#maybe I just want to consume content without knowing who's picking fights with dream this week

[mattynmarns]

bro I've thought about leaving dtblr so many times within the past year but like. I've got to stay at least until primeboys meetup. then maybe I'll turn normal

[inkandpen22]

The Princess and The Pogue (Pt. 9)

Pairing: JJ x Reader / Topper x Reader

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: swearing, mild smut, angst, fluff

Part Summary: Y/N goes to see JJ after the party and she begins to think everything will work out

Masterlist

The Pogues are gathered around the bonfire, chatting over a couple of beers and joints. JJ keeps checking his phone every few minutes, wondering why you haven't texted him yet. You agreed for him to pick you up at your house at eleven, but he wants to wait for your text saying you're home. He's considered just going over anyway, assuming you're already there since dinner would've ended at least two hours ago. Before he has the chance to even rise to his feet to go, you and Topper roll up the driveway. None of the Pogues recognize the gray BMW, except Sarah. 

“Is that Topper dropping off Y/N?” She frowns in confusion as the car comes to a steady halt at the end of the gravel drive. 

Pope presses his fingers to his temples, wide-eyed. “Am I hallucinating?” 

“Okay, enough weed for me," Kiara declares, passing the joint to John B. 

Topper stops the car and turns to you. “You’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you nod, collecting your bag between your legs. 

“Call or text if you need me,” he instructs, still somewhat reluctant to drop you off. 

“Will do,” you offer him a reassuring smile. 

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow," he complies, leaning over the divider and planting a quick peck to your cheek. “Love you.” 

“Love you too,” you return, granting him a kiss on the cheek as well. You climb out of Topper's car, walking toward the fire pit where JJ and everyone watch you utterly dumbfounded. “Hi guys,” you greet, slinging your bag over your shoulder. 

“Topper knows his way around The Cut?” John B pokes fun. 

“Did he drop you off to scope out the place?” Kiara grumbles. 

“He didn’t want me driving," you explain as you take a seat next to a silent JJ. "We went to Kelce’s for a little after dinner and I’ve been drinking." 

“What a gentleman,” Sarah mumbles sarcastically. 

“Hi Baby,” JJ greets you with a soft smile, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“Hi,” you grin, leaning in and planting a kiss to his lips to which he reciprocates. 

“I could’ve picked you up,” he whispers against your lips. 

“I know," you state, parting from him for a second. "I just didn’t want to make you do the drive." 

“I’m surprised Topper let you out of the car,” Sarah snickers. 

“We came to an understanding,” you describe vaguely. 

“Oh yeah?" Kiara raises a brow. "What’s that?” 

“We’re just friends,” you reply confidently. 

“I don’t just kiss my friends goodbye...” John B mumbles under his breath. 

“We’re just friends," you reiterate, starring the boy down warningly. 

“You bet you are,” JJ agrees, pulling you into his side. “I missed you today.” 

“I missed you too," you blush, peering over to meet his gaze. 

“Movie anyone?” John B suggests suddenly rising to his feet. 

“Yes!” Sarah bursts. 

“Comedy!” Pope votes. 

“Romance!” Kiara challenges. 

“Actually," JJ sighs, standing up next to you. "I was going to head to bed, wanna come?” He asks as he glances down at you.

You hum. “Yeah, I’m pretty tired actually." 

____________________________________________

You and JJ lay in bed, facing each other as you talk about everything under the sun. You could've watched the movie considering you've been up for hours talking, not once trying to fall asleep. Yet, spending hours laying in bed, talking to JJ, is a much better pass time. 

“Fish tacos from The Wreck,” JJ answers without a moment's hesitation. 

“Ooo, you know I’ve never been there,” you confess, intrigued. 

“Really?!" JJ's eyes grow wide. "We’ll have to go ASAP! Kie’s dad makes the best hush puppies,” he dramatically gestures with his hands. 

You giggle, “sounds amazing.” 

“Okay, now your turn." JJ's arm drapes over you and rubs his hand up and down your back. 

“Hmm," you hum, thinking it over. "My grandma’s chicken and dumplings. She always made it when I was sick and it’s like a warm hug.”

“Yum," he grins. “Dream vacation?”

“Anywhere with a beach,” you answer easily. “I love to travel, but I also love the ocean so can’t be too far from it. You?”

“Surfing trip around the world," he nods, clearly having thought about it before. "I’m talking Australia, Japan, Brazil, all over.”

“Surfing world tour. Very surfer Pogue of you,” you tease playfully. 

“Would a Kook Princess like to come?” He offers with a sly smirk as his eyes fall to the small space between you. 

“Sure I’ll follow,” you accept with a soft smile. 

JJ jokingly nudges you on the shoulder with a slight blush to his cheeks. “Stop," he chuckles. "If anything you pick the places and I follow. Follow you around the world.”

“You would?” You narrow your eyes at him with a smirk. 

“What’s that Carol King song?” He tries to recall and whispers some of the words. “Where you lead...”

“I will follow," you add in a sing-songy tone. 

“Anywhere!” You both say in unison to each other, causing you two to laugh. 

JJ exhales deeply, catching his breath after laughing.“Talking to you is so easy it’s scary," he confesses, taking your hand in his between you two. 

“I never felt so understood until I met you,” you tell him. 

His brows scrunch together as he watches your hands move around one another. “You don’t think Topper understands you?”

“I do... to an extent,” you shrug, not fully convinced. “He’s known me longer, so he knows why I am the way I am, but he’s not necessarily accepting of all of it.”

“What do you mean?” JJ wonders aloud.  

“If I told him that I don’t want to go to every party and rather stay in, he’d wonder why. If I said I don’t like the Club and rather spend a day on some remote island somewhere he wouldn’t relate. I could tell you that I want to move to Guam and you’d be game for it. Some days I don’t want to have any responsibilities or social obligations which confuses Topper. He’s satisfied where he is. He’s satisfied being stationary and though I’m told I have everything, I don’t want any of it." You pause, finding yourself coming to a hard conclusion. You peer up at JJ who's eyes have left your hands and pour into you. "There has to be more right? There has to be something different out there.”

“Life beyond the OBX?" He seek to clarify to which you nod. "Yeah, there’s an entire world outside of here!”

“That’s what I want..." You whisper. "Something entirely my own and somewhere where no one knows me.” 

“Maybe we should explore it together,” he smiles gently with content. “I mean, as long as it’s okay for one person to know you.” 

“You don’t count," you blush. 

JJ releases your hand, bringing his own to caress your cheek. “I want to see the world with you." 

You lean into his touch, his warmth making you feel safe, seen, and understood. “I think that can be arranged...”

JJ shakes his head, as though he's come to a profound realization. “You’re everything to me." His words slip by in a whisper as he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, sealing his statement. 

You run your fingers through JJ's hair, pulling him in deeper. He smiles against your lips, loving your reaction. He moves to hover over you, encompassing you with his body. You take matters into your own hands and press JJ down to lay down beside you. Swiftly, you move to straddle him. A grunt leaves him and you cower slightly. 

"Did I hurt you?!" You nearly panic. 

“No, no,” he’s quick to assure you, bringing his hand to your face and brushing your hair back. 

You hadn’t noticed when he got into bed, the bruises and cuts scattered across his torso. You remember them from the Boneyard and in the hot tub. You had thought perhaps they were from Topper. 

JJ can tell that your mind isn’t satisfied. "What else is troubling you?" He frowns. "Babe, look at me, please."

"If these weren't Topper, what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it,” he scrunches his face with a shake of the head. “Don't worry, it's taken care of,” he tries to change the subject, reaching up to kiss you. 

You gasp. "Did someone do this to you?!" You quickly realize. 

"Y/N..."JJ exhales deeply. 

"JJ, I have to know!” You argue. “If someone-"

"It was my dad okay!" He confesses. 

You heart sinks has the dark reality hits you like a ton of bricks. 

"He... he gets mad sometimes..."JJ describes, looking anywhere but you. He begins to fidget with the hem of your shirt. When... When things weren’t good between us... I picked a fight with him. It was stupid. I shouldn't have done it, but I did! I think I wanted it. At least then I could control the pain,” he explains, killing you.

You lean down and plant a gentle, comforting kiss to his lips. When you pull back, JJ stares at you, stunned by the action. You swallow hard as you slide down, keeping eye contact with him as you plant a kiss to his bruised peck. JJ’s heart begins to race as he watches you. You continue on your path to his multicolored rib. JJ’s hand brushes over the top of your head gently. Your fingers curl under the hem of his boxers as you leave a trail of kisses over his cut and bruised stomach. 

"Y/N..." He breathes heavily as his eyes fall shut. 

"Never again,” you tell him warningly as a demand. “You never go back there. Here, Kie's, Pope's, my place, anywhere else but there. Morning, noon, or night, you need a place, come to me. You hear me?"

JJ nods, too consumed in you to voice anything. 

"I see marks like these on you again, I'll kill him and they won't find the body. I've seen enough crime documentaries. I can be like Liam Nison in Taken,” you joke slightly. 

"I'm sure you could," JJ smirks, peering down at you. 

You lift yourself up to hover just above his face. You cup his cheeks, making him look you in the eyes. "I'm never going to leave you, ever! You never have to suffer alone again. I promise. Your pain is my pain. Whatever you inflict on yourself you also do on me."  

"I promise too. You're my world, Y/N,” he tells you and you know he means it. “You're my life now."

Suddenly, there's a ruckus coming from outside in the hall. The sound of the screen door slamming against the frame and shouting. 

“Hey! Hey! Hey! I’ll go get her! You stay here!” You hear John B yell. 

“Like I’d listen to you!” Another voice barks. 

You break from JJ, trying to listen. “What’s going on?” 

“I don’t know,” he frowns, peering over at the door. He climbs off of you and slips out of the bed. He grabs a t-shirt from the chair in the corner and pulls it over his head, his boxers still slightly exposed. 

“JJ, be careful!” You beg, worried that it could be someone looking for trouble. 

"I will, Baby. It's okay," he promises, heading toward the door to check it out. 

“Cool off Topper!” Pope shouts before you hear a bang. 

“Topper?” You mumble in disbelief, flying off the bed and toward the door.

“Y/N!" JJ grabs your wrist as you open the door. "Baby, wait!” 

Before he has the chance to stop you, you stumble into the hallway. JJ rushes out of the bedroom, nearly running into you. Standing at the end of it, in the archway of the living room, Topper turns his attention away from the Pogues. His eyes land on you and a wave of relief consumes him. 

“Y/N...” Your name falls from his parted lips faintly. 

“Topper...” You stand frozen. 

“There is almost an equal Kook to Pogue ratio in this house and I don’t like it,” Pope huffs from behind Topper. 

“I need to talk to you," the tall blonde announces urgently. 

You speed walk down the hall, despite JJ's efforts to stop you. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I just... I... uh...” Topper stutters, nervously avoiding your gaze, and focuses on the small floor space between you. 

“Have you been drinking again?" You question, coming to the conclusion he has. He smells of beer and weed, more than he did hours ago. "Did you go back to Kelce’s!” 

“I was losing my mind, Y/N!" He bursts, uncharacteristically, causing you to jump and JJ to step forward toward you. "I needed a distraction, but nothing was working!” Topper explains in a rush, all fidgety. “Can we just go somewhere to talk?” 

JJ immediately steps in, moving to stand between the two of you. “You’re not going anywhere with her!” 

“Oh shove it,” Topper snaps at JJ. 

“You forget you’re on my side of the island, Kook!” JJ barks, shoving Topper in the chest. 

“Enough!” You scream, pressing a palm to each of their chests. “For Pete’s sake!” 

“Back off JJ!” Kiara yells. 

“I just need to talk to you,” Topper pants. 

You exhale deeply, glancing between JJ and Topper. You know JJ won't approve and won't allow it without a fight, but you agree to speak with Topper. “Okay, let’s go outside.” 

JJ laughs, pacing around. “You can’t be serious-” 

“Ten minutes!” You shout at him, escorting Topper toward the door. 

“She sure told you,” Topper mocks JJ as he backs up to the exit. 

“Oh shut up,” you grumble, urging Topper through the doorway leading to the front yard. 

You and Topper settle down on the hammock, swinging back and forth on the edge, side by side. The sun has long since set and the lights in the large tree illuminate the yard. Unable to sit still, Topper rises from his spot and paces in front of you. 

“What’s going on Topper?” You ask worriedly. 

The boy stops, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck nervously. “I’m losing my mind, Y/N!" He finally breaks his silence. "I feel like there are weights strapped to me and I’m being pulled to the bottom of the ocean, struggling for air!” He rushes out in a pant. “I’ve been an arrogant ass and too scared to pay attention, but now I’m just scared and I’m afraid if I don’t tell you this now that I’ll never get a chance like this again!” 

You stand, taking his hands in yours. "Just take a deep breath!" 

He yanks his hands free of your hold, running his fingers through his hair as he paces away. "I'm about to be the most selfish person on the planet!" 

“Topper, just say it! It can't be that bad!" You try to reassure him, the pit in your stomach growing with each passing minute. You can only assume the worst. 

“I love you!” Topper bursts out, meeting your gaze pleadingly. 

A weight lifts off your shoulder. You thought it was something bad. “That's it? I love you too,” you laugh lightly. 

“No!" He stops you. "Not the way you mean it... it’s not the same! I love you!” 

Neither of you notice the Pogues hiding in the enclosed patio, watching everything go down. 

“I knew it!” Pope announces from his spot by the window. 

“Pay up!” Kiara holds out her hand to John B. 

JJ's heart sinks when he hears the confession leave Topper. He wants to run for the hills, but he can't help but observe you stand there in shock. 

Topper's chest rises and falls rapidly. “I didn’t realize it fully until I dropped you off and saw you with him. I know what I said earlier, that I’m okay with this!" The words fly out of him like a freight train going full speed. “But I’m not! I’ve been in love with you for two years! Before Sarah, during Sarah, after her!” 

“Okay ouch...” Sarah mumbles from her spot on the patio. 

“I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, I’ve just been too caught up in everything else to notice!" Topper's voice cracks with emotion. 

"You tell me this now!" You shout, growing more frustrated with each passing second. 

He sighs, "I know, I know, I'm sorry-" 

"No! You don't get to apologize!" You snap at him, utterly pissed off and frankly hurt. "You could've had me! You had me, Topper!" You correct as your eyes begin to swell with tears. "You had every opportunity to change the status quo and you didn't! You let me feel like a toy, there to satisfy you when you needed company! Yes, it was fun! Yes, it was great sex! Yes, I fed into the holding and touching, even when you and Sarah were on a break because I thought..." You swallow hard, processing what you're about to say. "Because I thought that eventually, you'd love me!" You break, tears falling down your cheeks. You finally let go of a truth you've been holding in for years now. "If I kept sleeping with you that one day you'd realize that we were more than just friends! Everyone else thought it! But you were caught up on Sarah and then it became not letting Sarah be with John B! I had to break it off after Bermuda because it was killing me! I couldn't take it anymore! I had to begin to move on!" 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm such an idiot!" Topper rushes up to you, taking your hands in his pleadingly. "Tonight, feeling you again, I saw the rest of our lives and I want it! I don’t give a shit about our friends or golfing or the Club or Sarah because none of it matters if I don’t get to experience it with you!” He begs, “so pick me! Be with me! Love me!” 

You whimper, unsure of what to do or say. Everything is happening so fast. 

"You slept with him?" 

You turn over your shoulder to find JJ standing just a few feet away. His eyes glisten under the lights of the tree. He swallows hard, taking your silence as enough of an answer. He nods his head, pressing his lips together to hold back his emotions.

“You’re exactly as everyone says!” He yells, pointing at you aggressively. 

In a second, he's sprinting away down the gravel drive. You step forward, ready to run after him, but Topper grabs your wrist. 

"Y/N, don't!" He pleads. 

You yank your wrist free, before running him. "JJ!" You call, "JJ wait!" 

"Y/N!" Topper shouts, running after you. 

"JJ!" You beg for him to stop. 

"Y/N, wait!" Topper grunts, sprinting. 

"JJ!" You struggle to keep up with the boy. Soon, he disappears into the dark woods across the street and you have no choice but to halt, losing all hope. 

You fall to your knees on the gravel. The sound of Topper's feet hitting the gravel quickly approaching. You slam your fists to the ground with a scream, hitting your boiling point. How much is a girl expected to take? 

______________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @starkeythinker @bethii1 @thegunnerkelly@cc13723things@hockeybabe87 @jolomez @plutooryectors

[chaozsilhouette]

Realization

Recently, I discovered the art of @winterpower98 and fell in love with her Swap Au. There are so many events we don't know about and couldn't help myself. This is just my take on a scene. In no way do I claim any of this to be canon.

Odds are I will post similar content soon.

_____________________________

In the hallowed halls of the Celestial realm, one should know only peace and serenity. The tranquil beauty was designed to soothe even the greatest emotional turmoil, to give way to greater enlightenment. Unfortunately, for one immortal that peace would stay a cruel dream.

It was over. The Journey to the West was complete and would live on as an intricate tale filled with perseverance, courage, and strength. Once the scriptures were delivered, the pilgrims were brought to the Celestial Realm where the Buddha himself awaited to congratulate the brave travelers. Immortals of all sorts gathered to celebrate the momentous occasion, but one just couldn’t find it in him to find any reason to join in the merriment.

The Six-Eared Macaque secluded himself in one of the many heavenly orchards, far enough to have some privacy, but not enough to rouse suspicion from the guards. Considering how the last immortal simian to visit not only declared war on the Heavenly Court but nearly left the entire realm in ruins, their behavior was all too justified.

With his infamous ears, he was able to tell his brothers and master were enjoying themselves. After dedicating themselves to a journey that consumed more than a decade of their lives, they deserved a chance to truly unwind. As much as he wanted to join them, the truth just made him want to curl into a ball and die.

When their mission was over the Buddha pulled him aside and revealed a terrible truth. He knew from the start the two monkeys had switched places and feared that their action would have long-lasting consequences. Macaque’s actions may have been inspired by love, but they prevented Wukong from learning a much-needed lesson.

Wukong was meant to go on the journey. He was meant to grow close to Tripitaka and learn what it meant to truly care for others. He was supposed to learn how to face the consequences of his actions. Instead, the moon learned these facts of life while the sun became more ruthless. Macaque was supposed to gain independence and resentment towards his manipulator. Macaque’s purpose was to act as an important milestone for Wukong, a physical embodiment of his past flaws that he would have to overcome.

He supposed it made sense. Wukong’s life would make for an entertaining story. In too many ways, the black-furred monkey just couldn’t compete with the sheer charismatic prowess and physical strength of the Monkey King. It explained how their master granted Wokung a beautifully intricate name, while his was simply a description of his species. Sure, he was the only six-eared macaque in existence, but still! It was as if he was nothing but a side character in Wukong’s life.

Now that the Journey was over, Macaque had no doubt Wukong would strike soon. Honestly, it was a miracle they had been able to escape the first time they crossed paths. The fact Sun Wukong never expected Macaque to betray him was their only advantage. They had to start preparing for his next attack. Not even remaining in the Celestial Realm would spare them.

“Not one for loud celebrations I see.” A serene voice pierced through his depressing thoughts.

Looking down at his visitor, Macaque silently berated himself for letting his guard down. There in all his glory was the one and only Buddha.

“Yeah...well, ya know with six ears that can pick up everything, being in the center of crowds ain’t my thing.”

“Indeed.” Buddha humbly accepted the answer with a kind smile.

It was the eyes. Those all-knowing yet overwhelmingly compassionate eyes. “I screwed up.”

“It is true that by deviating from the original path, you created a future of uncertainty, but that does not imply you must face it alone.” Mercifully those lids closed, granting him a quick respite. “You have proven far beyond what was expected of you. You should take pride in your strength.”

“What good is any of that when Sun Wukong is still rampaging across the world?” Macaque bared his teeth in frustration. The two monkeys may have knelt before the same master, allowing Macaque to perfectly impersonate the King flawlessly for years, but that didn’t change the fact that Wukong was naturally much stronger than him.

“Sun Wukong once had a glorious future ahead of him and in many ways he still does.” His kind smile took on a slight note of sorrow. As though he was mourning the loss of a great warrior. “For now, let us focus on you. Not many are able to truly match the Monkey King in a straight fight.”

“We both know it’s only because that fillet is using a portion of his own power to sustain itself.”

“Perhaps, but that in of itself is an advantage.” Macaque watched as the Buddha took on a mischievous smile that would not have been out of place on Flower Fruit Mountain. “You have many skills he does not possess, while you are intimately familiar with his tricks due to sharing the same master. Your mastery of shadows can be a great asset and a way to help you find a style all your own.”

Macaque blushed as he scrambled to look anywhere else, especially not at his own shadow. It was true he had a natural connection to the darkness. His magic was drawn to the shadows and the coolness of the night, a complete opposite from Wukong.

During their five hundred years apart, Macaque had experimented relentlessly and was greatly rewarded. Over the course of their journey, he never got the chance to show off his new techniques in order to stay in character. Even when they learned the truth, he didn’t feel comfortable demonstrating everything he could do. He was so afraid of losing that kindness, he didn’t dare do anything to risk it. Especially since those who practiced dark magic usually were viewed in a negative light. But maybe now he could...

“I wish to apologize for everything. No one should be made to feel this helpless.” Macaque almost flinched as a soft hand rested upon his shoulder. Turning he saw the Buddha had joined him in the tree gazing upon him with all the love in the world. “If you wish, I could gift you a proper name. Sun Wukong’s name is more than another way to state his title, it was to reflect upon what he could potentially obtain.”

This time Macaque allowed himself to flinch. He couldn’t help it. The topic was far too convenient. “I’ve always been Liu'er Mihou.”

“Does that mean you are confined to who you once were?”

Macaque blinked as his ears fluttered. “No. With all due respect, we will have to continue this conversation another time.”

Backflipping off the tree in a graceful display, Macaque headed straight for Lao Tzu’s lab. If anyone had a clue as to how to keep the Handsome Monkey King pinned down for more than five seconds without it was him. Neither monkey could die, but as the Buddha proved they could be sealed away. They just had to figure out how.

[proto-nationalist-princess]

Dreams Do Come True

Rekka Hoshimiya x reader

CW///: Drugging, mention of scars

Background: after being away on international affairs, you finally return to the Tokyo Empire. You had high hopes of seeing your good friend, only to find out that he had passed. Luckily he comes to you in a "dream" to enjoy a final moment with you.

•

"(y/n)?" He entered the room via a fire storm and before him was his third star

"You're so much more beautiful in person" He was drawn in by your beauty and as he caressed your cheek, you hummed before opening her eyes

"Rekka?" He had to think quickly to avoid a bounty being put on my head for being alive or even having you question his character.

