it as a necklace." 

More laughter. "She's fire! I may keep her, Sathak, and break her to my collar. She looks strong; she could do much work in my wagon."

Steel whispered against wood and leather. Systlin shifted into a stance as easily as she breathed, sword and dagger drawn. 

"Wench!" The rider on the gray again. "Put those down; they are men's things. You are our captive now, and you will submit or die."

Systlin didn't move. But she grinned, showing her teeth again. 

They circled, closer and closer. Systlin waited. 

The hindquarters of the gray bunched. By the time it had sprung, Systlin was moving. 

They were nearly as fast as wraithen. Nearly, but not quite; the spring was much the same as the kind a wraithen would use to ambush prey. Systlin dropped low, and Ice swept up. The resistance of flesh, and then she was rolling back to her feet in a low crouch as the horse-creature went down in a screaming pile, its back legs tangling in its own spilled guts. 

A roar of rage from the second man, even as the one on the dying gray screamed in pain as his beast landed on his legs. The second rider roared in rage again, and his arm drew back and snapped forward. 

Systlin didn't bother to avoid the lance; it struck her in the shoulder, smarting slightly; it would probably bruise, but she didn't care. It glanced off of the wraithen scale armor hidden beneath her leather jerkin, and spun to the ground. 

"I told you." Systlin hissed this through her teeth. 

The man drew out a bola, and began to twirl it. Systlin narrowed her eyes, and despite her lingering headache reached inward. 

A flicker of blue, and the leather of the bola burst into flame. The rider screamed again, but it was too late; fed by Systlin's will, the flames spread from the weapon to his clothing even as the bola crumbled to ash. In but a moment, he was a pillar of flame, screaming piteously as flesh melted and hair burned, until at last rider and beast alike were engulfed. 

It did not take long for the witch-fire to eat flesh and bone to ash. Systlin banished the flames then. 

Her head throbbed. She should not have called on her Power so much so quickly, but she'd been angry. 

There was still moaning coming from under the downed, slain beast. She made her way over. 

The rider of the gray's legs were trapped. He was struggling desperately and fruitlessly to free himself, and when he saw her coming he spat a long string of vicious curses at her. 

Systlin ignored these as she stood over him and cleaned the blood from Ice. Sheathed it. She did not sheathe her dagger. 

"SLEEN! Whore! Witch! Misbegotten sleen spawn!"

"I am one of those." Systlin agreed. She crouched over him, near his head. "And I made a promise to you." She raised her knife, and smiled. "You should not have called me 'wench."

 Systlin had, rather than string the man's tongue on a thong, simply set it on his chest. He would likely bleed out or suffocate on his own blood; she didn't really care. 

She cleaned her dagger on the flank of the dead beast as he moaned and gurgled, trying to breathe through the blood in his mouth. 

She squinted, looking at the distant horizon in the direction the riders had come from. 

There was a cloud of dust there, some miles away. She had seen such clouds before, during her time with Sura's riders; it was the sort of dust cloud that came from many animals moving together. 

She began to walk towards the dust. 

It was a long walk. But then, Systlin ran ten miles every morning before she ate breakfast; she was well used to long marches. The lesser effort required to walk in this lower gravity meant that six miles felt like far less. 

She wished, all the same, that she had Siatch with her. A proper horse, not those fanged monsters. 

At last, on the horizon she saw the slow shifting of a great heard of creatures; as she drew closer she could make out what appeared to be wagons. 

Riders on those strange horse-things were circling back and forth and milling around. Some appeared to be playing. Her sharp ears caught the distant sound of laughter. 

As she drew nearer, several of the riders apparently spotted her; the peeled off from the camp and headed towards her at speed. Systlin kept walking, doing a mental count. 

Ten thousand. Perhaps more. She squinted at the wagons, spreading across the plains as far as she could see. 

She kept walking, unhurried, unworried, even as the riders closed. Ice and her dagger were a comforting weight on her belt. 

She smiled to herself suddenly, remembering Sura's consternation when she'd announced her intention to go to the Iron Mountain and the sabbashin. 

"It is suicide!" Sura had said, fearful. "No one comes back from there, beloved, with their mind their own. The Master of Knives takes them, and makes them his creatures, body and soul. I could not bear that for you." 

"Sura." She had smoothed Sura's hair. "You forget what I am." 

Breaker. 

She'd brought down the Iron Mountain. She'd Broken the walls of Myr. She had the power, she knew, to level this whole bloody camp if she so chose. She could feel it curling in her blood, cold and eager, a promise of sheer glorious ecstatic destruction. 

She kept walking, even as the riders on those strange beasts closed on her, lances ready. 

 Kamchak and I were conversing over a midday meal of bosk liver and cheese when the furor at the edge of the camp began. The girl Elizabeth, sulking in the corner of the wagon, looked up at once. There was the sound of a kaiila screaming in pain, voices shouting, and there! The ring of steel.

Kamchak and I were on our feet and running in but a moment, but I was puzzled; the Tuchuks were unruly, it was true, and small skirmishes often broke out, but these were usually settled in ritual combat fought on foot, not with kaiila. This left a raid, and who would ever be foolish enough to raid the main tribe of the Tuchuks? Such was certain death.

Yet, even as we ran along with many other men, there was another pained scream from an injured kaiila, and a cry of pain from a man. The smell of charred flesh drifted on the air, and a plume of smoke. There was a great confusion of shouting, and I could not make out any single voice in the furor.

We came around the corner of a wagon. Now I could see down the wide grassy lane that ran down the middle of the camp, to the source of all the furor. I expected to see a war band, or even a whole attacking tribe.

I did not expect what I did see, which was a woman.

She was standing over the corpses of three kaiila and at the least count seven riders. She held a sword in her right hand, and a long dagger in her left. Her legs were spread, planted into a fighting man's stance. I noted that she stood with excellent balance. 

Her hair was dark, and her eyes quite blue. The hair was pulled back into a plait down her back, and the eyes were cold. There was a fey light in them, and I noticed to my great unease that the corpses of two of the slain riders at her feet were gently smoking. 

She was splashed and spattered with blood, and did not seem to notice this or care. 

She wore a leather tunic, and trousers of wool. Her boots were leather, and fit close to the calves; I noted, that the shape of calf and thigh was sturdy, muscular. Her forearms were lean, wiry, corded with more muscle than I had before seen on a woman. 

The slaves and Tuchuk riders and dour Tuchuk women were silent. To my abject shock, though the Tuchuk warriors greatly outnumbered her and stood with weapons drawn, they were hanging back. 

As I looked past her, I saw at least three more dead kaiila and more corpses of warriors further from camp. 

The woman spoke. In the oddest way, though the sounds she made were gibberish to my ears, understanding came nonetheless. 

"I said." Her voice was cold, and commanding. "That I want to speak to someone of power. And for the fifth time, I am no captive, or slave, and the first hand to get near my ass is forfeit." She jerked her chin at the corpses near her feet, as if to emphasize her point. "And if you keep insisting on doing things the hard way, I will be quite happy to kill every bloody man in this bloody shithole and burn this camp down around your ears, I swear on  the Lady's name. I have had a very bad day, and it would honestly be a pleasure. But if you can help me to get home, we'll forget this whole unpleasant day ever happened."

It occurred to me that she was attractive, if far too muscular for Gorean tastes. 

"Who is this wench!" Cried Kamchak, "Who thinks herself a warrior?"

The blue eyes of the woman darted to him, cold and furious. She should have, were she sane, been terrified at the looming mass of Tuchuk warriors, fierce and scarred, that were gathering before her. Each was gripping his lance, but the caution of their brothers had spread and they hung back to a man and looked to Kamchak.

She did not look frightened. She looked angry, but the anger was wrong. I am used to the anger of women; it burns hot and passionate and rules them. This look, though, was one of cold and measured anger, restrained and absolute.

"The last man to call me that," her voice was low, and despite her sex the hairs on my neck and arms stood up in warning, "Drowned in his own blood after I tore his tongue out. What is wrong with you people?"

"Kamchak," said another of the Tuchuks nearby, his voice low in warning. "She is but a woman, but she has killed fifteen of our warriors, and thirteen trained kaiila. She is a sorceress." He pointed to the smoking corpses of riders. "She can summon fire from air, and fights like nothing I have seen. We should fetch Kutaituchik." 

Kamchak looked back up at the woman, eyes narrow. She met his gaze, fearless, chin up and eyes narrow. 

"What are you called, sorceress?" Kamchak asked. 

"Systlin Stellas." Her voice was still cold. 

"Very well. We will take her to Kutaituchik. Sheathe your weapons, woman, and follow me." 

She eyed the gathered warriors, and then spun her sword. It was a neat little motion, well practiced. I knew it; I used a similar motion to flick blood from the blade of my sword before I sheathed it. This was, indeed, precisely what she now did, but the speed of it was startling.

The long knife and sword slid away into sheaths of rich leather of impeccable quality. The fittings of each were gold. I saw more than a few Tuchuk warriors eyeing them greedily, and thought that the warrior who claimed them would strut them about for a very long time.

“What I said holds.” She said, coolly. “Any hand laid on me, I take off at the wrist.”

Kamchak laughed. “You’ve fire, woman, I’ll grant you. Almost enough to make me think it would be worth the effort of collaring you.”

“If you’re so keen to die,” She said, her voice colder still. “Go on and try.”

He laughed again, but his eyes were narrow. “Fifteen warriors?” He asked.

Systlin raised her eyebrows.

“Hadrak says that you killed fifteen warriors of the Tuchuk.”

“He’s mistaken.” Systlin’s voice was still level.

“Ah!” A look of victory in Kamchak’s eyes.

“I killed seventeen.” A slight pause. “I am assuming those outriders on the bay and the gray were of your tribe?”

Hadrak hissed in fury. “Oman and Hadar!”

“Yes, I thought so.”

“Oman was my brother! Kamchak…”

“I said we would take her to Kutaituchik.” Kamchak said. “And that is what we will do. No doubt Kutaituhcik will see your case, but she may be given to the brothers or kinsman of any of the others she has slain to be punished as well.”

“Will I?” Systlin sounded almost amused, and I realized that she was of course quite mad.

“Of course you will. This way.”

“Yes.” Her voice dripped scorn. “Of course I will.” But she followed, and around her closed the ranks of the Tuchuk warriors at her back. She was now quite trapped; even the greatest of warriors could not hope to fight free of the main camp of the Tuchuks; they boasted three thousand warriors of great strength and skill.

I wondered if she would be collared, or simply killed. She was attractive, if too strongly built, but a master could monitor activity and diet to remedy such things. She was, no doubt, fiery and strong-willed, but such women, it is said, make the greatest and most passionate slaves once broken.

Ah, well. The only way to find out was to follow, and so I did.

[jaeqtstuff]

― 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊

words count: 1.7k

playlist: ghost by justin bieber (recommend to listen to it while reading, just to get the feels because im suck at angst lol)

pls note that english is not my first language. but i had fun writing this so i hope you too! xx

[10:15pm] after escaping the most boring blind date that your friend set you up with, you came across the usual late night bar that you used to go during your days with beomgyu. yeah, your famous ex among your peers.

everybody knows how in love, how insanely perfect the two of you were for a love story but that was during high school. college was a whole different story. it suddenly becomes so toxic that it drained both of you. waking up every morning was a burden to the point you can't even breath in each other presence. you didn't know what went wrong, neither did he but as years passed, it was all because of childish reason. the most hurtful thing about this one is, you knew it could be saved but you didn't do anything. and neither did he.

"whiskey on the rocks." you choose to sit far from others, wanting more privacy. the bartender seems to recognise you by the way his mouth formed a big smile as if he was welcoming a friend. you smiled back, nonetheless.

let's just call it off. it's better this way. i mean can you do this everyday? doesn't this itch you?

you shut you eyes close as you slowly savouring every drops of it. why does it taste bitter? it shouldn't taste like this. i should've just go home.

fucking sick of it. fucking sick of everything and just piss off. don't you get tired of me? honestly i am. so get lost from my fucking sight.

the more you sip, the bitter it got. you didn't enjoy it. maybe that's the reason why some people avoid old places but you were there, drinking alone in the most romantic set up you could ever imagine for a late night bar, the low dimmed lights and slow soul music playing in the background and not to mention all the couple around you. you hate it so much but you can't deny the obvious fact that you missed it. you miss how this place used to caress you with memories you still keep in the deepest part of your heart.

"do people still come over to sing?" you casually asked the bartender as he slips your second drink. you remember how beomgyu used to say that he will sing at the small stage and dedicate a song for you infront of everyone in the bar but he never did.

"well yes. in fact, we're preparing for one." he replied, with much excitement at you. you look passed your shoulders, eyes fixed to the small stage at the corner. they were getting ready with the mic and there was single stool with a guitar at the side.

"he's a good singer." the bartender commented as he was wiping all the utensils he had used just now with a clean cloth. "really?" you look away from the stage and bring your glass close to the mouth. without wasting much, you gulped down the rest of the drink in one go before taking out your purse to pay. you could hear the soft melody of guitar playing at the back but you were more focus with the text displayed on your home screen. "it's weekend. leave me the fuck alone." you hissed under your breath.

Youngblood thinks there's always tomorrow

I miss your touch on nights when I'm hollow

I know you crossed a bridge that I can't follow

Since the love that you left is all that I get

I want you to know that if I can't be close to you

I settle for the ghost of you

I miss you more than life

you shut the phone away and bring the card out to pay. you waited for the bartender to notice you but you were now interested with the song. your head unknowingly move with the beat, fingers tapping slowly on your bare legs. the lights on the stage were too dimmed and you couldn't see well who was the one singing but his voice was causing a whole war flashback in your head.

And if you can't be next to me

Your memory is ecstasy

I miss you more than life

I miss you more than life

you never knew a song could break you so much, not when you least expected it but the one singing was also not helping the situation any better. he was singing his heart out, as if he was the one writing the lyrics from some kind of painful experience he ever had in his life. anyone in the bar could say the same thing.

Youngblood thinks there's always tomorrow

I need more time but time can't be borrowed

I'd leave it all behind if I could follow

Since the love that you left is all that I get

I want you to know that if I can't be close to you

the more you listen, the more your heart ached. all these years, you thought you moved on from him. you can finally accept the fact that you can live without him by your side. in those years, it's a lie if you say you never thought of him during those drunken nights with your friends. but tonight was brutal. you could relate to the lyrics so much that you had trouble holding yourself back from any breakdown that would cost you every time you said you were good without him.

I'll settle for the ghost of you

I miss you more than life, yeah

you were never good.

And if you can't be next to me

Your memory is ecstasy (oh)

I miss you more than life

I miss you more than life

you were never calm after both of you called it off. you forced yourself to drink every night so that you can sleep without thinking of him but the terrible headaches every morning was torture. the moment you get up, he was all over in your head. you remember how you wanted to run back to him every night, tell him to forget all the bad pieces and just start new but by looking at the sight of it, it would make you throw up. you definitely knew it will make things worse.

you looked at the stage, still trying to see who was the one singing. heart still hurting but deep down, you were expecting something out of wicked love story. the tears building up in your eyes were not helping as your visions got blurry from the lyrics. blinking the tears away, you were nervous to look back to the stage again.

So if I can't get close to you

I'll settle for the ghost of you

But I miss you more than life

And if you can't be next to me

Your memory is ecstasy

you breathed in deeply, struggling to gain your composure. nonetheless, the shaky eyes went back to the stage where suddenly, the lights around the stage were slowly looking brighter. you could clearly see how he was playing the guitar effortlessly with his eyes closed. the expression on his face was tormentingly raw or maybe it was just your eyes telling the lies to the mind, telling you that he was also in much pain just like you were. one thing for sure, you eyes couldn't lie the one infront of you.

I miss you more than life

I miss you more than life

how can you forget his voice? you gasped for air, breathed in every sharp air you could get because you knew, the night will only get worse, will only wreck you even more than it did before. you could never get better from it.

the people around you start clapping, telling you that he was done singing on the stage. you could hear the soft giggle from the mic before the countless thank you from him. you carefully eyed him at the stage before taking out the cash from your purse, putting the card back inside. you couldn't be bothered about the points because the last thing you want was beomgyu seeing you in this helpless state. smudge eyeliner and mascara because of the tears and also the short lacy black dress you were wearing. it was too obvious.

so you left without looking back. and oh boy, the moment the cold air hit your face, you couldn't hold back the tears. no, you were weeping, sobbing, almost throwing up on the side road. walking to home will be hard but you were quick to stop a cab.

thank god the tears stop the moment you were in the cab. the warm seat kinda cool you down a bit but your heart was eager. you didn't stop there and pulled out the phone from your back. eventhough you didn't contact each other, you knew where to find him and in those nights like this, you always check on him. last time you did was two years ago and maybe it should just stay unchecked.

the moment it hits you, there i knew i am still holding on to the past just like how i always did. and perhaps it's because you are always there. not leaving me nor forget about me. i will just settle like this, holding on to that life i miss most. ― 15 minutes ago

wish you can stay longer so that this night would not be lonely again but it's not what i thought it is. i'm sorry. ― 2 minutes ago

you lost at the last words and now fighting your own mind, telling the cab to turn around but you couldn't get the words out from your mouth. you knew beomgyu saw you, he probably saw you in that bar. sitting alone at the furthest table from the rest. he probably saw how you were struggling in your seat, looking so pathetic in that dress.

he was right. beomgyu was right.

this night will only get lonelier. if only you stayed, maybe things could change but you knew, it can only work if both of you wanted it. he had his chance but he didn't use it. in between those tears, you laugh it off, thinking how stupid could you be with just simple words like 'i'm sorry', you were ready to throw yourself again to the deepest pit of hell with him.

choi beomgyu,

the only man who wreck you this much. the only man who can prove to you that there will be no other lover like him.

"choi beomgyu."

[one-boring-person]

Can You Do Me A Favour?

Barney Ross (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: injury, drinking, sexual content implied, mentions of violence, swearing

Context: the reader is a member of the Expendables and has a crush on Barney. After a job, the two have some time together.

A/N: as promised, here is some Expendables stuff! I hope anyone who reads this will enjoy it! (Just a heads up: I have more Rambo and Escape Plan stuff coming, and most likely some more TLB content, too.)

Masterlist

(I'm also going to tag @yuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh in this, because they expressed interest in Expendables stuff earlier😊💛)

The cold water is pleasant on my heated skin as I cup my hands under the steady stream flowing from the tap, splashing it into my face when a suitable pool has formed in the space. A gasp escapes me from the stark contrast in temperatures, using my fingers to rub slightly at my skin, trying to work out the headache that has set in, only to hiss when I accidentally press into one of the new scars on the side of my face. Pulling back, I repeat my action, doing my best to distract myself from the plaguing thoughts in my head, still disgusted at myself for having them.

But even now, as I massage the contours of my face, I can't get the images of my boss out of my head. Not the sight of him taking out a ring of attackers using his revolver and sharpshooting skills, not the way his exposed arm muscles flexed with each movement, not the determined look on his rugged face and certainly not the fierce eye contact he made with me when he turned around again. At the mere memory of this, a flush of heat goes through me, eyes squeezing shut to force myself to blank them out, not quite realising that his stare is branded into my subconscious. Biting my lip, I shake my head, forcing down the picture of his muscular body and large hands on my body as he dragged me from the collapsing building, not five hours ago.

Growling, I reach over and grab hold of the beer bottle nearby, glancing at my haggard features in the mirror before taking a deep drink, wincing at the stale flavour, having had the drink for far too long. I can see the tension in my body, each muscle tight and uncomfortable, my posture ramrod straight and clearly wrong, my eyes clouded with exhaustion and what I can only assume is loneliness. 

As soon as I'd gotten in from the last job, I'd headed straight into the bathroom, grabbing a beer from the fridge as I went, needing to clear my head. Nothing I did could help, my head always circling back to that one person. Frustrated, I slam the bottle on the counter top, wincing when it shatters from the force, a particularly sharp shard slicing into my palm.

Damn him. Damn Barney Ross for getting into my head.

I clean up my hand, just bandaging it up when my phone buzzes, the screen lighting up. Frowning, I look over at it, confused. Nobody calls me. Nobody, except my boss.

Picking up the phone, I groan to myself as I realise it is, in fact, Barney. For a second, I debate letting it go to voicemail, before I finally give in, accepting the call and placing the phone to my ear.

"Sir?" I greet him politely, wondering what he needs.

"How many times have I told you not to call me "sir"?" Barney's gravelly voice sounds through the phone, a low chuckle evident in his tone. I have to ignore the effect his voice has on me, the sound giving me butterflies in my stomach.

