#or for anyone unfamiliar- after the doctor stopped having eyebrows

[newyikecity]

.

[suzukiblu]

I haven't been posting because this week has absolutely sucked, so here, for all our sakes, have the expanded version WIP of Bruce Wayne and the alternate Kon who showed up on his doorstep and isn't answering to "Superboy".

Read-more for length.

Bruce opens the front door of the manor and Kon-El is standing on the steps in unassuming civilian clothes that don't look like they belong either on a farm or at a punk concert, a cheap duffel bag slung over his shoulder and his hands jammed tight into his pockets, body language unsettled and uncomfortable. 

"I'll call Tim down," Bruce says, already resigned to putting up with the kid at dinner tonight and breakfast in the morning. Every time he shows up looking like this, Tim refuses to let him leave before a full twenty-four hours are up. 

"Please don't," Kon says tightly, and Bruce . . . pauses. Looks at him more closely. 

Processes. 

There's a faint little unfamiliar scar on Kon's face. A thin white line splitting his left eyebrow, as if someone actually hit him hard enough to bleed. He's not wearing any earrings, and the scattered piercings that should be in his ears . . . aren't. There's one, but only one. His build is off. A little less brute strength in it; a little more flexibility. He's standing like he doesn't know how to fight. 

And, again: the scar. 

When and how did anyone actually cut him like that? 

"'Don't'?" Bruce repeats, his eyes just barely narrowing. 

"There were eighty-four pearls," Kon says, and Bruce's gut goes cold. 

Tim didn't teach him that. Tim would never. None of them would ever. Even Jason was never angry or bitter or broken enough to compromise that code. 

So someone else taught it to him. 

"The doctor is out," Bruce replies by rote, perfectly neutral, and Kon's shoulders sag with . . . relief. He's relieved. He didn't know if Bruce would know what he was saying. 

He wanted Bruce to know what he was saying. 

"I'm sorry," Kon says, swallowing roughly. "I fucked up real bad this time, B." 

That's not something Kon's ever called him. The look on his face isn't an expression Kon's ever directed at him. 

This isn't Kon. 

"Name," Bruce orders, just as perfectly neutral. 

"Jackson Kyle," Kon mutters, his eyes slanting away guiltily. Bruce is in no way inattentive or oblivious enough to miss either Tim's middle name or Selina's last one in that answer, much less the guilt. "Technically." 

"Technically?" Bruce asks, not even bothering with a pointed tone, and "Jackson's" mouth twists. He doesn't bring his eyes back to Bruce's face. 

"That's not what you call me," he says. 

"Inside," Bruce says, stepping back from the doorway. Jackson swallows again, visibly steeling himself, then steps across the threshold. Bruce doesn't ask why what "he" calls him is more his name than the technical answer is, and doesn't ask what "he" calls him either. 

That's the whole damn point of that code phrase, after all. 

"Report," Bruce orders as soon as he closes the door, and Jackson shifts his center of balance and stops standing like he doesn't know how to fight. 

And meets Bruce's eyes again, too. 

"Alternate reality," Jackson says, and sounds just like any one of them when the worst has happened. "Things went–bad. Level Omega, final phase. You ordered me to take the out. I said no, and you shoved me through anyway." 

Of course he did, Bruce thinks. 

Jackson would've died with that version of him, otherwise. 

"Solo flight?" he checks without any actual hope for a merciful answer. Not if Jackson had to be forced to take the out. 

"Yes, sir," Jackson says, his hands curling into fists at his sides and his mouth going tight. "Nightwing was already–it was solo." 

Bruce doesn't imagine a version of himself that had to bury Dick. 

That didn't have time to bury Dick, more than likely. 

"Downstairs for decontamination, containment procedures, and questioning," he says. Jackson nods, short and efficient. He doesn't protest the precautions. 

Maybe Kon would've, but Bruce doesn't actually know him well enough to know. 

This version of the kid knows all about him, though, doesn't he. 

He takes Jackson to his study. They don't run into Tim or Alfred on the way, and no one else is in the manor right now. 

That's for the best. 

Bruce looks at Jackson. Waits. Jackson glances at him, then to the grandfather clock. 

Its hands move. Tactile telekinesis, obviously. 

And 10:48. 

Obviously. 

The door to the cave opens. 

So yes, Jackson knows all about him, and the manor, and the cave, and who knows what else. 