He would trade his life in order to spread the light of the sun god but his relationship with (y/n) was more important than anything. You were the one he spoke to when they first approached and you encouraged him to join the Evangelists. You explained that working with the Holy Sol Temple wasn't the only way to prosper in the eyes of god and that some people must take different paths. You obviously weren't telling him to become an Evangelist but he gave no context to the situation.

Even though you weren't aware, Rekka still credits you with delivering him to the son god so he views you as a higher being amongst humans. You were a fallen star, greater than the sun that has come down to bless the earth. You were a celestial goddess in his eyes and he'd never mention a lesser god in your presence. Though he valued the sun god in his faith, his true journey to prosperity was to gain the blessing of Sol in order to finally be with you. In other words, he was delusional and hopelessly in love with you and wanted god's grace before even thinking of approaching you romantically.

"It's lovely that you dream about me, (y/n)" you seemed confused for a moment and Rekka feared that he'd insulted your intelligence with such a claim. You ran into my arms and he was a bit shocked but couldn't complain about having you in his arms after so many years. It gave him a sense of pride knowing that you would even think of dreaming about him.

"This is how it's supposed to be" You said as you held on to him, completely believing that it was just a lucid dream

"I missed you, (y/n)" he held you tight, regret washing over him as he wished to hold you days to come

"How could you, Hoshimiya!" You suddenly hit his shoulder and he was shocked and a bit scared that you were about to kill him again

"You were supposed to wait for me! You promised that you'd be here! You liar!" As he looked into you with his starry eyes, you knew you couldn't hold on to your anger for long

"I'm sorry, Mitsuki. I'd go back in time if it meant I could be with you, my star" Rekka caressed your cheek and you brought him into a sweet kiss, simply happy to be seeing him. He was taken back but who was he to deny the desires of a goddess, especially one so beautiful. You peeled back his cloak and guided him to your bed, straddling his lap, eager to be close to him.

"I read all of your incomplete letters that were found when you passed… I would've returned your feelings" you stated while looking into his starry eyes

"You would've?" Rekka was shocked considering what some of those letters contained but he wasn't complaining.

"I've never done a lot of those things so maybe I wouldn't be good, but I'd be happy to do those things with you if you were here" you said as you guided his hands over your body, 

"I'm honored to even touch you" Rekka pulled you close and pressed a kiss to your lips. He gripped your hips and your breath hitched upon feeling him against you.

"Rekka" Knowing that you were so close to the cathedral touching each other in these ways, it made his name seem like a swear and he loved it. Rekka moved your hips against him, relishing in your glory as your sounds of content brushed over his lips.

You slid off of his lap and onto the bed, pulling him on top of you in an ardent kiss and wrapping your legs around him. Rekka slid his hand up your shirt and you pulled away to take it off for him. His starry eyes twinkled as he took in your body, certain that you were celestial in some way. He ghosted a kiss over your lips then left a trail of lingering kisses across your jaw, down your neck, past your collar bone, and to your breasts.

"Can I undress you?" He asked, not wanting to to push his luck with someone he saw as divine.

"Yes" you smiled and wondered how someone so sweet could have done the horrible things you'd read in the report. He slipped off your night shorts and panties and you felt your body getting hot just from his gaze. He took off your bralette and marveled at your body, ghosting his hands along your waist as you sat up.

"Won't you undress too?" Rekka's heart skipped a beat as he realized what would happen if he took off his shirt. He pressed a kiss to your lips and took off his pants and briefs and as he returned to your bed, he held his breath. He let you take his shirt off and when you saw the scar you smiled, pulling him into a sweet kiss.

"I knew you wouldn't die without saying bye to me. You're such a bad liar" you pulled him back on top of you and he smiled against your lips. You shared a steamy kiss and he toyed with your clit, consuming your soft moans greedily.

Just from his fingers, your core was so slick that he could hear your juices on his fingers and it made Rekka drunk with pride. To think that he'd gotten you so aroused while doing so little, it made him excited and shameless. As his fingers massaged your slickness, you couldn't help but cling to him, already feeling yourself reaching a high. You pulled him closer and craving more of him, happy to have him in your arms again, especially in such a position.

"Do you really want to do this with me?" Rekka questioned as the thought of tainting your perfect body prodded at him. He was honored but also upset with himself for ever thinking that he could be so intimate with someone so heavenly.

"I want nothing more than I want you right now" your words made his chest swelled with pride and he flashed you a smile, giddily kissing your neck while his manhood prodded at you sweet core. His hands stroked your sides, take a moment to fondle your breasts as he let your juices coat his length. He brought his lips back to yours and your breath shuddered as he filled you with pleasure. You clung to him and he began rhythmically rocking his hips against yours, edging you towards your climax. 

"You're so amazing" you moaned in his ear, spiking his ego and making him slow his strokes to make the moment last. The slow rocking edged you closer and you recoiled in pleasure, your legs begging to shake from the intoxicating sensation. Your pleasured whines egged on the starboy and he hooked your knees on his arms, pushing himself further into you. You gripped his shoulders and blessed his ears with your sighs of pleasure as you came undone under him. He picked up his pace and pressed a kiss to your ear before sighing in pleasure as he met his release.

"Rekka… stay with me" you pleaded as you pulled apart

"I'm sorry, (y/n)... You know I can't" he got dressed and you grabbed his cloak

"I'll always love you, but this was a dream" he planted a gentle kiss to your lips and pricked you with something that quickly made you drowsy

"Rekka" you tried to push past the drowsy sensation but he sat you on your bed and you couldn't get up

"Rekka" he slipped your clothes back on you and tucked you in as you fought slumber

"This was a dream" you tiredly reached for him but couldn't fight it any longer

"Rekka" you whispered his name with teary eyes and it took everything in him to not get in bed with you

"I love you, (y/n)... I hope you dream of me" he gave your sleeping figure a sad smile and went to a spare room to rest for a bit before continuing on his journey.

"Rekka" you jolted awake and for a moment you believed it really was a dream, but the feeling between your legs reassured you.

"At least you're alive" you sighed, hoping that he'd come back to you soon.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Monsters  -  Eleven (Alternate Ending)

Pairing: Dark!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a man who just wants to do better. But he can’t stop the monster from coming out every now and then. As a last and hopeless attempt at calming The Winter Soldier, SHIELD finds him something they figured would help. An innocent young woman with not a lot going for her. Or, The Winter Soldiers newest victim.

Warnings: Language, Violence, Injuries, Fluff, Mentions of Mental Disorders and Personality Disorders (of which I've used personal experiences as references)

Word Count: 2.8K

A/n: Fourth day of ficmas and y’all get an alternate ending!! The end of this has given me an idea for a new dark!Fic that could potentially become a dark series but idk yet. Anyway, enjoy!! 

A/n 2: This doesn’t fall in line with Madness or Bad Dream, but idc

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING CONTENT!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

“(Y/n)? Honey? You in here?” Bucky hesitantly pushes open the front door, senses on high alert in case you make a hostile move.

“James?”

He walks slowly into the living room, smiling softly when he sees you.

“Hey,” he whispers. You eye him warily and he sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he begins gently, sitting down next to you, “I know what I did was wrong, and I know it looks like I chose her over you, but I’m here for you now. And I’m gonna be here for you as long as you’ll have me.”

You stare at him for a moment longer before grinning.

“You need me,” you state. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. “That’s why you came back,” you elaborate, “because you need me. Because you know that Natasha won’t be able to handle you the way I can.”

He swallows hard, thinking back to the way Nat was appalled by the video.

“You’re right.”

You giggle, shaking your head at him. “I know. I know I’m right. I’m the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to you! You’d be lost without me and you’re now realizing it, aren’t you?” His guard is up in an instant, your outburst making him uneasy.

You get up off the couch to stand in front of him, hands on your hips.

“You hurt my feelings, James.” He nods, reaching for your hands slowly. You allow him to take them and watch as he presses gentle kisses to your knuckles.

“I know. And I’m sorry. And you’re right again. I do need you. More than I’ve ever needed anybody and that scares me.” You ponder this for a moment, thinking about all the pictures he received.

“How long were you with her?” He sighs heavily and closes his eyes tightly.

“A month. Maybe longer. At first, she was just something for the soldier when you weren’t there but… I’m not sure why I kept going back. I care about you, I really do.” You hum, pushing his hands away and straddling his waist.

You lean down, lips brushing over his just gently before you smile again.

“I fucked Steve last night. Several times.” A growl rumbles deep in his chest and you pull away for a moment, grinning wickedly as you see his eyes glaze over slightly. His hands grip your hips tightly and he takes a deep breath.

“Your best friend fucked me. For hours. Because you were too busy picking that stupid fucking bitch over me. That’s a lesson for you. I can get whoever I want, whenever I want. You need me, not the other way around. Remember that.” You push yourself off of his lap and walk to the staircase.

“In time you can have me again. But not now. If the soldier needs me, he can have me, but not you, James. Not yet.” He sits panting on the couch, eyes trained on your backside as you leave him confused and aroused.

You close the door to your bedroom and plop yourself down on your bed, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of your mind, the one that’s begging you to leave him. He hurt you, but he’s back. He must care about you or else he wouldn’t have come back, right?

As you’re pondering this, the window slides open with a soft thud. You turn to the sound, anger coursing through your veins as you see the redhead climbing into your room.

“What are you doing here?” You demand, uncurling your legs and climbing off the bed. She closes the window silently and holds her hands up in surrender.

“I just want to talk. Please.” You eye her warily but stay seated at the edge of the bed.

“He came home to me. He chose me. So if you’re gonna try and convince me that he wants you, think again,” you snark, hoping to hurt her feelings before physically hurting her again.

She shakes her head, sitting down slowly on the floor a few feet in front of you, giving you the upper hand if you wanted to get physical.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” You furrow your brows in absolute confusion at her statement. You were expecting a lot of things; yelling, screaming, insults, violence. But this is the absolute opposite of what you had prepared yourself for.

“You don’t even know me,” you scoff, shaking your head at her.

She raises her eyebrows at that. “I know about your parents. Your dad, the paranoid schizophrenic who abused you because he thought he was doing what God wanted. And your mom, the Narcissist who neglected you.”

Your hands start trembling as she brings up people who you’ve fought to forget. The people who made you the way you are.

“You don’t know anything about them. Or me. You’re just-” “Just what? Telling you the truth? Reminding you of the fact that you were raised by them, yet you turned out to be a beautiful, smart, independent young woman?” You look at her, uncertain of where she’s going with this but still angry at the fact that she knows about your past.

“You may have been raised by them, you may have had a difficult childhood, and you may be dealing with something that very few other people can understand, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re not a bad person. You’re hurting, and you’re scared, and I know deep down that you know this isn’t a healthy relationship. But it can stop. We can stop this.”

“You think you know me, don't you? You think you’ve got me all figured out. You don’t. You don’t know a single damn thing about me and I’m tired of you pretending like you do.”

You stand up, glaring at her as she slowly rises to her feet.

“First you come in and intrude on my relationship, make the man who loves me question his devotion to me. Then you come into my room, in my space, and try to tell me that you know all about me. Well, guess what? You don’t. You don’t know a single damn thing about me. You think that because you’ve got the files and the information that you know a single thing about what I’ve done.”

You lean closer to her, lips just barely brushing over the shell of her ear.

“I’ve killed people before, Natasha.” She furrows her brows. You pull away and grin, batting your lashes at her.

“I’ve killed so many people, I’ve lost count. But I remember their faces. Do you wanna know why I did it?” She’s silent but you continue anyway.

“I did it because of the rush. The power of knowing that you hold someone’s life in your hands... and you ended it. It’s euphoric. I may never get enough of it. And when I plan a kill, I plan it precisely. I make sure they have no idea and then... then I pounce.” She backs up a step, inhaling sharply when her back gets pressed into the wall.

“I guess I should thank you, Natty. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be that sweet innocent girl I pretend I am. The one who I’ve been since I moved here. But now that I don’t have to pretend anymore... I feel free. And I’m ready for my next kill. Do you wanna know who it’s gonna be?”

She shakes her head, feeling genuine fear as you talk so casually about ending innocent lives.

“I’ll give you a hint: she’s a woman. And she stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. Do you have any guesses yet?”

“If you kill me, Fury will kill you. I have no doubt about that.” You snicker and pull away, looking her up and down.

“Yeah... but I’ve got someone on my side who isn’t afraid of him. Someone who’d choose me over you in a heartbeat. You may have James, but I have the soldier. He's perfect. Everything I need and more.

“He broke you!”

“He didn’t break me!” You snarl, fist slamming into the wall beside her head. “He showed me who I am and how much I can take. And let me tell you, having those boundaries pushed... it really opens your eyes to what you can endure as a person. It’s a really spiritual process. Would you like to try it?” You ask, eyes wide and full of mischief.

“No. (Y/n) you’re better than this, I know you are.” You laugh, shaking your head and staring into her eyes.

“See, that's where you’re wrong. And that’s what your problem is. You think you’ve got everyone all figured out. But you don’t. You think I’m better than this? I’m not. I can tell you that right now. I’m not the damsel in distress that you think I am. I don’t need your help. Because I like the way I am. I’m fucking perfect! Men want me, I have a purpose. And now, I can get away with whatever the fuck I want. Murder included.”

“James would never-” “You wanna call James up here? See how he likes you intruding on his space? As soon as he sees me and you in any type of fight, the soldier will step in. I know how to trigger him without those special words.” The colour drains from her face and you nod.

“Him and I? We could be great together. I just need you and James out of the way. And look, you’ve handed yourself to me on a silver fucking platter. So Bravo, Natasha.”

“So what? You’re gonna kill me? Then what?”

You shake your head, fingers stroking her cheek gently.

“I’m gonna post that little video of us first. And then, after the good name of The Avengers has been destroyed, I’m gonna take you somewhere nice and quiet and I’m gonna put a bullet between your pretty green eyes. By then, James will be too consumed with his feelings to fight off the soldier, and I’ll have everything I could ever want.”

“Why?”

“Why am I like this? You said it yourself. Daddy was an abusive schizophrenic and mommy was a neglectful narcissist. They made me like this. I’ve pushed it down for too long.”

“But you can be kind! Caring and compassionate and forgiving! You don’t have to be like this!”

“You want me to be kind and forgiving? Ha! The world isn’t kind nor is it forgiving. Why should I be any different?” She shakes her head at you. “I can’t let you do this.” You raise your eyebrows at her and look her up and down.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it? You gonna hurt me?”

She has the two of you in opposite positions in a heartbeat, a knife from her thigh plunged into your side.

You cry out in pain, slumping against the wall.

“James!” You shout, eyes full of pure evil as you look at the redhead in front of you.

Her eyes widen as you rip the knife out of your gut and shove it into hers.

The door bursts open as he runs into the room.

“Nat? What’s...” he trails off and you see the switch as the soldier takes over upon seeing you injured. Natasha is torn from you and tossed to the floor while the soldier hovers over you, inspecting the knife wound for a moment before looking back over his shoulder to where the threat is.

She scrambles to her feet and holds one of her hands up in surrender, the other going to her gut and gently holding around the knife wound

“James, listen to me. You need to understand that she isn’t who she says she is.”

You grab his hand, holding tightly and doing your best to look innocent.

“She came in here and tried to convince me to leave you. When I refused she stabbed me and said I was a monster just like you. I-I didn’t want her to hurt you... I had to do it...” You can see him struggling, trying to regain control of his body as the soldier reaches out to you.

“Bucky, Listen to me. She's not who you think she is. I know I vouched for her in the beginning but now it’s different. You’ve gotta listen to me. She’s dangerous. Please. She stabbed you and she stabbed me, James please.”

He looks between the two of you, clearly measuring his options.

“You chose her once, James. Don’t make the same mistake. Please. I trusted you.” You can see the confusion and anguish in his eyes as he looks at you then over at Nat.

“James, please. Please, you need to believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you about this. I know you’re in there.”

“No! She hurt me! She tried to get me to leave you! She tried to come between us! Don’t let her get away with it! Please, James. Please. She did it once, what’s stopping her from doing it again?”

It’s silent for a very long time, the two of you staring at the man, waiting for him to make his decision. When you see his shoulders tense and his jaw clench, you know you’ve won this fight.

The soldier turns to Nat, metal plates in his arm whirring as he clenches his hand in a fist.

“Leave. Never come back. If I ever see you near here again I will kill you.” His words are spat with a thick Russian accent, and it takes all of your self-control not to smile wickedly at the redhead.

“James please! Please, you’ve gotta listen! She isn’t who you think she is!” He says nothing, simply takes your hand and nods at you.

“He picked you last time. Now he’s finally picking me,” you whisper, smiling softly at the man only to grin wickedly at Nat when he turns away.

“Leave now,” he barks, glaring at her until she starts moving. She half runs half limps out of the house, leaving you alone with the soldier.

“Thank you,” you whisper, hugging him tightly then hissing as the wound in your side burns.

He lays you down on the ground, inspecting the gouge before nodding to himself. He stands without another word to retrieve a first aid kit and when he’s beside you again he starts stitching you up, his fingers gentle and kind.

You spend the rest of the day relaxing with the soldier, Bucky hardly making an appearance at all.

You’re getting ready for bed when you feel someone’s eyes on you.

“God, do none of you have any respect for other peoples’ privacy?” You demand, turning around with your hands on your hips.

Steve stands by the door, his arms crossed over his chest and a stern look on his face.

“You know why I’m here.” Is all he says. You nod, pursing your lips and plopping down on your bed.

“The redhead sent you. Came and tattled on me for being a bad girl, right?” He says nothing, but you see a muscle in his jaw twitch.

“Fury’s gonna find out.”

“Oh yeah? And then what? Is he gonna deprive his pet of the one person who can keep him calm and contained?” Steve’s silence is answer enough.

“Don’t act like I’m the bad guy here. You and I both know that you’re just as fucked up as I am, if not more.” He swallows hard and avoids eye contact, making you chuckle.

“Imagine what would happen if people found out about Captain America’s depraved fantasies. Imagine if they knew how badly he craves power... how he longs to make people cower before him. Well, I don’t think they'd react too well to that. Do you?” His nostrils flare as he finally looks at you.

“What do you want?” He asks.

“I want to help you find her. Whoever it is you’re planning on taking. I want to be a part of it.” He furrows his brow, taken aback by your request.

“Why?”

“Because,” you whisper, pushing yourself to your feet and standing right in front of him. “The power is euphoric. It’s addictive. And I wanna feel it again.”

He stares down at you, blue eyes fighting a battle as he mulls over your words.

It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong. He knows you’re not a good person and that wanting the things he wants isn’t something a good person, a normal person, wants. And yet... there’s something so alluring about you. Something addictive about the darkness inside of you. And he desperately wants a taste of it.

With a huff out of his nose, he glances down.

“So we have a deal?” You ask, a smile playing around the edges of your pretty lips.

“We’ve got a deal.”

[fuwahiko]

...imagine a Non-Despair or Pre-Despair Kuzuhina scenario where Hajime gets into a huge fight with his parents (most likely about Hope's Peak in some way) and after a few days to a week of shutting out his friends and boyfriend in class 77, he finally goes to them for comfort and just breaks down from stress and bottled up emotions.

(No I'm not projecting onto Hajime what are you talking about thats cRAZY-)

Hurt/Comfort is my specialty what can i say.

uh oh time for hajime to suffer again

so.

hajime's parents are those like, really shitty parents that see their kids as someone to live vicariously through rather than valuing them as people. they hold him to high standards that get more ridiculous as he gets older.

his and his parents' goals happened to align well when it came to hope's peak; hajime always admired the school and his parents insisted he go to a good school so that he could get the best education he possibly could - because they wouldn't be satisfied with any less than that.

they were content for a while and happy to pay hajime's tuition fees, but his parents' contentment was only ever temporary. one day they called hajime to the living room for a 'talk'. they'd decided they weren't happy enough with hajime just keeping up with the rest of the class, oh no, he had to be the top of the class. hajime kept up with school work just fine and did pretty well of the tests too, about average in his class, nothing to brag about but certainly nothing to be ashamed of or anything - but for his parents average wasn't going to cut it anymore.

so they told hajime he would have to be in the top five highest scorers on his upcoming test or they would stop paying his tuition fees.

of course, this was incredibly upsetting to hajime; he'd always dreamed of going to hope's peak, and now he finally was, and on top of that he had made some amazing friends there and had even met fuyuhiko. the thought of not being able to see them anymore, or at least seeing them way less than he saw them now, was honestly terrifying to him.

and not to mention, what his parents were threatening didn't even make any sense; what good would it do to stop him from going to hope's peak anyway? wouldn't that just go against what they wanted?

he argued with them further and they said if that did happen they would think of something else to have hajime do, suggesting the idea of sending him to some strict teacher that would teach him one on one - someone that would be ruthless and do whatever it takes to make hajime "get his act together", as they put it. that thought was also terrifying.

hajime was already trying hard as it was though. he'd managed to form a healthier relationship with studying at last and he was doing better in the subjects he struggled with most. he was really proud of how far he'd come and how much he'd grown since coming to hope's peak... but whatever he did or whatever he said his parents would never see it the same way.

very quickly his studying grew more intense now, he was studying for much longer and he had less time for the things he enjoyed - less time to relax. but what choice did he have? there was no changing his parents' minds, so all he could do was push and push to get a high score, even if it completely burned him out.

that's how hajime spent his days for a while. he didn't have time to hang out with anyone because he needed to focus on studying. usually he talked with fuyuhiko and the others a lot; they'd text each other often and usually met up at lunch and after school ended, but hajime didn't want to be distracted, and if he had spare time he could be studying. it seemed to be working for maybe a couple of days, but hajime knew deep down he was only going to get burned out... but he pretended like he wouldn't - he told himself he'd make it work somehow.

he couldn't make it work.

so, inevitably, hajime felt that familiar feeling of anxiety and stress building up and consuming him; he was exhausted and his mind was fuzzy - the words on pages in front of him blurring together and making no sense anymore, his eyes just drifting across them without picking up any meaningful information from them. he was tired and drained but his body was buzzing with panic and urgency.

he didn't know what to do, and when hajime didn't know what to do he went to his friends.

it was the late evening now and class had finished hours ago, but he left a message in his group chat with class 77 saying he needed someone to talk to and that he'd be waiting at a park just by the school - somewhere they often hung out.

hajime sat on a bench at the park. the cool fresh air outside usually helped to calm his nerves but was having no effect on him today.

it wasn't long before he heard footsteps approaching him at a fast pace. hajime lifted his head and saw fuyuhiko, ibuki, sonia, nagito, sagishi and mahiru all rushing to him, with chiaki a little ways behind but trying her best to keep up.

they all seemed really worried, even more so because hajime had been so quiet recently. it turned out they had all been wondering what was up with him and discussing how to deal with the situation; they'd decided to give hajime space for a start in case he needed it, but they'd agreed to drop whatever they were doing if he needed them there. they didn't want to overwhelm him though, so only some of them went to meet with him, just in case the whole class would be a bit too much.

this was so much more than hajime had expected though, he never would've guessed half the class would come to him on such short notice like this. they must've been really worried.

mahiru, prepared and sensible as always, pulled a large blanket out of her bag and set it down on the ground opposite the bench as hajime watched with a confused but curious expression. then, one by one, hajime's friends sat down on the blanket, fuyuhiko and sagishi sitting on either side of hajime on the bench, with fuyuhiko gently holding hajime's hand.

fuyuhiko asked hajime to take a deep breath and then asked if he could tell them what was wrong, and hajime began explaining from the beginning the best he could. the more he talked though, the more he got worked up, and as he talked about how scared he was to have to leave all of them he found himself stumbling over his words and breathing rapidly, tears building up and then quickly running down his face, his body shaking.