"Sorry, sir- ah, shit." I sigh at my own habit, "You alright?"

"Yeah, guess so. Just lonely. Figured you might be, too." He admits, tone going soft as he speaks.

"Bold of you to assume that." I tease, but continue, "Though you are, as always, right."

"Should tell Christmas that, might listen to you." The veteran laughs again, the joke drawing a similar reaction from me.

"We all know he listens to no one but himself." I quip back, still waiting for him to tell me why exactly he called.

"True, true." Barney's grin is almost audible, my mind instantly bringing up an image of that particular expression into my head, much to my chagrin, "You got any plans for tonight?"

Surprised, I take a second to reply, unsure of where this is going.

"No, it's too late. Ain't really got many friends outside work, anyway." I inform him, going out of the bathroom and into the lounge.

"Fancy coming over? I've got a couple of beers that need drinking, and the hangar is pretty lonely this time of night." 

His offer stumps me for a moment, though I am quick to recover, my mouth working before my mind can catch up.

"Yeah sure. I'll be over in twenty." 

"Great. See you then." He hangs up, leaving me wondering why the hell I accepted that, knowing how much I spend too much time thinking about him (in totally inappropriate ways considering he's my boss) anyway.

Annoyed at myself, I steel myself before going and grabbing a coat, pulling on that and my boots as I leave the flat, taking my motorcycle keys with me. I lock my door behind me, leaving the apartment block quickly, glad to have the fresh air on my face as I make my way over to my motorbike. Looking on it fondly, I climb on and kick out the stand, easily getting it revved up, the vibrating engine beneath me a pleasant feeling. 

Thankfully, the roads are mostly clear this time of night, cutting the twenty minute drive short by five minutes as I go at speed through the nearly deserted outer city. The hangar is usually a pain in the ass to get to, the traffic in the roads leading up to it almost always horrific, so I am only too happy to be able to go much faster now that there's not many other drivers around. With the wind rushing around me, I find that my head clears a little, my attention on navigating the roads rather than the thoughts of my boss doing things to me I'm sure he'd find grotesque in nature. 

I arrive quickly, pulling into the hangar slowly, knowing Barney is most likely in the plane, as he usually is. Stopping the bike, I put it in park before climbing off, hanging my helmet on the handlebars as I do so, taking the keys with me as I walk over to the old plane. Nearing the aircraft, I frown a little at the sight of the new bullet holes riddling the side of it, unaware that we'd taken so much damage earlier in the day. Sighing, I go inside, ducking in through the small door, only now hearing the music playing from the stereo in the cockpit.

"It's gonna need a new lick of paint." I call out to Barney, who I can see sat in his seat, the muscular man turning to look at me as he hears me.

"It's been a long time coming, so I'm not complaining." He replies, grinning at me as I walk into the cockpit, dropping into Christmas' usual seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach from his stare on me again. As I enter, he rakes his eyes over my body, subtly taking my every curve in from where he is.

"Fair enough." I shrug, leaning back slightly, having missed his look, "Got a beer?"

"Yeah, here." Barney hands me a bottle, opening it for me as he does so.

"Cheers." I thank him, taking a deep drink from it as he chuckles lowly, voice sending a bolt of heat through me.

"You're starting to sound like Lee." He remarks, sipping his own bottle with a smirk.

"Should I take that as a compliment? Or an insult?" 

"Up to you." He looks over at me.

"Eh, I'll take compliment. You two get along like an old married couple, after all. Must mean something if you're comparing me to him." I decide, teasing him.

Barney laughs at my comment, lifting his bottle.

"I can agree with that." He hums, staring out of the front window.

For a couple of moments, we sit in companionable silence, drinking our beers, Barney eventually lighting a cigar. Taking a deep inhale, he offers it to me, which I decline, choosing to finish my drink instead.

"What do you usually do after a job?" Barney suddenly asks, glancing back at me.

Surprised, I think over the question for a second.

"Nothing, really. I get myself cleaned up, have a drink, then get some sleep. I don't do much else with my life." I tell him, knowing how pathetic I sound.

"What, you haven't got anyone you can hang out with?" He questions, seemingly confused.

"No. As I said before, I don't really have any friends outside work."

"Really? No boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

I shake my head, grimacing at the turn in conversation, just missing the slight darkening in his eyes as he looks me over once more.

"Huh. That surprises me." 

Lifting an eyebrow, I look across at him.

"Why?"

He shrugs, making eye contact with me.

"Well, you seem like the person who wouldn't struggle to make friends. You're kind, funny, pretty. You know how to behave in the right situations, you're a good friend to have." He clarifies, seemingly unaware of the impact his words have on me, my heart throbbing as I listen to him, longing building up in me again.

"You think so?" I ask, not quite believing him.

"Yeah, I do." He frowns, looking over at me, "Why, don't you?"

I don't reply, knowing my answer well. He doesn't push it, observing me carefully, his gaze making me blush furiously.

"What'd you do to your hand?" The veteran suddenly asks, gesturing to my bandaged appendage.

"Hm? Oh, I just cut it on some glass back home." I inform him, flexing my hand a little, only to wince at the sharp spike of pain. 

Wordlessly, Barney reaches across and takes my hand in his, his touch setting off sparks through me despite the gentle nature of it. Pulling my arm closer to him, he runs his fingers lightly over my skin, the rough calluses rubbing over the palm of my hand, each stroke making it harder for me to fight off the rising need within me. Being this close to him, able to smell him in nearly every surface around me, feeling his hand on mine has sparked the feelings I've been suppressing as long as I've worked with him. 

Awkwardly, I pull away, swallowing tightly, trying to suppress the urges I'm suddenly feeling, needing to get myself together again. He doesn't stop me, his dark eyes regarding me quietly, observant as always as he seemingly considers something, his gaze sliding over me once more. After a moment, he puts out his cigar, leaning back in his seat.

"Mind doing me a favour?" The muscular man cocks his head at me, a small smirk playing at his lips.

"Er, sure? What do you need?" I agree hesitantly, knowing that expression means only one thing: he's got something up his sleeve.

"Check that control panel up there, would you? It's been giving me trouble for weeks." Barney's eyes are glittering now in the dim light, clearly up to something.

"What, now?" I frown, confused by the instruction.

"If you wouldn't mind." 

Lifting an eyebrow, I place my beer down and get to my feet, awkwardly reaching up to check the panel, which just so happens to be right above his head. I try to keep my body from leaning across him too much, but this is made difficult when I realise that the particular problem lies in the switches even further over. As I go to flick them, a pair of hands takes hold of my waist, suddenly yanking me down towards the chair.

Yelping in surprise, I feel my eyes widen as Barney pulls me down onto his lap, hands tight on my hips, pressing my back flush against his chest. His nose instantly finds my neck, the older man nudging at my skin until I tilt my head to give him access, goosebumps spreading across my skin as I try to process what the hell is happening, my brain short-circuiting with every one of his breaths. They fan out over the sensitive area, my own hitching in my throat as his scruff scratches over my skin, his lips not quite touching me yet, though I can feel their every movement. 

I try to get back up, unwillingly, only for him to loop one of his arms around my front and slip his hand under my shirt, flattening his palm on my stomach to hold me against him.

"I'm not blind, you know, (Y/n). I've seen the way you look at me, the way you behave differently when you're with me. You're not as subtle as you hope." Barney practically purrs into my skin, his smirk obvious against my neck, sending shivers down my spine as I try not to groan.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about, sir." I manage out, not quite catching the sound of anticipation that escapes me when he suddenly presses his lips against my ear, whispering into it.

"Really? I think you know very well what I'm talking about." He grins to himself, the hand on my stomach running down to ghost over the waistband of my jeans, my body tensing in his grip, "Want me to demonstrate for you?

[demonsandmischief]

Come Home To Me Part 5

Marvel - A Sam Wilson Imagine

Sam Wilson x Female Reader 1.4k Words

Here's Part 4 and my Masterlist for additional parts

-Part 5-

The ending.

----

You liked Washington DC. You liked Sam's house and being able to see the things he enjoyed.

It was also nice that you had the opportunity to be able to walk or ride the subway to wherever you needed. Even though there was a car for you to use, you couldn't drive. Sam had promised to teach you when he got back.

The only downfall was when he had to work. Sometimes he was gone for days. Two weeks had been the latest so far. It did give you a chance to find yourself beyond your sweet soulmate, but you always missed him terribly.

For this mission, it had been five days since you had last seen him.

You took boxing classes once a week to give you something to do. You considered getting a job, but you still were very uncomfortable and wary around other people.

It was also really difficult to sleep without him. The nightmares return full force. You didn't mean to be so attached to Sam, but how could you not, given everything that you went through?

You hum to the music as you eat some cereal for breakfast. Sam's place was full of old records, CDs, speakers. It was comforting to listen to the things he liked.

Sam: Miss you.

You grinned when you read the text. He had managed to call last night, and it had been so good to hear his voice.

You: Miss you more.

You could just push the messages right to his head, but you promised yourself you wouldn't when you learned they gave him serious migraines. Not to mention you had no idea what he was up to and you didn't want to be a distraction.

The TV program you had on in the background cut off to an emergency news broadcast, and even though it was muted, it still caught your attention. You turned up the volume.

It was definitely an adjustment to be without him, but you were learning lots of new things. How to cook and clean, different kinds of movies and TV shows. It was nice to feel like a normal person doing normal things.

Everything had been good recently, but that never lasts long.

"We interupt your scheduled program to inform you of the reports of a plane hijack containing US officials, including the Vice President. The plane has since crashed over Pennsylvania and is believed to be an act of terrorism. Captain America is believed to have been helping get the plane under control, but has not emerged from the crash site. Emergency personnel are on the scene."

You watched with horror as the cellphone video played, capturing your glimmering man falling from the sky before disappearing into the dust and flames.

You turned it off as a quick reaction, your heart pounding viscously in your chest. Your stomach threatened to turn, and your spoon hit the table with a clatter.

Oh god. Please let Sam be okay.

He had just texted you. He had to be okay. You cringed as the video replayed over and over in your head.

He had to be okay because you loved him.

Your phone ringing broke through your sluggish mind and you scrambled to get to it in time. It was an unknown number, but you answered.

"Hello?" you whispered.

"It's Bucky. Sam's been hurt."

A sob left your mouth but you muffled it with a shaking hand, "Is he okay?"

Bucky didn't say anything, only adding to your worry. You didn't even know Bucky was with him, or any of the details

"Bucky?"

"He's going to be fine, Y/N," he gave a tired sigh. "I'll come pick you up and take you to the hospital to see him. Is that okay?"

You nodded, before realizing he couldn't see. "Okay."

----

Sam was pretty banged up when you got there, but he was alive and you had never been so relieved in your life.

You sat impatiently by his bedside. The doctor told you his suit had taken the brunt of the impact, but he still hit his head pretty hard. Some of his ribs were fractured, along with his right wrist. He had been very lucky.

You dried your tears for the billionth time. Where would you be without him? Sam saved your life. He was your soulmate, your home.

You had dozed off in the stiff plastic seat when he woke.

He hissed as he shifted and stretched.

"Sam," you cried, reaching for his hand. "Don't move too much. Let me get the nurse."

"It's okay," he said hoarsely. "I'm fine. It's just a headache."

"You scared me," you whispered, feeling new tears. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Shh," he soothed, running his thumb over your knuckles and closing his eyes again. "I hate to see you cry."

----

The hospital monitored Sam's head injury for about a day before they cleared him to go home.

Bucky had stuck around and he drove you and made sure Sam was settled.

"Thank you for everything," you told him. "Are you sure you don't want something to eat before you go?"

He shook his head, "My girl is waiting for me at home. Let me know if there's anything he needs. You have my number now."

Sam was out cold. He was taking some medicine for the pain, and you felt beside yourself, not knowing what to do or how to help.

You had fallen asleep on the couch when you were startled awake by Sam standing over you.

"Jeez," you gasped, pushing yourself upright. "You scared the hell out of me. Why are you standing over me? Why did you get out of bed?"

Sam chuckled, "I'm sorry. You should have seen your face."

He nudged you over and sat down beside you, pulling the blanket onto his lap.

"Hey," you protested. "I was using that."

"Too bad. You have to scoot closer if you're cold. Why didn't you come to bed?"

"I don't want to hurt you, Sam," you protested. The cool air caused bumps to form on your arms.

"C'mon. You can't hurt me. Get over here before you freeze."

You hesitated. "I'll just get another blanket." You stood up, but he reached for you.

"Please, baby. I just need to hold you. I promise to tell you if you hurt me, okay?" He said it so soft and sweetly that you couldn't do anything but comply. Besides, all you wanted was for him to hold you.

You sat as close as possible without leaning too much on his ribs, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his left arm around you.

He reclined the couch, and you adjusted the blanket so it covered the both of you.

It was pretty quiet, and you could feel yourself starting to go to sleep when he spoke.

"All I could think of was you."

"What's that?" you mumbled.

"When I fell, all I wanted was to come home, to be with you."

You hummed, reaching for his hand. He kissed your head.

"When I accepted Captain America, I accepted my fate. I told myself that I would be okay with dying, but now I have so much to live for."

You smiled, turning slightly to see his shining eyes. He leaned down for a sweet kiss.

"I was terrified when I saw that video, and then Bucky called me. Like I told you before, I don't want to be anywhere you're not."

He sighed, "There's always a risk. It comes with the territory."

"I know," you whispered. "And I know it'll never get easier for me, but we can handle it."

Sam nodded, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"I'm surprised your sister hasn't personally come up here to beat your ass."

He laughed, wincing at the jostle it gave him. "That's only because you were around to tell her what's going on."

You smiled, "That laugh was payback for nearly giving me a heart attack."

Sam peeked down at you with another chuckle "You're a brat, but you're my brat."

You shuffled a bit so the blanket was pulled to your chin, a warm contentment settled over the two of you. He reached over to turn off the lamp.

"I do love you, Sam," you whispered very quietly into the darkness.

He groaned playfully, "You just had to wait until it was dark. How am I supposed to kiss you now?"

You giggled, a light happiness swirling in your stomach.

"I love you, too," he said back. "So much."

Tag List: @superwholockruleztheworld @imiiimargo @hiuahoe @idunnomayn @cable-kenobi @nialeesato @bklynxbaby @wolflover384  @mytbel0st @burnalley @heyarely16 @lilithknight1111  @loveyou5everr  @yougottalovefandoms @lets-love-little-me @cxlpxrnia @daddyissuesmademe @queentorresstuff @spookycereal-s

----

Thank you guys for loving this series. I've been in such a mental slump and struggled with this, so I hope it ended okay. I appreciate each and everyone of you.

[nocturnaldivinationsfallingstars]

A Stray Bullet Part 4

Fandom: Gotham Characters: Victor Zsasz, female!reader, James Gordon, Harvey Bullock and a doctor. Warnings: Mentions of blood, swearing Summary: The reader is James Gordon’s sister and works for the GCPD and is dating Victor Zsasz. The reader has kept it a secret from her brother, until one day when she takes a bullet that was meant for him. Victor then shows up at James’ place to see the reader. Word count: 4121 A/N: I am sorry this one took a while, but I had to take a couple of days off for emotional needs.

The car ride to the apartment that James shared with his sort of, maybe girlfriend Barbara Kean had been a rocky and silent one. You had been jolted all over the car, into the back doors and nearly through the front windscreen a couple of times to name a few. You had hit your side with the bullet wound against the door, even though you had tried your best to make the impact a lot less rough on your already traumatised body. You were sure that you would still end up with a bruise. Either way, you blacked out near the end of the ride from both exhaustion and pain, only to have your brother nudge you awake. 

Each time your body hit one of the doors or the front seats you could hear James mutter out a not so heartfelt apology under his breath. All you could manage from your place in the back was a pain grunt or two to let him know that you're semi-okay, although right now you felt as if you wanted to be sick from being jostled around. It didn't take much longer before James parked your car in the middle of the road outside his apartment complex. 

Once James had cut the engine, he unbuckled the seatbelt and yanked the back door open, hauling you out of the back while keeping an iron grip around you as he closed the doors and locked the car. “Okay, just a bit further,” he urged, leading you up the steps towards the open glass doors that led to the fancy lobby, receiving looks of concern from some residents that stood around the spacious area. All of them watching with mixed looks of horror and surprise as drops of blood fell to the shiny marble floor beneath your feet. None of them made a move to help or even ask what happened to you or James, just simply stood there and watched as he struggled to drag you to the closed doors of the elevator. 

It wasn't like you could blame any of them for keeping their distance and their mouths shut around you and James, what with the given state of Gotham and the recent rise in crime lately. The fact that almost every criminal could get away with damn near anything and everything they do. You wouldn't want to be added onto someone's hit list for simply asking people a question on why they're bleeding all over the lobby floor of your home. 

“How are you doing?” James suddenly asked, pulling you away from your thoughts. The doors to the elevators opened  you stumbled on your way. Jim pressed the button to the floor of his apartment as he let out a sigh, still holding onto you tightly. You didn't answer him As you were too busy using the rest of your energy to keep yourself standing. 

“Hey, hey, [Y/N]. How are you doing?” He asked you again and helped you into the large room once the doors to the elevator slid open. Of course, you still had to make your way through the hallway and to the door, which he then had to unlock. James pushed the door open, and you followed his dark brown eyes as they scanned the spacious living space before you, like he was expecting someone to be there in the darkness, waiting for an opportune time to attack and finish the job. Out the corner of your eyes you noticed that he gave a nod of his head, confirming that it was safe to go inside his own apartment. 

“Peachy… Just — Just peachy,” you breathed out through the nauseous feeling that twisted painfully in the pit of your stomach. You felt sweaty and had a mild headache forming at the back of your head, most likely from the blood loss. Back in the car you noticed that you had started to feel dizzy, although you didn't voice your concern to your brother, it would only make him worry more and become more protective. He was probably already panicking internally enough as it is. 

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly and willed yourself to not give into the urge to let gravity claim you and fall to the floor, where if you had your way, you'd stay until you felt better or bleed to death. The latter sounding like a better option to you right now since you didn't want to have a conversation about Victor with your brother. "You don't look so good," James told you, his voice sounded quiet to your ears even though he stood beside you. "You look clammy, and you're sweating," he muttered out. All you managed was a short pain filled laugh. It wasn't funny, you knew it wasn't, but you couldn't keep it in. 

"That uh, yeah, that usually happens when someone loses a lot of blood." You croaked out snarkily, trying to lighten the heavy air that settled around you. You swallowed hard, your throat feeling unusually dry. 

"You know, she's exactly like you. She can't read a room and her humour is terrible." The familiar gruff sound of Harvey Bullock’s voice sounded out. James scoffed at that, but your lips twitched up at the corners in amusement. You had to force your eyes open. It didn't take too long for your eyes to fall upon the scruffy detective, his hat discarded on the coffee table beside him.

"Well, if it isn't Harvey Bullock." You didn't think Harvey would help if James had asked him to, considering he nearly throttled James into the ground of the men's locker room back in the GCPD a couple of days ago because your brother decided it was a good idea to let Oswald Cobblepot live. You wondered when James had the time to call Harvey. Was it when you had been blacked out in the back of your car? Or was it sometime before then, but you hadn't noticed? It couldn’t have been before you blacked out, you would have remembered the trilling conversation that must have transpired over the phone otherwise. 

A woman with long dark brown hair stood a few meters away from Harvey, a look of concern written clear as day across her features. You assumed she was a doctor, and you sure as hell hoped that she was in fact a certified doctor and not just some shady person that Harvey knows. "How're you doing darling?" He asked you, his voice warmer than it was when he previously spoke to James. He must still hold some resentment to his partner for his lie. 

"Oh, you know... not bad, bleeding out, and I want to sleep. But not bad." You responded, as if on cue your eyes slid shut, almost like you had commanded it. "Please for the love of... just tell me that she is a certified doctor," you whispered to your brother as quietly as you could manage. 

A whine left you as you opened your eyes once more, still trying to fight back the sleep that was threatening to take you to the black abyss behind your eyes. "They are someone that Harvey knows," he flashed an awkward side smile in your direction to let you know that he is indeed being serious about it. 

Blinking at him, you took a minute to process what he had just told you, your eyes scanned his features for the telltale signs of a lie, or at least any signs to indicate that he's joking. Waiting for him to keep talking and tell you that Harvey did in fact call someone who knew a doctor who could do an urgent house call at such short notice and wouldn't ask questions about it. But there was that nervous tick, it was faint but noticeable. 