Bruce walks through the door. Jackson follows him, bag and all, and Bruce can't hear either his clothes rustling or his footsteps on the stairs behind him. He doesn't bother pretending the kid is flying. He knows he's not. 

He walks down the stairs to the cave floor. Walks to the computer. Turns to look back at Jackson, who, yes, is not flying. 

He waits. 

Jackson stops in the middle of the floor. He drops his bag and strips off his clothes without any sign of modesty or hesitation, then takes both bag and clothes to the autoclave, shoves them into it, locks the outer seal, and activates the sterilization process. Then he heads for the decontamination showers. Bruce follows him. He's not ready to let the kid out of his sight. 

Jackson very obviously knows where everything in the cave is. Knows how everything in the cave works. 

Knows it by reflex; by heart.

Watching him move through the place like a ghost haunting its own graveyard is not an experience that Bruce is enjoying.

Jackson walks into the decontamination showers, flicks the first one on, and goes through the exact scrub-down process that Bruce has taught every single one of them. He's efficient and effective, and doesn't either rush through or take his time with it. 

Bruce waits in the doorway and doesn't wonder what's in the duffel bag, or why Jackson didn't unpack it before throwing it into the autoclave. 

He knows what's in the duffel bag. 

Of course he does. 

Jackson finishes the scrub-down process and turns off the shower. The water all sluices off his body all at once and spatters down against the tile floor, leaving his hair and skin completely dry. Tactile telekinesis, again. No noticeable gesture to direct it, though; not even a glance this time. And not a potential application of it that Bruce was aware of either, though perhaps one he should've extrapolated. 

Bruce steps back from the doorway and Jackson leaves the showers. He still doesn't seem concerned to be naked. 

"Where's Jason?" he asks carefully. The nonsequitur makes absolutely no sense to Bruce, until Jackson's eyes flick to where the memorial–isn't, anymore. 

"Stakeout," Bruce replies neutrally, refraining from providing a location, and Jackson . . . blinks.

"Oh," he says, just barely frowning. "But . . . Tim's here." 

"It's complicated," Bruce says. Jackson's frown deepens, but he doesn't ask any more questions. He heads for the locker room and Bruce follows after. Bruce suspects he only diverted from SOP enough to ask about Jason because he already knew about Tim's presence in the manor. Kon is . . . irrational, about Tim. It's not difficult to believe that Jackson might share that particular character flaw. 

Especially given his name. 

Jackson walks past Tim's locker without stopping. Bruce doesn't think for a moment that he doesn't know who it belongs to. Jackson goes to the back and opens one of the lockers with spare clothes inside, and that . . . he pauses after that, for some reason. 

He doesn't say anything, though, and then he just checks through the clothing labels neatly and efficiently until he finds options that'll fit and takes them out. He doesn't seem concerned with anything but the sizes, which seems . . . odd, for Kon. 

But this isn't Kon, Bruce reminds himself.

Jackson pulls on a pair of light gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved black shirt. They don't belong to Jason, but Bruce put them into that locker with Jason in mind. They don't fit Jackson quite as tightly as they'd likely fit Kon. 

They're soft, Bruce knows. And warm, too. 

It's a useless thing to think, but he thinks it anyway because this is a boy from a final-phase Level Omega reality whose Batman forced to take the out; a boy who knows exactly how many pearls there were and exactly what time his parents died and exactly where Jason's memorial used to stand in the cave. 

A boy who doesn't want to see Tim, but is carrying a part of his name. 

But that name isn't what his Batman called him. 

"Containment," Bruce instructs as Jackson closes the locker. He doesn't think it's a necessary instruction, given how perfectly Jackson's been following procedure so far, but he's thinking about the way the kid showed up looking and the way he had to brace himself before he could cross the threshold of the manor and just how perfectly he's been following procedure. 

"Yes, sir," Jackson says, turning back towards him and pushing up the sleeves of the soft black shirt that doesn't belong to Jason. "But, uh . . . the standard protocols might not work." 

Bruce doesn't realize what he means for a moment, and then he remembers the obvious issue–alternate reality. Different Earth. The standard protocols for a Kryptonian unknown involve blue kryptonite, and their reality's kryptonite likely won't affect Jackson. 

That's . . . a concern. One he should've thought of immediately. 

Eighty-four pearls, though. 

Magic, Bruce reminds himself. Magic would still work. Or red sunlight. Hell, he could just call Clark over right now. Kon-El isn't a Superman-level threat, at least not yet. It's unlikely Jackson Kyle is either. 