"hey, hey, hajime. it's okay." fuyuhiko comforted him, running his hand up and down hajime's back to calm him. "there's no way we'd ever let that happen. if they want to stop you going to hope's peak they're gonna have to get through us first."

hajime was calming down a little just from hearing that, but by this point his tears wouldn't stop; it was like all the stress and the pain and the worry was being flushed out all in one go, and all he could do was continue sobbing until it was all out. fuyuhiko slowly pulled him in closer and hajime wrapped his arms around him, crying onto his shoulder. fuyuhiko could feel hajime shaking as he held him back, but after a couple minutes he was becoming more and more still.

"if it comes down to it..." sonia spoke up as hajime relaxed and separated from fuyuhiko a little, returning to holding his hand as he shed his final tears - "...if they will not pay for your tuition then those of us who have the means certainly will. we shall do our upmost to ensure you will be able to continue studying here, as you have every right to do so. isn't that right, fuyuhiko?"

fuyuhiko gave hajime a reassuring smile. "of course. I reckon with a yakuza and a princess and with nagito's lottery money you'd have enough to pay for a hundred hajimes to go to hope's peak" he laughed.

"ibuki will hold a concert! a big concert, better than any concert the world has ever seen! all the money from the tickets sold can go to helping hajime!" ibuki grinned as she leaned forward and used both her hands to hold onto hajime's free hand, shaking it up and down a few times before settling down again. "really." she spoke much more softly now, almost sounding like a different person entirely, "we won't let them stop you from being where you're meant to be." ibuki let go of hajime's hand and sat down again.

nagito was the next to speak: "and if they take you away and force you to study with a private tutor or anything else you don't want, then we'll find where you are and steal you away again." "we'll do it over and over if we have to." mahiru added. "that's right! you know how stubborn we all are, there's no way we'd allow that to happen, not without a fight!" sonia chimed in, one fist in the air and a determined look spread across her face. "what can they do to stop us, anyway? they're just two people. they're older than us, sure, but together we're capable of so much more, as long as we work as a team." sagishi said as they placed a hand on hajime's shoulder for a moment.

hajime had some really amazing friends.

"are you feeling better now?" chiaki asked in a soft voice.

hajime relaxed his shoulders and sat up. "yeah. I'm feeling a lot better now. I... I really appreciate you guys being there for me like this. I didn't expect you all to rush over, and you've all been so... so sweet. I don't know what I did to deserve friends like you."

"dumbass. we're your friends because you're the same. we know you'd do the same for us if we were in trouble, don't sell yourself short." fuyuhiko furrowed his brows and poked hajime's cheek. hajime smiled at him and fuyuhiko smiled back before turning to face the others again.

after another few minutes everyone began heading back - fuyuhiko walking hajime home and insisting on holding his hand the whole way.

hajime didn't want to burden his friends, but knowing they'd be there for him if anything did go wrong made him feel incredibly relieved. he could tell that even if he told them not to help out, they still would. maybe that meant he wasn't such a burden after all.

knowing they cared so much for him, knowing that they valued him as a friend as much as he valued them, made hajime feel invincible.

he'd probably never be good enough for his parents, but to his friends he was someone who couldn't be replaced.

[earlysunsetsoverambrose]

Fool For You (1/4)

Lester Sinclair x f!Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Description: You are head over heels in love with the youngest Sinclair, but he could not be more oblivious to your feelings. 

A/N: Thanks to @mynameisliterallycash for the request! I was hitting a wall with writing, but this helped get the gears turning again! I hope this is what you wanted and that you enjoy! 

The sun streaming through your window roused you from a steady slumber. You groaned, stretching out your limbs until you finally collapsed back onto the mattress with a sigh. The sleep from your eyes cleared as you thought of the dream you had last night. Your heart raced remembering the way he took you in his arms and finally said he loved you too. You were so happy you could cry and now you could almost cry at realizing it was just another dream. He seemed to be all that occupied your thoughts: Lester Sinclair.

Lester was all you had energy for these days. If you weren’t with him, you were thinking about when you’d see him again. Even your dream world revolved around him as he’d made an appearance almost every night lately. You were like a damn schoolgirl; and it was as exhilarating as it was humiliating. You thought you were past the days of pining over boys, but here you were.

Slowly, you’d fallen head-over-heels for the man. His self-effacing humor, kind heart, and generous nature won you over so effortlessly. You didn’t even realize where you were headed until your little crush became an intense, desperate love for you closest friend. It practically consumed you.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Lester would just put you out of your misery. Falling in love with him was incredibly easy, but telling him was the biggest pain in your ass since Bo Sinclair.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. You tried hundreds of different ways – of varying levels of subtlety – to tell him how you feel. Extra physical affection? Nothing. Complimenting him on literally everything? Nothing. Baking treats specifically for him? Nothing. Asking him if he’d ever been in love before? Not a damn thing. You were running out of ways to get your point across.

Even if he didn’t notice the romantic intentions, he was always so receptive and enthusiastic, you couldn’t be upset for too long. Being a touch-oriented person by nature, he welcomed the extra hugs, squeezing you to your heart’s content. Your compliments always made him blush and he’d pay you back with as much flattery and twice the charm. After every treat you baked, he carved you thoughtful trinkets from wood and bone. And when you asked him about being in love, he lit up as he rambled on about a dog he met that confirmed for him the existence of true love. God, he was a goofball. You loved him so much.

At this point, you were vacillating between whether you should tell him at all, since everything you tried seemed to go over his head. You weren’t even sure he liked you back. Sometimes, you thought he might, but he was so nice to everyone, it was hard to tell. Maybe he really didn’t notice, or he did and he was trying not to hurt your feelings. Both were possibilities, but you sincerely hoped it was the former. But how could he not get it? Maybe you were better off as friends. It’d probably be easier.

You looked at the clock, realizing you would have to put your pity party on hold. Though the smallest part of you wanted to stay in bed and return to your dreamland where you knew Lester loved you back, you’d much rather spend all the time you could with him in the real world. You had plans to go to town with Lester to pick up more dog food. When he asked you if you wanted to tag along for his day off, you jumped at the chance to go with him. Anything for a few more hours together.

Once you got cleaned up and dressed, you jogged down the stairs and straight to the front door. You took a seat on the bottom step of the porch to wait for Lester to come pick you up. A shiver ran through your body, adjusting to the chilly breeze. You looked up at the sky to find it overcast, matching your mood. You wondered if it would rain.

You heard the door open and shut, followed by heavy steps down the stairs. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Waitin’ for Lester to pick you up for your date?” Bo prodded, taking a sip from his coffee mug.

“It’s not a date.” You sighed, too caught up in your thoughts to fight with Bo.

“But you want it to be, don’t you?” He snorted, “You’ve had it bad for him for how long now?”

“Can’t you just go on to work without harassing me? Be nice for once and go away.” you asked, finally looking up at him to meet his classic smirk.

“Look, kid, if you wanna get anywhere with Lester, you’re gonna have to spell it out for him.” Bo advised, “God love him, but there’s nothin’ in his head. Plus, he’s dumb as a sack of hammers when it comes to women and sex.”

“Stop it.” You snapped, “Lester’s not stupid. And I don’t remember asking for your advice.”

“Well, you need it.” Bo interjected, “But if you wanna keep pussyfooting around and die alone, that’s your God given right.”

“Truly inspiring.” You said sarcastically, “You should become a life coach.”

“Thought about it, pay was shit though.” Bo quipped without missing a beat. He gave you a soft kick on the leg as his best attempt at comfort, before finally granting your wish for him to leave. He hopped in his truck and took off down the hill.  

You thought about what Bo told you. Maybe you should just come out with it already. You tried everything short of saying what you actually meant. You knew that being open and direct was the best way forward, but it would undoubtedly change things between you and Lester – for better or worse. You just dreaded the thought that after you finally told him everything, he simply wouldn’t feel the same. The idea of rejection, especially coming from him, was utterly terrifying. You didn’t think you could handle it if he were to start icing you out. You didn’t want to lose any part of him. Maybe you should have stayed in bed after all.

“Hello, Y/N? Anybody alive in there?”  

You gasped as your heart jolted and you snapped to attention. You looked up to see Lester chuckling at your expense. Even as your heartrate slowed, you felt it stutter at his laughter.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that, Les!” you said with a playful shove, feigning annoyance –your smile betraying you.

“I didn’t mean to spook ya! But I’ve been callin’ your name for two minutes.” Lester told you, “Ya sure were thinkin’ hard ‘bout whatever it was. Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Sorry, I think I’m still waking up.” You excused, adding a fake yawn to really sell it. Lester smiles wide at you, suspecting nothing.

“Well, wake on up then, we got places to be!” Lester said as he offered his hand to pull you up from the stairs. You happily took it and he hoisted you up with ease. Your eyes darted where your hands met as his touch sent sparks through your arm and into your chest. Now, you were just plain staring. He innocently tilted his head, “Ya sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” you said quickly, releasing his hand. “Come on, I’ll race you to the truck! Last one there has to do all the heavy lifting!”

Lester broke into a sprint without a warning. You wondered how he always seemed to have so much energy at all hours of the day as you struggled to catch up with him.

He made it to the truck first by a long shot. He just smiled when you finally made it, not bothering to gloat. Both of you couldn’t help but laugh as you fought to catch your breath.

“Guess, I win.” Lester said simply

“I’m getting too old for this.” you said as you leaned against the truck for support.

“Oh, you’re never too old for a little fun.” Lester replied clapping you on the back, “’Sides, you’re awake now, ain’t ya?”

“Won’t be for long, if I black out from exhaustion.” You fired back dramatically, “You’re going to have to go on without me.”

“Hey, c’mon now, ya gotta go with me to carry all that dog food. Ya ain’t gettin’ outta this one, drama queen.” Lester played along.

“Vision going dark…legs too weak! Goodbye, cruel world!” you cried out with an exaggerated hand over your face. You made a show of stumbling around like you were about to faint, imitating all the terrible soap operas you caught on television. You wrapped your arms around Lester and made your legs limp, forcing him to support you as he laughed at your antics, “Remember me as I was: unwilling to carry everything by myself.”

“Alright, fine!” Lester agreed as he adjusted you in his grasp so he could look back at you. Your act faltered as you looked up into his warm whiskey stare, savoring the feeling of his arms around you, sturdy and gentle. “I s’pose I’ll help ya out a little. Guess it’s only fair since ya let me win and all.”

“Why, yes, of course, that is exactly what happened. Me, the true winner. I let you win, correct. That was the master plan.” You said, every word dripping with sarcasm. You stood back up, separating yourself from his embrace despite wanting nothing more than to stay that way forever.

“Yes ma’am! Ya coulda left me in the dust, alright, but ya didn’t. Thanks for takin’ it easy on me.” Lester said with a wink and a nudge as he made his way to the driver side of the truck. There he goes again with that unrelenting kindheartedness, “Well, hop in then! We’re burnin’ daylight!”

You opened the passenger door and got in next to Lester. You couldn’t help but look at him from the corner of your eye as he got settled and started the engine. He started driving down the road. You wondered how it was possible no one else had fallen in love with him the way you had so easily. Maybe many already did and they also failed to tell him.

You turned to look at him straight on, while his eyes were on the road. You could feel a fond smile pulling at your cheeks as you gazed at him. He had such an ease about him, you thought he looked so handsome without even trying.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” Lester asked, cocking an eyebrow as he looked back at you, “What are ya lookin’ at me like that for?”

“Huh?” you said cluelessly. You had been caught staring again.

“Did I leave the house with a milk moustache or somethin’?” he asked, looking in the rearview mirror to check himself, “Do I got a snot bubble?”

“No, you’re good.” You said, chuckling as you propped your head against your hand by the window. You kept looking at him, practically feeling the hearts flying out of your eyes.

“Whew, had me worried there for a second.”

“Sorry, about that.” You said with a smile, facing front once more.

“Don’t be, I get it, what with my devilish good looks and all.” Lester joked with a hearty laugh, sitting back without another thought. You looked back at him, holding back a sigh of disbelief. He didn’t know the half of it.

You leaned over to turn on the radio hoping some music would ease the tension you were feeling, even though you were sure Lester hadn’t noticed. He was delightfully oblivious to your plight. You heard the beginning of a steady, soft guitar. You immediately recognize the song, internally cursing the irony of it all.

I find it very, very easy to be true I find myself alone when each day is through Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you Because you're mine, I walk the line

Even Johnny Cash could see right through you. As much as you wanted to be irritated with fate, every line perfectly summed up your feelings for Lester. You glanced at him, thinking about how there was no one else in the world who was as right for you. He was just like the song itself; soft and stable.

“You know, I really love this song.” You said hopefully, “Romantic, don’t you think?”

“Sure is,” Lester agreed, with an excited smile and glance in your direction, “But hell if Folsom Prison Blues ain’t one of the best damn songs ever written. That’s my favorite!”

“Oh…that one’s definitely great too.” You said with a small drop of your shoulders. You should have known better than to think that would go anywhere. You straighten up again, giving it another shot, “I Walk the Line just makes me wish I could find the Johnny to my June.”

“Aw, don’t worry about that, none. Won’t be too long ‘fore that happens. I’m surprised none of them bigshot city boys ain’t snatched ya up yet. Guess most of ‘em are just plain stupid. Hell, they gotta be if they ain’t fallin’ over themselves to get a ring on ya.” Lester hyped you up, looking at you, genuine as ever.

“I don’t think I want anyone like that.” You said, “Guys like that really aren’t my type.”

“Well, whoever ya do end up with is gonna be one lucky son of a gun, I’ll tell ya that much.” Lester declared with the utmost certainty.

“I think I’d want him to be like you.” You told him pointedly, scooting closer. Lester gaped, a huge grin still shining through the skepticism.

“Me? Shoot, ya gotta be kiddin’. No way! Ya don’t wanna shack up with a fella like me!” Lester denied with a wave of his hand, clearly amused but not entertaining the notion. He was sure you must be joking.

"Why not?” You asked, “You’re funny, helpful, incredibly reliable, thoughtful, patient, kind. You’re the real deal! Plus, you know everything about everything there is to know about animals. I’m always learning something when I’m with you.”

“Shucks, you’re gonna make me blush,” Lester chuckled, sending you a humble smile as he rubbed his neck, “I don’t know everythin’, but you’re real sweet for sayin’ so. ‘Sides, I don’t think there’re too many ladies that wanna hear me rattlin’ on ‘bout critters and whatnot.”

“Don’t be so sure.” You told him, nudging his shoulder with yours.

“Well, if ya happen to run into anybody ya think won’t mind if I set the mood with a little roadkill, ya send ‘em my way, alright!” Lester told you, slapping his knee. After he finished laughing at himself, he piped up, “You know who I’d marry if I could?”

“Who?” you asked, your heart stopping in its tracks.

“Dolly Parton! Whew that woman sure is somethin’!” Lester told you with a dreamy shake of his head.

You let out a soft sigh as you scooted back to your side; hiding your disappointment by looking out the window. Suddenly, Ring of Fire seemed more appropriate since loving Lester was starting to burn like hell. Even so, you were still charmed by his unrestrained joy as he started whistling along with the radio, totally oblivious to the way your fond smile overtook your features.

[whump-town]

Prof of Law Aaron Hotchner

Warning for violence, stabbing, nightmares, an anxiety attack, and drugs (the prescribed kind)

Aaron Hotchner is a retired Federal Persecutor-- just an AU where Hotch is a law professor for fun and angst!!

Bouncing Jack on his hip, Hotch smiles as he stands over Haley’s shoulder. He pulls his hand back from the cake, wincing when Haley smacks his hand away. She’s a perfectionist and having the smear of his finger through this cake is going to heavily disrupt her otherwise perfect spreading. 

“Oh come on,” he pouts, he turns his body so she can see Jack. “We just want a little,” he attempts. Rousing his son, he jogs the boy up a little more in his arms. “Tell her Jack, tell Mommy, say only a little.” Despite being very much daddy’s little boy, Jack smirks and turns his head away. Giggling and babbling nonsense into his father’s shoulder. Wiping his face on Hotch’s shirt. 

Hotch plays along. “See,” he offers, “just like he said. We only want just a little bit.” 

Haley rolls her eyes, smiling at his antics. She reaches around the cake to the mostly empty tub the icing had come in. “Go,” she instructs, handing it to him. “Get out of my kitchen Aaron Hotchner before I beat you with this spoon.” She searches across the counter for the wooden spoon she’d used to keep the green beans on the oven stirred. 

He smiles and kisses her head, avoiding the spoon when she tries to jab at his side with it. 

As he’s walking away, egging Jack on in his triumph of obtaining the icing, there’s a knock at the door. He’s still talking to the baby, so stepping away from the cake she moves so she can see down the hall from the kitchen. To see if he’s getting the door. “Aaron--”

He steps into the hall and winks at her, “I’ve got the door.” He curses softly, pulling his hand away from Jack’s mouth. He’s swiped a finger into the container before coming to the door. Jack mercilessly chumps down on his fingers and regardless of his absent teeth it still hurts. 

“Hey--” 

Hotch lands flat on his back. The world a dark haze and a strange eerily painful chill in his side. Pain like he’s never felt before. Touching his side, he lifts his head off of the floor and stairs in shock at his hand. The dark, thick crimson of his blood. So much blood. 

“Aaron!? Oh my God!”

 Choking, Hotch tries to move. Mouth open and back arching, he kicks out blindly. The pain creating a black haze around his vision. Coughing and turning his head as he wheezes around the obstruction in his airway, his own blood, he can hear more gunshots.  Jack screams, wailing, and sobbing on in distress. There is one final gunshot and the crying stops. The house falls silent. 

“Jack,” he tries to move but his arms won’t hold his weight. “Jack,” he calls again, panic rising. “Come on, buddy,” he cries. “Where--” blinking the blood from his eyes he looks up and into the face of someone he hasn’t seen in a decade. George Foyet. 

Leaning down, Foyet places his foot against Hotch’s throat. He presses down just enough to cut off the rest of his oxygen, smiling when Hotch uselessly tries to push him away. “Remember me, Aaron? Aaron? Aaron! Aaron--”

“Aaron! Easy, easy.”

He’s in bed. His grey t-shirt slick with his sweat and practically glued to his back. He’s safe. Looking around he can slowly start to piece together where he is. Dave’s house. Well, his house too but it’s Dave’s house.

“Woah,” perched on the corner of his bed is David Rossi. As silly as the older man looks in his matching pajama set (from probably the eighties) Hotch can’t spare the breath to do much more than lean into his embrace. “You’re alright,” Dave assures him, rubbing his back and cupping the back of his head. “Just breath for me kid,” Dave keeps Hotch pulled close, glad that he’s not trying to wrangle away just yet.

“Dave?” Hotch can feel himself shaking, his eyes pinched shut. He’s terrified, honestly. The nightmare had felt so real. So much like the real day. George Foyet had come into his home and-- “I need… Jack?” Hotch pulls away just enough to catch his old mentor’s eyes. Waiting to find the truth there. Because he can’t remember. His brain is split. Had he buried his son that day too? Is Jack… Is Jack dead too?

Dave smiles, it’s sad but it’s not mournful. “He’s sleeping in his bed,” Dave promises. “I checked on him before I came in here.”

Hotch can feel the hitch in his chest as he lets out a relieved breath. “He’s okay?” Hotch asks, he needs the clarification.

Dave nods, “perfectly content.” That’s the easy part about being a baby when the world goes to shit. Jack will never know his mother but he’ll also never have to wake, like his father, in cold sweats shaking from nightmares. Terrified and alone.

“Okay,” Hotch pulls back, scooting back in the bed so he can cross his legs and rest his head in his hands.

Watching him with an air of concern Dave sighs. He looks at the clock and shakes his head. It’s four in the morning and there’s no way that Aaron’s going back to sleep now. “You good,” he asks. As much as he’d like to stick around and make sure Hotch gets back to sleep… that’s futile.

For the last few years, they’ve been working on getting Aaron through the night. Whether it’s nightmares or insomnia he can’t seem to get a break.

Hotch nods with his face covered by his hands.

Dave stands and looks back over his shoulder one more time. “Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

“Try and get some more sleep, alright? You can’t afford to lose anymore.”

Hotch doesn’t look up but hums in agreeance. Already he can feel the low throb at the back of his skull. If he starts drinking coffee now maybe he’ll make it through his first few classes without passing out. In the vending machines outside his office, they sell these little bottles of five-hour energy.

He’s a little too old to go chugging those but he’s not going to go canceling his class over a little missed sleep.

It’s been a long time since he even thought about consuming this much coffee.

By six a.m. he’s consumed four cups.

“How long have you been up?”

Hotch blinks sluggishly despite the warm fifth mug of coffee in his hands. “Hmm,” he asks, rubbing at his eyes.

Directing Jack down the hall, hand over the boy’s head like a claw, Dave looks Hotch down. His posture is awful, bent over himself, with dark rings under his eyes. “I asked how many cups of coffee you’ve had but I’m afraid I don’t want the answer.” Pushing Jack along, the boy scurries into the kitchen. Buzzing past his father to make a B line for the milk and cereal.

“Don’t spill the milk,” Hotch mumbles, watching Jack fumble with the carton.

It’s been nearly three years since George Foyet’s attack.

The man was released from prison for “good behavior” as young, white men tend to get off. It seemed as if the two young women he’d killed were brought to justice in the ten years he spent in prison. How easy it must have been for the justice system to see the opportunity in a man like him, while ignoring the ones he’d taken. A misguided youth and a tragic backstory only adding to their empathy.

The atrocities he’d committed were not of his own accord, of course not. It’s always so much easier to blame those young women or perhaps his mother. If those girls had not been out so late at night, if they hadn’t worn skirts and frilly tops then he would have never noticed them to begin with. If his birth mother had loved him more...

None of that matters now.

They considered Geroge Foyet “cured” and released him back into society.

Where his first stop was to a library, where he found the address of the man who put in prison. Federal Prosecutor Aaron Hotchner.