"Oh no. No, no, and no," you started quickly and shook your head, removing your arm from around his back and placed the palm of your hand against his shoulder, pushing yourself away from him. Stumbling to the side you somehow managed to get yourself free from James's iron grip. "I know exactly what that means. If I wanted someone who is medically uncertified to root around my insides to get a damn bullet out, then I would have asked you or Harvey to do it for me." James shot a hand out towards you with lightning fast reflexes, his fingers snagging your upper arm to keep you from toppling over onto the dark brown wooden floor beneath your feet. 

"Stop being so bloody stubborn! I am not going to perform or let anyone else who isn't a qualified doctor perform any sort of surgery on you, and potentially get you killed!" He snapped back a bit too harshly without meaning to. You swayed on the spot, staring at him for the longest time, your lips parted as if you were going to say something in response. You wanted to, god knows you wanted to say *something*, but you didn't know what you could say without making him yell even more. 

Of course, you knew that he didn't mean to yell at you like that. That he was only worried about your well-being, worried about getting hurt even more so than you are now or worse, killed. However, this had been the first time in a very long time James had snapped at you, and it had to have happened at the worst time. 

"I didn't mean to yell at you," he said slowly as some kind of emotion flashed across his usually emotionless face, but it was far too quick for you to catch.

"It's fine. I get it, Jim." James watched wide-eyed as you pulled your arm out of his hand, causing you to stumble over your feet as you took a step backwards on shaking legs. You could feel everyone's eyes on you and all you wanted to do was to hide from them and sort this whole thing out yourself. Hurt was clear in your voice like a sparkling diamond set out in the sun as you spoke. "It's fine," you assured him, turning away, so you could move the rest of the way towards the couch on your own. Your vision was starting to blur and melt together, you blinked a few times to clear your fuzzy vision. 

You went to take another step towards the blurring couch, repeatedly blinking to keep your vision in focus when all of a sudden it seemed as if the coffee table and the floor raised upwards to meet you, twisting and distorting for the briefest moment before settling on its side. From both corners of the room you could hear at the very least two people calling out your name, followed by the loud and unmistakable thud of your body hitting the glass surface of the coffee table and then the floor. Which was then followed closely by the sound of a million shards of glass shattering and tumbling across the hardwood floor, echoing around you, so loudly it seemed to drown out the sounds of people yelling for you to open your eyes and to keep them open. 

After what appeared to be a few seconds, you could feel the electric buzz of pain ripple through you, causing your mind to jolt out of the darkness and quietness that had all but consumed your consciousness. The room blared dizzyingly back to life around you, the two deep voices of James and Harvey mixed together with the high-pitched frantic voice of the woman that you forgot to get the name of. You couldn't make out a single word either of them were saying to you. 

"Ugh," you groaned out and moved your hand to your shoulder where you felt a dull pulsating pain hammer and throb across your skin. Your fingers barely brushed over the soft fabric that's wrapped securely around your shoulder, but not hard enough to cut off blood flow. Someone grabbed your forearm and yanked your hand away from the bandage, holding it down tightly to some kind of slightly scratchy, yet soft fabric. 

You finally managed to pry your eyes open to find that everything was blurry, the lights hanging above you didn't help much either. However, you could make out Harvey and James hovering over you, but their expressions were something you couldn't make out. 

"Can one of you please hold her down?!" The female demanded snappily with a slight hint of panic evident in her voice as you moved to get up from your warm, cushiony spot. She spoke again as you were inevitably pushed back into the cushions of what you assumed to be the now bloodied couch. "I have a hold of the bullet. If she moves I might lose it, or make things worse for her.”

You didn't like the idea of that and let out a yelp as two sets of strong hands fell down to your shoulders and pushed you further into the cushions. You assumed that they belonged to James and Harvey since they're the only two men in the apartment. Harvey moved his arms from your shoulder and down to your arm, like he was trying to get a better hold of you. James did the same, both of their holds on you tightening, as if they were putting all of their weight into keeping you down while the doctor got to work. 

"H - ow!" You let out an inhuman screech as the woman ripped the long forceps and brass bullet out of your side. Warm, sticky blood trickled down your skin as the bullet was removed. After, the pain was red-hot as it pulsed through you, you felt as if your flesh was burning because of the quick and simple action. 

Harvey and James let go of your arms, their shoulders shooting straight up to their ears as the screech bounced around the quiet room. The woman even placed her hands over her own ears as she stared at you, taken back by the sudden noise. It almost sounded as if you were an ancient dinosaur. "Keep a hold of her arms, and for the love of god keep her still. I need to suture the wound up," the woman told them with authority in her voice - she had clearly taken over the situation. All you wanted to do was to roll over and clutch your throbbing side in your hands, but that was out of the question.

By the time James and Harvey had their hands back on your arms, putting all their weight into it, you had your vision back. James had a stony look on his features, something he had mastered while in the army. While Harvey looked as if he was cringing at everything that is happening to you, most likely picturing himself in your situation. You let out a deep, heavy and shaky breath of air, your eyes darting around the room to find something to keep yourself occupied, to keep your mind from the pain.

"Oh god," you whimpered, you could feel Harvey's thumb rub over the skin of your arm soothingly. You hated to admit it but in a way Harvey had become a brother of sorts to you, a little like a father figure as well, you supposed.

"Okay, I just need to clean the wound, and then suture it, and then I'll bandage it all up." The woman told you in a soft, somewhat calming voice. However, it did nothing to calm your nerves. “Alright?” Like it was any good asking you that question, she was going to do it anyway, and you had no choice in the matter. Unless you wanted to die, which you didn’t. 

Bobbing your head in acknowledgement to the doctor’s rhetorical question, all the worries about the woman who is currently taking care of your wounds being completely unqualified or even a doctor to the gangs of Gotham now forgotten about. She seemed to know what she was doing, at least you could give her credit for that. She hesitated for a minute, before pouring a bit of Hydrogen Peroxide onto a cloth and rubbed it over the wound to prevent it from getting infected. "It might make the healing process slow, but it'll do you some good." The doctor said to no one in particular, but that didn't stop you from mentally taking note of it. 

To you, it felt like the deepest and darkest form of torture and that the devil himself was pressing a burning hot poker against your side. You pressed your lips together into a tight thin line and tried to roll onto your side as if to shield the bullet hole in your side. Tried being the key word since you were roughly pulled back into place by none other than Harvey who gave you a nervous smile, that did nothing to ease the nerves that started to rise up in the pit of your stomach. "I'm sorry [Y/N]. It's for your own good," he told you without hesitation. 

You couldn't bring yourself to believe a word of what he said. If something this painful was for someone's own good then you can honestly say, with your hand on your heart, that you never wanted it to happen ever again.

"Is it over yet?" Laughing nervously, looking up at Harvey and James with pleading eyes. 

"Not yet." James answered in return, his eyes never leaving the doctor as she carefully threaded the plastic surgical line through the needle they've brought with them to do the job. The next painful thing to happen was the feel of a pointed needle being pushed in and out of your tender skin. All you could do was let out a low whimpering sound, trying to find something that you could hold onto tightly for comfort but all you could curl your fingers around was the thick fabric under yourself. 

Luckily, however, it didn't take too long for the doctor to do the sutures. She actually worked really fast and didn't mess up a single stitch. The woman was quick to put the bandage over your bullet wound too. 

"Yeah, I don't plan on taking any more bullets that are meant for my brother. Thanks for your concern though." You joked. 

The woman looked from you and then to your brother, raising a questioning brow at the two of you. "Neither of you get shot like this again or otherwise. I don't want to make another house call for something worse because the Gordon siblings can't keep themselves out of trouble." Harvey snorted out a laugh and clapped James on the back. Perhaps he wasn't as mad at James as you previously thought that night, but that didn't really matter to you right now. 

The doctor said her goodbyes to you and James, telling him to keep an eye on you because you've lost a lot of blood. Like she could steal bags of blood from the hospital she worked in as if it was nothing, like she had done it plenty of times before in the past without getting caught or questioned. Harvey also left with the woman to take her back home, whether it was back to his place or hers you didn't quite care to ask. Not really wanting to know the specifics and honestly if he told you too much information about her, you were afraid it would break the illusion that you made up about her. 

Once they were gone you managed to push yourself up into a sitting position. James had gone to find the pyjamas that you left there when you last visited and stayed the night, so you could get out of your bloody clothes. Although your blouse was pretty much useless now because they had to cut it off to be able to take care of you. Not that you cared about it, you hated the blouse anyway. "How are you feeling?" James asked suddenly. You hadn't noticed that he had joined you and was now sitting beside you with his hands held out in your direction, holding your pyjama's out for you. 

You could see the smallest hint of a smile on his lips, a hopeful one. You hummed out a quiet thank you as you took the pyjama from him, carefully nodding your head "I feel... Less like I got shot and more like the devil himself is using a burning hot poker to stab me." You laughed out shortly, leaning into him and nudged his shoulder with your, wincing at the pain that fluttered through you. 

A light-hearted chuckle came from beside you, James seemed to be relieved that you're joking about it. "I am sorry for putting you through that." You moved to get up, however the movement was slow, and in the end James helped you up by giving you a push.

"Considering I took two bullets for you and saved your ass, I think we're even." You told him cockily and walked a small distance from the couch. James turned on the couch the best he could so his back was to you. 

"Oh, you saved my ass?" He asked in a cheerful voice. James was looking to the floor, finding the remaining shards of glass interesting, to give you privacy while you got into the clothes. You pulled the black spaghetti strap tank top over your head and bit your cheek to keep yourself from moaning in pain. 

"Uh, yes I saved your damn ass from getting shot. However accidental it was," you sassed back, kicking your boots off and watched as they landed on the floor in a heap you got into your shorts quickly. James snorted at you, apparently finding your comment amusing.

He laughed and took a hold of your arm to keep you up right, "right, yeah. You saved my ass," you turned your head to look at him and noticed that he had his eyes closed. 

"If it wasn't for me accidentally getting in the way of the bullets, you'd be shot and probably bleeding out somewhere." You made a face at the bloody trousers that you were wearing in disgust. The doctor was right, you had lost a lot of blood, or at least enough to make it, so you're not in need of a blood transfusion. 

A quietness passed over the eerie living room which soon gave way to awkwardness. The only noises that could be heard were yours and James' breathing, and the sounds of the busy Gotham streets outside the apartment. Your eyes darted towards the open window behind you and James, and then to the front door, both ways for Victor to enter. You needed to call him to tell him that you're fine, he'd be beside himself if you left it any longer, but that would mean you need to get some time alone to be able to talk privately without James over hearing.

"You know you still haven't told me why I couldn't take you back to your place and get a doctor," his voice broke the suffocating silence and nearly made you jump straight into his arms. "Come on [Y/N]," he persisted, nudging your arm with his elbow. 

You were hoping your brother would have forgotten all about it what with everything that had happened or at the very least he wouldn't bring it up at this very moment. But you had to admit, he really did have you cornered. You folded your trousers and placed them on the floor with your boots, staying quiet as you mulled your answer over very carefully. 

"Listen, Jim." you trailed off slowly, thoughtfully, not knowing how to say the next words that you wanted to say. He was going to explode when you told him. He would tell you that you're being stupid and that you need to stop seeing Victor. "It's... Complicated," you shrugged as your eyes darted around the room, looking for some kind of excuse or even some kind of godly intervention to save you or interrupt the conversation. 

"How complicated could it possibly be?" He asked, looking at you for an answer.

"Extremely," you muttered out and moved away from him as he dropped his arms to his side, squinting his eyes at you like he was trying to figure out a riddle.

“You’re hiding something,” he decided.

"Pfft, What?" You asked anxiously. "No," you said a little too quickly and clenched your jaw at his accusation. 

"What is it?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest once more like your father used to do when the two of you got into trouble for something. Fuck.

Tag list;  @elasmo-branchii​, @nheirei, @the-ramblings, @milly-louise

[delimeful]

as the fabric starts to fray

donation drive commission for @hazelriver74 with the prompt: dukexiety and glitching powers! thank you so much for your patience, and i hope you enjoy! :)

warnings: violence, fights, mild body horror, involuntary drug use, remus being himself and saying gross stuff, profanity, borderline panic attack

-

Virgil always knew when Remus made his way into a fight by the dramatics alone. 

No matter where the brawl was going down, no matter how many people were involved, there was always enough space for him to make a scene. If there was any doubt that he was related to Princey, that alone would have eliminated it. Not that Princey would be happy to hear that.

So when the bank windows exploded into glass grit and a flash grenade trailing disgusting-smelling smoke landed between Virgil and the seriously-outclassed robbers, he wasn’t as concerned as he probably should have been. 

Sure, Remus-- “The Duke” was a self-identified villain, and sure, Virgil had shifted to the more legal side of the super scene these days, but it was a recent thing. He was a vigilante, not a narc, and that meant that he didn’t particularly care what Remus called himself so long as the guy wasn’t seriously hurting anyone. 

Plus, it was hilarious to see how thoroughly he could frustrate Princey just by existing.

“Having a party and you didn’t invite me?” Remus called, strutting through the smoke in shoes that appeared to have literal knife-heels, ones that scraped unpleasantly against the stone with each step.

Virgil kept himself focused on the robbers, because he hadn’t gotten close enough to get all the guns from them and there were still civilians behind him. Remus better have made the smoke non-toxic this time; not everyone could make a gas mask from shadows like him. “Pretty pathetic party if you ask me. These guys didn’t even bring any fun toys.” 

Remus clicked his tongue, ignoring the weapons pointed his way. “Well, maybe I’ll show them how a real robbery looks, hm? Better cover those innocent civvie eyes, Shade!” 

Virgil immediately snapped an opaque dome into existence over the hostages, just in time for Remus to make his move. 

“Here’s my favorite party trick,” he hollered, ignoring the gunshots as he charged forwards with melting skin and too-many limbs. “It’s the one where I make your kneecaps disappear!” 

Virgil rolled his eyes as Remus employed his usual level of ‘creativity’ to the fight. Good thing he was already well accustomed to cheesy supervillain lines in his lines of work, both past and current.

Still, he kept a sharp eye as he worked to pry the weapons from the ones on the outskirts of the skirmish. While it was sort of hard to look at Remus right now, and he generally didn’t kill, the villain could get a little… sloppy. He ended up having to shadowpatch a few of the would-be robbers’ more grievous wounds, just in case. 

The fight was over quickly, and Virgil smacked Remus on the shoulder, grimacing at the wrongness of his shifting flesh. “Don’t think I didn’t catch what you said about robbing the bank. This place is a community fund, and it’s not insured. Go rob somewhere that deserves it, won’t you?” 

Remus snarled with too many teeth, and Virgil hissed back, smacking him again like he was a finicky car engine. It did the trick, and the villain started looking distinctly less Lovecraftian. 

“You never let me have any fun,” he complained, waving his hand about as it slowly stopped resembling a medieval mace. “You’re almost as bad as the goody-two shoes trio.” 

… He probably shouldn’t be so offended at the comparison, since he was technically working with the heroes now, but. “Am not.” 

Remus threw his head back as he cackled at Virgil’s expense, but before the vigilante could retaliate, a flash of movement caught his eye. 

One of the still-conscious opponents was glaring from the ground, something strange and glowing in his hands, pointed directly at Remus. Virgil’s sense of danger went haywire, and he forced his body to shift forward, rather than away. He shoved Remus, hard, and moved just slow enough to catch the projectile in his own thigh. 

He swore loudly on principle, but whatever it was actually didn’t hurt beyond a stinging impact. He pulled it out: a canister dart with colorful feathers.

“What the hell was in it?” he muttered to himself, and then got an answer in the form of the shield dome dissolving into thick, purple smoke. 

This time, he swore loudly with feeling. 

“Shadowman, what’s going on?” Remus asked, but Virgil didn’t have time to play games anymore. He reached out and drew the smoke towards himself before it could settle on the civilians, shuddering as it settled into his arms and dyed them the mottled color of a bruise. 

He swallowed down the rising terror with the ease of long practice, but Remus was still too close for comfort. Really, when he was like this, everyone in the lobby was too close for comfort. He was feeling a distinct lack of comfort at the moment.

“Don’t wait up,” he muttered, failing to keep the strain from his tone. He immediately ducked out one of the blown out windows, because now was not the time to worry about what was and was not a door. 

Now was a time to get as far away from human contact as possible. 

Because the world hated him, he only got three blocks away before Remus tried to tackle him at full speed. Emphasis on ‘tried’, because Virgil’s ‘spidey-sense’ nearly puppeteered him out of the way, even more high-strung than normal. “I told you to-- why?” 

“I must really be losing my touch if I seem like the kind of person who takes orders,” Remus said, hand on a hip as he recovered from his failed lunge. “Especially after you just took a bullet for me like some swooning damsel. Is my bro rubbing off on you or something?”

Virgil, who could feel his headache getting stronger by the minute, forewent words entirely in favor of a very rude gesture that had absolutely no effect. “Look, I’m not playing coy here. Whatever was in that dart was bad news, you need to leave, now--” 

He hurriedly smacked a hand over his mouth, but it was too late to take back the warped double-tone of his words. Remus, despite all his actions, was not an idiot, and his eyes flicked between Virgil’s face and his arms before widening with realization.

“No fuckin’ way,” he said, advancing a step closer. Virgil shifted a leg back. “You-- Paranoia? You’re alive?” 

“Paranoia’s dead,” Virgil snarled, even as his voice refused to cooperate, even as his shadows began to pull themselves away from his skin and materialize as a particular villain’s signature fog. He clutched at his head, gritting his teeth as he struggled to keep the fog from spreading. “Fuck, I thought I was done feeling out of control of my own goddamn powers.” 

Remus seemed to notice Virgil’s posture, the disbelieving half-smile dropping off his face in favor of something like concern. “Woah, easy, emo. I’m not gonna rat you out, but you do look a little pathetic and in need of help. Hey, you’re a boring normie now, can’t you just call the cavalry?” 

“No!” More fog dripped off of him at the mere thought of interacting with the heroes like this. He’d ‘killed’ his old identity for a reason; he didn’t ever want to subject them to that. 

“Fine, fine! Yeesh, and people call me dramatic,” Remus said, his hands held up in a gesture of non-aggression. “If you won’t call them, then you can hide out at my place until we figure out how to deal with your little leaking problem.” 

Virgil grimaced at the description, and then shook his head. “It’s too dangerous-- Hey!”

His voice cracked embarrassingly as Remus stepped forwards, caught his arm, and slung it over his shoulders in one fluid gesture. The fear fog swirled around him like thick and burning smoke, but he barely even blinked.

“Dangerous, schmangerous,” Remus said, and tugged him towards the next back alley turn. “This is weak shit; Vigilante-You is much scarier, what with all that control and precision.” He fanned himself with one hand, grinning mockingly. “It’s enough to give me goosebumps.” 

Virgil punched his shoulder, shaking his head, but Remus really didn’t seem affected, and he could already feel his shadows becoming more manageable as he calmed down. “Fine, but you asked for it. No complaining when I make your hideout feel like the twilight zone.” 

Remus cackled again as he led the way. “Shade, you underestimate my appreciation for freaky shit. If you spookify my place, I’m going to be ecstatic.” 

[hookedonapirate]

Book Sneak Peek

A/N: For those of you who don’t know, I’ve been converting A Helping Hand to an original novel. After months of frustration from not knowing what to leave and what to take out because of the ridiculous length of this story, I’m finally close to being finished with it. It’s currently in the process of being edited and polished. This is a sneak peek of my new book. Unlike my first novel, this one is set in "The Big Apple” just like AHH. It features Harper and Audrey (Emma and Elsa in AHH) from Follow My Lead, and Derrick, Elisa and their daughter, Gracie, make an appearance at the end. 

I also wanted to let everyone know I will most likely be taking A Helping Hand down, even though I’ll be self-publishing. I know I said I wouldn’t, and actually I’m really sad about it, but after going through it, I realized it’s completely full of errors, misspellings and whatnot. Plus, I didn’t just change the names of characters and remove ouat elements; even though it’s the same story and the scenes pretty much follow the same sequence, apart from what I took out or added, I’ve made A LOT of changes to it, and I don't really want another version of my book out there. I encourage you to download A Helping Hand while you still can. But I will definitely let everyone know before that happens.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy another sneak peek!

I groan into the fluffy pillow my face is burrowed in. My head’s pounding, I feel like someone drilled a hole through my skull, my throat is dry and nausea lingers in my stomach. Slowly dragging my arm away from under my face, I open my eyes to a dim room, the curtains shielding any sunlight trying to burst through.