He was with a Batman, though. 

Bruce isn't sure what kind of results to expect from that. 

He does consider actually calling Clark, but Jackson clearly isn't a Super. Jackson is . . . 

Jackson is his responsibility. No one else's. 

And Jackson came to him, not Clark. 

"The promethium restraints," Bruce says evenly. 

"Yes, sir," Jackson says, and still doesn't protest the precautions. Then he stills, his eyes flicking towards the stairs. "Someone just opened the clock. I don't–know their heartbeat." 

"Tim and Alfred are the only ones in the manor right now," Bruce tells him. 

Jackson . . . swallows. Flicks his eyes back to him. 

And, Bruce notes, away from the stairs. 

"Then it's Tim," Jackson says. Which means he doesn't know Tim's heartbeat. Which means he's likely never heard it before, even though he knows who Tim is. 

How old had Tim been before Kon had developed super-hearing? 

Not old enough, Bruce already knows. 

"Maintain standard distance," he says. Jackson has to be more than fast enough to hurt or kill Tim from anywhere in the cave before Bruce could even hope to stop him, but that's not why he says it. He's . . . establishing something. 

Or testing it. 

"Yes, sir," Jackson says, still without protest. Bruce is feeling increasingly wary over that level of compliance, given that one of Kon's most reliably present coping mechanisms has always been stubborn defiance.

Then again, the last time Jackson defied a Batman's orders was the last time he ever saw the man. And Bruce doesn't know the full extent of whatever relationship the two of them had, but they clearly had one. 

Jackson's last name is Kyle, for fuck's sake. 

And he knew exactly how many pearls there were. 

Bruce looks towards the stairs. He knows Tim's pace; knows just when to expect him to come into view. Jackson keeps his own eyes on him, nowhere near the stairs, and stays perfectly silent. He doesn't so much as shift his weight. 

"Uh . . . is something wrong?" Tim asks warily as soon as he's visible, because him being visible means he can see Jackson himself, of course, and also of course he's not seeing Jackson yet.

And Bruce has never brought Kon down to the cave like this. Kon's only actually been in here about as many times as he's been on-deck for a Gotham-centered all-hands, in fact, which has not been many. 

"Yes," Bruce says. Jackson's jaw tightens. Tim frowns. 

"What's going on?" he asks. 

"Unidentified alternate reality went Level Omega and hit final phase," Bruce says, then links his hands behind his back and tips his head towards Jackson with a neutral expression. He's not interested in drawing out the explanation, for more than a few reasons. "Refugee reporting in. Solo flight." 

". . . what?" Tim says blankly. "But that's . . ." 

"Tim Drake, Jackson Kyle," Bruce introduces bluntly. "Jackson Kyle, Tim Drake. Red Robin." 

Jackson's scarred eyebrow twitches once, but he doesn't otherwise visibly react. 

Or look at Tim. 

"'Jackson'?" Tim repeats, looking bewildered. He seems to have forgotten to finish coming down the stairs. "And–solo flight? How did you even . . . ?"

"He was ordered to take the out," Bruce says. "Didn't comply, so his Batman forced the issue. Been through decontamination; moving onto containment and questioning." 

"That's not the protocol for a Super," Tim says, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Not any version of a Super." 

"When we have a Super on our hands, we'll enact the relevant protocols for one," Bruce replies evenly. 

"Shit," Tim says.

[harringtown]

the stars that light the road

a/n: the writers block has been Real these last few weeks and im basically in the middle of 3 fics so I just said screw it and set them aside for the moment and started something completely new to try and trick writing brain and it definitely worked cuz I word vomited like 3 thousand words <3 

requested by anonymous

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: the reader comes to take care of Steve after star court (aka the guy who takes care of everyone is actually taken care of for once, plus some love confessions ofc)

word count: 2.7k

warnings: cursing, blood/injury mention

-

Steve’s house always felt empty to him as a kid, even during what he ironically refers to as the golden years. Aka, the years before his parents realized how little they cared for each other and for him, when they were home every day—and every night.

When the world almost ended the first time, Steve was grateful for his hollow halls. If his parents weren’t around, they couldn’t get hurt, and they couldn’t ask any questions. He felt that way the second time, too.

This time, though, round three, coming back to a big, dark, empty house only makes his wounds ache fiercer. Every step and breath as he heads through the halls, flipping on every single light in every single room, echoes louder than Steve thinks it should.

Maybe he should have gotten checked out by the EMT’s.