This is the part the dreams never get right. Foyet didn’t have a gun. He had a knife. A single pocket knife that he stole from a junkie in an alley. It had been late and Haley had answered the door. Hotch hadn’t even heard her cry out for him. He’d been wrangling Jack out of the tub, the little boy a mess of squirming limbs and very upset with his father for making him take a bath.

They’d been in Jack’s room when Foyet found them.

He’d had his back turned to the door, shushing the crying baby as best as he could while trying to get a diaper around his kicking legs. The first stab had been so quick… by the third he was on his knees and unable to do anything besides keep falling.

On that floor, George Foyet stabbed him six more times. Jack had screamed and cried the entire time. He’d been too young to understand, not even a full year old, but he knew something wasn’t right.

In the dreams, Foyet always kills Jack too. The harsh, overwhelming sound of silence those little cries silenced. There one moment and gone the very next.

He can’t remember much of what happened.

Foyet had moved to Jack, picking the boy up and shushing him. Hotch had watched, immobilized and too weak to even beg for his son to be spared. So he’d watched, choking on his blood, and slowly losing his battle with consciousness as Foyet settled down in the rocking chair in the corner of the room and rocked his son. Soothed him.

A neighbor would walk by and see Haley laying in the hall. The blood…

Hotch had died on the operating table, a fact that Dave would later inform him of. He can’t remember recovery all that well. Clouded with drugs and grief, he… There was once, he remembers this clearly because it had only been a short time after he’d woken up, they’d brought Jack in. Dave and the nurses had been trying everything to calm him but he wasn’t sleeping or eating. He’d cry and cry and cry until he made himself puke or passed out.

The moment they placed Jack in Hotch’s arms, the baby had stilled. His pained cries dying to whimpers as he looked up at his father.

Hotch had been propped up with pillows. Too weak to even lift his own head but they’d stacked pillows around his sides and arms. He couldn’t fight the exhaustion weighing his body down but he clung to Jack. Waking from his sleep in a panic each time, watching the room’s other occupants in case they might try to take Jack from him.

After all the time he’d been nearly unresponsive to them, if having Jack around would keep his heart rate up and his oxygen intake steadily improving no one was going to complain. Several times he woke to his gown being moved so they could place Jack against him. Skin on skin therapy does wonders on humans of all ages. Recovery had been easier with Jack there. The baby stripped to his diaper and nestled against his chest. Little fingers grasping onto him.

It’s been three years and George Foyet follows him everywhere he goes.

“Professor?”

He makes his own lesson plans. He knows which cases come up when. “Who--” he makes the mistake of looking at the screen and his heart stills in his chest. Swallowing thickly around the obstruction in his throat, he looks down to the floor forcing himself to take in a steadying breath. “Who, um, can explain why this case can’t be dismissed on the grounds of Gamble v United States?”

He doesn’t need to call on a student. There’s only about ten kids in the class and it's a ridiculously easy question.

“It’s two separate accounts,” someone speaks up. “Same thing, sure, same crime even but that’s not how double jeopardy works. Besides, you’d want to look more into United States v Felix. Um--” The hard sound of one of the automatically folding chairs shutting in on itself sounds out through the room. “Sir?”

“Sir, are you okay?”

Hotch grips the edge of the desk tighter, his knuckles whitening under the strain. “I’m--” his knees buckle but he forces his weight to his arms. Squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth. “I’m okay,” he manages.

A student, he can’t tell which one, cautiously approaches his side. “Sir,” he calls. The student, Carter one of his more extroverted and adventurous students, squats down by his side, hand on his back just above his belt. “Not to alarm you,” Carter says, “but I think you’re having an anxiety attack. Do you have any medicine? Is there something we can do?”

Hotch squeezes his eyes shut, trying to work against the tears rapidly falling down his cheek. “My--” he grabs frantically for his tie. The knot against his throat tightening steadily to a noose until he can’t stand it. His hands are too weak to pull the material away but graciously, his useless fingers are pushed aside. Carter undoes the knot quickly and Hotch is suddenly very thankful that Carter’s pompous, cocky agenda brings a tie into his little aesthetic.

“In my office,” Hotch rasps, his hand twisted around his dress shirt. “It’s--” he sinks to the floor, head between his knees. “... a few,” he manages, “in my office.”

Carter turns over his shoulder. “Billy!”

Hotch looks up and watches Billy meagerly rise from where she’s called. Billy, while a great student, is riddled with social anxiety. Despite having taught the young woman all three years he’s been employed at the university she can’t meet his eye when they talk. And she always makes great haste in avoiding him. He’s never bothered to figure out if she’s got issues with authority, a problem with her father, or if she just hates him that much.

Carter turns back to Hotch, surprised by the startlingly vacant look in the man’s eyes. His eyes just watch Billy where she stands anxiously waiting to find out what awful thing she’s going to be asked to do.

“Sir,” Carter shakes Hotch a little. Smiling reassuringly when Hotch’s bloodshot eyes meet his. “I’m going to send Billy to get Professor Prentiss, is that okay? Billy is going to get the professor and we’re going to head to your office, alright?”

Hotch nods.

“Can-Can’t someone else go?”

Carter helps Hotch to his feet, graciously nodding his head to another student who slides under Hotch’s other arm. “No, Billy. Now go.”

Professor Prentiss is a notorious hardass. Her students love her but everyone else is terrified to even cross her path. She’s like a black cat, bound to be bad luck. It did not help Hotch’s already scary demeanor to befriend her. To spot the two of them coming across campus, Emily always professionally dressed in slacks and a dress shirt and Hotch in his standard suit and tie, they’d built a good rapport for being scarily mysterious.

Despite how frequently they could be spotted in the campus café laughing over a cup of coffee. Their human moments always outweigh their harsh ones. In fact, Emily Prentiss has only ever come down on a few students. The ones dumb enough to try and fool her. Hotch has never raised his voice to a student and is surprisingly lenient for a law professor or even just a professor in general.

For goodness sake, Emily stops to talk to the campus cats.

Hotch wears a little beanie with a red knot at the top Professor Garcia made him two Christmas’ ago and spends the spring semester chasing his son around the quad. (Garcia made him the beanie so she could recognize him easier in public. There are way too many tall men in suits around but the red little knot makes him easily detectable)

That’s not to say they’re still not intimidating.

“Pr-Professor Prentiss?”

Turning slowly from her chalkboard, Emily faces the weary voice. First of all, this is a senior advanced level Arabic class so there are only five students present and she knows each and everyone one of them. Well enough to know that whoever just called out her name is not one of her own. Nevermind they never break from Arabic during class time. Under her breath, in Arabic, Emily mumbles, “freshman.”

Yet, the young woman is dressed surprisingly professional.

“What is it,” Emily asks, crossing her arms. She pushes her glasses down her nose, moving the reading frame out of her sight. Looking down the length of her nose, raising an eyebrow at the girl. As if interrupting her class wasn’t bad enough, she’s not trying to waste instruction time on some undergraduate student roaming where she shouldn’t be.

The student steps in a little more, chest heaving, breathless, and looking anywhere but at Emily, stammers her way through an explanation. “Uh,” she wets her lips. “Um, Prof--Professor Hotchner he, um, he was-- he was taking us through, um, a criminal law case and he was…”

The half-amused smirk on Emily’s lips placed there in the humor of what she thought was going to be some silly mistake or a prank from a coworker is wiped away. Penelope has sent mischievous students her way in the past, to knock them down a few pegs or remind them who's in-charge here. Derek’s sent way too many kids over, a whole class once, instead of doing his job. It’s becoming very clear this is not a joke.

Tossing her glasses on her desk, she demands, “where is he?”

The girl takes two steps back, not liking Emily’s shift. “He, um, Carter took him to his office, ma’am. He--”

Emily turns to her students, “class is canceled. I’ll send you a text this afternoon to make up for class.” Then with a nod, takes off up the catwalk, shoes sounding sharply against the tile. “We’ll facetime!” Motioning the girls to follow, “you, with me. Let’s go.”

She sends Dave a text, nothing complex just “Aaron, SOS”.

Hotch’s office is down the same hall as his favorite auditorium to lecture in. She’d bullied him pretty hard upon finding this fact out. It sounded very, very nerdy. And it is. What kind of normal person has a favorite lecture hall? Let alone a favorite room? Just as promised, that’s where he is.

He’s on the floor, stripped of his jacket and his shirt thrown open to reveal his white-shirt. His head is in between his knees and a young man, Carter, Emily presumes, is struggling to open the orange bottle of Valium. People go broke buying the stuff from drug dealers and Hotch will refuse one up until he’s breathless and shaking.

“Get out.”

The boy stops, “what?”

Emily nods her head out the door, “both of you, out.”

They share a look but neither student puts up a fight.

Emily cracks the bottle open with a single twist, pouring a pill out into her hand. The only thing she has around to drink is what looks like either tea or coffee from (nothing him) days ago. He doesn’t use creamer but there’s still probably something toxic in their brewing. “Here,” she kneels down beside him.

He looks up, face broken out in sweat and cheeks flushed, and takes the pill from her palm.

“You okay,” she asks, rubbing his back. She watches her friend carefully, studying him.

He takes a deep breath and holds it, ticking the seconds away in his head. Nodding, he closes his eyes and hangs his head back limply between his knees. He lasts only a moment, eyes flying open she finds nothing but pure terror in his dark eyes.

“Hotch,” she calls, unsure if he’s even here with her right now. “Hotch, calm down. What’s going on?”

He shakes his head, “hard to breathe…” His hand comes to his shirt, gripping the white material tightly. “Can’t-- Can’t get enough… not enough air.”

She nods her head, sounds about right. “You’re okay,” she promises. “You’re completely safe right here with me, okay? We’re in your office and you’ve taken a Valium.”

He nods. Right. His office. He can feel the rough mug and smell the old books.

It’s hot. “Off,” he rasps, tugging harshly on his shirt. “Off. I want it--” Too hot and too tight and all over him and--

“Okay,” Emily stops his frantic movements, his hands tearing at his dress shirt. “Okay,” she grabs his left hand by the wrist, easily pulling the shirt off his shoulder and moving his arm out of the fabric. He’s already calming back down, sinking forward as she works his right arm out.

He’d been trapped. Hot and trapped and his brain isn’t working right.

“That’s better,” Emily whispers. She moves closer to him, sitting between his legs and hesitantly pulls him into a hug. He goes where he’s pulled, letting her guide his head to her shoulder.

He sniffles, unable to stop his tears. “He was there,” he whispers. “I saw him.”

She soothes him but she has no idea who or what he’s talking about it. All she knows is that three years ago Dave dragged Hotch here and had a look around. He’d been a mess then. Hair windswept or maybe just unkept and leaning heavily on a cane while Jack had circled them excitedly. She’d shaken his hand and greeted him because Dave is her friend; he'd introduced Aaron as an old friend. He’d looked haggard and disheveled but that hadn’t bothered Emily too much. He’d intrigued her.

Aaron started in an introductory course that fall. Predictably, Dave had allowed him into their trusted group of friends. He’d been removed, at first. Distant and didn’t speak much. Not that he speaks all that much now but it was so much worse back then. Whatever he’d needed that cane for, whatever had driven him from prosecution, whatever had made him a widower and single father that remained his secret. A part of him so guarded only Dave knew and, as she suspected, he would be the only one to ever know.

“Good Lord,” Dave appears in the doorway, shaking his head at the sight before him. “You look like hell.” He leans against the frame of the door, arms crossed. “You know,” he informs them casually. “The two of you have officially ruined your image around here. How’s anyone going to be afraid of you if they walk past this door and see the two of you cuddling on the floor?”

Emily scoffs but doesn’t move away. She keeps moving her hand up and down his back. His breathing has calmed back down but his heart is still racing. “Shut up,” she grumbles. “At least, my reputation isn't being a sleaze bag.”

Dave sucks his teeth, frowning at her. “I am not a sleaze bag,” he defends. He’s not. His reputation for sleeping with the faculty does preside him but it’s horribly honorable that he stays away from the students. They all know coworkers not upholding that standard.

“You okay,” Emily directs her attention back to Hotch. He squirms out of her hold, shakily forcing his feet back under his body and standing.

“Hey,” Garcia knocks on the door and squeezes in beside Rossi. “Everything okay in here?”

Hotch turns his body away from her, scrubbing his face with hands.

“Yeah,” Emily assures her with a smile. It’s obviously not the truth. Hotch is standing in his white undershirt, dress shirt and suit jacket on the floor. His tie not even on the same half of the room. There’s a pill bottle knocked over on his desk and his hair, from what can be seen from the back, is crazy. “We’re good, Pen.”

Garcia nods her head, skeptically. “Okay,” she smiles, eyeing Hotch. He glances over his shoulder at her and she can see his red rimmed eyes and wet face. It’s okay if he doesn’t trust her with this kind of stuff just yet. She understands. “I’ll see you guys at lunch?”

Hotch nods, “we’ll see you there.” His voice is surprisingly rough but she leaves without comment.

Emily reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Why don’t you stay here, alright?” He’s still shaking and looks rather awful. “I’m going to send your class home. Take a nap or something, you look like a train wreck.”

Hotch just hums, lifting his his hands to his face. The feeling of his body is yet to return. His arms don’t even feel connected to his body. Rubbing his hands across his face he can hear Emily and Dave whispering behind him. 

“See you at lunch, Hotch.” Emily says as she steps out of the room. 

Leaving Dave and Hotch. 

“Are you ever going to talk about it?” Dave asks.

Hotch sighs but doesn’t turn to face the man.

“Come on,” Dave sighs. “It’s been years. If you don’t get it out, it’s going to kill you.” 

George Foyet going to kill Aaron. Maybe not today but it’s a matter of time. 

“Not now,” Hotch mumbles, turning his attention to his desk. He brushes the spilled pills into the bottle. Ignoring the careful way Dave regards him. He knows he has to eventually work out these stupid nightmares. It’s one thing to find himself trapped there in that house at night. It’s another when the nightmares work their way into the light. 

“One day then, hmm?”

Hotch freezes, his anxiety sky rockets just thinking about it. They’ll have to institutionalize him first. Drug him up and throw away the key before he finds the words to describe what happened that day. Mentally, he’s not even sure he’s strong enough to think about it for too long. 

Clearing his throat Hotch nods, “right.” He takes a deep breath. Lawyers are blood sucking liars, right? Well, he hopes this once Dave believes his bluff. “One day.”

[land-under-wave]

This used to have a direction, but I don’t know where it’s going anymore, so have this semi-coherent character study. This also isn’t actually what I was planning when I said “I might have something Pokemon-related by the end of February,” but TECHNICALLY IT COUNTS. 

Slightly AU in terms of characterization and on my more experimental side of things. It’s more of a first draft than anything and I’m probably going to try to polish it up later, but right now, I don’t want to look at this for a month. 

If you were to ask him, Red would tell you he’s never been much one to care about respectability. He’s a pretty simple person at heart. He cares about his mother, he cares about his Pokemon, and he cares about his friends, but whatever people say about him isn’t the kind of thing that registers to him. At some point, he’d stumbled his way into respectability with the whole Champion of Kanto thing, but he hadn’t been trying to. He’d mostly been following Green’s lead.

Green inspires something in Red that he can’t really explain, so when the interviewers nag him to define their relationship, he just tends to shrug. It’s not Green’s brash personality or them being childhood friends, but some weird mixture of it brings out this previously unknown competitive streak in him. Green’s always charging into things the same way he charged into Red’s house all those years ago, and when he does, he throws everyone for a loop. After the dust settles, Red’s usually uncovered something about his life he didn’t even know he was unhappy with, so he tends to go along with whatever Green’s doing, at least for a bit. 

So no, respectability isn’t important to Red. But it is important to Green, and that’s why Green went for the championship. It really doesn’t make sense that Red’s the one who ended up with the title even though he was just caught up in Green’s fervor, and he knows he has no real reason to feel bad, but he does anyways. Red spent a lot of time afterwards trying to find a way to make it up to him, but mostly, he just succeeded in pissing Green off. 

He missed Green a lot during that time. He doesn’t know that their relationship ever would’ve been fixed if it hadn’t finally clicked for him that since Green hates pity more than he hates losing, the best thing Red could do is treat him the same as before, like the match was no big deal. Because really, it wasn’t, not in terms of his skills or who he is as a person. He didn’t lose Red’s respect by losing that match. And once the public realized Red still saw him as worthy, they started to treat Green like he was in fact one of the best trainers in the league, which is messed up, but at least it means they got past that. 

A lot of people seem to think this whole episode was a “spoiled brat finally wises up” kind of story, but that’s not fair to anyone involved. Green is too complicated of a person to be reduced to that. He might be the cool and confident gym leader representing Kanto’s finest as well as an arrogant prick who thinks he can win any fight he picks, but he’s also the insecure kid weighed down by his grandfather’s legacy, always trying to prove himself worthy. He isn’t one of those kids who acts out for attention, because he already had it from the start — the distinction is that he wants to earn it. Unlike Red, who’s too apathetic to care about cries of nepotism, Green cares fiercely about things like what people think of him and having his effort acknowledged. Even at his flashiest, he was always scared, and all his bravado was at least one part that terror. So he takes compliments about his battle prowess pretty easily but gets embarrassed about ones to the way he runs his gym. He bristles at any insult unless it’s a senior questioning his adequacy. He might act like a rich kid, but he also works harder than anyone else Red’s ever seen.

There’s so many nuances and sides to him that you could probably get lost in Green’s head and stumble around forever without ever finding your way out. And the thing is, Red wouldn’t want to. 

Green is so complicated but he isn’t a mystery; he wears his heart on his sleeve, and Red’s never met anyone else like him. Most complicated people are just confusing. They say one thing but mean another, they’re fragile in ways that Red can’t expect, they’re prickly about weird things and Red doesn’t know how to avoid setting them off. But Green is loud and upfront about almost everything. His diva tendencies mean his expressions are big and easy to read. Green scowls when he’s annoyed, he smirks when he’s entertained, and he sneers when he’s being petty or he’s uncomfortable but doesn’t want to show it. He bristles when he’s insulted, he yells when he’s upset. He turns bright red when he’s angry or embarrassed, and it’s beautiful.

It’s kind of fitting that Green has a color for a name, because Green’s emotions are so bright and vivid that they might be the only uncomplicated thing about him. They play out like the prettiest kaleidoscope on his face, and Red doesn’t think he could ever get tired of drinking in the sight of it when there’s always something new to uncover. His own feelings have always been a filtered, watered down thing, so at least part of the fascination is probably because he doesn’t understand it, but it’s also more than that. Red’s not passive, exactly, but he’s a reactive person, not an active one. He needs someone else around to bring out the best in him, and who better than the boy he’s known since he was a toddler? Green knows all the right buttons to push. He cares so much and believes so deeply that the force of his conviction can pull emotions out of Red from unknown parts and turn him into a complicated person too. Being around Green is like waking up from a slow dream and only realizing how unreal it was when the intensity of real life starts seeping in. Green gives him a sliver of insight into another world, a different layer of life where the pace moves faster and the colors are so strong that it almost hurts. 

Red can’t imagine living in that world all the time, and yet that’s Green’s reality. Caring the way he does must be exhausting. But Green’s also never had the option not to care, because everyone was going to be watching him from the start. The Oaks made a hole in Green’s heart at a young age so they could drill in concepts like duty and family and never shaming his grandfather, and even though Green’s filled the hole up with his own dreams, Red knows it still hurts. So maybe pain is the source of his cares and his ambitions, the deep-seated hunger that keeps pushing him forward even though he’s already carved out a place in the world. Maybe that’s the reason for the days when Green seems like he’s teetering on the edge of overspill.

It’s funny that Green’s the Oak, because a tree is more suited to Red, quiet and consistent and steady. Green’s more like a fire, there’s always something burning in him even when he seems to be at rest. Once something stokes the banked flame, he bursts back into an inferno, chaotic and messy and lovely.

Red doesn’t get why people spend so much time trying to puzzle him out when Green’s the real fascination between them. Sure, he’s the silent and kinda mysterious champion of Kanto, but his poker face doesn’t hide anything underneath, there’s not much depth to him until someone else can draw it out. He’s pretty boring when it comes down to it. Meanwhile, Green’s so on fire that his embers catch everywhere, and sometimes, they can even set someone as unmoving as Red ablaze. And some part of Red wants that to happen, wants to burn. He wants Green’s fire to consume him and for the two of them to burn together, so brilliant and glorious that they meld into a single great flame that subsumes them both. When they’re writing the history books, he wants it to be “Red and Green,” like salt and water. He wants to entangle himself in Green’s innards and never let go.

The people who say Green is selfish don’t get it. Red’s the selfish one in this situation, because all he does is take and take whatever Green can give. Sometimes, he goads him just to see the spark of his prickly temper or the coldness of his contempt. It’s all so brilliant and there’s a part of Red that wants to own him, to hold him forever and ever and never let anyone else see.

That ugly side of him is a part that he keeps locked away where it can’t hurt anyone. But he thinks Green probably already suspects that it exists. Green already knows most of the worst of Red — his ability to be deeply petty, his insensitivity and the way he covers it up with his poker face, how sometimes his obliviousness is feigned because he doesn’t want to bother. Green doesn’t expect Red to be the nice, quiet boy that everyone else sees in him. Green just expects him to be Red, and Red doesn’t want him to be anything other than Green. 

Time will pass, things will change, but Green has always been a constant. Red doesn’t really believe in things as cheesy as together forever, but he does believe in patterns, and he doesn’t want this one to break. Red and Green, fire and wood, call and response. 

For now, Red can be content with this.

[writefightandflightclub]

Arrivals

What is this? 6 of 14 prompt requests for my follower celebration! See OP + prompt list credits here.

What is the prompt? “Painting the house which ends in a paint fight and giggles.” with Modern!Poe and Pregnant!Reader. Thanks anon for the request!

Author’s note: I’ve never written Modern!Poe before and I’m not sure I would’ve without the request. So here goes. Thanks for the chance to try something new, anon! I think it turned out pretty cute? Let me know what YOU think!

Word count: A mere 2634, OOPS.

Warnings: pregnancy. Other than that it’s pure fluff and typos. Enjoy!

GIF credit: here

You hear your husband enter the room with a contented sigh, bare feet padding softly across the exposed floorboards. The patter of Beebs’ paws shortly follows. Your heart melts as he greets the dog with a sleepy “Morning, buddy.”, evidently stooping down to pet him as you hear Beebs’ soft pants and the happy beat of his tail against something or other in the room. “Happy beats, huh?” Poe says softly.

Then, he grants you his full attention.