I take a minute to roll over, my eyes adjusting to the room as I lift my head slowly, taking in my surroundings. 

Nothing seems familiar. 

Granted, the guest room in my brother’s apartment is not very familiar either, but at least it reminds me of Brady. This room does not. It’s too pink and girly.

“Where the hell am I?” I grumble hoarsely.

I’m surrounded by pale pink walls and white furniture—a chair decorated with pink, frilly pillows, a bookcase lined with romance novels, a vanity and a nightstand with a pink, furry lamp. The curtains are made of white lace and there’s a large wall hanging that reads in large, cursive writing, Be your own kind of beautiful. 

My eyes scan the comforter, which is also pink, along with more frilly pillows.

This is definitely not my brother’s guestroom.

This is definitely a chick’s room.

My eyes widen in horror at the revelation.

This cannot be happening.

Gathering further evidence to solve the mystery as to how I ended up in some woman’s bed, I sharply lift the covers and peer underneath them, seeing that, yep, I’m bare-ass naked.

“Fuck.”

I let my head sink back into the pillow as I drag my hands over my face. I can’t believe my first night in New York, I hooked up with some random woman.

I went to the bar with those intentions in my dispirited condition, but I don’t recall picking up anyone. In fact, I have no recollection of last night beyond the bar. Which means I was way too smashed to hook up with anyone.

I need to leave. I’m not the type of guy to fuck someone and run off the next morning without at least buying her coffee or getting her phone number. To be honest, I’m not the type of guy who does one-night stands, but I’m in no shape to be involved in anything resembling a relationship. 

 Judging by the breakfast she’s making, this woman has other plans. The door is closed but I can hear dishes clanking around in the kitchen. And as I spot my clothes across the room, I doubt a woman expecting nothing more than a one-night stand would go to the trouble of picking up my clothes from the floor, folding them neatly and setting them in the chair. She certainly wouldn’t be making me breakfast.

I sit up slowly and place my feet on the floor, hoping this will stop the room from spinning around me. I drop my face in my hands and groan. I haven’t felt this hungover in years. I eventually stand up and grab the knitted blanket I’ve been sleeping on, securing it around my waist. I go to the window and pull back the curtain.

I’m on the third floor, judging by the number of windows beneath her unit. I remember little about the surroundings, but I do remember seeing the pancake house directly across the street and I remember thinking about how much I missed my mom’s chocolate chip pancakes. I also remember the bar I went to last night and seeing the barbershop next to it and thinking how badly I need a haircut. The names of the establishments are all the same. Which means only one thing. 

The woman I slept with last night lives in the same building and floor as my brother. 

Fuck.

I have a feeling this won’t end well. I let the curtain fall into place and turn around when I hear a gentle knock on the door.

Shit. 

I swallow thickly as the door opens. Panic flares inside me as I try to think up a way to get out of the pickle I’m in. I scramble toward the chair which holds my clothes.

“Owen, you awake?” 

I whirl around until I’m face to face with the most beautiful green eyes and golden hair I’ve ever seen in my life. I drag a hand through my disheveled hair, my eyes traveling down her body. She’s wearing a thin, pink bathrobe, exposing a pair of long, sexy legs that go on for days.

Legs I can definitely imagine wrapped around me.

Damn, I hit the jackpot last night. 

She’s beautiful, which is either a relief or extremely dangerous; I can’t decide which one.

She strides over to me, bearing a glass of water and a cheerful smile. I’m still stunned by how beautiful she is. “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” 

She’s teasing me and I like it.

How in the hell did I forget a night with a woman like her? I must’ve been out of it. “I have a splitting headache and the room is still spinning.” I press my fingertips against my temples, feeling them pounding underneath my touch, “Other than that, I’m perfect.”

“I can imagine,” she says with a giggle. 

Her giggle is the most delightful sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life, even with a splitting headache. 

“Here, I got you something that might help with that.” She offers me a glass of water and some aspirin.

“Thank you.” I graciously accept the aspirin and water, deciding this isn’t so bad. 

“What, no ‘thank you, beautiful’? Guess you’re really not feeling well,” she says playfully. 

Fuck. I even called her beautiful, which means I was laying on the charm pretty thick last night. I offer a frail smile, despite feeling terrible. Not only because of the alcohol. I feel terrible for getting her into bed while I was inebriated and miserable from my breakup. And she was probably drunk too, which makes me feel even worse. Although, she doesn’t appear to have a hangover. Maybe she’s one of those people who doesn’t get hangovers after they get drunk. If she is, she’s pretty lucky.

I swallow the pills, and as I wash them down with water, I know the right thing to do is tell her I’m not ready for a relationship or a woman in my life, but how can I? I don’t really want to see her smile dissipate, especially since she turned out to be so nice and sweet and beautiful.

I lower the glass and close my eyes briefly, the coolness of the liquid feeling quite soothing against my cracked lips and dry throat. Damn, if only I could remember exactly what I did to this woman with my mouth as my tongue slashes along my lips. If only I could remember what she did to me with that lush mouth of hers. A shiver skates down my spine. I try to shake the thoughts from my mind and try to speak but struggle to find the words. It’s difficult when this woman is staring at me with those intense green eyes. I desperately want to scoop her into my arms and kiss her senselessly, creating new memories of having her in bed, but I know that would only end very badly. Even more so than it’s already going to. The last thing I want to do is lead her on.

Somehow, I manage to refrain from kissing her. “Listen...I don’t remember much about last night and you’re…” My hand makes a grand, sweeping gesture down her form, “drop-dead gorgeous...and I’m sure last night was incredible...but my girlfriend just dumped me and my head’s a mess right now, so, I...” she eyeballs me in confusion as I will myself to continue, “I think we should just be friends.” At the same time, I reason with myself that we’ve already done God knows what, so there’s no harm in a quick kiss on the cheek, right? Besides, I may not be ready for a relationship, but I’m still a gentleman.

I step into her space and casually lean in to kiss her cheek. She smells like strawberries and cream and I can hear her breath hitch as my lips brush along her skin.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” She places her hands on my chest to push me away.

I quickly pull back to give her space, apologies leaving my lips. “Sorry, I just figured since we had sex—”

Her eyes practically pop out of her head. “Wait, you think we had sex?!” 

Well, duh. I shrug. Why else would I have slept naked in her bed and why else wouldn’t she be fazed by my nakedness underneath the blanket? “Didn’t we?”

She dissolves into laughter, to my complete and utter humiliation. “Oh no, no, no, no! We did not have sex.”

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list for future updates and sneak peeks.

@onceuponaprincessworld @teamhook @artistic-writer@ilovemesomekillianjones @hollyethecurious @gingerchangeling@ultraluckycatnd @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @itsfabianadocarmo @lfh1226-linda @sophiaaz @becausetheyrehappythisway @thislassishooked @hookedmom @resident-of-storybrooke @kateroselin @kday426 @sals86 @lawgeeks @yasbio2015 @xsajx @delightfully-difficult-pirate @snowbellewells @wanderingjpg @squidvisious @tenaciouskittynight @biefaless @animatedshorts @lassluna @melsbels @meat-pie-with-sauce @roseyflush @tiganasummertree @nowforruin @qualitycoffeethings @nikkiemms @oncechicagolove @theonewiththeory @lostinwonderland314 @darkcolinodonorgasm @carpedzem @maguilar1028 @mayquita @courtorderedcake @shady-swan-jones @timeless-love-story @laschatzi @officerrogers @spartanguard @andiirivera @ouatpost @jarienn972 @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @distant-rose @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree​

[just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot]

Soulmate September - Day 13

Day 13 - Everyone is born with a super power, but when soulmates are together their powers are nullified by each other.

Pairing(s): Romantic Intrulogical, Romantic Moceit, Romantic Prinxiety (background), Familial Anxceit

TWs: swearing, one mention of puking [nothing detailed], innuendo, Remus being Remus

--

Logic reigned at night in Newmind City.

Okay, that may not be entirely correct; the quicker the time sluggishly dragged itself towards 6 am, the faster the brain cell count dwindled. Stupider and stupider decisions were made edging the lines of the illegal and bordering on the disastrous. 

No, the Logic that owned the night came in the form of the superhero; Logic. 

The hero had to admit, it wasn’t the most extravagant name out there, he’d heard many more creative and intimidating names; the Sandman, Sweet Psyche, the Tempest Tongue, all of them household names by now, whether hero or villain. Logic wasn’t exactly a name that struck hearts much outside of NewMind City, but within the alleyways and dive bars, criminals lived in fear of his watchful patrols.

Harnessing the power of Order and Stability made Logic a formidable opponent. The effect on his physical balance allowed him to fight on any surface - even hundreds of feet off of the ground - with almost zero chance of falling. The way he could manipulate any situation into the perfect rube goldberg machine to aid his crusade was terrifying given the right situations. Only one villain dared provoke Logic at every turn; Deceit.

The Lord of the Lies. A Self-Proclaimed Subterfuge Specialist. 

Deceit seemed to live for one thing and one thing only; to destroy the city from the inside out. Logic would have admired the serpentine slanderer if not for his methods. Forcing politicians to spout the truth? Urging government officials to spill their true agendas against their will? Logic admired that kind of drive, but at the same time, this was a man who used lies as weapons. Deceit used them to hurt others whenever he so desired. 

Stalking across the edge of the Talyn Street apartment block, the hero could hear a commotion in the distance; by the sounds of it, at least three men were involved and by the sound of it, things had gotten ugly in a hurry. Logic took off along the edges of the nearest buildings and-

Wait. Something didn’t feel right.

The closer he got to the commotion, the less balanced he felt on his own two feet. Had he somehow exhausted himself? Impossible. He’d faced rather a quiet night until now. His thoughts were distracted long enough that he nearly slid right off of the edge of the building overlooking the alleyway in question. The scene that unfolded set Logic’s blood to a boil. 

Four men, not three. One held back by the largest thug in the group while the other two took turns brutalising the man, though he didn’t let out a single sound. Logic had to be careful; he couldn’t tell if his powers were acting up for sure, but just in case, he used the fire escape to stick to the shadows, to better observe the situation.

Despite the beating he was taking, the man being held back didn’t seem too worried. Logic found out exactly why when the man waited for the next brutal gut punch and used it to flip the larger man holding him onto his attacker. It was impressive to say the least. The final attacker still standing went to pull out a blade, evident by the flash of silver light that caught Logic’s eye, but thankfully, their victim was armed as well. 

The way the man twirled the butterfly knife in his hand so effortlessly was hypnotic, borderline erotic if Logic were to be so bold. Focus. You have a job to do. He leapt down from the fire escape with only a few inches between him and the attacker’s back. Before the assailant could do anything, Logic drove his elbow into the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious. Checking that he hadn't actually killed him, Logic took his pulse with relief before looking up towards the victim, 

“Are you unharmed-”

“That was so sexy.”, the man murmured.

“..... Come again?”

“Gimme a second.”

It took Logic that second and more to realise the innuendo. He annoyedly rolled his eyes and made sure his hair was neatly pushed back once again out of the way of his mask.

“Would you mind informing me of the situation, um..?”

“Remus.”, the man grinned. 

Logic wasn’t sure whether the grin reminded him more of a gassy shark or a seasick crocodile, but either way, he began to wonder if Remus wasn’t entirely innocent in this situation…

“Remus.”, Logan repeated, “Actually, I’ll need to ask you to assist me in escorting these charming gentlemen to the station-”

“That won’t be necessary. You’re too tired to move.”

The silky, venomous voice pierced through Logic before he could react. Dammit, he hadn’t anticipated these thugs would be working for Deceit. His movements were sluggish and just as he watched Remus hit the ground, Logic too felt the rough kiss of gravel before he was out like a light…

--

When Logic awoke, he felt rather like the Fresh Prince of Bel Air; everything was flipped, turned upside down.

Startled, he noted the boiling oil below him - typical of the villain’s over the top style - and the power suppressing cuffs keeping his hands secured behind his back. On the floor just to the left of him, he could make out the goons from earlier sat playing cards while Remus was tied to a chair a couple of feet away. Logic was thankful to see Remus had no new injuries though he was still out cold. The man may be a wretch but the hero really didn’t want to see harm come to him.

“Ah, you’re finally awake, my dear nemesis.”

Deceit’s voice trickled from the speakers in the room, sickly smooth and deadly, like honey laced with poison. Logic knew not to listen to it consciously, he’d made that mistake once before and it’d nearly cost him his life. He instead focused on struggling to get out of the situation he was in, but with his hands cuffed using suppressor cuffs, he was fighting an uphill battle. 

“Now, now, don’t exhaust yourself. I’ve been waiting for this day for a while now, I don’t want you too tired for the grand finale.”

The smugness dripping from every word even passively began to give Logic a headache. His attempts to escape were becoming more and more fruitless; the chain that held his legs in place also stopped him having his skin boiled right off the bone so being too unruly with them was out of the question. All he could do was hope that Remus would wake up and have some kind of ability that might help the both of them. 

Come to think of it, why had his powers suddenly stopped working as he’d approached? Perhaps one of Deceit’s thugs had been in possession of something made to counteract his abilities? No, that didn’t seem likely. Knowing the smug villain, Logic knew there was no way Deceit would let his cronies take charge of something that powerful and impressive. He was wrenched from his thoughts as Deceit’s message continued,

“I hope you’re prepared to-”

He stopped. There was a sound akin to rustling and clattering before Deceit’s voice came once more. From the muffled volume and the conversation, Logic guessed the idiot had forgotten to turn off the microphone.

“Pat, dearest?”

Another voice, probably the aforementioned Pat, spoke sweetly in response, 

“What, honey?“

“Where’s my villainous cape?”, came Deceit’s inquiry. Logic had to bite his tongue to refrain from laughing. Might as well enjoy the show while he thought of an escape plan.

“What???”, came Pat’s reply, a little closer now going by the acoustics.

“Where. Is. My. Villainous. Cape?!”

“Oh, I put it away!”

Logic was thoroughly enjoying the drama going down over the speakers, and so were Deceit’s henchmen who Logic spotted had stopped their rousing game of blackjack to instead get comfy and enjoy the show.

“Where did you put it?!”

“Why do you need to know, Jan!?”

Huh. This wasn’t how Logic figured he’d find out his arch nemesis’ name, but he wasn’t about to complain. What did strike urgency back into him was the progression of their conversation.

“Oh for the love of-! My plan to erase my nemesis is in danger!”

“Our EVENING is in danger!”, there was a soft sigh, “Look, Jan, we’ve had this reservation planned for months now! I’m gonna assume your nemesis is a little tied up at the moment,” , Logan rolled his eyes at such an awful pun, “So why don’t we just go enjoy our anniversary dinner and you can deal with him when you get back, alright?”

Horrifyingly, Deceit huffed a sigh, “I suppose it would be interesting to keep him suspended for a while, let the terror sink in. Good thinking, my love.” The sound of a light kiss and a chuckle could’ve made Logic lose his lunch. Or perhaps it was the idea of being held upside down for so long..

 “Alright, Pat, if we hurry, parking shouldn’t be too awful...”

The intercom went quiet and now Logic could truly let the situation sink in; he’d have to remain suspended over boiling oil, watched by Deceit’s cronies, unable to save himself or-

Remus!

He’d almost forgotten about the odd gentleman. He turned to see him-

Oh, are you kidding me.

Remus was still out cold. How. How in the HELL could one man be asleep for so long?!

Logic didn’t like the idea, but he had little choice. Inhaling, he began to yell, “WAKE UP-” when something hard impacted his cheek. The blow sent his glasses hurtling onto the ground - thankfully missing the boiling oil at least - and breaking apart on impact. Dammit. 

“Keep your mouth shut, Zero!”, one of the thugs chided, earning snickers from the other two and inciting them to join in on the jeering and insult hurling. Logic was just thankful that whatever had been thrown - he suspected a mug by the feel of it - must have been the single dispensable item at hand considering nothing else was thrown other than attempts at insults. The hero had no idea what was worse; the idea of dying from heart failure with the blood rushing to his head, or dying of sheer embarrassment knowing it’d happen while having to listen to these ignoramuses try to genuinely roast him.

Logic could already feel unconsciousness taking hold of him when the first thug began screaming. It took the last of his strength to turn towards the cacophonous cries of terror, but his vision was so blurred without his glasses, all Logic could see before he passed out were a pair of glowing green eyes and a whirlwind of obsidian tendrils.

--

When Logic awoke, the first thing he noticed was the cold breeze settling into his skin through his suit. Opening his eyes, the hero still couldn’t see clearly, but as he squinted, he began to make out stars and clouds. Shit, how long was he out?

“Wakey wakey, princess! You had me thinking you’d gone and died on me there!”, came Remus’ already unmistakable voice. Logic sat up, still reeling as he saw Remus approach him, getting clearer the closer he came until he was knelt down beside the hero.

“Here,”, Remus placed Logan’s broken glasses in his hand, “Sorry I couldn’t fix ‘em, it’s not exactly my expertise.”

Logic had so many questions already; how had they survived?! What had Remus done back at Deceit’s lair before he’d passed out?! Why did he still find it hard to use his powers even now he was free of the cuffs?! The hero frowned as his powers refused to work on his glasses. Remus - seemingly uncaring about Logic’s lack of a response - watched him attempt to work before he caught himself.

“Ah, wait. Lemme back up.”

The hero was confused as Remus backed away a good couple of feet from him on what Logic now recognised as the rooftop of the Crofter’s Hotel. He was about to ask for an explanation when he realised his powers were slowly coming back, reslotting the glass into the frames and straightening out the bridge and legs of the glasses. Order maintained once more, Logic donned the glasses, thankful for his vision stabilising. 

“Thank you, Remus.”, Logic went to stand up, but he still felt lightheaded. Thankfully, Remus saved him from toppling over, catching him at the waist and helping him carefully sit back down.

“Careful, Specs. I don’t want my soulmate hurting himself-”

“Apologies, your what?!“

Logic was stunned to say the least; Remus had just thrown that out there like it was any old fact.

“Soulmate. Y’know, your cosmic companion, your destiny dictated darling, your fatemate!”, Remus listed excitedly, “You know all about it right? When you meet-”

“- your superpower is nullified around that person, yes, I am aware.”

Logic wasn’t sure what to think; he’d never paid much thought to his soulmate, in truth, he preferred to think of his work as his soulmate. Not that he didn’t like the idea of meeting the man the universe decided was his perfect match. Nor did Logic mind that the man was rather handsome in the mysterious cryptid kind of way. Logic gestured for Remus to sit with him and extended his hand to Remus for shaking, 

“Logan Berrie.”, Logan offered, trying to settle back into his civilian mindset.

“Pie.”, Remus responded, low-fiving Logan’s hand.

“Pardon?”

“....We’re not playing a word association game?”

“.... I was providing you with my name, Remus.”

Remus grinned, “Wait, that’s your name?! That’s-”

“Ridiculous, I am well aware.”, Logan scowled, “I did go to school after all-” 

“I was gonna say that’s awesome but whatever!”

Logan did poorly to hide his surprise as Remus laid back like he could fall asleep, “So Logan, how’d you fall in with ol’ Snake Face himself?”

Logan rolled his eyes, still propped up on his hands, “The same way all heroes are presented with their arch nemesis; he and I crossed paths and unfortunately, while we share some values, we have vastly differing opinions on how society’s problems should be fixed.”. He glanced over at Remus, fidgeting idly with the corner of the beat up long coat his soulmate wore. 

“What was your transgression?”

Remus squinted at Logan for a second, “I’m cis.”

“... No. Transgression. What was it you did that made my nemesis target you? I noticed you addressed him by a rather flattering nickname earlier, so I assume you know of him personally.” 

“Oooh.”, Remus grinned, snickering at just the memory of it, “I may or may not have pissed off his little brother.”

Well, that had Logan’s attention immediately. The hero lay on his side next to Remus, propping his head up on his hand, ready for the juicy details. He may have thought himself above gossip, but that didn’t mean Logan didn’t enjoy a good old tea party.

“How so?”

With a grin Logan was sure should’ve split his soulmate’s face in half, Remus proudly elaborated, “Well he and my twin brother were dating, and they had a bunch of friends and family all gathered for some bullshit, and my brother wants me to say something - a terrible decision, really - and I’m there kinda caught for what to say. So I’m having to think on the fly.”

“So, what did you do?”, Logan inquired, clearly getting sucked into the plot unfolding.

“I just said the first thing that popped into my head!”