“Oh oh, it’s happened again. I love you. Even more than I did yesterday.” he announces, sliding gently up behind you, pressing his warm chest into your back and wrapping his arms delicately around the pronounced curve of your belly, splaying his fingers to caress more of your bump. His head settles into the crook of your neck, his wild, bedhead curls tickling against the apple of your cheek as his arrival draws a wide, easy smile from you. He unconsciously begins swaying his hips in time with the easy-listening playlist you have muted in the background, his gorgeous voice a soft rumble against your ear as he starts to sing along.

The warmth -the sturdiness of him- is effortlessly reassuring, the shape and contours of him familiar even as he slots himself around your changing body. You don’t return his affections immediately though. Instead, you furrow your brow and stick your tongue out as you concentrate on some particularly intricate brush strokes on the wall ahead of you.

“I love you too, Poe, but if you knock me while I’m painting, I’m gonna have to kill you.”

You can tell that the goofball freezes then, as if he’s taking you completely literally. If you could see his expression as he perched his head on your shoulder you just know he would be emphatically statuesque.

“When you commit, you commit.” you smile.

“I’m sure you’re thankful that your husband has that quality, no?” he teases.

You’ll give him that one.

You chuckle at the thought of him, frozen there, trying to keep your brush steady as you do so. But then he’s still frozen and the wobble of your shoulders becomes more pronounced as you shake with gentle laughter. You hear him scoff by your ear, in return.

“Stop it, Poe!” You scold good-naturedly as your giggles intensify, the sound chiming musically around the empty-ish, in-progress room.

“I’m not doing a thing, sweetheart, it’s you who’s moving!” His voice has that wonderful playful edge, and you can hear the smile in it, can imagine that slight crinkle in his nose.

You get a handle on yourself for just about long enough to finish off the detail of the mural section you’d been working on. You have added incentive to get it done now, as you are desperate to turn around and get yourself a good look at that handsome face for the first time today. You down your tools and twirl towards Poe, his broad, gentle hands never breaking contact with your belly. His body navigates your bump to lean in for a sweet and loving kiss to your lips.

“Hmm. Morning, handsome.” You purr, blissed out from that kiss as your hand winds into his thick, dishevelled curls, his Sunday stubble grazing your skin.

His eyes glow as he looks back at you. “Morning, sweetheart.” As is tradition, he dips to plant a sweet kiss to your midsection. “Morning, Kiddo.” 

He gives you the once-over with his eyes, checking for any sign of new symptoms or discomfort. “You couldn’t lie-in, huh? You should have woken me.”

“I’m fine, Poe.” You dismiss -he does tend to fuss, for which you are thankful- and you nod back towards your progress with the mural, excitement flashing in your eyes. “What do you think of my progress?”

You both turn to regard it, and he resumes his original position, warm and sturdy at your back once again.

“Don’t tell me. It’s an... elephant?”

You’d been bouncing around ideas for the mural for weeks now. Since you’d officially stopped working, it had become a rather consuming passion project of yours. You’d suggested cute little airplanes and clouds to reflect Poe and his career as a pilot. But he’d said he hadn’t wanted to push his dreams on to the kid, and had proceeded to go down rabbit hole about how he just wanted them to be happy. You’d fallen even more in love with him, and then asked him to pick something that made him happy. Predictably, he’d said you. Of course. And Beebs. Then, out of nowhere, he’d gone straight to: “Monkeys. Monkeys make me happy. The one I saw on my last humanitarian mission - did I tell you about that one yet?”. So, here you were, with a beautiful jungle scene beginning to snake its way across the wall.

With a soft smile at the corners of your lips, you glance back at what is quite evidently a tiger. It’s a good job you’re secure in your abilities, and therefore confident that he’s teasing. “An elephant, you say? Poe, you’ll have to get much better at deciphering paintings before Kiddo learns how to hold crayons.” You lean your head back against him, resting your hands over his atop the globe of your belly. “Also, please don’t offend Sir Growlington; he’s a very sensitive tiger.”, you pout.

Poe peppers a few loving kisses on to your cheek and hairline and really, wherever his mouth can reach. “It’s amazing, sweetie, you’re so fucking talented.” He says genuinely. “But… don’t think I’m just going to brush past this... You named the tiger?”

“I did name the tiger.” you intone, hinting that maybe that’s not all.

He twirls you back to him so he can look you in the face again.

“Wait. Did you name all the animals?”

“No. Of course not. Would I be so silly?” you singsong sarcastically as you lean yourself up against the edge of the painting table. 

“Oh ok.” he says plainly with a nod of his head, a brush of his hand over his stubbled jaw. You love when he pretends to be serious and when he’s just so damn bad at pretending. “So you won’t mind if I call this bird... Sandra then?”

You suck in air through your teeth. “Sorry, that’s Porg. But that’s the only other one I named, honest.”

He folds his arms and raises his eyebrows to you, an easy smirk on his lips as he mirrors your position and leans against the pair of wooden ladders behind him. “Come on, let me have them all; monkey, giraffe, sloth - hit me.”

He makes a “bring it on” gesture with his fingers, and you blurt them out. “Peanut, Jungle Gump, and Mademoiselle Sleepyhead.”

He smiles in amusement and pads towards you, settling himself into your side, his eyes soft as they wander over the familiar details of your face. His voice is low in his throat. “Goddamn, you’re adorable.” You shrug and flutter your eyelashes in casual agreement. “Unless... Honey, should I be concerned?” He juts his hip and you can’t wait to hear what he’s going to come out with next. “Is this a subtle way of telling me you want to name our baby Jungle Gump?”

 “No!” You burst into laughter and bat him playfully on the chest. “But… now that you mention it? Jungle Dameron does sound kinda cool.” You’re actually only half-joking.

He sighs in mock defeat, waving his hand around in the air. “Fine, Jungle if they’re a girl, Sir Growlington if they’re a boy, and Peanut as a gender-neutral option.”

“Shake on it. Deal done.”

You place your hands on his chest, nodding back towards the wall again. “Did you see I left a space? I think you should paint something, Poe.”

“Honey, you know I can’t paint.” he argues, massaging little circles into your shoulder, your hip, your elbows. Anywhere you’ve complained of being sore. You love this man.

“You can paint. Everyone can paint.”

“Why would you want me to ruin your great work?”

You throw your arms around his shoulders, twining your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Because it’s our mural for our baby, and it’s about making something happy, yes? Well, I’m having fun creating this but you’re not in the room with me. And that’s the fun memory I want us to think about when we put our baby-”

“Jungle” he interjects.

“-Jungle,“ you nod, “to sleep. So, stay with me. Paint a crappy, fantastical animal of your choosing.” You gesture towards the paint selection on the table behind you with a sweep of your arm.

“You sure?” he asks, even though he’s already started to rifle through the supplies.

“I’m sure. I can’t wait to see how it turns out!”

A perfect, broad smile works its way across his face. His pretty, dark eyes flick over to yours, his voice deepening and becoming even richer and more robust as it infuses with meaning. “You’re incredible. I can’t wait to do this with you.”

You know he’s talking about far more than the mural. And you couldn’t agree more.

“First though...” he begins, that playfulness immediately back again. “Paint fight!” He picks up the nearest brush and dips it in your paint pot, before swiping a black streak across your cheek. 

You squeal in shock and he adopts a fighting stance, primed for your reaction. Before you can do a thing he manages to paint another stripe to your forearm with a quick, targeted swipe of his brush. You think he’s probably trying to make you look like Lady Growlington.

He torments you like this until you grab for your own brush, which you load, preparing to coat him. You assess the status of his sleep shirt. It’s old, you decide, and you land a splash of sky blue down his neck with a dramatic “A-ha”, a sound not unlike a swashbuckling pirate.

“Oh, you’re in for it now.” he warns with a grin, planting his whole palm in a pot of green and -gently, ever so gently, and avoiding your belly- chasing you around the room until he has covered your face and arms in his handprints. Then, when he’s had his fun he pulls you in for a giggly, breathless kiss.

“Are you trying to ruin my clothes, Poe Dameron?”

“Honestly? I’m trying to get you in the shower, gorgeous.” He pumps his eyebrows suggestively. “What do you say, wanna make love to me?”

He smiles, grabbing you hand with his own, paint-smeared one and giving you a light tug.

“If you think we can both still fit in the cubicle!”

“We’ll just have to get super close; that doesn’t sound like the worst thing, honey” 

All morning should start this way, you think. How could anything be better?

***

Months later, you are settling your precious baby for sleep. Poe is already passed out and lightly snoring on the couch, an array of blankets and bottles strewn around him. You allow yourself a moment to take him in. He looks so Goddamn beautiful when he’s sleeping. You feel so much love for him, for your new baby. More than you could have ever thought possible. It’s hard and it’s scary, but you are so happy you are doing this with him. Already, he is the most wonderful husband and father you could have dreamed of. 

Careful not to wake either him or the tiny sleeping bundle in your arms, you tread softly upstairs, Beebs -who rarely ever leaves your side since the new arrival- padding quietly along with you. When you get to the nursery you rock your baby in your arms a few moments more, humming lullabies softly into the cool night air.

Your eyes sweeping the room, the wonderful, perfect mural on the wall catches your attention. The mural with one animal that doesn’t look quite like the rest. Honestly, it doesn’t really look like any existing animal, so Poe has named it a “blurrg” instead. It makes you chuckle every single time, without fail. You wouldn’t change it for a thing. You wouldn’t change any of this.

You set your baby down in their basket before your laughter wakes them. Then, of course, you linger a moment longer to just stare at that adorable little face before clasping the door shut behind you.

Returning downstairs you smile at Poe. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah, I am.” You move to meet him on the couch and he drags you down into his lap. “And I heard you on the baby monitor, laughing at my blurrg! Again!”

You caress his curls, even though you know he’s not genuinely offended.

You smile so broadly your cheeks hurt. “I love it Poe. It makes me so happy every time. I’m so glad we created it together.”

His eyes meet yours, soft and warm, like the rest of him. “I sure as hell know that feeling.”

Oh boy. How does he make happiness swell in your chest like this? How is it possible to be this happy?

“Let’s... keep creating together, ok?”

He looks up at you in shock as he catches the full meaning of your words. “Are you... are you asking me to have another baby with you? Already?”

“Jungle’s gonna need a sibling.” you bite your lip, slightly nervous of how he might react. “Also, we really need to stop calling her that and settle on an actual name.”, you deflect.

“Baby,” he says gently, taking your hand in his. “I’d like Jungle to have siblings. I’m not sure she needs one just yet...” his tone switches, and it’s subtle but you know him too well to miss it. “...but as soon as you feel ready I’m very willing to start practising again.”

“You know, I think… I think I’m ready to start… practising.”

He swallows thickly, and you can see he’s holding himself back a little, for your benefit. He even backtracks a little. “You know I would never want to rush you, baby.”

“I know, Poe. So, what do you say, wanna make love?”

With unfortunate timing, the baby monitor crackles, transmitting a light cry from your daughter’s room.

“I’ll go check her.” Poe offers, patting your thighs for you to stand up and let him out from under you.

“You just want to smell her head again.”

“It’s the best smell, can you blame me?”

You smile to yourself. You love how soft and goofy and wonderful this man is. Every night should be like this, you think. How could anything be better?

***

When Poe does come back down to the living room you are already fast asleep, an open sketching pad nestled on to your chest. He thinks his heart might burst as he lifts it up for safe-keeping and notices you’ve drawn an adorable blurrg in there.

He casts his eyes over your sleeping form with nothing but love. He thinks you look so beautiful when you’re sleeping. He knows he couldn’t paint a prettier picture if he tried. No really, not with his skills. You’d agree; you’ve seen that blurrg, after all.  

He stoops, planting a gentle kiss to your forehead. He could swear that, impossibly, that he loves you even more than he did yesterday.

He stoops to pet Beebs as the corgi presses up against his ankles, giving him some well-deserved belly scritches. “Come on then big bro,” he whispers. “Let’s clear this mess up for Mama.”

Before he scoots around to collect up all the bottles and paraphernalia, he sets your sketchpad safely down on the coffee table. He can’t help but smile again. He knows what makes him happy. Happier than he ever thought he could be.

God knows why he said “monkeys”.

THE END

Like this? Please consider reblogging, and/or sending feedback in an ask or comment. I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU AND STORIES ARE NOTHING WITHOUT A READER. YOU ARE EVERYTHING AND ILY.

Want more? PART TWO IS HERE. You can also check out my Masterlist to read more of my works! FYI: It’s always kept updated in my bio.

Want even more? Just ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent tag-list or any series tag-lists <3

[forever-rogue]

Disappear Here - What Could Have Been

A/N: Hi friends! So here is the very much requested alternative ending. I also had a lot of fun writing this, I just love Javi and reader so much!! I hope you enjoy!! Basically, if you didn’t like the way Part 4 ended, replace it with this! As always, feedback and comments are welcome! 

Pairing:  Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warning: none

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

SEQUEL

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

You regretted every moment since Javi had left. You worried about something happening to him, or Steve, every moment while they were gone. The way you had parted left much to be desired, and the possibility of what if hung over you constantly. What if your fight just before he left was the last time you ever saw him? How where you supposed to live with that? 

Everyday you arrived at the office and willed for him or Steve to walk through the door triumphantly. But it never came; instead it was just a lot of you sitting around and waiting, practically twiddling your thumbs as you working through the backed up stacks of paperwork. But every moment you weren’t actually working on something, your thoughts drifted back to Javi. How much you missed every part of him. 

But one particularly dull afternoon, as you were sifting through paperwork, drinking your afternoon coffee, you were overwhelmed with a nauseous feeling. Shifting in your uncomfortable desk chair, you waited for the feeling to pass, thinking it must have been you ate for lunch. Perhaps you should have listened to Maria and not used the old salad dressing you found in the fridge. 

When the feeling wasn’t going away and instead increased, you jumped up and dashed towards the bathroom. As soon you entered the bathroom, the smell of cleaner and bleach overwhelmed your senses, and you dived to the floor, emptying the contents of your stomach in the nearest toilet. 

More than you thought had consumed made its way up, and you sat there on the floor for a long time. Only once you were satisfied that nothing was possibly left, you wiped the corners of your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater and stood back up. Sighing, you flushed the toilet before doing to the sink, turning the tap on and sticking your head under the running water to rinse out the acidic taste lingering in your mouth. Strange, you thought to yourself, you never had reactions like that to food. 

Tying your hair up, you left the bathroom and headed back to your office to round out the rest of your day. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen again, but nevertheless, you figured you’d skip dinner just in the case. Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon passed by relatively quickly, and you were back in your own apartment soon enough. You took a steaming shower before slipping into pajamas, and indulging in your ice cream craving. You weren’t really hungry, but that was the one thing that sounded really, really, good to you. That’s when a brilliant idea struck you. 

Setting down your bowl, you grabbed the phone off the receiver and dialed the number you had been given for Steve and Javi. You nervously twisted the cord in your fingers as you listened to the seemingly never ending ring. Maybe it was too late. Maybe they somehow seemed to know it was you calling and decided to ignore it. Maybe they were still and working. Maybe-

“Hello?” before your thoughts could get any darker, Javi’s warm came onto the other life. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you realized he was okay, at the very least alive.

“Javi,” his name rolled off your tongue like a prayer as you leaned against the counter and closed your eyes, “it’s me.”

“Hi baby,” his voice was warm, but he sounded tired, exhausted even, but he seemed to relax when he realized it was you, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you admitted, “I just...I miss you. Missed your voice...”

“I miss you, Y/N,” he agreed, “it’s weird being here without you. It’s been too long.”

“Well you’re the reason I’m not there,” you tried to joke, but stopped yourself from going further when you remembered that that was the sole reason for your fight before he and Steve had left, “sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry about starting a fight before you left.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have went behind your back and prevented you from coming, and I shouldn’t have fought with you. But, if I’m being honest, I’m glad you’re not here. It’s been dangerous, and we haven’t had much luck.”

“Please tell me you’re okay, Javi, I’ve been so worried about you and Steve,” you tried your best to keep from crying, already feeling prickling at the back of your eyes. You didn’t think just hearing his voice would have that much of an effect on you, “I-I don’t even know what I’d do with myself if we had ended things like that. I’ve been so worried, Javi.”

“It’s okay,” his voice went soft as he tried to soothe you through the phone. He wanted nothing more than to be next to you and be able to pull you into his arms, and remind that he was there and it was all going to be okay. But this was the best he could do for now, to remind how much he loved you, “it’s all going to be okay. I promise you, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be back before you know it. Nothing will happen, please don’t cry, honey.”

“Okay,” you wiped away the tears, closing your eyes and picturing him right next to you, whispering all those sweet words into your ears. How it would feel to have his arms around you again, “do you know when you’ll be back?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed heavily and you just knew he was running his hand over his face, both tired and annoyed, not at you, just the situation, “things aren’t panning out as we planned. The leads aren’t coming through and either we’ve got to stick it out or just call it quits for now.”

“Just...be careful,” you felt like you were pleading with him, somehow willing the universe to make sure he came back to you safe and sound, “please.”

“We are,” he promised, and could almost see the smile on his face, “how’ve you been? Is everything okay there?”

“Everything is cherries,” you laughed lightly; of course he’d be concerned about you when he was the one risking everything. You wondered if you should tell him about what happened at lunch, but decided against it. Even if he assured you that he wasn’t worrying, you knew he would be worried, that was just who he was, “nothing too exciting. I’ve got plenty of time to catch up on all that paperwork you and Steve neglect to do. Got everything cleaned up...you two are slobs, and should be punished!”

His warm laugh sounded through the phone and you felt your whole body warm up. How you missed hearing that laugh especially when it came as you were laying in bed with his arms around you, “God, I miss you. Miss hearing that lovely voice boss me around and yell at me.”

“I am not bossy,” you insisted, letting out a small laugh of your own, “I’m just right more often than you think.”

“I know,” you wondered what was going through his mind right now; you’d learned to read his silences well, and there were tons of things that were left unsaid right now. But you weren’t going to push him, you didn’t want to put more pressure on him than necessary, “it’s getting late...I’ll let you go.” 

“Get some rest okay, Y/N?” you nodded even though he couldn’t see you, “stop worrying about me, and take care of yourself. I love you.”

“I love you too, Javi,” you stifled the yawn that bubbled. Sure, you’d be going to sleep, but it wasn’t going to feel the same. Your bed had never felt emptier than it did now, without Javi’s warmth and weight next to you every night, “stay safe...come home soon, yeah?”

“As soon as possible,” he promised, “I’ll be back.”

After another soft goodbye, you hung on the receiver back on the hook and sighed. Even though you had just gotten the opportunity to speak to him, you left lonelier than ever; you missed him more than you’d thought was humanly possible, but here you where, yearning for him from deep within your bones. You had it bad. 

The bowl of ice cream, long forgotten during your conversation with Javi, had completely melted. You picked up the spoon, playing with the now soup-like liquid. Opening the freezer door to stick the bowl back in there, you figured you’d try again tomorrow to eat. it. But the grumble and pang of your stomach convinced you to keep it out and started spooning the sweet cream into your mouth. Normally, you’d rather starve than resort to completely melted ice cream, but it was like something in your had snapped and you just needed it. 

Grabbing the bowl with a sigh, you headed to the couch and flipped on the ancient television that had come with the apartment. Taking a few moments to find something you could follow and understand, you sat back and watched the old movie, slurping up your dessert. It wasn’t long before it was completely gone and you set the bowl on the counter. Eventually you fell asleep on the couch, body too tired to bother and get up to crawl into your bed and stretch out probably. You didn’t remember the last time you had been this tired, but at least you were lost to saccharine dreams of Javi; of you and Javi back together once again. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next few days passed in a monotonous manner; you were completely on autopilot, and you felt someone was just guiding you through the motions. The only thing that was continuing to shake up your day to day grind was the lingering feeling of sickness that seemed to hang around. You possessed a fairly decent immune system, never really one to catch a cold or flu, or anything really, so it struck you as odd that you were still feeling the same way. Surely it couldn’t be old salad dressing affecting you for days? 

Maybe you were catching some weird bug that was going around, some thing in Colombia you’d finally had contact with and now your bod couldn’t deal with it. But no one else was feeling sick, everyone seemed as dandy as ever. Normally, you’d probably leave it and let it run its course through your body, but the fact that nausea and overall sluggishness was still affecting your every day life had you concerned. 

One warm afternoon, when you had started to feel tired despite the copious amounts of wretched office coffee, your curiosity was piqued. Picking up your unusually quiet office phone, you dialed Connie’s work number, hoping she’d be available; luckily it only rang a few times before you heard a very badly accent, “alo?”

“Connie?” you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your as you tried to figure out how to begin explained your problem to her, not wanting to cause her to worry or fret over you, “it’s Y/N.”

“Oh thank goodness,” a sigh of relief left her lips at the sound of your voice, “it’s crazy here today and I really needed a break. What a perfect excuse - did you read my mind or something?”

“Unfortunately not,” you could just picture her running around the small hospital, trying to keep up with the demand, “I...actually have a question for you. I need some advice...I think.”

“What’s wrong, honey?” her maternal instincts immediately kicked into overdrive, bringing a small smile to your face. Her warm voice was enough to make you feel comforted, even if it wasn’t able to much else, “did something happen at work?”

“No,” god, were those tears welling up in your eyes already? When you hadn’t even said anything to her? You sucked in a breath, quickly trying to compose yourself, “I just haven’t been feeling well, and I’m starting to get a little worried. I’m never sick, and this has been lingering for days now-”

“You’re current on all your vaccines and everything else, right?”

“Yes. Everything is in order, but I’ve just been feeling sick, like almost every day and it doesn’t seem to be going away,” you explained, noting that the feeling was still overwhelming you, even in that moment. No rest for the wicked, you supposed, “and I’m trying not to panic, but it’s been hard and I’m stressed and I kind of just want to know what’s going on. I hate to burden you, but I don’t know who else to ask.”

“It’s okay, you know you can talk to me about anything,” the soft lilt in her voice was enough to put you at ease, even if it was only for the time being, “do you have some time to come over and I can get you checked out?”

“Sure, yeah, I can be over in a little bit, is that okay?” 

“Of course,” she promised, “just try and relax, sugar pie, everything will be just fine. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Thanks, Connie,” you let out a baited breath you didn’t know you were holding in, thankful to have such a good and kind friend, “I’ll see you shortly.”

Placing the receiver back in the cradle, you organized things on your desk before grabbing your purse and heading out. It was so slow, the phone having not even rang a single time throughout the day, that you didn’t even bother to let anyone you were leaving. If it was something that important, than they would know where to find you. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Later that evening, as you sat on your couch, once again eating ice cream and watching old movies, you wondered if you should have gone to Connie. You were still processing the news, both shocking and disconcerting, tears streaming down your cheeks. She had graciously offered you her company for the night, but you had turned her down. You just needed some alone time. It may not have been the best idea, but right now it was the only thing you desired.