Logan rolled his eyes once more, but there was a fondness to it this time. “Which was?”

Remus proudly cleared his throat, bringing a hand up to clasp an imaginary microphone, reciting perfectly from memory,

“To the seventeen people in this room that all wished they’d taken my brother’s virginity first, just remember this is the guy who got blackout drunk, cried because he couldn’t afford chicken nuggets, and scared a birthday party of kids when he puked up behind Chuck E Cheese’s back in college!”

The snort of laughter Logan let out was disgustingly ugly. He clapped his free hand over his mouth despite his giggling soulmate’s attempt to swat the hand away. Logan finally gathered himself,

“That’s amazing, oh my goodness.”

Remus excitedly beamed, “Ten tittied Christ, thank you!”

What a visual.

He continued to rant, “I knew it was funny! But nooooo! It was all “that's not an appropriate story, Remus”, or “How could you say that right now?!”! They were the ones who wanted me to ad lib a last minute speech! So what if I said it in front of hundreds of people at their wedding-?!”

Logan couldn’t help it, the bellowing laughter that tore out of him was too much to contain. When was the last time he’d laughed so heartily? Logan wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure when Remus joined in with his laughter, but by the time they were done, Logan had laid down next to his soulmate to stare up at the stars. Then a thought hit him,

“Wait, you said your brother and Deceit’s brother are married, correct? Making you and Deceit brother-in-laws? ”

Remus nodded, “Yep.”

“And you’re not on his side, but are-?”

“Nah,”, Remus predicted with a head shake, “Ditz-ney Prince and TT are both heroes, so there won’t be much of a problem with us being a thing. If that’s what you were worried about.”

Logan nodded, though his frown continued into his query, “Ditz-ney Prince and TT are… interesting hero names...”

Remus rolled his eyes as if it was obvious, “Nah, those are nicknames. My brother’s The Prince over in Sanders Town a couple miles out from here, and you probably know the Tempest Tongue-”

“I’m sorry, your brother is married to THE Tempest Tongue?!”, Logan interrupted, though he shot Remus an apologetic look for his outburst. His soulmate chuckled, “Sounds like someone’s a bit of a fanboy.”

“No, no,”, Logan assured him, frowning despite his obvious embarrassment, “Nothing so childish, I merely admire his work-”

“You think he’s hot-”

“I said no such thing-”

“You didn’t deny it either.”

Remus had him there. Logan punched him in the arm playfully and, as if to prove a point, shuffled closer until he was almost laying on Remus. There was a question on Logan’s mind still, and he finally verbalised it as his gaze fell back onto his soulmate,

“Might I ask, how did we escape? I hate to admit it, but I was passed out for the entirety of your rescue.”

“No shit, who do you think had to carry you?”  Remus teased, “I just used my power, wanna see? It’s super fucked up-!”

“No. I mean, I would like to at some point, but I would rather we stay like this. For a little while.”

It felt like his cheeks were on fire, and the sweet smile Remus shot his way had Logan’s heart racing. 

“Sure thing, Specs!”, he slid his hand along Logan’s arm and softly let it card through his dark hair, “And how about after we’re done here we go mess with Snake Face? ”

Logan grinned back at him; why shouldn’t they have a little fun after all?

“What did you have in mind?...”

-----

This was fun! 

I haven’t written many hero fics before so I hope this is okay!

A big thanks to my friends in the discord for helping with this one when I had a writers block moment.

@tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account   @cateye-glasses   @fandomsofrandom

[padfootagain]

Such A Silly Game

Here we go with a second fic for Ben's week!! Today’s writing prompt was ‘a moment’. Join us on @benbarnesbirthdayparty​ to follow the event. This is a modern AU for Caspian! I am very proud of this little piece, I hope you like it.

Just so you know, it was meant to be a drabble. Then it became a regular one-shot, and turns out, it became a 7k-long fic... Ooops...

Anyway, enjoy!

WARNING for mentions of injuries, explosions and violence.

Tell me if you like my little fic :)

Word Count: 7365

"Lionheart is on the move."

"Copy that. Everything's clear all the way to the hotel."

"Have you checked the hotel itself."

"Of course. We're all good."

"We'll soon be there."

You ended the phone call, putting the device back in the pocket of your vest, and you nodded to your colleagues waiting for your signal a few metres down the street. The two of them climbed in the black car parked in front of the one you would be using tonight. You turned to your three other colleagues who stood by your side in front of the Narnian embassy.

"Get ready to leave," you ordered to two of them. "Marco and I will take care of the King's car. Stay close to us."

You patted the shoulder of one of your colleagues, who was younger than all of you. It was her first day as an official bodyguard serving the King of Narnia, and she was nervous as hell. After a long and difficult training, she was finally ready.

"Don't worry too much. It's Manhattan. The threat level is not that high," you reassured the young Denise. "Besides, you're paired with Reep! He's the best mentor you can have...  after me, of course."

"Ha... but Y/N here is too busy running the whole show, being the head of his Majesty's security to take care of the new recruits," your friend Reepicheep laughed at you. "Come on, let's get ready. The King will soon walk out of the embassy. And tonight, I pay for the beers!"

"Why the merry mood?" you asked, raising a playful eyebrow in surprise.

"Well, you've just said that I was a father now!" he replied, gesturing at Denise and making all of you laugh.

"Hey! I've been working with all of you for six months already!" Denise protested.

"Only as a trainee. Now, you're an official bodyguard!" Marco replied, nudging your new recruit.

"Congrats, by the way," you gave Denise an encouraging smile. "Now, go to work!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" your three colleagues chimed, and Reep and Denise walked over to the car behind yours.

One car on the front, one behind, along with three motorcycles came to complete the guard of King Caspian X. His diplomatic mission at the U.N. was about to end, only a few days left before you would find the quiet of your homeland again. Not that you complained about the charm of this city, but the threats were much greater in number on foreign soil for the King, which meant more work and more stress for you.

You had been working as his personal bodyguard for six years and been his head of security for two more. Eight years by his side, spending your days and nights thinking about his safety. You had protected him on every continent and in dozens of nations. And if it wasn't exactly recommended for you to admit it, you had formed a strong friendship with the King.

Or well, perhaps it was a little more than a friendship the two of you shared, but you were both painfully aware that you shouldn't act on it. Not in an easy way, at the very least. The King entering a romantic relationship with his bodyguard would bring the media on fire. It would eclipse every other project he might want to work on. And both of you would have to face hell. None of you were ready to take that step, or at least, you both assumed that the other wouldn't want to go through this. There were moments though when you would think like your feelings were shared, that he did see you in this tender light too. There had been a handful of moments, even, when you had thought that he might kiss you. It had never happened though. You reckoned that it never would. Besides, you knew the King well enough by now to be sure that he wouldn't risk putting both of you through all this mess if he weren't certain that his feelings for you were strong enough to resist the chaos.

You guessed that it meant that he didn't see this in you, after all.

The front door of the embassy opened, revealing the King confidently walking out. He was accompanied by two bodyguards who never left his side, no matter where he went. They would join the teams in the front car. You and Marco greeted the sovereign with a bow, and he nodded at the two of you, thanking Marco when he opened the door for him.

He settled in the back of the car while you sat in the passenger's seat and Marco would drive you through Manhattan.

"Is His Majesty ready to return to the hotel?" you asked, and he nodded once more.

You gave the signal to the other cars, and within seconds, you were on the road.

"Miss Y/L/N, you wouldn't happen to have a..."

But Caspian fell silent when you handed him a bottle of water and a box of aspirin before he could probably ask for it. He chuckled, accepting the medicine.

"Thank you. I guess I'm that predictable, huh?"

"You were to meet several other leaders today, I reckon anyone would end that kind of day with a migraine."

"How was your day? Not too much, I hope."

"Everything is ready for you at the hotel, Your Majesty."

He chuckled, before swallowing the drug and rubbing circles on his temples in an attempt to shush the pain that pierced his skull.

"That is not what I was asking, but I'm glad to know that too. Although, knowing both of you and your team, I had no doubt my room would be secured long before I would arrive there."

You couldn't refrain a proud smile.

"Thank you for your trust, Your Majesty."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Our day was pretty uneventful," you finally answered, your smile widening by the minute.

"Have you celebrated Miss Amos's first day as an official member of staff yet?" he asked, and you felt your heart swell with affection towards him.

He always remembered everything. You wondered how he did it. How, despite all of his duties, he still thought about every single person who worked for him.

"We were thinking about celebrating tonight," Marco joined in.

"Get a bottle of champagne on my account," Caspian instructed with an excited smile. "It's always a good feeling to welcome someone in our little world."

"It is, indeed."

"I have a few files to go through before we arrive. So..."

He handed you his phone.

"If someone calls, I am either dying or peeing."

You couldn't refrain a laugh, shaking your head.

"You shouldn't joke about dying, your Majesty. And especially not with your security team."

"I guess not," he answered, struggling to refrain his smile.

He picked up a couple of files, and started working again.

He was lost in laws and treaties and numbers and statistics. He rubbed his tired eyes, but focused on the documents on his laps despite his headache. You guessed that he would remain silent for the rest of the ride, so you turned to look at the shining lights of Manhattan at night instead. It was a beautiful sight indeed, of lights stretched with speed and reflections upon the Hudson River. The loud noise of the busy city still managed to sip inside the vehicle, honking cries and shouts and the humming of motorbikes speeding up across the large lanes. It was a rhythm that didn't really suit you: loud, busy, never-ending. You much preferred the slower pace of Narnian lives.

Despite your wandering thoughts, you remained focused on what was going on outside your car. You reckoned that as the King's head of security, you never truly relaxed. You were always monitoring whatever was happening in his vicinity, always attentive to details in every scene that played before you. A habit that was hard to lose once off-duty, but you didn't really mind. Maybe it was because of how you felt for the king, you reckoned that it was no bother to you to always be thinking of him.

You were outstandingly good at your job, and Caspian was well aware that he owed you his life, and did so on many occasions. How many plots had you brought down before they would come to fruition as an attempt on his life? He didn't know the exact number, but he was pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to count them on only his two hands. You didn't tell him about these things though, except when you were worried that a threat might still be out there. Otherwise, he would learn about your work through Reep, most of the time. He reckoned that it was just how you were: too humble to bring your good work to the light it deserved. Actually, you simply reckoned that the King had more important things to do than to listen to threats that were not relevant anymore. You did tell everything to the Prime Minister though, she had asked for the reports of all your operations. But if you could take at least one worry off of your sovereign's shoulders, then you would happily do so.

It was because you were so competent that you had quickly been promoted to a higher position in the King's security team. All your colleagues liked to praise you in saying that if you hadn't been in the team, the King would most likely not be in such a good health today.

So, it really wasn't because of your incompetence, or because of the incompetence of anyone in your team, that the quiet ride to Caspian's hotel turned into such a dangerous situation.

Because there was no emails to be found between the perpetuators of the attack upon the King that night, nor were there any strange online activity to be monitored, nor any suspicious discussions over the phone to be listened to. Every step was planned face to face between their instigators, and there was no way you could have guessed that an attack was planned for tonight.

How did they know how to find the King tonight, you never really found out. There were many mysteries about this particular moment that would take years to be revealed. And many important things would unfold in the very short time during which the attack took place. Their consequences though would linger on for many, many years.

You were always surprised by how the followers of Caspian's uncle kept his fight alive, despite the fact that his attempted coup resulted in their leader's death. You guessed that loyalty, even when misplaced, had no end. And with a bit of thinking, you understood the feeling. You reckoned that nothing could ever break your loyalty towards Caspian.

If you were supposed to hold your loyalty to the throne, you were well-aware that you had shifted your allegiance to Caspian himself long ago. Ever since he had shared his biscuits with you on that sunny afternoon in the royal gardens of Cair Paravel. You had talked like two friends, basked in the warm sun and the distant whisper of the sea. That was the first time that he was fully Caspian with you instead of the King. That was when you had fallen for him. You remembered every second of it...

But the scent of roses was long gone and at the moment at stake, you were about to face the greatest risks you had ever taken.

It was so sudden, like a flash. Everything was normal in the busy street, and the next second the car before you was bursting into flames.

Marco hit the breaks just as your foot made the same movement against the floor of the car, as a reflex. All three of you were projected forward with the strength of the deceleration, before hitting back your seats.

"What's going on?" Caspian asked behind you, a little out of breath. "Is anyone hurt?"

But you weren't given an occasion to speak, as loud gunshots rang through the night, the bullets crashing against the bulletproof windows interrupting you.

"Get down, Your Majesty!" you ordered, and for once, Caspian was the one to obey an order without a complain.

You unclasped your seatbelt and moved to check on Marco, who was holding his head.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just banged my head against the wheel."

A new sequence of gunshots came in an outburst, but the glass was holding on for now. You looked around, trying to calm your breathing and your pounding heartbeat. No matter how panicked you were and scary the situation was, you needed to analyze what you had to be done. Assess the situation and act.

Assess and act.

"Your Majesty, are you hurt?" you asked, trying to control the shakiness in your voice as you scanned the street.

"No, I'm fine. Are you both okay?"

"We're fine."

Chaos was raging outside. People were running away to find shelter out of the street, abandoning their cars in the middle of the road in their panicked state. Which meant that the roads ahead were all blocked or would soon be. Anyway, ahead, the first car was burning in bright and tall red flames, completely forbidding any way out. The gunshots were coming from the right side of the street, you guessed from one of the buildings.

You reached for your radio.

"Does anyone copy?"

"Hear you loud and clear," Reep's voice came a little distorted through the radio. "Lionheart?"

"We're all fine. What's your status?"

"Unharmed. A bit bruised, but nothing to worry about."

"Is the road behind you clear?"

"No, blocked by a bus that was left there in the panic."

You checked your watch. Only a minute or so must have passed since the beginning of the attack.

"Stay put," you ordered.

No one answered from the first car, and you had to push your grief and worry for you colleagues aside for now. All that mattered at this precise moment was to get the King to safety.

"Your Majesty, there's a bulletproof vest under the driver's seat, put it on."

"Already done," Caspian replied. "What do we do? The streets are blocked?"

You nodded, and couldn't help but be impressed by how calm Caspian was despite the circumstances.

"I'm working on that," you replied, looking around the street again.

"We stay here and wait for help?" Marco asked.

"No, we need to get out of here, the windows won't hold forever."

"I agree with Miss Y/L/N on that one," Caspian nodded.

You spotted the entrance of a subway station a few dozens of meters away. You would have to cross the road, a piece of grass and another road that seemed completely blocked by a set of abandoned cars.

What if they had chosen this spot because they wanted to trap all of you in the subway?

But the next set of bullets made cracks run across the windows, and you reckoned that you didn't really have a choice.

"We're gonna aim for the subway, on the left."

"It's too far away," Marco shook his head.

"Reep," you called over the radio. "We're gonna make a run for the subway station on the left."

"Copy that."

"Get as close as you can with the car," you instructed to your colleague. "Your Majesty, stay down, and be ready to get out of the car quickly."

Caspian merely nodded, bracing himself against your seat.

Your colleague obeyed, starting the car again and driving as fast as he could towards the subway. But there was no way the car could pass between the oak trees that bordered the second road you had to cross. You had to get out of the car while still on the grass.

Reep and Denise stopped their car next to yours, turning the car to create a large protection for your team.

"What about the front car?" Denise asked as she and Reep joined your group.

But you shook your head.

"No response. And the priority is to get the King to safety."

Your young colleague nodded.

"Everyone in formation around the King," you ordered. "You all know what to do."

And indeed, there was no need for more words. You surrounded Caspian, using your own bodies to shield his. It was a quick run to the subway. Just one road to cross. But you would be in plain sight then.

"Your Majesty, are you ready?"

He studied the way your eyes were filled with fear. It was an expression that was easy to read on your features then. He spotted the sweat across your forehead, and the way your chest rose and fell more than usual. But there was determination as well as panic to be read in the frown that creased your brow.

He knew that this moment might be the last you shared. There was no reason to deny the truth. You were all risking your lives now, and he was painfully aware that it was his fault if you were in harm's way. Still, he reckoned that you wouldn't change a thing if you could. You would still choose to stand beside him.

There were many things he longed to admit, and many confessions he ought to make before dying, but now was not the time. Despite the urgency of this moment, despite the danger, he couldn't simply blurt out the fact that he loved you with all his heart, and had done so for years.

After all this, then, he decided. It would be the reason why you'd both have to survive this, so he could tell you at last.

"I'm ready, Miss Y/L/N."

You took a deep breath, giving him a short nod, before turning your gaze towards your goal.

You could make a stop behind a car, before finishing to cross the street.

"We aim for the cab over there," you instructed. "On three. One."

The four bodyguards gathered around their King, much to his dislike. It was their job though, to protect him at all cost, and he understood it. He understood that he was the King, and despite his country being a constitutional monarchy, his role was still key in the government and the health of his country's economy. He understood it, and he hated it.

You were right behind him, your arm reaching across his back. You would be shielding him on his right, and he was well aware that it might be the most dangerous position to be in at that moment.

Still, he remained silent, and let Reep position himself by your side, and your colleagues before them.

"Two."

Your heart was beating so fast, faster, you reckoned, that it had ever beaten. You were struggling to breathe, and yet, you were painfully aware of Caspian's scent of cinnamon and orange blossom.

You closed your eyes to focus, to gather your strengths. There was no mistakes allowed, any would most likely cost you your life, or worse, Caspian's.

When you opened your eyes again, you stared at the cab you were about to run to, only a few meters away. Despite your fear, your expression on your face was determined rather than afraid.

"Three!"

You all stood up as one man, running as fast as you could, although you remained bent over the King, making sure he was safe, four human shields covering your sovereign's body.

You counted how long you spent unprotected.

One, two, three, four, five...

The gunshots started, and a couple of bullets hit the pavement right next to your feet.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven.

You crumbled against the cab, your legs shaky with the adrenaline running through your veins while the gunshots went on, digging holes in the cab behind you.

"Everyone alright?" you asked.

You were met with four nods.

"The shooter is in the big building on the other side of the lane. I'd say third or fourth floor," Reepicheep said.

"I've spotted him on the third window of the fourth floor," you agreed. "But there's no chance we can aim at him from here. Better make a run for the subway."

"And if he wants us there?"

"Then we'll shoot whoever is inside. Keep your weapons at the ready."

Your gun was already in your hand, the safety long gone and your forefinger ready to pull the trigger while you held the weapon so tightly your hand hurt.

You had been trained for this. You didn't doubt your abilities. You only doubted your luck, it was the one thing you couldn't control after all.

"Alright, one more time. On three," you instructed once more. "One."

Bullets hit the car you were hiding behind again, and you shielded Caspian as well as you could. When the shooting stopped, he sat straighter again, his dark eyes fully black in the weak light of the street, with no way of telling where his irises started and his pupils ended. You stared at each other for a few seconds, both of you a little out of breath.

He rested his hand on your forearm, his touch delicate.

"Are you hurt, Miss Y/L/N?" Caspian asked in a concerned whisper.

But you shook your head.

"We need to move," was your answer, and the King merely nodded in response. He knew you were right. You needed to hurry.

"Two," you resumed your countdown, and your colleagues and you took back your protective positions around the King.

One final sprint and you would be in the clear, for now, at least.

"Three!"

The shots resumed the second you started towards the subway.

You counted the seconds again while bullets ricocheted against the pavements and the cars surrounding you. Glasses shattered on your right, the high-pitched noise added to the detonations.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine...

You would have needed a couple more seconds, that was all. Just two more seconds, maybe three, and you would have reached the entrance and been able to take cover.

But you collapsed before that, just as the number nine rang in your head.

Caspian felt it. He felt that your hand slipped from his back, and your presence across his back and by his side disappeared too. He turned to check on you, and the scene he found was the one he dreaded most.

You hit the ground just as he turned to you.

His eyes grew round, and he made a movement towards you, but he was dragged away by the rest of his bodyguards.

"No..." he breathed, but it might just had been a shout for the pain that tore the word apart. It was simply too broken to come out louder.

Then he was pushed against a wall, and you were out of sight.

You were shot. You were hurt and it was all because of him. He had to go back and carry you to safety. He had to protect you just like you had protected him so many times before, just like you protected him just now.

"Unhand me," he ordered between grinding teeth. "All of you, unhand me."

If Marco and Denise obeyed, Reep stared back at his king with a stubborn look on his face that Caspian hated.

"Your Majesty, you can't..."

"That's an order."

"I'm afraid I can't obey this order, Your Majesty. You can't go out there for her."

The two men stared at each other, reading each other's anger and resolve in their eyes. Caspian's fear and panicked state was slowly turning into anger at the idea that he couldn't help you. And under other circumstances, he would have understood. He was the King. You had sacrificed yourself for him, and you risking your life would be useless if he walked back out there and got shot too.

But it was you. It was you, and he didn't care about anything else at that moment. Not about his country, or his duties, and certainly not his safety. You were lying on the cold pavement, just a few meters away from him, at best wounded and at worst dead. He would not leave you behind. He had things to confess, after all.

And on top of his fear for you and his panic rising through his body at the thought of losing you were added his regrets. So many of those, so many moments he had stopped himself from talking to you, from admitting how he truly felt, from holding you close, from kissing you.

It seemed simpler then, it seemed wiser too. He figured he had all the time in the world to tell you the truth. And now he was angry at himself, more than at Reepicheep, for letting so many of these moments slip through his fingers over the past years. And maybe he had let you down just as much as he had let himself by staying silent when he was so certain that he loved you. If he had let you down in the past, he was determined to never do so again, and certainly not now.

"Unhand me. Now."

"Your Majesty, if you get hurt, her sacrifice will have been in vain."

"I can't leave her there..."

"Your Majesty..."

"Get out of my way."

Reep heaved a sigh, knowing his King too well to keep on protesting. Instead, he did as ordered.

"I'll go with you then," Reep decided, and Caspian didn't complain.

Before he could add another word, Caspian was running to you, closely followed by his bodyguard.

He grabbed you by the shoulders and started to drag you towards shelter. With Reepicheep's help, he carried you to safety in just a few seconds, but he remained unprotected long enough for him to feel the stinging burn of a cut across his right arm. He merely winced though, and didn't let out a sound before all three of you were protected again.

Meanwhile, Denise and Marco had wandered further into the deserted subway and found no threat.

"Your Majesty... your arm..." Denise whispered, her eyes wide in concern.

"It's merely a scratch," Caspian brushed her remark away.

She looked for something to wrap around his wound to slow down the bleeding, but the King wasn't paying attention to her at all anymore.

"Miss Y/L/N? Can you hear me?"

His call was met by nothing but silence. Your eyes were closed, and a cut crossed your cheekbone, probably caused by your fall. He checked your pulse, but you were still breathing although your heartbeat was a little slow.

Caspian looked for your wound, but couldn't see any blood.

"Help me turn her to her side, she must have been hit on her back," he ordered, and Reep and Marco helped him to manoeuvre you so he could take a look at your back.

Sirenes echoed through the street then. The police and ambulances were arriving. But for now, you were still on your own.

After a careful examination, Caspian spotted a hole in the fabric of your suit, right under your right shoulder, and when he brushed his fingers across it, they were slightly covered with blood. He took his phone out of your pocket to shed some light on the spot, and he realised that your bulletproof vest had slowed the bullet enough for it to be still visible as it got buried in your skin and the first layers of muscles on the edge of your shoulder blade.

He heaved a relieved sigh. He was no doctor, but he reckoned that the wound in itself was not too severe. The strength of the impact must have been the worst part, he reckoned.

He gently put you on your back again, and resumed his efforts to wake you up.

"Y/N! Y/N please, open your eyes."

He ran his hand across your forehead and your cheek before cupping your face, his fingertips lost in your hair.

"Y/N... please... please, you need to wake up now. Y/N..."

Finally, your eyelids fluttered and opened, barely revealing the shade of your irises that Caspian dreamt about. And he reckoned he had never been happier to see your eyes.

"Ouch..." you let out with a wince.

He gave you a bright grin, tears shining in his eyes.

"Y/N... how are you feeling?"

"Been better," you admitted. "Where are we?"

"We've reached the subway. The police is here. Help is on its way."

"Have you... checked the perimeter?" You asked Reep.

"We're safe for now," Marco nodded.

"Happy to see that you are still the same," Caspian chuckled, his voice hoarse and a little weak.

"Are you hurt?" You asked, noticing the blood on his sleeve.

"It's just a scratch. I'm fine. We're all fine."

You made a movement to sit up, bit Caspian gently pushed you back down.

"No, lay down. Help is on its way. You need to rest."

"Your arm..."

"I'm alright, it barely brushed me. Stay down. You'll be fine."

He reached for your hand, for once not caring about the people around the two of you who witnessed the scene. It was so rare that he would let himself slip so far as to touch you in any way, and you felt overwhelmed by the chaste but loving hold.

But you were exhausted, and struggled to keep your eyes open by now.

You gathered your strengths to look at him, staring at his dishevelled hair falling before his dark eyes, and the beard covering his cheek, a little bit of sweat pearling across his forehead...

God, you loved him so much, it was almost embarrassing...

"Y/N, I need you to stay awake, okay?" Caspian's voice was low and deep and it sounded fragile now, begging. It was such a strange tone to hear coming from your King, you reckoned that you had never heard him beg for anything before.

"I'm so tired," you replied, although you were blinking in an attempt to open your eyes for good.

"I know."

"It's hard to breathe."

"You were shot. The vest stopped the bullet, but I reckon that the force of the impact was enough to knock you down. You could be more severely wounded than what we can assess now. So don't move, and stay awake while we wait for help."

"Take care of your arm first."

He exhaled loudly, a tender smile settling on his lips while his eyes filled with tears again.

Outside, the sirens rang closer again, and some gunshots could be heard from the distance. It was loud and chaotic and scary. Caspian didn't look away from your eyes though.

"You really have to always be this stubborn, don't you?" he asked, his voice too gentle for his remark, and as you thought about an adjective to describe his tone, there was no word that you could think of that suited more than 'loving'. And this tone of his made your heart melt.

Police officers finally reached your shelter a few minutes later, along with a team of paramedics. Reep guided them to you, and explained the situation, while you tightened your hold on Caspian's hand.

"As we've almost died, and it's a very short moment that'll soon end..." you whispered, so only Caspian would hear. "I think I can admit that... I really wish you could stay with me now."

But you were surprised when Caspian shook his head, giving you the most tender smile you had seen adorning his lips.

"I'm not leaving your side this time. As you said, we've almost died. Call it cliché, but it changes things."

You wanted to ask him what he meant, but the paramedics finally reached you, and you had to give them your attention instead.

"Take care of the King first," you ordered them, making Caspian chuckle.

You really would never change...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

 You hated hospitals. They were white and cold and filled with pain. The blankets and sheets were scratchy and the mattress uncomfortable. And there was no need to get you started on the food.

You were in one of these hospital beds now though, and had no choice about the matter. If the bullet had not made too much damage in itself, the impact had hit you with enough strength to break one of your ribs. You would stay in the hospital for a couple of days, and after being patched up, you had fallen asleep alone in your room.

Only, you weren't alone anymore when you opened your eyes again.

Caspian was asleep, sitting on a tiny chair with dark circles under his eyes that showed that he had barely gotten any sleep during the night. You guessed that he had passed out because of exhaustion rather than peacefully resting. His neck was twisted to a strange angle, and you could foresee the wince he would make as he would wake up with painful muscle.

You guessed that moments of peril did change things after all.

You could already think of the headlines if the fact that the King had spent the night in the hospital to stay with his bodyguard was to come out. Caspian didn't seem to care though, clearly, as he was curled in his uncomfortable chair by your side.

His arm was pressed against his chest in a tight bandage. He looked properly exhausted, yet, your selfish side was happy he was in this chair instead of the comfort of a bed. He was by your side, after all, how could you not enjoy the sight?

The sun was rising outside, still pale and golden above the skyscrapers while the city that never sleeps came a little bit more to life. You studied the way a few stranded photons got caught on Caspian's eyelashes and in his long dark hair. You measured the distance between your hand and his. Maybe a metre, at most, you would say.

You kept on staring at him for a while. A couple of minutes or an hour, it was hard to tell, you reckoned that you could have spent your whole life just looking at him. Despite the rush and danger of the previous night, and where you were now, there was something unbelievably soothing about watching Caspian sleep by your side.

When he finally stirred, blinking his eyes open and rubbing the sleep away from them, his gaze instantly settled upon your frame. He offered you a warm smile once he noticed that you were awake.

"Good morning, Miss Y/L/N," he greeted you, his voice hoarse in the young morning as he rubbed his painful neck.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," you answered with the same smile.

He scooted his chair closer to your bed and leaned towards you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Numb. I guess they must have given me painkillers."

"You got some morphine during the night."

"Explains a lot."

He chuckled, nodding.

"I guess it must."

"How is your arm?"

"It was a mere scratch, but I am royalty, so... I reckon the doctors are being zealous."

"How did you get hurt? Is it because I fell?"

He stared right into your eyes to answer, knowing you wouldn't like what he was about to say, but he didn't really care.

"No, I went back for you. I carried you back to the subway, with a little help of your colleagues, of course."

"You did what?!" you exclaimed, trying to sit up but falling back into the bed as soon as a jolt of pain crossed your back and chest.

Caspian was on his feet in the blink of an eye, gently pressing his palm against your shoulder.

"You have to lie down. You have a broken rib. Apparently, it's going to hurt like hell."

"That... might be a good idea... Don't think it's making me forget what you've just said though. What on Earth were you thinking?!"

"Is that really how you're supposed to talk to your King?" he asked, quirking a playful eyebrow.

"When you act so recklessly? Yes."

"So what was I supposed to do? Leave you there, alone on the pavement?"

"Yes!"

"That will never happen."

"Your Majesty..."

But just as you were about to protest, he reached for your hand, and made you fall quiet, the words stuck in your throat as his soft skin met yours. Your heart sped up, and you watched him setting his eyes upon your two hands. He slowly sat on the edge of your bed while you struggled to find back your voice.

"This has been going on for too long, don't you think?" he asked in a whisper. "Such a silly game we've been playing..."

"This?"

"Well, I could be wrong, and then I apologize for what I'm about to say. But I thought... I think you might feel like this too."

"Your Majesty..."

His lips curled into a sad smile.

"Do you think you could call me a different name one day?"

You struggled to swallow.

"I'm not supposed to."

"As if I've ever cared about your origins and mine..."

"People do care though."

"Yes... I guess they do."

"So... you can stay for a little longer, and then the moment will end as you pass this door, and we'll be back to a King and his head of security."

He looked up to stare at your eyes once more, trapping your soul in them, it would seem.

"Is that what you want? After all these years? Don't you think we have lost enough time already, worrying about what people might say about us?"

"Nothing's changed. You're still the king, and I'm still your protector."

"Things have changed though."

"Really?"

"I almost lost you. I saw you lying there on this pavement, thinking that you might be dead. I've always pushed back this moment because I thought we would have time, that 'later' would come, eventually. But the reminder that our time on this Earth is a precious thing was only too violent for me to ignore last night. We've lost years already, I don't want to lose more time."

"But..."

"Just... hear me out. Let me tell you..."

"We shouldn't."

"When you were shot yesterday... I thought... I thought back on these moments when I almost didn't stop myself. When I almost told you how I feel, and when I almost kissed you and... and there is nothing in my life that I regret more than to have let all these precious instants pass."

He heaved a sigh, shaking his head.

"I'm... I know it won't be easy. But I'm tired of not being honest."

"Your Majesty..."

"No need to bring that distance between us again now."

"But..."

"But I love you."

You fell silent. You thought that he did love you. You hoped so. You wished that he would. But hearing the three words pass his lips was something else entirely. It felt... overwhelming.

"I've loved you for a while," he went on, his cheeks turning crimson, and his gaze dropping back to your hands, unable to hold your stare. "I... there will never be anyone else."

"You should marry a princess or... someone... like that..."

He chuckled again.

"Even you don't know what that means. We're in the 21st century, don't you think that I could have a choice to marry who I love. As long as the woman my heart has chosen loves me too, of course..."

His voice trailed off, waiting for reassurance, for your answer. But you remained silent.

"I want to do this," Caspian went on, staring at you once more while he gently stroked your knuckles with this thumb. "I'm ready to face it. Life is too short, Y/N. Yesterday was the last strike for me. I can't... I can't go on like this. I can't go on seeing you everyday and yet not being free to kiss you, and to ask you about your day, and to talk to you for hours just because I want to know everything about you and I want to hear your voice all the time. I can't go on being jealous of every man you speak to, imagining that maybe you could fall for them instead of me. I can't go on wasting my life like this, Y/N. I've wasted years already. You know that I would do anything for our people, I would die without a second thought if it meant protecting our country. But you becoming queen would be a good thing for Narnia too, I know you would be perfect in that role. And I just... I need you. And I want you in that role, by my side. I want you as more than the head of security. Critics will be made, and journalists will invent scandals, but we can beat this. We can, and if you give us a chance, we will."

He grew silent again, waiting for your answer. Before you would speak though, you gave him a smile.

"You're jealous of the men I talk to at work?" you asked, making him laugh.

"Of all that I've said, is that everything you've chosen to acknowledge?"

"We'll pass to the declaration of your unconditional love for me in a minute," you answered, both of you chuckling despite the tears glimmering in your eyes.

"Yes, I am jealous of them," he admitted. "Yes, I love you. And I don't want to be with anyone else. So... what do you think?"

You could have answered that it would be difficult, yet, you wanted to try it too. You were ready to embrace the storm that was sure to strike you, if it meant finally being with him. You wanted to tell him that you were jealous of all these noble women he talked to at galas as well. You wanted to tell him that you regretted these moments you had let slip through your fingers just like he did.

But instead, fewer, more important words passed your lips.

"I think that I love you too, Caspian."

He seemed a little stunned, but then, the grin he gave you was the brightest you had ever seen graze his features.

He didn't find any words to answer to that statement, so instead, he did what he had stopped himself from doing dozens of times before. Instead of speaking, he leaned down to press his lips to yours.

And Gosh, you had been wishing and dreaming and waiting for this kiss for years, but was it worth the wait...

His lips tasted of bitter hospital coffee, and they were soft and warm against yours. His scent was overwhelming, making your head spin. His hold on your hand tightened, but it remained tender all the same. When he turned his head a little more, his lips brushing yours instead of connecting with them fully, you reckoned that your entire body was set on fire by the way your two breaths mingled against each other's mouth, and how warm the air leaving his lungs felt across your skin. Finally, you were there, holding on each other, kissing, breathing the same air.

For how long did you keep on kissing? A few minutes, or a few hours, you wouldn't have been able to tell. All that you were aware of was Caspian's kiss and the way it made your body tremble, and how he was out of breath as well. Your fingers were lost in his soft, dishevelled locks like they were made to belong there.

When you finally broke apart, both of you out of breath, he rested his forehead against yours.

"So... what happens now?" you asked after a long silence.

"Now... I'm catching my breath, and then I think I might kiss you again."

You laughed, shaking your head.

"No, I meant... about... everything else."

But it was his turn to shake his head.

"It can wait until tomorrow. Or later, at least. Now... let's just enjoy this moment, okay?"

"It's nice," you agreed.

"Then let's just enjoy it while it lasts. Let's make this moment as long as we can."

"For how long do you think we can make it last?"

"Well... I reckon that a lifetime would do."

 *************************************

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[fortheloveoffanfic]

Family Matters More

Keanu Reeves x reader. Requested. (A/n- So, because I’m terrible at staying organized, I have all of my requests, but not who they were requested by, so, when I write and post and you aren’t tagged even if you didn’t request on anon, I am very, very sorry, it’s no one’s fault but my own.)

Masterlist

Warnings- Pregnancy, Angst (it’s fine at the end though.)

Dropping the phone to the dark veined, marble kitchen counter, Y/n sighed heavily, raking her nails through her hair. Tears prickled at her eyes, making them glassy and ready to overflow. It had been coming, her entire family knew it, but Y/n still couldn’t believe the news she’d just heard from her mother; her uncle, who she’d grown up extremely close to, had died, from lung cancer. He’d been suffering for almost two years, aggressive chemo had only worked the first time, but when another cluster of tumors had shown up in a follow up PET scan, nothing had worked and her family’s only option had been to make his last days comfortable. Unfortunately, his ‘last days’ had turned out to be thirteen grueling months. 

Uncle Kenny had wilted away like flowers at the beginning of winter, growing duller as the days dragged on. The last time Y/n had seen him was months ago, she’d wanted to visit him at the hospice, but collectively, her parents and husband had urged her to keep their interactions restricted to over the phone, not wanting to stress her out too much. It had frustrated her at first, Uncle Kenny was her favorite uncle, always able to put a smile on her face when she was a kid and had taught her so much about the great outdoors while her parents were too busy climbing the corporate ladder to do it themselves. But though it was hard, eventually, Y/n had relented, but only after her uncle had personally requested that she stay away. That had come after she’d told him that she and Keanu were expecting. He loved her, and his unborn grand niece, which was why he couldn't risk something happening to Y/n or the baby because of added stress.

Hanging her head in her hands, Y/n tried to quell the stinging in her eyes, but her efforts were fruitless and before long, hot tears were falling freely, punctuated by soft sobs racking her body. It wasn’t supposed to hurt that much, Y/n knew that it was inevitable, and it should have comforted her that he’d gone in his sleep, but really, it didn’t. If only he hadn’t been such an avid smoker, then maybe he’d still be there, hopefully to teach her daughter the things he’d taught Y/n when she was a kid.

“So, babe I-” Keanu cut himself off as he entered the kitchen. Worry immediately swelling in his chest at the sight of his wife in tears, “Hey,” he cooed, immediately going over to where she sat at the counter, pulling her flush against his chest and smoothing his hands over her hair, “Shh,” he kissed the top of her head, “What’s wrong baby?”

It took a while, Y/n was blubbering so intense that she couldn’t speak, but after about fifteen minutes spent in Keanu’s comforting embrace, she settled enough to form words, “He’s gone Ke,” she sobbed, burrowing into his chest, “Uncle Kenny’s gone.”

Right there, Keanu’s heart broke for her. Of course, everyone knew that the moment was coming, but still his wife had lost someone dear to her, and in such a painful way. All he wanted was to take the hurt away, she was supposed to be enjoying the path to motherhood, not breaking down because she’d lost a loved one. “I’m sorry baby,” Keanu kissed the top of Y/n’s head again. “Come on,” he eventually urged her off of the barstool, hugging her close as he led them to the living room, cuddling her as they sank onto the sofa. “Can I get you anything? Water or tea?” Even if he couldn’t fix her heartbreak, Keanu could still take care of her, and their baby.

“No,” she shook her head, staring forward blankly, her fingers absently tracing circles on her growing bump, too upset to notice the fluttering kicks against her stomach. Why couldn’t he have just stuck around for three more months? If not to see her grow up, just to meet her, at least once. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keanu probed, wishing that he could offer more than just a listening ear and a hug.

Y/n shook her head again, “Not really,” her words were soft and broken, “Can we just sit here for a bit?” 

“Of course sweetheart.”

Funerals were always emotionally draining, but it was especially so when you were six months pregnant and your emotions were working in overtime. Huffing as she entered their bedroom, Y/n winced as she stationed a weary hand at her aching back. The lengthy service had been held at a church in the city, Uncle Kenny just had to be a devout Catholic in his final days, and the old, worn, wooden pews hadn’t been very kind. Worse yet, the kitten heels she’d opted to wear didn’t provide much support when she’d had to spend nearly two hours on her feet, standing at the entrance with her parents as they thanked everyone as they trickled out of the cathedral. 

With a pained groan, half from her back, half from the headache she’d acquired at some point throughout the day, Y/n slowly sank into the armchair, intent on starting to remove her shoes. Just as Y/n had lifted one swollen ankle onto her other knee, Keanu came into the bedroom, tugging at the neck of his black tie, his longish dark strands brushing his shoulders, the salt in his beard signalling that he hadn’t gone for a trim in a while. “Let me do that,” he offered, coming to kneel in front of her. 

“No,” Y/n flinched away, “I’ll do it.” She was upset with him, though, she hadn’t let him know yet. Y/n had spent the last week or so in deep, deep thought; her uncle had been a smoker, which had led to lung cancer and, ultimately, death. Keanu was a smoker too, and Y/n couldn’t help but worry that she’d lose him like that or to some other type of ill health. 

Furrowing his brows, Keanu tilted his head to the side. Y/n had been cold with him all day, holding his hand, but only reluctantly so, and barely saying a word to him on the drive back to their house. He understood that she was hurting, but he didn’t want her to shut him out because of it. “What’s wrong?”

“We just came back from a funeral, what do you think’s wrong?” Y/n grumbled, struggling to take her shoes off, eventually submitting to his help. “Excuse me,” she pushed off the arm chair, shrugging off the black blazer that she’d worn over her smock dress, letting her hair down afterwards. 