You almost laughed at yourself, finding it ironic that you were in such a pathetic state of existence yet again. But right now it was about all you could mentally handle at the moment. 

You cleaned off the last bit of ice cream from your spoon, and chucked the carton onto the table, pulling the blanket off of the back of the couch and draping it over yourself. 

Soon, the voices on the television began to sound more and more distant and your eyes grew heavier with each passing second. But, of course, just before you could find comfort in slumber, a knock came at your door and jarred you back into the present. You groaned as you wiped your red, puffy eyes, debating on ignoring the door. It was getting later into the evening, much too late for a social call, so you wondered who it was. The knocking didn’t seem to be ceasing any time soon; grabbing the blanket and wearing it as a cape, you trudged to the door, without even knowing to look through the small peephole.

Opening it, you let out a preemptive sigh and looked up, finding yourself looking back into the eyes that you loved and adored so much. Your heart leaped in your chest as the revelation washed over and your body seemed to relax, “Javi.”

“Baby,” he looked you over, his heart aching slightly as realized, almost immediately, that you had been crying. But you felt better now, your heart finding some peace and solace in the face that despite looking worn out and tired, he was safe and sound and home. You looked him up and down, finding it hard to hold back your smile when you realized he was holding a small bouquet of flowers in his hands, a beautiful combination of all of your favorites, “what’s wrong? You’ve been crying.”

“You’re back,” you couldn’t stop yourself from you throwing your arms around him and nuzzling your face into his neck. He responded in kind, wrapping you up in your arms, careful to make sure your flowers didn’t get crushed as he pressed soft kisses to the side of your head, “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered in your ear, sending some shivers down your spine, “I’m sorry I didn’t call or anything, I wanted to surprise you. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

“It’s never a bad time,” you promised him, taking his hand and leading him inside your apartment. You didn’t even know why you were still being so careful about people seeing you together. Everyone knew, or had strong suspicions by now, that the two of you were together, not that anyone was going to stop you, “when did you get back?”

“About five minutes ago,” he said with a small smile as he followed you into the kitchen where you grabbed a vase for the flowers, watching you intently. He’d missed every part of you; the way you moved, smelled, felt, talked - all of it. Somehow just knowing he was back was enough to make you feel better. Your worries were almost all gone, almost. 

You turned back to him, watching as he effortlessly leaned against the counter, looking even better than ever. Was it really possible for him to have gotten hotter? He held out his arms for you and pulled you against him, his large hands cradling your face as he peppered gentle kisses over every inch of your skin, stopping at your lips. Just before pressing a soft kiss to them, he whispered, “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Javi,” you traced your fingers over his faces, relearning all the highs and lows, the way his warm skin felt under your fingers. You touched his nose before stopping and giving it a kiss, “I’m so glad you’re home. Safe.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours, “I’ll always come back to you.”

Fuck. You had it bad, so bad, for this man.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby. What’s got you so upset?” oh. Of course you should have known better than to expect that he would let it go. You thought about lying to him, but you knew he’s be able to see right through you, just as he always did. He was the only one who knew you better than yourself.

“Nothing,” you insisted, which wasn’t really a total lie, “just tired and missed you.”

“You’re still a horrible liar,” he insisted with a soft chuckle, “you can tell me anything, you know that.”

You did know that. In reality you told him everything, and usually anything, that crossed your mind. But how where you supposed to tell him this when you hadn’t even admitted it out loud to yourself? How was he even going to react? You were scared, so scared, and had no clue to what his response would be. Normally you’d be able to gauge his reaction pretty well, but with this? You had no clue. 

Would he be mad? Excited? Scared? Worried? Upset? 

“Hey,” he put a hand under your chin and tilted your face up towards him, “baby, what’s wrong? Why were you crying?”

“Javi,” you let his name linger between the two of you, the air growing thick with nerves and anticipation. Your mind was racing almost as fast as your heart, and before you could even fully think about what you were going to say, the words came out of your mouth anyway, “I’m pregnant.”

Your hand flew to your mouth as you covered, as if it would somehow make a difference now as Javi looked at you, blinking, and seemingly confused by your sudden confession. Your stomach was in absolute knots as you took a step back and felt a few tears running down your cheeks, “I-I hadn’t been feeling well this week and went to see Connie, and found out today. I-I...I’m sorry, Javi, I-”

“You’re pregnant?” he finally said something, his voice cracking as you nodded your head, giving him a ghost of a smile, “wh-why are you sorry about that?”

“I didn’t...we didn’t...this just happened,” before you could form any coherent thoughts or make any sort of statement, he hoisted you onto the kitchen counter and wrapped his arms around you, this time burying his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“You’re pregnant,” he stated as you nodded. He reached up and tenderly wiped away the tears that were running down your cheeks. Unless it was a trick of the light, you were sure that there were some tears in his eyes too, “do you know how far along?”

“They estimate about 9 weeks,” you said quietly, watching as the smile on his face spread across all of his features, “you’re not mad?”

“Mad? Why the hell would I be mad?” he asked as you shrugged, “look, baby, I know this isn’t perfect, our lives are far from perfect, but that doesn’t take away from how wonderful this. Things rarely go according to plan, but that’s okay. We adapt, improvise, and overcome.”

“Yeah?” you asked quietly as he nodded. He was right: this might have been the worst time for you to fall pregnant, but he was still happy. You were going to be okay, all of this would be okay, you knew that now. All because of Javi.

“Yeah,” he promised, trying to process everything in his mind, but the only thing he could see clearly was you; you and the future life and family the two of you would be building, “god, I love you so much. This is...everything. You are everything.”

By now you were a flat out crying mess, in combination to his words and raging hormones, but it didn’t matter. Because this was it, this was everything. Things weren’t perfect, hell, they never would be, but you weren’t going to be alright. You and Javi would make it through anything together. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[redqueen-hypothesis]

never strikes twice ➳ shaw (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x shaw (mlqc), mentions of reader x gavin (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 3001

➳ GENRE: angst

➳ SYNOPSIS: shaw realises that he’s a selfish bastard, but he doesn’t care as long as it means you’ll be with him

“Hey kid, want a smoke?”

Shaw looks up slowly from where he’s been moping on the couch for the better half of the night to see a cigarette stick held out to him. The person holding it, a casual drummer in his mid thirties, raises an eyebrow as he glances over at him, gesturing down at the Zippo lighter he’s been fiddling with in his hand. Steely, hooded eyes hide the barest hint of concern in their depths. “You’ve been looking down for a while now. Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

His voice is low, almost drowned out by the raucous laughter of the rest of his band mates fiddling with the settings on the karaoke machine. Shaw cracks a half grin at the man, lavender strands falling into his eyes.

“Thanks,” he begins, stretches out over the armrest to take the stick from him, but his fingers stop just shy of brushing it. The craving gnaws at him from the inside, a small but insistent itch in his throat and lungs, but he retracts his hand in favour of shooting his band mate a lazy smile. “Nah, not today. Another time, maybe.”

Shaw hasn’t touched a cigarette in weeks now. You don’t like the scent.

The drummer shrugs and doesn’t question him, slipping the pack back into his pocket. Kicking his feet back up onto the armrests of the couch and lounging back, he watches his band mates start singing all variety of tunes into the mics. He recognizes this song, Shaw realises after a few moments. It’s the opening theme to one of a drama you’d insistent on watching with him, and although he’d hated it at the start, he now knows the lyrics by heart - all because of you.

Halfway through the song, he stops mouthing alongside the lyrics abruptly. Then he groans, low and annoyed, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. God fucking damnit.

He’d come here to clear his head, to rid himself of the thoughts of you that cling relentlessly to him. And yet, even when you’re not there, his mind is still plagued by thoughts of you.

“You look like you got something big on your mind. Need someone to spill to?” The man says casually, pouring him a glass of whiskey. The scent of alcohol is sharp on his nose and Shaw finds himself staring down into the contents of the glass, the image of himself reflected in liquid amber. The drummer slides the glass over to him across the coffee table and he catches it before it can slide off the edge.

Just when had his eyes started to look like that?

“It’s nothing.” Shaw plays it cool, pulling up one side of his mouth up in its usual devil-may-care smirk to reassure his friend. The flame of from his lighter illuminates his face for a brief second before he flips the top and extinguishes the flame once more, casting his face into shadow. “It’s nothing worth talking about.”

It’s not nothing. It’s something Shaw has spent his entire life running from, and the responsibilities and shackles that come with it. It’s an emotion that grows and sprouts in his chest, tenacious as weeds that flourish all the more he tries to stomp them out. He has bad luck with it, he knows. He’ll just fuck it up like he did his own family.

And yet slowly, steadily, it’s been consuming him no matter how much he tries to flee from it, like poison from within his veins, turning him into a different man inside out. From his waking moments and following him to his dreams, the phantom ache in his chest only hurts more the further he tries to put distance between the two of you. Shaw knows that it’s going to collapse in the end - he’s just a temporary fix in this precarious house of cards - and that’s why he’s too afraid to put a name to these feelings that refuse to just wilt and die.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his head, Shaw grabs the glass off the table and brings it to his lips to take a long draught, craving the carelessness that comes with drink. Tonight, he decides, he’s going to get himself completely smashed, until he can’t think straight and your smile stops haunting his mind. Then maybe, maybe, he’ll stop fantasizing, long and yearning like a fool for something out of his reach - someone that never belonged to him from the very beginning.

“Is it a girl?”

The words fall from his friend’s mouth so easily that he doesn’t quite register them until the drink is halfway down his throat. Caught by surprise, he chokes on the sharp taste, the back of his throat burning like he’s swallowed lava instead, and a firm hand slaps his back while he coughs.

“Bro, you still alive over there?” One of his band mates call to him from the other side of the room. Shaw flashes a thumbs up at him weakly, dragging the back of his other hand over his mouth carelessly before he turns to shoot a glare at his friend. “The fuck was that about?”

The drummer simply shrugs, arching a brow as he leans back in his seat. “I was just throwing out something random. You were the one who screamed jackpot for the entire world to see, with that kind of reaction. What happened? You broke it off with a pretty little thing again?”

Shaw grunts, turning away to take a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. “Shut up. I’ve never been exclusive with anyone.” The alcohol numbs the pain in his chest. “There’s nothing to break.”

“But you want something, don’t you?”

The liquid sloshes about in the bottle as Shaw pauses in raising the whiskey to his mouth, eyes narrowed as he stares down at the drummer. “Just speak your mind,” the man answers, picking up his own bottle and clinking bottoms with Shaw’s. “I’m going to get completely wasted tonight anyway, so I’m pretty sure I won’t remember anything about this conversation in the morning.”

Shaw watches in silence for a few moments, swirling the dregs at the bottom of the bottle as the man opposite him down his own. The second the empty bottle touches the table top with a soft clink, Shaw finally starts to speak, voice low.

“Have you ever felt like you’re a curse just for being born?”

The man raises an eyebrow, popping open a can of beer and nodding for him to continue. Shaw does, lifting the bottle to his lips to take a gulp. The alcohol stings the back of his throat. “If I hadn’t been born, things would probably be in a better place than they are now. Still shittier than dog crap stuck to the bottom of your shoe, of course, but less so.”

All because he was born with EVOL and the other wasn’t.

“Anyway, one of the guys whose lives I fucked up, he has a girl. She’s,” he swallows at the thought of you, searching for the words in his mind - because how does he just describe you? “-sweet, kind, all the good things in the world.” He takes another gulp for something to blame the stinging of his eyes on. “She deserves someone like him. And he needs someone like her.”

It isn’t him who’s supposed to have you. The other one has loved you first, loved you longer. Not deeper, but in a such a pure, unadulterated way that Shaw can’t help but gag every time he sees it - and wish somewhere deep in his chest that he could do the same.

Shaw’s already stolen so much from him. The spotlight since birth, the attention of their father. As much of an asshole as he is, the thought of stealing yet something else away disgusts him - just how much does he have to owe one man?

He’s seen the way you’ve looked at him sometimes, when you think he isn’t looking. It’s a bittersweet expression, as if you’re searching for someone else in him - amber eyes another shade of gold.

Shaw groans, thoroughly annoyed by the thoughts that have started spilling over into his head. “I knew talking about this would just make it worse.” He snaps, slamming the bottle down onto the table. “Fuck this. Repression works every time. Once he gets his memories back, bam, she’ll be back by his side and everything will go back to normal.”

The words are unbelievably bitter on his tongue. Oh, and he’s also definitely drunk.

The drummer hums, making a thoughtful sound as he takes a long draft of beer. When he’s finished, he turns to look at Shaw with unwavering, serious eyes. “And you’ll be alright with that?”

Shaw stills, fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle so hard he’s almost worried it might shatter in his hand. Of course it’ll be alright, he wants to say. Love is a stupid, fickle emotion that’ll die fast enough with the passage of time. He’ll drop you off with one of his smirks and walk out of your life once and for all, and go back to the life he’s always known. He was fine back then, and he’ll be fine now. He’ll be fine-

“I won’t.” Shaw utters, finally. His jaw hurts from how hard it’s clenched, and yet he still can’t think of a future for him without you in it. He hates it. “Fuck-”

“Go and tell her, then.” His friend says, raising an eyebrow. Shaw stares blankly at him for a moment. “For someone usually so forward, you’re stupidly hesitant over the most idiotic of things, kiddo.”

“I’m not a child.” Shaw snaps, and the man laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I know, so stop acting like one. If there’s something you want, take the chance and grab it with all your might. Being selfless like that?” The man’s grin grows. “That ain’t sound like our resident asshole at all.”

At his words, Shaw laughs boisterous and unrestrained, throwing on his jacket. “Damn straight. What the fuck was I thinking, going down without a fight?” He tosses another can of beer at the man, who catches it easily. “Make sure you chug the entire ice box. I don’t want you remembering a word I said, got it?”

His friend’s snort reaches his ears as he steps out of the apartment. “I’m already halfway there, idiot.” The streets are empty at this time of the night, the air biting cold against his skin and yet Shaw feels rejuvenated for the first time in weeks, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he gives the night winds the middle finger.

Lightning splits the night sky in two.

>>>

It’s started to storm.

Hurriedly, you set down the book you were reading to shut the windows, hoping that none of the rain gets in. While you’re closing the windows in your living room, there’s a sudden, loud knock on the door.

Frowning when you look up at the clock (it’s two in the morning), you cross over to the door to peep through the peephole - and gasp in shock when you see Shaw standing outside, completely drenched and lavender hair dripping with rainwater.

“Oh my god, Shaw? What are you doing here at this time of the night?” You hurry to unlock the door for him, ushering him into your apartment even as he tracks in water all over the floor. He’s uncharacteristically silent. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay like this, I’ll get you a towel-”

“Wait.” He grabs you by the wrist before you can leave the room. Blinking in confusion, you turn around to look at Shaw before you realise just how close he’s standing to you - too close, in fact. So close, that you can feel the heat emanating from his body, smell the unique scent of ozone and lavender mixed with faint traces of alcohol and nicotine. Has he been out drinking? “I have something I need to say.”

You swallow at the serious tone in his voice, rarely has he ever spoken to you this way. In fact, you can’t remember a time when he’s used this tone with you, not even once. “That can wait until I’ve gotten you a towel. The air conditioning is on, you’ll fall ill. You can tell me as you dry yourself off-”

“I love you.”

You freeze in his grasp, mind suddenly blank. Shaw’s amber eyes burn so bright they look like molten gold, not the slightest trace of jest in his voice or gaze. And yet, you can’t help but tremble in his grasp, chewing on your bottom lip as you let out a shaky laugh. “Hahaha... very funny, Shaw. Now let me get a towel before you freeze to death, that would be a real joke-”

“I’m not laughing here.” Shaw’s expression is fiercely resolute, jaw set as he stares down at you. You’ve never felt so small in front of him before. “I meant what I said. I’m not trying to crack a joke.”

“B-but you can’t.” You fumble with your words, trying to take a step away and make sense of it all, but Shaw refuses to let you go, only holding your wrist tighter. “You were drinking, you don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t like me. It’s just not possible.”

“Why not?” Shaw’s voice is rough with emotion, and you can’t look away from the fierceness burning in his eyes, transfixed. “I did drink, but I’m not drunk. I know damn well what I’m saying.”

You don’t know what you’re saying now, desperate to deny his feelings. Your mind is falling apart, and forming a cohesive train of thought proves too much for you. “You’re young. You just... you don’t know what love is. You just-”

Shaw grabs your hand firmly and presses it to his chest. Under the wet material of his shirt, you can feel the heat of his skin - and the way his heart thuds fiercely beneath your touch.

“Feel this and tell me,” Shaw’s words are raw, brutally honest, leaving you nowhere to flee. You’re pinned in place by the sheer intensity of his gaze. “Tell me that I don’t know what love is. The way this heart beats whenever you’re near. The way you won’t leave my mind whether I’m sleeping or awake. I know what I want. I want you.”

A soft hiccup escapes you, your eyes welling up with tears as your fingers fist into the thin material of his shirt. “Damn it, Shaw...” you croak, voice wavering. Your own heart is pounding like crazy in your ears. “You know I can’t give you an answer, not right now...”

“I know.” Shaw says quietly, and the next moment, you’re pulled against his chest, his fingers coming to rest in your hair gently. You press your face against his shoulder, tears hot against his skin. “I’m a selfish bastard and couldn’t wait to tell you, so i just wanted to let you know. I’m not asking you to fall in love with me.”

You blink back your tears, managing a soft, hiccuping laugh as your arms tighten around his waist. “You’re such a selfless bastard, you know that? Stop making me like you even more, asshole.” He’s so warm.

“I’m not apologising for that. That’s me.” Shaw snorts into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo as he holds you close. If you want a knight in shining armor, go to him instead. “I’m not going to be pussy footed about what I want.”

You stay in Shaw’s arms for a long moment, enjoying the warmth of his body pressed against yours and the feeling of his breaths tickling your ear. Your heart still aches for another pair of amber eyes, a gentle smile and strong, steadfast arms, but this man keeps you moving forward no matter what’s holding you down. And undeniably, there’s a tiny seed of a precious emotion growing in your chest - one that you never would have thought would be able to sprout in the bitter cold of this winter world.

You don’t know how long he continues to hold you like this, but it’s when he suddenly lets out a sneeze that you glance up in surprise and worry. “You’re catching a cold already!” You scold, trying to wriggle out of his arms. “I’m getting you a towel and some hot chocolate.”

“I don’t want to let you out.” Shaw complains, but you duck out of his arms, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. To your surprise, red flares hot under your lips, and Shaw turns away to hide his face. “Come back fast, okay? I’ll go get the kettle boiling.”

You let out a tiny giggle as he vanishes into the kitchen, tips of his ears red. “Okay, okay.”

You’re about to enter your room and grab a towel for Shaw when there’s a sudden knocking at your living room window. Confused, you move over to the window, pulling it open to see what’s causing the noise.

There’s a flurry of wind and rain, and suddenly a pair of familiar arms are pulling you hard into a firm chest, unintelligible sobs in your ears. Stunned, you can’t bring yourself to move, looking down to see a black military uniform and strikingly unforgettable amber eyes.

“Gavin.” You breathe, so soft that you can barely hear yourself over the volume of his cries. He’s crying, and he’s never cried, not in this world, not in the one before. Your hands come up instinctively to soothe him, cradling him close. But he shouldn’t be, not here, he can’t-

“I remember.” He gasps through his sobs, crushing you against his chest in a painfully familiar embrace. “I remember everything.”

That’s all you hear before a pair of warm, chapped lips take your mouth in a fierce kiss.

[loyally-unfaithful]

—; but “sentimental boy” is my nom de plume

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gn!reader

genre: slight fluff; hurt no comfort

summary: it has been a year after the android revolution. humans and android alike settled down, an olive branch was offered as a sign of reconciliation. with newfound peace came along newfound love, and many open roads to choose from. this was no different for the rk800—connor. surprisingly or unsurprisingly, he decided to continue working at the dpd, this time as a bonafide detective. but he has also accepted the thrilling uncertainty of life that deviancy has brought; the same strings that brought his lover in his life.the same ones he hated and cursed, the same fates who ripped it all away.