“Y/n,” Keanu sighed her name quietly, “Please, just talk to me. I know this is hard for you but-”

“I want you to stop smoking,” the admission just tumbled out of her mouth, with barely any warning. She’d had it; watching her uncle wither away was hard enough, Y/n was sure that she couldn’t survive watching Keanu being broken down like that. And worse yet, raise their child on her own, what was she supposed to tell their daughter? That her father puffed his life away even though he knew she’d need him?

“What?” Keanu slipped his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, taken aback by her harsh request.

“I want you to stop smoking,” Y/n repeated firmly, “I don’t want to lose you like that. And even if its not cancer, there’s a whole bunch of other stuff that it could cause. I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you, you know that.”

Keanu chuckled humorlessly, hoping to lighten the moment. Y/n had never had a problem with his nasty vice before, they’d been together for years, and now, out of the blue she wanted him to stop? “Honey,” he chuckled again, “Don’t be ridiculous.” In retrospect, accusing his pregnant wife of being ridiculous may not have been his best move.

“Ridiculous?” Y/n repeated incredulously, “You think I’m being ridiculous for wanting you to be healthy? Well maybe I’m being ridiculous for having a baby with a man who’s not taking care of himself, who probably doesn’t even care if he lives long enough to walk his daughter down the aisle one day.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He scoffed, already exasperated, “I’m fine Y/n, healthy and right here.” He loved his wife, but like almost every other husband in the world Keanu didn’t want to be wrong. Besides, he was stuck in his ways; old habits die hard. And above all, he was scared, Keanu didn’t want to think about missing one of the most important days of his daughter’s life, no father did. Unfortunately though, instead of his inner turmoil encouraging him to be sympathetic to Y/n's cause, it just fanned Keanu’s flame, rousing the worst reaction, “And you know what? If having a baby with me is so fucking ridiculous, maybe we shouldn’t have kept it! Hell, I’m older than you anyway, maybe I’ll just die, have you thought of that?” 

Y/n’s lips quivered, frightened at his tone and at a complete loss for words. How could he say those things? “I…..” Nothing would come, and suddenly, Y/n wanted to be far away from Keanu. That wasn’t the gentle, sweet man she married. Her husband was loving and sensitive, he was overjoyed when they’d found out that they were having a baby and ordinarily would have never said something so cruel. Y/n didn’t know what had prompted the seemingly overnight change, but she did know that if Keanu was going to be like that, she didn’t want to be in the same house with him.

Seeing the tears in her eyes and the slight shake in her form, Keanu swore under his breath, “Fuck.” He couldn’t believe that he’d let fear and anger get the better of him like that. He stood; wooden and glued to the floor as Y/n suddenly started moving around in as much of a haste as her condition would afford her, grabbing a large bag from their closet and packing some of her stuff into it, “I’m- shit,” he mumbled when she wouldn’t stop to hear him, “Y/n,” he pleaded, reached out to grab her arm, huffing in defeat when she pulled away, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah, well you did.” Zipping the top up, Y/n swung her bag over her shoulders, too enraged to take the time to put her shoes back on, so instead shoving her tired feet into the nearest pair of flip flops, a fluffy set that she usually wore after getting into her pajamas. Without another word, she was leaving the bedroom, headed towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Keanu followed Y/n down the steps, and able to move a little faster than her, he easily blocked her way at the bottom.

Her cheeks were tear stained and Y/n’s eyes were already red, one hand gripped the strap of the bag tightly while the other was placed protectively over her bump. Keanu hated seeing her cry, yet, that night, he’d been the one bringing tears to her eyes. “Home,” was all she offered, trying to squeeze through the space between his larger body and the railing.

“You are home,” he countered, folding his arms.

“I meant home, to my parents,” she clarified, not even sure why she’d bothered to tell him. At the side door to the garage, Y/n grabbed her car keys off the little brass hook, singling out the remote for her car alarm and then hitting the button at the top to unlock it.

“At least let me drive you,” he didn’t want Y/n to leave like that, distraught and past dark. Even in the security of her car, anything could happen, and above all, her safety came first, triumphing any amount of anger over their spat.

“No,” Y/n was getting into her car, clumsily sliding into the driver’s seat, “I just…...I don’t want to be around you right now, okay?” 

The harshness in her tone coupled with her actual words stung like a snake bite to the chest, though Keanu was well aware that he’d said much worse not too long ago. He should have been reasonable instead of acting like an insensitive jerk. He should have heard her out and talked things through with Y/n instead of spewing battery acid.

The garage door reeled open and Y/n started backing her car out, not paying Keanu any mind as he called after her. Desperately, he followed on his feet for as far as he could, though, as usual, he was reminded that his knees weren't what they used to be and before long, Y/n's car was far beyond his reach, his wife and child, who he was  absolutely terrified to lose, gone, and he'd had no clue when, or if, they'd ever be back.

Sleep had been hard to come by that night, so hard that it never really came. Keanu's mind was constantly bombarded with anxious thoughts of Y/n. She hadn't answered her phone when he called, probably two dozen times, and when he'd tried her parents place, they'd both rattled off cheap, continuous excuses; she wasn't there yet, she was sleeping or even the age old "she's busy." 

All night, he'd worried about her, even between his fruitless phone calls. Was she sleeping okay? Was she well? How was the baby? For a brief moment, at around two am, Keanu had all but actually made it to his car, still dressed from the funeral, ready to head to his in-laws and mend things with his love, but in the end, fear and reason had stopped him. Y/n needed time to cool off, especially after what he'd said, a mere few hours definitely weren't going to cut it.

And then, slumping into one of the sitting room's sofas, Keanu finally took a minute to think about exactly what had gone down. Her plea had been reasonable; if it had been the other way around, he'd have wanted her to stop a lifetime ago, expect her to do anything that would prolong their time together. But there he'd stood, trying to make Y/n the fool for asking the same of him. 

Maybe I'll just die. Those were his words.

Keanu had never been one to let himself be preoccupied with thoughts of his own death, it was frivolous after all, it wasn't like he could change it. One day, it was going to happen, one day, he was going to leave people behind. And it never bothered him, that was, until he met her. So innocently, not looking to fall in love, but just a month later, doing it anyway. Almost four years ago, Y/n had brought a new vibrancy to his life, and now, they were creating one together. And with every cell in his being, Keanu didn't want to miss a moment of it.

Quitting was hard, he'd tried before. But arguably, before, there wasn't so much at stake. Just like that, with reinvigorated energy, Keanu pushed off the couch, fishing a half empty pack of smokes from his pocket, tossing it to the kitchen counter, only to head to the little draw in the kitchen where he usually kept some more on hand. Even if it wasn't going to be easy, even if the stories he'd heard about withdrawal and the side effects of going cold turkey were terrifying, Keanu knew that he had to. For his wife, for his child. For himself. 

For the rest of the night, knowing full and well that sleeping with her spot vacant would be a daunting task, Keanu disregarded the need for rest, instead opting to sweep the house for any trace of a cigarette; getting rid of everything from stray smokes and glass ashtrays to expensive cigars. If he was going to do it, he was going to do it right. 

By dawn, everything indicating that a smoker resided at their cushy house in the hills had been tossed; dumped in the appropriate bin at the curb, and then, unable to hold out any longer, Keanu finally got in his car, started it up and backed out into the street, headed to bring his family home.

Her eyes burned, half from crying all night and half from just not sleeping at all. Though she'd tried, pillows tucked around her, Y/n still hadn't managed to catch a wink all night, and as the light of dawn split the darkness, she'd found herself queasy with homesickness. It wasn't like she hadn't ever spent a night away from her place with Keanu, but the feeling of being at odds with him like that, knowing she'd actively left so abruptly and so distraught, had made her literally sick. 

Needless to say, things had gone far awry from what Y/n had expected. Of course, he was allowed to be upset, she was asking him to give up something he'd been doing for more than twenty years, smoking, as terrible as it was, was ingrained in his routine. Habitual. And trying to take it away so sudden would be like ripping away someone's security blanket. So really, she had no intention of hurting him.

Yet still, he'd hurt her  

That morning, and the painful memory continued to rack her frame with soft sobs, eventually interrupted by her mother, features pinched with worry, knocking on her ajar door as she poked her head in, "Y/n," she probed tentatively, "Sweetheart, Keanu wants to know if you'd be okay with talking to him now. Please, he's worried about you."

"I don't wanna talk to him," Y/n shifted beneath the mass of covers, swiping away some tears from her reddened cheeks, "Just tell him to leave me alone." She knew, full and well, that she sounded like a melodramatic teenager going through a lover's spat with her high school boyfriend, but Y/n didn't care. 

"Dear," her mother sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose, "I know you two had a fight last night, but he's your husband. Besides, he's already downstairs."

Struggling to turn towards the door and sit up, Y/n couldn't decide if she was infuriated or touched, "What?" Sniffing loudly, she reached for a tissue from the box at her bedside, "Why?"

"Because, he's worried and he loves you," when Y/n didn't look particularly moved, her mother, as adamant on having them resolve their issues as she was, continued, "And he know he's said some stupid things, but he doesn't want to keep things this way. Everyone makes mistakes Y/n. Please just talk to him, he's here and he's as much of a mess as you are. And we both know that all this stress isn't good for the baby, I'm sure she misses her daddy."

Hesitating for a moment, Y/n eventually nodded, absently caressing her bump as she finally permitted, "Okay, fine. Tell him I'll be right down."

Smiling faintly, Y/n's mother thought on it for a minute, before suggesting; "Even better; why don't I ask him up here? That way you two can shut the door and have some privacy."

"Yeah, okay," wiping her reddened nose with the crumpled tissue, trying not to cry again, "He can come up." Mouthing an okay, Y/n’s mother pushed the door back in, walking off without another word, and just as she did, Y/n shoved off the covers, scooting to the edge of the bed and slowly standing. Taking a minute to go over to the full length mirror, passing a brush from the top of the dresser through her bed head and then attempting to straighten her mismatched pajamas, she was just about to go over to the window, to see if Keanu's car was really parked out front, when her door creaked open, the sudden sound making her jump and gasp. 

"Hey," Keanu didn't hold her gaze for longer than a minute handful of seconds before letting his whiskey orbs fall to the hardwood floor, strands from his untamed mane curtaining his tired features. Cautiously, as if he were afraid of upsetting her, Keanu inched into Y/n's childhood bedroom. They both knew the room well, and she remembered the first time she'd brought him to it, the night he'd met her parents for the first time. They'd been skeptical at first, he was older, and Hollywood had given most of their men a bad rep, but by the end of dinner, her mother was smitten and her father…...well, he could tolerate him. They'd brought their desert up there and had it by the window, just before Y/n had showed him around. Their current situation felt far different; void of the warmth of new love replaced by the stifling fear that their marriage was hanging in the balance. 

"Hi," meekly, Y/n replied, swallowing thickly and not knowing how they should have continued. She didn't like how it felt; to be so flustered in his company. They were each other's safe places, refuge after a long, hard day, their first phone calls when something good happened and everything in between. Around Keanu, silence was comfortable and usually, breaking long stretches without words exchanged was easy. But that morning, she didn't have the slightest clue on what to say, on how to begin to bridge the gap that had grown overnight. 

Putting a fist to his lips, Keanu raised his head again, tentatively looking around first to the unmade bed and then to Y/n standing near the closed window as he cleared his throat, primarily to break the tense silence. "I'm sorry," just as she had the night before, Y/n flinched when Keanu reached for her, that time though, it was more out of hurt than anger. She could see that her actions had stung him by the pained look that crossed his face, but he'd done his own share  of damage the night before, and even if she could be talked into forgiving, Y/n wasn't just yet ready to forget. "What I said-"

"Was pretty damn fucked up," the break in her voice brought with it a new wave of quiet tears and Y/n could swear she felt her heart start breaking at his words replaying in her mind. Maybe we shouldn’t have kept it. Maybe I’ll just die. “You talked about aborting our child Keanu! What, were you just lying every time you said you wanted a family with me?”

“No, no, of course not,” scouring his brain for the right words, Keanu’s chest felt tight. He really had messed things up, with the best person in his life, and he wasn’t sure he could fix it. But he had to give it his best. He didn’t think he could stand to leave without his wife. “I just,” hitting his thigh with his fist and shaking his head, Y/n could see him fighting tears, “I got defensive, I don't want to think about not being there for the both of you, it’s scary.”

“Then talk to me about it, try to understand where I’m coming from when I ask you to try to quit,” Y/n’s arms fell to her sides in defeat, “Don’t…..” When she couldn’t finish, Keanu approached her again, and that time, she let him wrap her in his strong arms. It had just been one night, but she’d missed their comfort dearly, there was absolutely nothing that could compare to his embrace.

“I’m so, so sorry sweetheart,” his husky, pained voice was barely a whisper and he followed up his words with a chaste kiss on the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. It felt so good to have her tucked against his chest again, their heartbeats in sync. “I never, ever want to hurt you like this again,” Keanu rubbed her back soothingly, one hand toying with the ends of her freed tresses, “And I want to be with you, both of you, for as long as I can be. So I’m quitting, I’m done with that.”

With tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes, Y/n reared back slightly to meet his equally blurry gaze, “I’m sorry I picked a fight about that,” Y/n sighed quietly, and as much as she’d wanted him to quit smoking, she didn’t want to push him too hard, “And you know, if its too hard then-”

“No,” Keanu swallowed thickly, “It’s not. I don’t care about that, our family matters more to me, and you two are gonna be stuck with me for a very, very long time.”

Through her tears, a glimmer of a smile broke through, brightening her sorrow, and without warning Y/n’s arms around Keanu’s middle tightened and she laid her head on his chest, “Good,” she grinned softly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him sweetly, “Cause we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana   @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx​  @danceoftwowolves​

[thefanficmonster]

Somebody To Remember

Andrew (The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing (maybe), slight Spoilers

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Y/N wakes up in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people and with a big chunk of memories missing. She’s told she, along with her professor and classmates, was in a bus crash while passing through the town of Little Hope. From that point onward she is trying her best to contribute into the group’s efforts of finding a way out of that place and also piecing together the shards of her broken recollection.

Requested by Dot Anon! Hi there! Sorry for the long wait, but it’s finally here and I hope it makes it worth it! I love writing for Little Hope and I’m very grateful you gave me an opportunity to write for Andrew with your request! Hope you enjoy the read, looking forward to hearing more requests from you! Love, Vy ❤

My eyelids lift just barely before an intense pain takes over my entire skull. Instead of battling through it, I just shut my eyes again. I feel like my head is swimming as though I’ve been spinning in circles for the past five minutes. Speaking of the last five minutes, I don’t remember them. Actually, I can’t recall anything from...I can’t even recall how long it’s been from what I last remember. I hear voices but they aren’t clear - almost like I’m at the bottom of a lake and they are calling out to me from the shore. I make another attempt at opening my eyes, succeeding this time, despite the intense pain.

“Hey, there you are.“ Unlike the rest, this voice sounds to be closer which makes it a lot clearer and easier to understand. “Stay with me now, Y/N.“

I blink a couple times, struggling to get my eyes in focus. When I finally manage, I am met with a pair of greenish blue eyes looking back at me. 

“Hi? Um, where am I?“ I utter hesitantly, letting my gaze wander all over the picture in front of me. I see a boy who appears to be in his late teens, maybe early twenties, I can’t tell. Behind him I see a shorthaired girl and an older man talking. I tap my fingers on the surface I’m sitting on - it’s no doubt gravel. And wait, did he refer to me as Y/N? “Am I Y/N?“ As I speak, I feel a sharp sting on my cheek. I lift my hand to touch the spot where the unpleasant sensation is coming from just to pull my fingers away with a wince, seeing them covered in blood. A pit of fear and panic forms in my stomach. “What happened? Why am I bleeding?“

His eyes widen. He looks border-line horrified as he backs away from me, never taking his eyes off me, though. “Professor, can you come here for a sec?” He says, his hand waving over the older man.

He walks over and crouches next to the boy. “What’s wrong? How are you feeling, Y/N?” He’s looking at me when he asks the question, so I can only assume I really am Y/N.

“She can’t remember anything.“ The boy says, his voice shaky due to what seems like panic, “What do we do?“

I switch my focus between the two, the panic growing stronger within me as well. The professor contemplates his next move carefully before calling out to the girl who is trying to catch a signal with her phone in the air. “Hey Taylor, give me your phone. I need a light.”

“Coming!“ The girl power walks to us, a smile spreading on her face when our eyes meet, “Oh thank God you’re awake, Y/N! I was terrified!“

I brave through the pain so I can return her smile, “Yeah, I’m happy to be awake too. Would be happier if I could recall anything though.”

Her expression morphs into the same one the boy had when I insinuated that I don’t remember anything. Putting her initial shock aside, she hands the professor her phone. He holds it above my face so the screen could illuminate any injuries I might have. Or the injuries I definitely have cause this headache is most certainly not the result of dehydration or lack of sleep.

“I can see some blood beyond your hairline and a cut on your temple, but that’s it. You are probably concussed. Don’t freak out, though, if you can still make sense you’ll be alright.“ He assures me. “I’m John, by the way, your professor. This is Andrew.“ he points to the boy. “I’m your professor, these two, and the other two we don’t really know the whereabouts of are your classmates. This was supposed to be our field trip for a project, but we got in a crash. That’s how you got those cuts and bruises. But, again, don’t worry we will be just fine. Your memories will come back sooner or later.“

Taylor chuckles, “I wouldn’t worry too much. She’s still got her sarcasm.”

“You bet I do.“ I choose to lift the heaviness of the situation, remove the worries from the group. I feel like I owe it to them for not remembering who they are while they obviously care about me. “Now help me up, I don’t plan on sitting here any longer. It’s quite uncomfortable.“

The professor and Andrew lifted me off the ground by my arms, steadying me on my feet. Concussed or not, I have to be prepared for a night of wandering around in a dark and foggy ghost-town. I can’t be a weakling and depend on my team the whole time.

                                                                *  *  *

My head hurts even more now, I didn’t know that was even possible. Whatever expectations I had for this night, they got thrown out the window the second Andrew and Angela were dragged five centuries back in time. Oh yeah, I also met the two other classmates John mentioned - Angela, who’s a very...interesting woman. She is a little high-maintenance and a little stuck up, but nothin I can’t tolerate. Unlike Taylor who I’m afraid will kill the woman just by glaring; and Daniel who is the complete opposite. He’s kind and sweet and really in love with Taylor. They are very cute together. Despite Angela’s attitude it’s clear that she deeply cares about John. I can tell the feeling’s mutual.

But demons and witches aside, my memory that’s slowly repairing is what’s bothering me most. The fragments that are coming back to me are so disconnected from each other and so far apart, it’s almost like I’m just making them all up to fill in the blanks. I’ve gathered most memories for Taylor, who I think is my best friend and some of Daniel, who is also a good friend of mine. Hell, I can even recall a bickering session I’ve had with Angela and I faintly remember arguing with John about a grade. But nothing of Andrew. Not a single memory involving him. I even pulled Taylor aside to ask her if Andrew and I were even friends before this. Her answer only made me feel worse, though. She seemed rather upset when I told her I can’t remember anything regarding him. She said she was surprised. When I asked her why she gave me a vague response that she assumed I’d remember him most. 

Well thanks a lot, Taylor. 

I’ve only started exhausting my brain even more now that her words are stuck in my mind.

‘That’s surprising. One would think you’d remember him first.‘

We’re currently taking a break to catch our breath. The past few hours are just a jumble of running away from these terrifying creatures and being pulled back in time. I can’t piece the logic of anything that has happened and it’s bothering me, probably more than it should.

“Hey, you ok? You’ve been cracking and biting your knuckles for a while now.“ Andrew’s voice shakes me out of my trance. He puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, sitting down next to me.

That’s another thing that has been bugging me - his touch. It’s so damn familiar and so natural! I can’t explain it, but every time he touches me, it just feels like his hand belongs there. It sounds ridiculous, I’m aware, but it’s true. I feel so horrible that I can’t remember anything about him - the fact that he has been my biggest support and comfort this whole time isn’t making me feel any better either. He hasn’t left my side for even as much as a second.

“Yeah, just frustrated. And I’d be lying if I said I’m not scared right now.“ I decide to rant and just get everything off my mind, I feel like he’ll understand. “I can’t piece anything together. Not from what’s happening to us and most certainly not from my past. So many large chunks are missing and it’s driving me mad.“ I cover my face with my hands, “I wish I could understand at least 10% of this insanity. That would be enough to give me peace.”