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

maybe if you asked him one year ago whether he’d consider returning someone’s feelings, romantic feelings, he’d reply to you with a placid smile and a polite « i’m sorry, i wasn’t programmed to reciprocate romantic interest. ». he remembered that he’d sneer at them internally. now thinking about it, long before he questioned his obedience towards her, he already showed signs of deviancy.

you did what you were designed to do.

memories from his past would still torment him erratically, doubts would resurface on particularly dark days. but you were the light that cut through that haze. this wasn’t a “fake deviancy”. it couldn’t have been. not when he is holding your body so close to his, warmth radiating off of each other, two heartbeats—similar, but different—thrumming together. all the softly whispered and adoringly announced « i love you »’s; all the quick and coveted pecks and all the feverish and passionate kisses. no, he was alive, he was sure of it—alive and absolutely enamoured by you. all semblance of doubt ebbed away when you entered his life.

whenever he’s around you, he feels more alive: you make him feel everything, all the little precious things. tenderness and adoration when he shares tranquil mornings with you. he feels more alive when he’s with you, all the little habits and routines too endearing: the sweet post-it notes scattered over your shared flat; scribbled upon it are encouraging words or sweet nothings. conflicting work schedules meant that moments spent together were scarce, but that made them even more valuable and coveted. captivation, was another emotion that he felt around you. your mannerism, your dreams and interests, your physical attributes and quality of voice. logically speaking, you were just another human, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you’d live and then one day, you’d die. as if you never really existed. but he wasn’t being logical. how could he be? when you were right there in front of him? you made him irrational, and he found that new aspect in life thrilling. confusing at first, but exciting. he was eternally grateful that you let him experience all these beautiful emotions with you. he was grateful that you allowed him in your short journey that you called life.

he was happy, absolutely content, with his shared life with you. you were both in perfect places in your respective lives: you both had a stable job, loving family backing you up, and a fulfilling love life. what seemed to be a mismatched couple at first turned to be 2 pieces of the same puzzle finally finding their place. life for the both of you couldn’t be better.

but along with the many exquisite moment that your romantic endeavours brought you, the android didn’t only taste the sweet delicacies of life; no matter how idyllic a moment may be, there were times when he had to taste the astringent and sour desserts life offered.

anger. that was an emotion that he felt. but that’s not accurate, no… it was frustration and shock and betrayal, all the unsavoury feelings in the world. perhaps it was due to his inexperience, maybe his lack of exposure to these negative sentiments, that caused him to snap the way he did. to hurt you the way he did. but it happened and there was no turning back the clock.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he was proud that you got the job offer in canada, he really was. and he, like any other caring boyfriend would, offered to accompany you there, an offer which you gladly accepted. that was the plan. but plans were difficult to follow. crime waits for no man, working for the law meant that connor must always be available for duty. no excuses, he was an android. but connor wasn’t just a simple android detective, no, he had a much more important role: he was the link, the messenger, between jericho and the police force. he was the crucial communication between the two forces. so when jericho contacted him about threats of anti-android attacks, he had to make an appearance at their base. the meeting coincided with the day you were meant to travel to canada. it was a simple trip really. it only took a few hours by train, stay in canada for 2 days (it was the weekend), and then return back to detroit, probably arriving in the late afternoons to their home.

but you were looking forwards to traveling with your wonderful partner after « [we] spent so much time apart ». the day he told you the urgent change of plans, connor was tired, overwhelmed. you were frustrated and expectant. a fight was bound to have erupted. accusatory statements, along the lines of: « you don’t actually care about me! it’s all about work and work and work! » and « i can’t believe how selfish you’re being right now! » in between shouting and yelling and frustration and anger and contempt–

you both went to bed exhausted but spiteful, still not forgiving each other. in hindsight, he felt so utterly pathetic, so unbelievably childish, for being that cruel, and uncaring. he didn’t want to be like him again. so many glares and insults were thrown at each other, tears threatened to spill, LED flashed and shone a true red, doors were slammed. he felt awful, plain and simple. you both lied in the same bed, under the same cover. so close yet so excruciatingly far apart. back facing the other’s, no one said a word.

you woke up before him. bitter and unhappy. no morning kisses, no whispered « i love you » to wake your other half. you wordlessly got yourself ready, grabbed your bag and quietly snuck out. no post it notes were left. no sweet promises or encouraging words. you could do this work trip without him. you were independent. you didn’t need a tin can to chaperone you everywhere. so you left. plain and simple. gone. since you woke up and left earlier than planned, you boarded an earlier train. how lovely and convenient. the carriages were mostly filled with androids. perhaps they were trying to immigrate to canada like the others. who knows. you paid no mind and absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, obsessively checking your messages to see if connor realised. to see if he apologised. because frankly, at that point you were tired of being mad and just wanted to spend the day in his arms. but prideful and petty as you were, you weren’t willing to apologise and admit your mistakes first.

connor roused from stasis a few moments afterward, less bitter and more regretful. he wished to right his wrongs but the normally warm presence beside him was not there. his system was slowly booting back up when his audio sensor picked up an incessant ringing from the living room. he jolted up and rushed out to pick up the ringing phone call and waited for the other side to speak up.

the room was so utterly quiet, a silence so suffocating engulfed the room, that you could hear a pin drop. the voice on the other side asked whether this was indeed your house and that he was indeed connor anderson. he swallowed dryly and answered with a soft, « yes ». running a quick check in his database, he matches the caller’s voice with a certain nathaniel edwards. first responder. he allowed his HUD to display the news. if androids could get pale, have all their blood drain from their faces, his would have certainly done so. he stood, rigid and motionless, consumed by shock and horror.

the news and the first responder’s words blended into one as he gripped the phone tighter: « this morning, at 7:48 am the train from detroit to toronto was caught in a devastating turn of events: the train soon caught in fire and exploded as it made its way over the border. it has been confirmed that there has been 0 survivors. it is unclear whether this was an unfortunate accident or the result of anti-android terrorism. »

the other person’s voice poured through the speaker but he wasn’t listening. he stared blankly in front of him. no way, he thought, it couldn’t have been… the only sign that the android was registering the other man’s input was the now constant red LED.

« sir? sir. i’m sorry to bring this— – no, this isn’t right… you must have the wrong number, he interrupted. there were probably others with your name… maybe they were mistaken... – sir that’s not possible, w— – you must have gotten the wrong house… not… it-it couldn’t have been…» but he knew how improbable it was that they got the wrong number. he was built to be logical, to believe statistics. the statistics told him you were dead. long gone. he hoped and prayed that you stayed back, didn’t get on the earlier train. the statistics told him you did.

he choked out a response, quiet and defeated. you were gone. he’d never get to see you again. « i… i’m sorry… i-i don’t understand… – we tried our best to find them sir, but… the fire was too severe… if we gain any new developm— – you didn’t save them. »

still in a daze, he must have hung up on the poor man and unceremoniously dropped the phone. its clatter the only sound in this deafening silence. the reality of it all comes crashing through and he collapsed, ugly sobs escaping him as the denial faded away to make way for the pure and unfiltered grief. he felt lost. for the first time in a long while since amanda he felt so utterly and completely lost. no more shining beacon during his dark and stormy nights. no more valued affection and coveted kisses. no more notes and no more smile to come home to.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesisonly gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

but now he’ll have to get used to not coming home to a warm embrace. he’ll have to get used to going into stasis alone, in the cold bed. he’ll have to get used to his aching heart being greeted by an empty house. every cold and lonely  nights. it’s ridiculous how human he felt because of you. and he was both thankful and spiteful for it.

sadness and bitter regret ripped through him when he remembered that he didn’t  share goodbyes before he left. he remembered how he couldn’t have apologised to you and tenderly held you. he regretted not being able to tell you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him for the last time. ra9 only knows the things he’d do and the things he’d sacrifice, just to have you in his arms again.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

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[superprincesspea]

Winchester’s Finest

Finan helps Eadith wrap her ribs and their bond goes beyond friendship.

Written for the @tlkfanficfest​ Prompts Challenge

Prompt 8- Eadith/Finan, it was never about pleasure for Eadith until Finan.

Fluff, Smut, Romance

Word Count: 1906

“If only someone who cared for me was here to see it,” Eadith said, her voice laced with sadness.

Finan paused, a sinking feeling weighing him down. Since the moment she’d stepped into Winchester he’d thought of only her. Even before that, even the very first time he saw her, she consumed him. So radiant her beauty, so clever her wit and so brave her courage. 

When he was a boy his mother told him girls with red hair were sprites in disguise and he was the superstitious type. Eadith certainly seemed like an ethereal being, much too precious for his dirty warriors hands. But, as he bound her wounds, he could see clearer than ever that she was flesh and blood, just like him.

“I care,” he said, opening his heart for the first time in a long while.

She smiled, her hand covering his. Her fingers, so slender and delicate against his.

“Thank you,” she told him and he didn’t press her. She was hurt and though part of him burned to show her how much he cared, the other part knew he could wait. He’d waited this long.

When she was bandaged to the best of his ability, he left her with the baby monk while he headed into town to find a suitable room for rent. The one he found wasn’t much. But it was reasonably clean and had a comfortable bed so after paying the landlord he went back to collect her.

“I can’t afford this,” she complained as he scooped her into his arms to carry her up the stairs.

“Don’t worry about it.”

She winced as he lay her on the mattress, looking even weaker now than he’d first thought. She needed food, water and he began walking away to find both.

“Finan,” she called after him.

He turned to look at her, “what’s the matter?”

“Don’t leave.”

A smile quirked at his lips, “I’m not leaving, I’m just gonna find something for you to eat.”

She nodded, sighing as she closed her eyes and settled into the bed.

When he returned she was sleeping so he placed the food and ale on the table and made himself comfortable on the floor. After so much stress and worry over the past few weeks, he welcomed sleep and fell into it easily.

It was just before dawn when he heard a soft voice whispering his name, lulling him gently awake but his dreams had not been so peaceful. They never were. He ripped himself from sleep with a start, hand reaching for his sword. He was on his feet and prepared to fight before his eyes had barely opened. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Eadith said, her voice no longer a whisper. 

“It's a force of habit,” he replied, dragging his hand over his face and rubbing his eyes. 

She watched him nervously and with a yawn he replaced his sword in his belt, “how are you feeling?”

“Sore,” her eyes flicked to the bowl and cup on the table, “hungry.”

“Winchesters finest,” he said, smiling as he handed her the ale. The bowl he kept, stirring the contents before settling beside her and offering her a spoonful. 

“I’m not completely lame,” she laughed, looking at the spoon of food in his hand.

“Of course not.” What was he thinking? Blood rushed to his cheeks as he quickly handed over the bowl. 

“So where will you go now that the fighting is over?” she asked, picking at her food.

“No plans as of yet.” He laughed nervously- “are you trying to get rid of me, Lady Eadith?”

“No, I-” her gaze focused on the bowl, she seemed to be trying to find the right words to say and he had time to wait. He had all the time in the world for her. 

“I suppose, I’m wondering how long you will stay. I do not wish to be here alone.”

“You’re one of us now, you don’t have to be alone again. Not on my watch.”

She nodded, meeting his gaze, her hand stretching across the bed towards him. 

Was it an invitation? 

He swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, his fingers tentative as they brushed over hers. She didn’t move away, her hand clasped his and held him tightly. “I care about you too, Finan. I should have said it yesterday and I regretted not doing so.”

“You never have to do anything you’re not ready for with me.”

“I know,” she smiled, her hand slipping from his and her attention back to the bowl of food as if her words hadn’t changed everything.

He wanted to say more but he didn’t know what or how to say it. So he just smiled, resuming his place on the floor and staring at the ceiling as she ate her food and drank the ale. 

Over the next few days, her injuries healed while Finan spent night after night laying on the floor beside her, wishing he was in the bed. 

Now it was dark outside and before settling down for another night on the floor, he lit the last of the candles and took a seat on the bed.

“We’re thinking of heading back to Coccham soon, if you’re wanting to join us?” he said.

“Without you here, there’s no reason for me to stay in Winchester.”

He smiled, “I’ll have to tell Sihtric to find you a horse then.”

“And where will I live in Coccham?”

He knew what he wanted the answer to be and said it, even at the risk of being shot down. “You could live with me...”

“Good,” she said.

“Good,” he replied, surprised but pleased.

She looked like she was going to say something so he watched her with interest. But she changed her mind and soon they were both merely staring, silence filling the air. He opened his mouth to speak and shut it again when words wouldn’t form. The silence was beyond awkward now yet he couldn’t look away. 

He wasn’t sure who made the move, maybe it was both of them, leaning closer and closer until their lips were in reach and they settled into their first tentative kiss. Kissing was certainly better than talking or not talking. Kissing said everything they needed to say and it felt right.

Eadith was everything he dreamed. Her lips were soft and inviting and when he tilted her head to deepen their kiss she moaned happily, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.  

“Be gentle with me,” she told him and he swallowed hard.

Finan had been content enough just to kiss her. But her fingers began pulling the fastenings of her dress and it seemed she wanted more. Much more. “Always,” he managed to say, unbuckling his belt and letting his sword clatter to the floor. 

It was no secret Eadith had spent the night with Aethelred and it was no secret the former Lord of Mercia was a monster and a brute. Finan would never be like that, not with her, not with anyone.

Slowly they shed each other's clothes and he admired every inch of Eadith’s skin with fascination. So creamy and soft, barely a freckle or scar and her nipples delicately pink. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and perhaps he didn’t deserve her but he could not deny himself this treasure.

He let his calloused warriors touch stroke across her body, eliciting sweet sighs and moans. He hardly knew where to start, so he started at the bottom. His lips gently grazing her foot, her legs, her stomach, her breasts and then her lips. He could get lost in her sweet, perfect lips. 

“You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted you,” he told her, cupping her breasts, his tongue swirling around the outline of her nipples before sucking them. 

They had all night and he intended to use it. He wanted to feel every part of her, to know every inch had been covered in the scent of his skin and the feel of his lips. With every kiss and caress, she grew more and more needy, writhing on the bed, gasping at every touch.

“I need… more. Please Finan.”

It wasn’t every day he had a woman begging for him and he wasn’t one to deny a Lady. He sank between her thighs, spreading them over his shoulders, angling her body so he could taste her sweet, wet cunt. He’d bet gold she’d never been kissed here before and he would be the first. Not some Lord or a King, him. 

“Finan,” she gasped as his tongue pressed against her. Swirling, flicking, settling into a torturous rhythm. 

The noises she made urged him and he couldn’t wait to feel how ready she was to take his cock. He slipped a finger inside, pumping in and out, in time with his tongue. She was deliciously wet and his cock throbbed desperately to replace his fingers.

With every flick of his tongue, he could feel her drawing nearer and nearer to climax but he denied her, he wanted to be inside when her walls tightened with pleasure. 

She moaned when his tongue stopped its rhythm and he smiled, crawling along her body to kiss her.

“Are you sure you want this?” he whispered, his heart hammering in his chest and his cock almost ready to burst with desire.

She opened her eyes and panted a breathy, “yes, yes, please.”

He smiled, kissing her again. It might have killed him to stop but he would have done it. For her. 

He rubbed his cock over her cunt, coating himself in her slickness before slowly inching inside. 

She was so soft and hugged him tightly, drawing him in. After he was fully sheathed he pulled himself almost all the way out so he could take her again and it felt just as good as the first time. 

“Jesus, Eadith,” he groaned, every thrust coiling pleasure tighter and tighter within him. Already it was almost unbearable to stop himself from releasing but he wanted it to last. He wanted her to feel better than she’d ever felt before.

Eadith’s legs wrapped around his waist and her arms clung to him as he drove into her over and over again. Delirious with the sounds she was making and the feel of her tight wet cunt. 

He kissed her, stealing the moans from her lips before commanding her to come for him.

She arched her back, her legs squeezing him tighter and her climax shuddering across her body with his name on her lips. 

He couldn’t stop himself now even if he wanted to, pressure released, his body jerking, squeezing every ounce inside her.

Breathlessly he settled his head onto her chest and she cradled him. It had been a long time since he’d felt this content. 

“Well that was a grand old time, wasn’t it?” he joked after a while, making light of the mass of butterflies he felt fluttering in his stomach. 

“Don’t feel you have to owe me anything now, Finan,” she said, worry creasing her brow.

“I don’t,” he replied, quickly, foolishly. “I mean-” he took her hand, “there’s nothing you’ll ever want that I won’t wanna give you.”

She smiled, her cheeks tinged with pink, “then perhaps… we could do more…”

His eyes caressed her body, “oh we could definitely do more…”

[not-from-the-absence-of-violence]

You'd break your heart to make it bigger, so why not crack your skull when the mind swells

“Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass.” ~Richard Siken

Moments in Leenik Geelo's life after losing his brother.

a/n: love that my first campaign star wars fic is just pure leenik geelo angst, i dedicate this one to @leenik-matagot thank u and also ur welcome <3 >:) 

content warnings for: canon typical character death and violence, suicidal thoughts, refrences to self harm, ptsd, trauma and just general grief and depression.

It’s the emptiness he doesn’t expect. When they were running out of the planet the numb shock passing into the unrelenting reality of the loss he had just suffered.

There is that night where neither him or Chartreuse say anything and it felt like his chest was going to collapse into itself. It wasn’t real, not quite yet but the grief that threatens to consume him whole had already set in. it was like a gaping open wound in his chest. Like shards of glass. Like he was dying, following Tony into an early grave.

Those days blur together but he remembers eventually when the pain wouldn’t stop, he remembers cristal clear the quiet desperate prayer he sent out to the stars he and his brother had once travelled together.

Make it stop. He begged. I will do anything to stop feeling like this someone, anyone, please make it stop, make it stop, make it-

Be careful what you wish for, they say, because eventually it did, and it left the broken being that had once been Nicky Geelo.

There was nothing, he hadn’t thought it possible before to feel nothing but it was there. He was but an empty black hole. What was he now, without his grief and pain.

Nothing matters then, when the world stops being something you experience, he stared blankly at the wall. A million thoughts hung around his head.

It was your fault. It should have been you. You have always been this useless. What are you now? What have you ever been?-

They droned on, it was like listening to static, they were there, they were his thoughts and he believed them, but there was no emotion tied to it. He wants it back, the overwhelming despair, the anger burning in his veins, the quiet background sorrow that settles into your bones.

The first time Leenik Geelo gets captured on purpose he doesn’t plan on coming out of it.

He had picked up doing jobs again because he had to, life didn’t stop even if it felt like it should, the loss of Venton was nothing on the greater galaxy, even if to Leenik it felt like the stars weren’t allowed to shine without him.

It isn’t quite like he consciously plans on getting shot, it’s just that he goes in with a half-baked plan, no plan B, no weapons and not really sure when the last time he ate was.

And sure maybe when they are marching him to the brig, blasters trained on him part of him wonders why it would be bad if they just fired.

It’s not quite wanting to die, as much as it is not seeing the point in living. As much as that the moment they truly are about to shoot him his fear finally kicks in and he feels awake for the first time in months.

How he gets out of that one he doesn’t know, it's like all the luck in the galaxy follows him when he doesn’t want it.

He stands there and picks at his suction cups absentmindedly until one starts to bleed, he stares at the blood dripping from his finger like it contains the answers to everything.

-

He isn’t prepared for the wrath that comes next, the vast nothing in his chest comes and goes but the only other thing he is made of these days seems anger.

It is directed at everything and nothing, his brother's killer, Traxx, the ceiling fan that is too loud, himself.He who couldn't help, he had insisted to take on a job they shouldn't have, he should have been the one to fall in Ventons place.

The first time he stuns himself he can almost convince himself it's an accident. He is in fact, shooting at the fan, but who is to say whether he knew that the laser would bounce of it and hit him in the chest.

There is a flash of blinding agony and then a final blissful nothing. He wakes up very soon after, with a pounding headache, dizzy and miserable.

He knows very well he should not do that again, he stares at his blaster and feels some sickening kind of fear of himself. He tries to avoid using a blaster for a while but it doesn't last long.

It's always an accident though, and usually when it happens people laugh at the guy who just got himself stunned.

That's good he thinks making people laugh.

-

Leenik Geelo doesn't know the name of the first truly innocent person that he kills.

Usually there is some sort of justification for it, in his mind at least.

At some point he is at a shoot out and he very well knows he could aim away from the civilians that have nothing to do with it.

He doesn't.

There he is met with sickening guilt, and an even worse sense of perverted glee.

He sees the disappointed face of his brother every time he closes his eyes.

The moment he is alone that afternoon he breaks down crying, falling to the floor of some ship.

What have you become Nicky?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know.  

-

It's Venton who should have lived, and so he starts dressing the part. it's easy to pass off the wig and the eye patch as simple eccentricities, people find it odd, people laugh.

Good. He thinks, it's almost better to not be taken seriously, no one seeing under the surface.

So easy some days to almost believe it's Tony who is staring back at him in the mirror. That he’s here with him at least. He doesn't know how to be himself anymore.

One day he simply forgets the eyepatch, he catches a glimpse in the mirror and panics. True awful panic, the one that causes you to stop breathing, your chest to hurt, your mind to start racing.

"I need to go get it," he chokes out.

"Jeez man, we have a job to do."

He is already running back already, his hands in fists shaking as he tries not to break into sobs in the middle of the busy street.

-

It is odd in many ways how much Venton had been to him. His brother, his work partner, his only connection to his home he had left behind.

Leenik isn’t good at planning, he isn’t very strong or agile or-

Together they were invincible and alone he’s just...him.

He isn’t sure whether he misses Rodea or his brother sometimes, tangled up together in a web of nostalgia.

There is so little that is left from the person he used to be now.

-

What exactly makes memories flood him like rivers is truly awful arbitrary, he hates it.

And like anything he hates inside himself, he fights it like a caged animal. He is holding onto the shards of himself so tightly, cutting his fingers with it, he is walking on his own broken glass.

It’s a perfectly unremarkable day on the Mynock, he struggles to open a container.

"You should work out more, Leenik."

He stares at a fixed point on the wall, he feels it, the helplessness, his brothers hand in his, he feels the way he can't pull them up because he isn't strong enough, good enough, such a failure-

"Leenik? You okay there buddy?"

Leenik snaps out of it, clearly looking at his surroundings.

"I am just self conscious about my strength alright," he says as he bats away Bacta's hand " Don't bring it up again."

Bacta looks vaguely worried but drops it, used to his odd outburst by now. Leenik goes to look outside at the stars that were supposed to be theirs.

-

Sleep and Leenik are at war. Every night is a battle.

The weeks, months even after he couldn't sleep. He couldn't without waking up to nightmares of every kind and every night he saw his brother die because of him in seemingly increasingly gruesome ways.

Not sleeping made being awake worse, made the colours sharper and the noise louder, made his already weak grasp on reality weaker. He heard Venton everywhere, knowing it wasn't him, his own head driving him mad.

The only sleep he knew was collapsing from exhaustion.

Eventually time passed and no matter how much Leenik picked at it the wound healed somewhat and sometimes he slept.

Nightmares were still common enough for him to be anxious every time bed time approached. So he read, indulged in the calming familiar anxiety repetitive formulaic fiction brought.

Sometimes he had good dreams about Venton, of beautiful summers in Rodea, about the best bounties they had brought in, soft quiet scenes of love they deserved to have.

He woke up feeling the emptiness worse those days, not being able to even look at himself in the mirror.

-

There is something so comfortable in not being him. Leenik picks up a million hobbies and drops them just as soon but dressing up he might just keep.

He’s good at it, it’s fun, most importantly for the rest of the crew, it's useful.

And if it also means that he gets to look into the mirror without having to bear his own face looking back at him, even better.

-

He falls into the same patterns over and over and over again. He can’t stop, like a derailed train, and it’s always him left to pick up the pieces of his mess.

Like pushing boulders uphill it soon starts to feel tedious, pointless, if you have to do it again every time.

He doesn’t know who he is without anymore, doesn’t know how to be whole, he doesn’t want to know.

It feels like he is a spectator in his own life as he sees himself grimly fall back into ruining his life in both small and big ways.

It’s too hard to mend it, he doesn’t know how to sow.

-

He had never thought of having children really, every day he didn't quite believe he was going to survive the week, much less enough to form a family.

The vornskr gets attached to him so quickly, it needs him, like Leenik once needed his brother.

So he names him Tony, the name feels like rubbing salt in the wound, something that is almost like comfort for him now.

I'll protect you he thinks,  even if I couldn't protect him.

-

He stares at the place where his arm used to be.

He can see it so vividly in front of him, Tony's arm a bloody mess dangling making it unable for him to pull himself up. He sees his own hand, the one he doesn't have anymore, not strong enough to pull him up either.

He stares at his arm and sits on the floor crying. The noise of the battle fading away to the background

Maybe I deserve this one.

-

Leenik Geelo has a family now, crammed into a small spaceship, full of unspoken issues and painful tension.

He holds on to it lightly, or pretends to.

The only way Leenik knows how to hold on is so tight it's suffocating, so loud it hurts, so pleading it is pathetic. He overcompensates in the other direction constantly, to the point where neither he nor the people he now loves know whether he cares about them or not.

He looks onto Tamlin who lost his mother, so small, so fragile. Now his responsibility too. Maybe he doesn't know quite yet what's to come for him, all the small ways loss cracks you. He is afraid of Tamlin in the same way he is afraid of his own true reflection. And as afraid as anyone is of his own children.

"What's the name of the kid again?" he asks and he can almost convince himself he doesn't know.

So many masks to Leenik Geelo, his name has lost meaning.

-

Everyone has a breaking point and eventually Leenik reaches his. As he falls to the floor crying, there are people there this time. To listen, to hug him, to comfort him. To share in his pain and not flinch as they see the worst parts of him. To hold his hand and pull him up as he starts the arduous climb from rock bottom.

He isn’t alone amongst the vast expanse of space anymore.

-

Time passes and loss never truly gets easier, but eventually one has to heal. Eventually he grows up and knows his brother wouldn't want this for him. More importantly he doesn't want this, not anymore.

Rebuilding yourself is a never ending process that often leads to hallways you had forgotten about, it's painful and thankless and while in it it never feels worth it. But it is, oh it is, when he is able to talk about Tony again and it doesn't feel like his throat is full of glass. When people can call him Nicky and it brings only the slightest twinge of melancholy, like pressure on a sore bruise. When he can go to Rodea again, a planet he had once thought he would never be able to bear to return.

Sometimes he still gets cut on his own shards, but this time he lets someone help mend it.

He can lay amongst the trees and for the first time lay his brother to rest in his mind.

"Goodbye Tony," he says, looking onto the millions of planets and galaxies above him, in wonder of how small he is compared to it all.

"I miss you." he says because it's true, he will never stop missing who had once felt like an infinite constant in his life.

"I hope you are well amongst the stars."

[thebladeblaster]

Rebirth of the Samurai (Part 1)

Summary: This fic is a what if scenario to SMT4 Apocalypse. I would go into more detail, but I don’t want to spoil too much of what this fic entails. If this fic gains traction I may continue the story on from this one-shot. Warning: This is a long one.

This may be the last I write for awhile with college right around the corner. I won’t stop completely, but it will become a lot slower.

Two pairs of boots solemnly clattered down the road. The young men wore brown peasant garbs with ponchos. They both had fair skin. One had a brown ponytail and brown eyes. The other...had a black ponytail with striking green eyes. No sound came from the two except their boots. The air of silence was becoming overwhelming. They had failed...in their lifelong dream of becoming samurai before it ever even started. The brown haired man seemed the most shaken of the two. The black haired man was saddened definitely, but not quite to the same extent as his fellow. They were in what seemed to be a medieval city.

“Isscharr everything will work out. We might not have become samurai but...Uhh...things will get better.”, the black haired man tried to assure his friend, patting his back.

“...I can’t believe I have to go back to that accursed place! I don’t...I don’t want to be a farmer my whole life, Flynn…This...This was supposed to be our out...”, Ishacarr replied, in a disheartened tone.

“Hoy there.”, the two men stopped as a heavier man in baker’s garb ushered them over.

“I’m afraid we probably can’t afford to buy anything.”, Flynn said in a timid tone, rubbing the back of his head looking away.

“Oh no, it’s not that. Have you two by chance ever heard of literature?”, the baker asked them.

“I don’t believe so...have you Isscharr?”, Flynn asked, looking over to his fellow.

“No…”, Isscharr responded in a quiet tone only further concerning his fellow.

“Literature is very interesting, it's very different from the stories we know. They are about people in great turmoil. It has completely opened up my mind to the problems with society. As I read it I started to realize I have lived in darkness and ignorance up until now. It is adversity that develops a man’s character. After partaking in a sabbath and reading these books, I understand more fully...You see, Luxurors truly think little but their own convenience. Everyone speaks of equality, but that is a ruse we Casualries have been subjected to...”, the baker told them, pulling out the literature and placing it into Flynn’s hand.

The books read “No Longer Human” and “The Dancing Girl”.

“Ooh...but we can’t read.”, Flynn said as he looked down at the unassuming book shuffling awkwardly.

For some odd reason he felt a sudden chill down his spine as he held the literature. Ishacarr raised his head and looked up at the book.

“That is no issue you see by attending a sabbath you can gain the ability to read.”, the baker explained, making Flynn give him a skeptical look.

Isscharr’s eyes widened at the prospect, looking very interested. Flynn clicked his tongue as he felt that chill again. He placed the literature back in the baker’s hands.

“Sorry, but we’re not interested.”, Flynn replied, much to the baker and Isscharr’s shock.

Isscharr’s mouth was agape at Flynn’s response. His fellow wasn’t normally so assertive. “H-hoy don’t speak for me Flynn!”, Isscharr said.

“The sabbaths he mentioned sound extremely shady. The very idea that you can suddenly gain a skill that takes years of education is just ridiculous. Like a deal a demon would try to make with someone in a fairy tale. We’re leaving.”, Flynn replied sternly, very insistent on the last part.

Isscharr sweated nervously.

“Who the hell are you and what have you done with Flynn?! Flynn can’t even say no to his mother!”, Isscharr thought.

Something felt different about Flynn the moment the literature was mentioned. It’s almost like he shifted into a completely different person. The change worried Isscharr. Flynn grabbed Isscharr’s hand pulling him away from the baker with surprising strength.

“W-wait! Stop Flynn! I wanna check it out! This may be a chance for us to be something more than just farmers!”, Isscharr said.

Flynn turned to Isscharr looking at him from the side. There was a strange edge that appeared in his eyes that made him jump. The feeling in Flynn continued to grow more powerful.

“Isscharr, we’re going!”, Flynn insisted.

“No! It might be easy for you to go back to Kiccigiorgi with a family that actually accepts you and doesn’t act like you're a nuisance! You can go back! But...I’m not going back there! Not to those people!”, Isscharr yelled as they started to cause a scene.

“Then where will you go?! Where will you live?! Like it or not Kiccigiorgi is our home!”, Flynn questioned.

“Anywhere else!”, Isscharr answered, making Flynn snicker at his fellow’s stubbornness.

“You can’t be serious...you’ll worry you’re parents.”, Flynn replied, rubbing his temples in annoyance.

“Why am I getting so heated like this? T-this isn’t me...what’s going on?”, Flynn thought, genuinely confused at his behavior.

He felt like he could hardly control himself. This feeling that crept inside him before felt like it was...consuming him. Something in his mind just tells him that he cannot let Isscharr attend a sabbath at any cost.

“I don’t care about those assholes!”, Issachar yelled, making their growing gasp.

Flynn visibly flinched upon hearing Issachar curse his parents.

“You may not, but I’m sure they care about you. I believe their only do hard on you because they care! I’m trying to bring you back because I care about you!”, Flynn replied which made Issachar scoff.

“So, you're taking their side? Just like everyone else! You think I’m weird too! A freak!”, Issachar accused.

“Don’t be childish! There’s no sides! You think I would stick by you for all these years if I thought you were a freak? You're just throwing a childish tantrum! Think Issachar think! Do you really believe you can just run off on your own and do who knows what? We have responsibilities!”, Flynn replied, back sounding far angrier than before at his fellow’s accusation.

Issachar snickered, pulling his arm out of Flynn’s grip and starting to walk away.

“Where are you going?!”, Flynn questioned, as the poor baker looked frantically between the two squabbling fellows not expecting such a fight to break out.

“You might be content being some obedient servant your whole life Flynn. But I’m not! Pfft! A mama’s boy like you probably wouldn’t have made it as a samurai anyway...You're better off returning alone!”, Issachar replied with venom making Flynn shake.

Flynn gripped his fist so tightly they nearly bled. They shook like crazy as Flynn looked down at them.

“Why the heck did I say all of that? What am I supposed to do now?”, Flynn thought, looking back to Issachar’s retreating form.

Flynn prepared to run after his fellow.

“Don’t bother following me! Go home like you obviously want to!”, Issachar replied harshly.

Flynn froze, putting a hand over his heart which felt pierced by his fellow’s words. That hand formed a fist which shook again.

“H-hoy!”, the baker called out nervously, but he was completely ignored by the two fellows who walked off in opposite directions.

The crowd scurried away as Flynn and Issachar walked through. Flynn's eyes were shadowed and he gritted his teeth. Issachar’s gaze briefly drifted over his fellow whose head was lowered he could tell was hurt even from far away. He jerked his gaze away from Flynn not wanting to turn back from his chance to become somebody.

After Flynn got far enough away he collapsed against a wall lowering his gaze further. Men in blue uniforms patrolling the streets looked over to him thinking he was drunk. He flinched as another strange feeling struck him, but it was different from before.

“You alright there sir? It’s a bit too early to be drinking isn’t it?”, the blue uniformed man said.

When he got closer they noticed tears dripping from Flynn’s eyes.

“...I’m not drunk…”, Flynn said, sadness evident in his voice.

Flynn picked himself off the wall and strode past the man. As if to make his situation worse his head was throbbing for some indiscernible reason. The feeling that suddenly struck him only worsened his headache. He continued walking, not knowing where he was going. It was most certainly not back home. Not without Issachar. He thinks maybe they just need space for now. When he got himself back together he would find Issachar and drag him back home. Flynn felt even more miserable when another feeling struck him again. He felt his mind getting increasingly hazy.

“Why is Issachar so stubborn?! Why won’t he let me save him!”, Flynn thought, raising his eyebrow afterward completely puzzled by his own thoughts.

“Save him? What am I talking about?”, he thought.

The pain in his head only increased, making him wince.

“Some people are just too stubborn to deter away from their own folly. You of all people should know that...but together we can save them all. We can save all of mankind.”, a voice said, causing Flynn to stumble.

Who was that? Was he imagining that voice right now or? Flynn looked around for the source of the voice he heard only to find nothing, but people going about their business.

Even as Issachar continued on and found out the location and time of the sabbath from the baker he couldn’t help but think about Flynn. How bizarrely he acted and how he left him. He had this feeling he really shouldn’t leave Flynn alone like this in the ‘condition’ he’s in. It felt like something more was happening to Flynn and he had to save him from...something? What was he saving him from? Being a doormat? But, still Issachar could not drop this intense feeling of dread. Like he may lose Flynn forever...he was just being silly! He had to be. He didn’t know why his thoughts were being so melodramatic.

The sabbath was to be held at midnight. He’d have to be careful due to the country’s curfew. Just another way the Luxurors controlled the Casualries. Issachar was determined to break that control. Perhaps this was what he was meant to do? The leash of control even controlled his best friend to the point he’d snap at him like he had before. He walked into an unassuming carpentry store.

“I’m here for the sabbath.”, Issachar said as the carpenter looked him over.

He led Issachar over to a carpet which slipped away to reveal a secret room. He steeled himself as he walked into the darkness of the room. It was much bigger than he expected. It was packed to the brim with people. Issachar looked in wonder seeing mystic relic lights all over the place. There was also strange demonic statues. Some people were engrossed in the literature, trading books or...Issachar blushed intensely as he looked away at what some others were doing especially on the statues.

“Is this your first time?”, a feminine voice asked.

Issachar turned to the source of the voice nearly jumping when he saw the source. It was a woman covered head to toe in strange black and red armor with eerie red eyes.

“Who are you?”, Issachar asked.

“I am the one people call the black samurai. I am the one who has been distributing literature all over the kingdom.”, the black samurai introduced.

“I see uh…”, Issachar said, looking over briefly before turning his gaze back to the black samurai still flustered.

“It’s not like anything you’ve seen right? That’s why you’re so shocked at what you're seeing here? Everyone is like that at first. These sabbaths are about the spreading of knowledge and breaking free from the strict norms of the kingdom.”, the black samurai said.

“Yeah, definitely...this is all just shocking. I heard that I could learn how to read here. Is that true?”, Issachar asked.

“That...and much more.”, the black samurai said in a seductive voice which made him nervous.

The strange woman led him to where a few people in luxurious clothes were tied up.

“Are those Luxurors? What are you going to do with them?”, Issachar asked.

“Their going to be sacrifices.”, the black samurai said in an abnormally casual tone which made Issachar pale.

Flynn rubbed his temples again as he tried to get to where he heard the sabbath was being held. Combined with the samurai patrolling the streets and his roaring headache getting there was proving difficult for him. But, he would persevere! This was for Issachar! He had to get him back even if it landed him in trouble with the authorities. By the time Flynn made it to the store he was breathing heavily. He looked around the store for wherever the sabbath was being held. He found it bizarre how strangely empty the store was despite the fact a sabbath was apparently being held there. Flynn left no stone unturned as he checked the store. He flinched as he could faintly hear a muffled scream. He ran over to the direction where he heard it throwing off the rug and revealing the secret door. Flynn sweated nervously as he could now better hear screams coming from down below despite that Flynn descended without hesitation.

Blood dripped from the hand now claws of that black samurai who had now revealed her true form as a black vine like demon in a feminine shape. She had a white face and chest along with horns and wings along with a long pointy tail. Her feet were little pincers.

The Luxurors laid dead at her feet while Issachar was still frozen in shock.

“It’s not a true sabbath without blood and we demons love blood. Now, it’s time for you all to become demons!”, the black samurai declared, frightening many in there and garnering confused murmurs.

“Flynn was right! It was a demon deal!”, Issachar thought as the black samurai held out a book to him.

“You can read now. Take full advantage of the knowledge you gain to tear this kingdom asunder!”, as she said that many of those attending’s bodies shifted and morphed in a horrifying manner.

The sounds of their transformations were blood curdling. Issachar trembled as he looked down at the book, briefly cracking it open to see if the words she spoke were true. They were indeed. Issachar could now read at the sacrifice of another’s life...he tried to control his shaking as this all sank into him.

“Don’t feel remorse towards your oppressors. They don’t deserve it now...you can take your destiny into your own hands.”, the black samurai said.

Issachar stil trembling nodded as he started to read the book starting from the beginning. The more he read the more sense her words and the bakers made to him! He could shape his own destiny! He could destroy their tyrannical system and create a truly free world! Bile started to rise up from within him.

“Issachar!”, Flynn called out his voice full of worry.

His friend’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. He looked over to Flynn who looked beyond worried for him especially as he saw the room was full of demons. He was about to call out his name when everything suddenly went black…Snap!

Flynn was speechless when Issachar’s neck shifted unnaturally and he heard a loud snap. With it Issachar’s body went limp...Flynn’s breathing got heavier as his vision was clouded in red. Something within Flynn snapped as well.

“Those worms are far beneath you, destroy every single one of them...kalki then we can lead them to their salvation.”, the voice said in Flynn’s mind.

The black samurai froze when she felt an aura of supreme blood lust coming off of Flynn along with magical power far exceeding master samurai. The other demons quickly turned their attention to Flynn noticing it as well. They gasped as Flynn seem to disappear only for blood to splatter on the wall and a cluster of limp demon bodies. The rest backed away from the man nervously. Flynn held a broken broom in his hand he had gotten from the wall using it as a makeshift blade. It dripped with the blood of their fellow demons.

“C-come on! He’s just one human and we’re all demons! He doesn’t stand a chance!”, a bulky demon with red skin and sharp teeth said.

However, he completely lost the will to fight when Flynn turned to him. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes. All his demon instincts yelled at him to run.

“Fall.”, Flynn said, in a much deeper and menacing tone.

He seemed to disappear again as fire suddenly completely engulfed the red demon. Others shrieked away in fear and some charged at Flynn. However they never stood a chance. He easily evaded their attacks and struck them with various elemental magics they were weak to. The black samurai was completely stunned not expecting any of this. All she knew is that she had to stop Flynn before he killed her too. By the time she broke out of her surprise most of the demons had been completely decimated leaving only a few fearfully hiding. She couldn’t help but flinch when Flynn turned to her as primal fear creeped up inside her. She shot a Maziodyne at Flynn only for her to let out a pained gasp as his hand clamped around her throat. His eyes were filled with unbridled hatred and anger. Something she’d be glad to see especially in such a powerful individual if it wasn’t leading to her own demise. She wondered if this was Gabriel’s doing. No...it had to be someone much more powerful. Before she could finish her though she paled as she felt the highest tier almighty spell charging up, Antichthon. She had no idea how he knew such a powerful spell, something no one in Mikado should know. Either this was the doing of an angel more powerful than Gabriel or that man won the lottery and shifted into a demon far stronger than even the archangels. A devilish smirk formed on Flynn’s face as he saw the fear in her eyes. She hastily tried to claw out the man’s throat before she was completely vaporized. However she couldn’t…

Issachar gasped as he looked around, suddenly regaining consciousness. He was sure he had died after all his neck snapped somehow. He looked extremely fearful as the first sight that greeted him was his best friend covered in blood and grinning like a madman. He paled when Flynn started laughing, noticing he didn’t sound like himself at all. His voice was distorted much deeper than normal. He noticed Flynn’s normal green in his eyes was now replaced with an unnatural glowing golden.

“He’s been possessed.”, was the first thought to cross Issachar’s mind.

Everything started to make sense now...Flynn’s strange behavior before...that odd feeling he had...oh no, something has taken over his best friend! He remembered how hurt Flynn looked before he left saddened and confused. Had Flynn not been in control of himself then either? It made sense considering how out of character he was. He trembled as an immense power radiated off Flynn and he was engulfed in a white light which shook the entire building. Issachar covered his eyes before desperately calling out his Flynn’s name.

When the light cleared what stood was a taller being with armor-like ebony skin. Bits of gold lined it’s body and it was adored with a fancy ebony robe on his lower half lined with gold more lavish than that of any Luxurors he knew. It had a long black cape which fluttered despite the lack of wind. It wore some sort of strange head piece unlike anything Issachar had ever seen keeping the same theme as the rest of its body. In its hand was some odd pink flower which he had never seen before either. He had an impressive physique that put any samurai he had seen to shame. The whites of its eyes were red and its eyes were gold along with the bottom part of its eyes. He recognized the hair as Flynn’s though it was now draping down his shoulders.

“Flynn?”, Issachar questioned, barely able to form words.

He could feel the presence before him was much greater than anything he’s ever felt in his life. It felt godly. It was very terrifying, but also made you want to bow before it and worship it. It felt extremely dominating...this thing wasn’t Flynn it was something else which had taken him over. He tried to calm his shaking when his attention fell unto himself. The sinister smirk on his face lessened a bit, becoming something more human.

“Issachar...We will save you all.”, he said in a deep godly voice sounding like he was in a trace.

“Hoy Flynn! Snap out of it! This isn’t you!”, Issachar called out.

The smirk didn’t leave the strange being face as he looked down at him.

“Flynn is mine.”, the being said with Flynn’s distorted voice.

Those three simple words made Issachar shake. They confirmed his fear that something truly had taken over Flynn. Despite his fear Issachar found the strength to stand before the almighty being. Even when he was upset at him and the horrible things he said to him Flynn still ran to help him without hesitation.

“L-let him go, you demon! Flynn you're the kindest person I know and your loving parents...No everyone is waiting for you to come back to Kiccigiorgi! You can’t let this monster swallow you up!”, Issachar called out to his best friend desperately.

The being fidgeted slightly as if Flynn heard him, but quickly returned to its former demeanor.

“I am no lowly demon. I am a god, one who shall save all of humanity from its vile creator. I will bring salvation even to a lowly undead being like yourself.”, the being said, making him angry.

Issachar was struck by his words and a horrible realization fell upon him. He had died and turned into a zombie.

“Salvation my ass! All you have done is made my friend kill all these people! We don’t need or asked for your salvation and Flynn doesn’t want it either!”, Issachar yelled.

He heard a low growl from the being which sounded like roaring thunder. He shook, but stood his ground as anger radiated off the being.

“I am what’s best for him. He must give in to me completely and he will be saved.”, the being replied.

That statement implied for Issachar that Flynn was still in there. He hasn’t completely given in to this thing yet. Anger bubbled up inside Issachar at the being’s arrogant words.

“It just sounds like you want to control him! You're no different from the Luxurors who have been trying to control us our whole lives thinking ‘you’ know what’s best for us! Something like you has no idea what’s best for us! Now, let go of my friend demon!”, Issachar yelled, throwing a punch at the being.

When the blow impacted the being it didn’t even flinch. Though there was a loud crack of Issachar’s bones snapping as his arm bent in an unnatural angle. Issachar saw something flicker in the being’s eyes, concern. The being fidgeted again growling lowly.

“Flynn, stubborn man!”, the being growled in annoyance as it twitched, losing control as its hand reached out for Issachar.

Strong arms wrapped around Issachar protectively. Flynn’s concerned gaze lowered down to his broken arm. Flynn lifted up the strange flower and a pink light emitted from it completely healing his wounds. Issachar rubbed his now healed arm which was good as new.

“Don’t waste your effort! He will only be saved after we create our new world, kalki!”, the being said from Flynn’s lips.

“Shut up! I will never create your world and I will never be your godslayer! Now, get out Krishna!”, Flynn growled.

They stumbled back from Issachar making him reach out to them. Flynn grabbed his head as he struggled to regain control over his body.

“Hoy Flynn, don’t lose to him! You have to beat him!”, Issachar yelled.

Light engulfed Flynn’s body again as he returned to normal and fainted. Issachar caught Flynn before he could hit the ground and held him close to him. He hurriedly ran out of the building and scurried away to the road outside of the capital leading to Kiccigiorgi. He slashed at all the samurai who jumped in to stop him with his claws and escaping. Flynn was still unconscious over his shoulder. Issachar didn’t stop running even as he felt like his legs were decomposing from all the running. The sun felt like it was trying to purify his unholy body. It burned like crazy and he panted heavily. He could see it himself but the whites of his eyes were blood red. He could no longer feel the presence from before inside Flynn; he seemed to have completely returned to his natural human self. He even smelled human. Perhaps because it was possession Flynn was able to turn back? Why he wasn’t stuck like him, who had briefly embraced the demonic and transformed? He just hoped that thing was gone from Flynn, Krishina as he called it. Morning dawned by the time they made it back to Kiccigiorgi. He had put some water from lake Mikado on their clothes to wash the blood off them.

Flynn stirred as he started to regain consciousness. He looked around to see he was now back in Kiccigiorgi draped onto Issachar’s shoulder. He blinked repeatedly and his mind felt slurry. His green eyes seemed cloudy though as he blinked the cloudiness left.

“Hoy Flynn, are you alright?”, Issachar asked.

“W-what happened? When did we get back? I remember we had a fight and I was acting strange then everything gets blurry from there…”, Flynn said in his normally timid tone, he put his hand on his temple.

“You can’t remember Flynn? You don’t remember the sabbath?”, Issachar asked.

“Sabbath? We went to the sabbath?”, Flynn questioned with confusion and concern.

Issachar was stunned that Flynn really didn’t remember anything that happened. It must have been a side effect of his possession by Krishina. His eyes had returned to normal as a fellow villager walked over to them.

“Looks like you two didn’t get to become samurai. Hoy Flynn are you alright over there?”, the woman asked, noticing him leaning on Issachar.

“I-I’m fine. My head just feels so loopy I can just sleep it off later.”, Flynn replied.

“You don’t seriously intend to work in your condition do you?”, Issachar questioned.