I can no longer feel him touching my shoulder. Instead, his hands take gentle hold of my wrists, pulling them away from my face. Holding both my hands with one of his, he uses the other to lift my chin so our eyes meet. “It’s OK, Y/N. I know how hard this is for you. I understand this is taking an even bigger toll on you than it is on us. Just know that you can trust us. I mean, it’s not like we know any more than you do, but if anything attacks you, we’ll make sure you make it out alive.” He swipes his thumb over my cheekbone. “I would go through a beheading for you, believe it or not.”

I can’t help but laugh, “I believe you, Andrew. Thank you. Just know that it goes both ways.” I squeeze his hand.

I do believe him. I believe all of them. I have faith in this team and I trust it with my life. I trust Andrew with every fiber of my being.

                                                             *  *  *

It’s over. I can hardly believe it. I can’t believe it.

“We can leave it’s over! Oh my God, it’s over!“ Taylor excitedly engulfs me in a tight hug. Tears are streaming down her face. Tears of relief and joy.

I return the hug with the same amount of strength and tenderness, “I can’t believe it’s over. Oh my God.”

“It is. It really is.“ she whispers to me reassuringly before pulling away and giving me one final encouraging nod.

We are finally free to leave that ruin of a house and this town in its entirety. We can now leave it all behind. We can go home.

I watch as Daniel wraps his arm around Taylor’s shoulders pulling her closer to his side. I see the encouraging smiles of pure happiness that John and Angela exchange. I feel all the positivity radiating off of them.

A gentle warm hand takes hold of my frozen and bruised one. I tilt my head to see Andrew falling in step with me. The warm smile on his face confirms what Taylor told me - the nightmare is indeed over. With the horrors left far behind us and 80% of my memory having returned, I feel reborn.

“Feels amazing, doesn’t it?“ He asks, his grip on my hand is tender but firm - he’s afraid of accidentally letting me slip from his grip, but also afraid of causing me pain by touching the many cuts that litter my skin.

“Words can’t describe it.“ I say with a content sigh, instinctively intertwining our fingers together.

And that puts together the remaining 20% that are missing. That special and intimate contact makes something in my brain click.

I stop dead in my tracks, causing Andrew to stop with me. He raises a confused eyebrow at me. “What’s wrong?”

A laugh escapes my lips, a huge grin plastering itself on my face. “You’re my boyfriend.” 

His eyes go even wider than when I told him I didn’t remember anything. This time it’s due to a different emotion. 

He stutters, “You remember?”

I nod eagerly, “We’ve been dating for seven months now. Daniel introduced us. Taylor kept teasing us saying we should date. We went on our first date more as a joke for the amusement of two of them and then....”

He cuts me off by hugging me twice as tightly as Taylor did. He has put every last bit of his energy into this hug and I’m returning it with every last bit of mine.

“Welcome back completely, Y/N.“ He says, pulling away while still keeping his arms wrapped around me. 

“Glad to be back finally.“ I can’t wipe the dopey grin off my face, not that I’m even trying to at this point.

With zero regards for our audience of four, Andrew presses his lips to mine, marking my return to our reality with a love-filled kiss.

@sparrow-gg  @artlovingbre  @chairtiger

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE

It’s never difficult to be around Hoseok or Jimin. Hobi is the actual human form of sunshine 98% of the time, and Jimin is so lovely and sweet and perfect that you wonder on a daily basis if he’s not actually an angel. You’re lucky-you always realize that-but on days like today, when you’re tired and stressed and more than a little crampy-it hits you all over again-just how lucky you actually are. Because with these two men, nothing goes unnoticed, and you never go unloved. 

Or rather, Jess writes a fluffy, purely self indulgent, domestic relationship AU featuring JiHope in honor of Hobi’s birthday week. Happy Hobiuary! 💜

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Jung Hoseok, J-Hope, Hobi, Hoseok, Park Jimin, Jimin, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Poly!BTS, Hoseok x you, Hoseok x reader, Jimin x you, Jimin x reader, Hoseok x Jimin, JiHope, Fluff

Genre: Tooth Rotting Fluff

Title: Champagne Bubbles

It had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. 

As soon as you had gotten into work that morning, the vet on duty had instantly started yelling-overwhelmed and swamped by cases already-and scared of angering her any further, you hadn’t stopped running since 6 AM. 

Cut to the last hour of your shift, and you had somehow managed to get every animal substance known to man on your scrubs-you were fairly certain that last rowdy patient had peed on you more than once-and you looked, and smelled, like someone who was at the end of their metaphorical rope. 

However, you still had to take an exam at the nearby university before heading home, and so, throwing your coat on over your soiled clothes, you headed for the library, the world-dark when you left the apartment that morning-dark once more as the moon crested over the nearby buildings. 

You failed the exam. 

It was hard to drive home-what with the darkened streets and the exhausted tears starting to brim and overflow-but you managed to make it, and pulling into your spot, you allowed yourself to just sit for a moment, forehead resting forlornly on the cold steering wheel. 

This day could not get worse. 

Famous last words. 

Cut to now, as you’re walking up the last flight of stairs to your apartment, and you start to feel the telltale cramping low in your abdomen, the kind that makes you wanna crawl in bed, throw a blanket over your head, and curl up-fetal position-around a hot bean bag. 

“Dammit, why.” You groan out, reaching the landing, as you blindly dig your hand into your purse to search for your keys, a simple task, that feels like an impossible trial in your tired state. 

Good thing you had been prepared and put in a tampon that morning when you had woken with the impending signs of doom and a headache. 

Finally locating your keys, you unlock the door to the darkened apartment and let out a sigh of tired relief as you let your bag slide to the floor right in front of the entrance, kicking off your worn and smelly sneakers without a thought. 

Well, without a thought other than getting into a hot shower and falling into your bed with a heating pad and a blanket over your head. 

It’s quiet in the apartment, and you wonder briefly, if Jimin and Hobi are already asleep as you creep quietly toward the hallway. You are home a lot later than normal. 

You all rise early together every day and split ways in the parking garage-you headed for the emergency vet clinic, Jimin waving cheerfully as he leaves in his old beater for his job as manager at the local coffee shop, and Hobi driving off far too fast on his scooter toward the local arts college, where he teaches dance classes. 

You all usually go to bed early too, at the same time, together, but tonight, you’re far later than usual and the apartment is lacking the sunshine of Hobi’s bright smile and Jimin’s soft welcome home embrace. 

Your footsteps falter at the kitchen, and suddenly, you let out an audible groan, as your eyes are drawn to the kitchen sink sitting dark in one corner. 

Dammit. You still needed to do the breakfast dishes. 

Shuffling across the tile of the kitchen, you turn on the hot water and let it wash over your cold, chapped hands for a moment, before your reach into the sink blindly, searching for the first dirty dish. 

You glance down in surprise when-after moments of fruitless searching-you find nothing in the sink, and note, suddenly, that it is empty and spotless, the dishes already done and put away in the cabinets. 

Interesting. 

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on this for long however, before your tired, aching feet are leading you down the dim hallway once more, toward the safety and warmth of the bathroom and the delicious idea of hot, steaming shower for your tired and dirty body. 

Pushing open the door, careful to be quiet, in case your boyfriends are truly sleeping like you think, your eyes widen once more in surprise for the second time in as many minutes. 

The bathroom is softly aglow with the light of candles, the atmosphere warm and scented like roses and champagne, and in the flickering light, you note that the small bathtub in the corner has been filled to the brim with steaming, lapping water, perfumed with the oily slick of some sort of bath salt. 

“What the hell-” You breathe out beneath your breath, and suddenly, you don’t feel so tired anymore, and the corners of your mouth are tilting upward in the start of a fond smile, as you observe the carefully presented scene before you. 

First the dishes, and now a bath? 

The boys are definitely up to something. 

Shucking your heavy coat off onto the bathroom floor, you trek back the way you have just come, and without knocking, push open the door to the bedroom. 

The room is dimly lit by the string of clear lights that adorn the wall above the bed-giving it a cozy and soft glow-and by the flickering of a movie playing quietly on the TV. 

You lean against the door frame and take in the scene for a moment, the smile on your lips growing unwittingly bigger as you observe your boyfriends, curled up in the middle of the queen bed, piled under several blankets, looking soft and ethereal and altogether incredibly comfortable. 

Jimin looks up first, large dark eyes reflecting the light from the tv screen, blonde hair ruffled in an adorable way, as if he has just taken a shower, and smiles when he sees you, eyes creasing into half moons. “Baby girl! you’re back!” 

Hobi glances over at Jimin’s words, chin resting on the shorter man’s head where it lays on his chest, and offers you one his breathtaking smiles, and the room becomes a million times lighter, as if the sun has just peeked through the curtains. “Hey beautiful! Long day?” 

“Incredibly.” You nod, glancing over to the movie they’re watching. Some action flick you’ve never seen. “What’d you guys do, by the way?” You ask nonchalantly, slightly teasing, as you draw your attention back to them once more. 

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, sitting up now, full lips drawn into an incredibly cute pout that you struggle to resist. 

“You know.” You motion vaguely over your shoulder. “First the dishes, now a bath?” You grin teasingly, shrugging, suddenly all too aware that you’re still in your stinky scrubs. “You guys must have done something really bad to suck up like this.” 

“You’d think, right?” Hobi jokes back, laughing loudly, as he slides away from Jimin and stands, and you note, as he comes toward you, that he’s wearing the plaid pajama bottoms you had tried so hard to throw away last year. 

He pauses in front of you, quirking his head in an endearing way, and reaches out to tuck back a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Actually though,” He offers you the hint of a soft, heart shaped smile. “We just wanted to spoil you after a long day. Is that so hard to believe?” 

“Give us some credit, baby.” Jimin has joined you both at the doorway now, and he yawns, reaching up to ruffle his already disheveled hair, before he shoots you a mischievous smile that makes his eyes light up. “We’re not completely dense.” 

“I know.” You laugh now, and the tiredness is showing through again, straining your mirth. “Thank you.” You give them both a fond, affectionate half smile, the best you can do for now. 

You have to admit, the bath is calling your name. 

“Your bath is gonna get cold.” Jimin states, as if he has read your thoughts, and he leans forward, whether to push you toward the bathroom, or hug you, you don’t know, but you avoid his hold by stepping backward. 

“Ew. Don’t touch me, Chim.” You wrinkle your nose as you glance down at your soiled work clothes. “I seriously think I was peed on like fifteen times today.” 

Jimin’s brow crinkles, and he shoots you a teasing look of disgust. “Okay. You don’t have to twist my arm. I’ll wait till you’re clean.” 

Hobi laughs, and the sound gives you the motivation you need to give them each a little grin and wave, before heading toward the bathroom and the much awaited bath. 

******

The bath rejuvenates you, and by the time you return to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and skin red and raw from soaking, you feel like a completely new person. 

Though you can still feel the exhaustion creeping up your bones. 

The boys are back in the bed, cuddled up like before, but there is another movie going on the TV now-a chick flick-and the bedside lamp is on. 

“You started another movie without me?” You ask playfully, digging through the dresser to find your pajama shorts and tank top, one hand holding the towel securely at your chest. 

“You took too long.” Hobi complains around a mouthful of popcorn, his free arm looped loosely around Jimin’s shoulders. “We thought you drowned.” 

“And you didn’t check to see?” You jab back, glancing over your shoulder, as you finally locate your clothes, and shoot Hobi a playful glare, eyebrow raised in the man’s direction. 

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to miss the movie.” 

You roll your eyes, and start to slip your now clean legs into the pajama shorts, beginning to shiver now in the cool air of the room. 

“You know, baby girl.” Jimin speaks up now, and his normally lilting tones are darker, sultry, suggestively playful. You glance at him, and he raises a brow at you, teeth sunken slightly into his plush, bottom lip, as his eyes scan the naked expanse of your legs. “You could cut down on time. Just not wear anything. Merely a suggestion.” 

You roll your eyes once more, and stick your tongue out at him, before pointedly holding his gaze as you finish putting on the rest of your pajama outfit. 

Sliding hurriedly into the warmth of the bed next to Jimin, you are caught off guard to feel the heat of an already hot heating pad beneath the covers, and you glance over questioningly at the two men beside you. 

Jimin grins in a way that makes your stomach warm with love and fondness. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think we knew.” He cocks his head at you, blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Come on, baby. You’re as easy to read as a book. And you know we keep track.” 

You consider making a teasing remark in return-about them keeping a calendar or something in their phones about the dates of your period-but instead, you decide to simply utter a soft “thank you” as you situate the heating pad, and snuggle down beneath the blankets next to Jimin. 

He slides his arm beneath your body and pulls you against him, and his body heat is instantly making your eyes droop slightly and a heavy feeling of comfort wash over your tired muscles as you allow your head to rest heavily on his chest, heartbeat steady beneath your ear. 

You glance at the TV and recognize the movie scene that is being played. 

You groan. “You guys know I hate this movie.” 

“Which is why we’re watching it.” Hobi teases, letting the hand that is resting on Jimin’s shoulder flick so that his long fingers tickle your hair and the top of your head. “It’s time for you to realize what good media is, beautiful.” 

“Whatever.” You grumble out, burying your face into Jimin’s side, your eyes already closing, as you breathe in the smell of him-sandalwood and vanilla and something soft that feels like home. “I’m not gonna watch it anyway.” 

You feel Jimin press a kiss to the top of your head, and Hobi rest his hand on the crown of your hair, and the affectionate gestures-just to let you know they’re there, that they’ll always be there-make you feel as if you’re home. 

You are home. 

Because you’re so lucky. Lucky to have them both in your life. Lucky to have two people who make you feel as if home is not a place, but a feeling. 

You are the luckiest. 

And you realize that every single day. 

But days like today-that are terrible and horrible and no good-yet still end here, curled up next to your two favorite people in the whole world, make you realize that the most.  

[kiki-is-writing]

the beginning and end of everything UPDATE!!!

DISCLAIMER: This is my original work. I choose to share my work here and here specifically for my comrades in the writing community. Plagiarism in any form will not be tolerated. 

HI EVERYONE! I FINISHED MY NOVEL! Whooo hoooo!!!

It’s actually sort of surreal, I started it in June of 2020 and now it’s 2021 and it’s over! Ty, Jude, Ada, Dorothy, and Madison have been living in my head since October 2019, and less than a year and a half later, they’ve been brought to life! Crazy!!

A summary in case you forgot/are seeing this and don’t know who the hell I am:

Ty Kassisieh has no direction. He’s just graduated college with a degree he doesn’t care about and no clue what to do with his life. Per his parent’s request to be more like his genius twin sister Ada, he picks up a job at a local library to save some money. There, he meets his coworker Jude, who’s stuck in a position not too far from his own, and Ty immediately sees the potential for companionship. But after speaking to him, Ty discovers Jude is everything he isn’t: he’s cold, introverted, aloof, and worst of all, humorless. Soon, Ty forgets all about his initial goal and becomes determined to crack Jude and see what makes him tick. 

Ty’s journey of self-discovery is uprooted completely as what begins as an investigation blossoms into a friendship, and then into something more. Ty is forced to confront the feelings he’s been pushing down since high school and come to terms with himself, his family, and the relationships he thought would never change. It’s only when he befriends a young library patron, Madison, that he finally begins to see the world for what it is and figures out how to pave his own path.

Here are some stats!

Word count: 65,900 (it’ll get at least 20k words longer)

Genre: Romantic comedy

POV: third person limited, present tense

Characters: Ty, Jude, Ada, Madison, Dorothy, Diane, Omar, Paul, Uncle Hubie, Ethel

Chapters: 15

Font: Times New Roman (sorry)

This was my second novel, but the first novel where I actually knew what I was doing, at least a little bit. And holy shit, I learned SO much about my writing process:

1. I cannot pants for the life of me. I have no idea what I’m doing without an outline. But sometimes, the outline doesn’t know best. I added a ton of subplots and off-the-cuff scenes halfway through that have no set up, gave up on subplots that weren’t working halfway through, it’s a disaster of a plot. BUt the important thing is that I know how to make it perfect. I know what the story needs and how to get that.

2. Why can I only write in bursts? I wrote like seven chapters, half the novel, in the month of July. There was a day where I wrote almost 5,000 words. And last night, I wrote for 6 hours straight, without eating, drinking, or going to the bathroom (because frankly, I forgot those things existed) and I cranked out a chapter and a half in a DAY. I had such a headache and was very hungry by the end, but it was SO REWARDING. 

3. I noticed while drafting is how often bits of my real life bled through. Little anecdotes, arguments, dynamics and experiences. Those who know me particularly well can probably pick out little allusions to either some of my past works, my friends, and myself.

It was 1:00 AM when I finished, and I live on the east coast of the U.S. so we’d just had a huge Nor’easter (New England for blizzard) and I went outside in the middle of the night, in my pajama pants and my uggs, and stood in my backyard and looked at the trees and processed the fact that wow, I just wrote a novel. It was cathartic and beautiful and I 110% recommend standing in snow up to your knees by yourself in the middle of the night. Very peaceful. 

As exciting as it is to be done, it’s kind of weird to be ending it. I started this novel from Ty’s first person POV, and he was just kind of another goofy, dorky character that shared my own sense of humor as well as my sense of perfectionism. But as I wrote, not only did I realize that third person worked so much better, but I started realizing how much of me and my own journey as a queer person had gone into this. It turned from a light-hearted, silly rom-com with little depth, a fun summer project to keep myself busy, to the most self expressive story I’ve ever written. I didn’t expect it to come out with much deeper meaning, it was summer and I was on a light-hearted rom-com kick, and life was carefree and silly and I wanted a book that reflected it. And then, school started, and life just descended into absolute chaos, and it was November, and it was NaNoWriMo, and I was writing my novel while watching CNN for a week straight. (But it all turned out great! New president!)

I can’t remember exactly when I started to incorporate my own struggles growing up as a queer kid, but somehow they bled through in the second half. The last scene of the book is (no spoilers) an incredible breath of fresh air for Ty. It’s something I can only wish for every queer teenager, that moment where you can finally be unapologetically and authentically queer without that nagging worry in the back of your mind. I’ve struggled over this past year with my identity, and as Ty found his place, I found mine as well. 

Seriously, writing this book was one of the best experiences I’ve had. Yes, the entire time I had a separate document open, writing down every little thing that needs to change, but I legitimately feel excited for draft 2 and continuing working on this project. I think about how much this book helped me, unconsciously creating the story that I needed to hear, and how maybe, in ten, fifteen years, some queer teenager will be wandering around a bookstore and pick up The Beginning and End of Everything. Maybe just because the cover is pretty. Maybe they like the F. Scott Fitzgerald reference in the title. Maybe they heard about it on Twitter somewhere. But they pick it up, and see themselves in Ty, or in Jude, or in Madison. I know every book that gave me that feeling, I cherish them so deeply, and all I really want is for someone to get that feeling from something I wrote. To see themselves in the pages and know they’re not alone. It’s cheesy, but it’s true, and it’s important. 

I think one of my favorite themes in the novel is the whole ‘someone’s got your back’ thing. I 100% did not mean for it to go in the way it did, but I was writing this as I was going through some Stuff, some stuff in which I realized that having someone, just one person in your corner can mean the entire world, if only for that moment. And if there’s no one in your corner when you need it, you can be in someone else’s when they need it. Frankly, I love how it plays out throughout the novel. There was always that theme of Ty and Madison sort of being there for each other, but as I found myself in the first semester of the school year building new friendships with incredible, smart, funny people (albeit most of that being online) and strengthening old bonds, it worked its way in, and it fits perfectly. It adds depth and strength to the story I couldn’t have done consciously. 

Essentially, it is still the romantic comedy I intended it to be, but it’s also a coming-of-age (except much older than the traditional coming-of-age). Watching some of my close friends and family graduating college and continuing to struggle with their identities and places in the world I think is what truly carved out this idea. Because not everyone has everything figured out as soon as they graduate, and I feel like, as a teenager, that’s something my friends and I really need to get through our heads. A lot of us expect to have everything figured out as soon as we turn 18. But, we’re 18. There’s a lot of life ahead of us, and we can’t possibly know what we’re going to do so young. So I think that was my main source of inspiration for this novel, and I’m really proud of the way that fleshed out. Of course it needs lots and lots of work, but. I like it. The way my personal life bled through and strengthened the story is incredible to reflect on. Honestly, I really, truly, cannot wait to start working on draft 2.

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