Once he’s lit the house up bright enough to be seen from the moon, he just sits down on the bottom step of his staircase. He suddenly doesn’t care about the ratty, blood-stained uniform he’s wearing. Or the fact that he reopened the cut above his eyebrow and blood is actively trickling down one side of his face and falling in tiny droplets onto the stair.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He should track down his first aid kit. He should do a lot of things. Instead of doing a single one, he just sits.

Getting up would mean dealing with everything that’s happened and doing it alone, again, like always. And he’s tired. Every time he closes his eyes he sees that Russian doctor’s face, and he swears the electrical hum of the base followed him home.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when the knock echoes on the door a few feet in front of him. He jumps to his feet, immediately pissing off his injuries, and blinks the haze out of his eyes as he unlocks the door.

He doesn’t even stop to consider who might be on his porch, mostly because it can’t be anyone but a random neighbor or a mailman who is running ridiculously late on his route.

It isn’t a mailman or a neighbor, though.

It’s you. Your hair still damp from a shower, wearing sweats and an old Hawkins High hoodie, with ugly bruises cresting across any bare skin. Standing on Steve’s front porch a few hours after he left you in the parking lot of what used to be Starcourt Mall, and is now a pile of smoke and ash.

And he has no goddamn clue why.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks, craning his head to peer around you. He isn’t sure what he expects to see—a monster running behind you—but it isn’t a calm, empty street. It isn’t a peaceful, quiet night. “Did something happen?”

You frown, brows twitching. “What? No, nothing happened.” You clear your throat. “I just—I wanted to make sure you were okay. Y’know. After everything today. I figured I’d check up on you.”

An unfamiliar sensation blooms in Steve’s chest. It starts out warm, but burns hotter and hotter as it crawls up the back of his throat and cinches it shut. He swallows forcefully, and he can still taste the metal twinge of blood.

“You figured you’d… check up on me?” The words have a meaning, but Steve can’t quite attach it.

“Uh, yeah,” you say. You press your lips together and rock back and forth on your heels. “You almost died, like, multiple times today.”

He remembers. His throat is still raw from begging.

“Huh. Must have slipped my mind,” he says, forcing one side of his mouth to lift, though he knows the half-smile falls flat.

“Yeah, well, you got hit pretty hard in the head. A bunch. I’m not surprised.” Your lips pull in a tiny smile as you speak, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. There’s something rigid to your expression and stance, and if Steve didn’t know better, he’d say you’re worried.

But he doesn’t know what’s left to worry about. The Mind Flayer is a pile of melted goo, and Billy is dead, and for now, the Upside Down is dealt with. All that’s left to do is pick up the pieces, but none of those pieces are here.

“So, can I come in?”

Steve says yes, because he doesn’t have a reason to say no. He never has when it comes to you. He steps back and out of the way, letting you slip past him and into the house.

And he swears, somehow, the cold house gets a little warmer with you inside it.

“You still haven’t treated that?” you ask, gesturing to the bloody mess of his face. “Steve—”

“I was getting to it,” he says. He locks the door behind you, using the second he’s turned away to compose himself. He’s still not sure why you’re here—you told him, but he doesn’t get it. Like, of all the people you could check up on, how did you end up here?

“Getting to it? Jesus—” You flutter about him like a frightened hen, hands ghosting up and down his arms, across his chest, over the dried blood and the slashed fabric. “You’ve got to get out of these clothes. Take a shower. God forbid something gets infected—”

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve says, lightly swatting your hands away.

“It’s absolutely a big deal,” you say. “In the last twelve hours, you’ve been held captive, interrogated, drugged, and also, part of a pretty bloody battle. It’s a big deal.”

“You were there, too,” Steve says lamely. As if he needs a reminder. The only thing that hurt more than being hit was watching it happen to you and not being able to do a damn thing to stop it.

“Uh-uh. Don’t even try that.” You shake your head. “You don’t think I know your game?”

“Game?” Steve asks.

“In the base. Anytime those guards so much as looked at Robin or me, you started running your mouth, pissing them off enough to draw the fire so it didn’t burn us. You’re the reason all I have to show for the day are a few bruises and scrapes.”

Steve’s lips part, but he can’t find any words to say. He’s just shocked you caught on. He shouldn’t be, but he is.

“I—” Steve starts.

You cock a brow, and Steve gives in, shrugging his shoulders.

“Better me than you or Robin,” he says. “I’ve been through worse.”

Except, he’s not so sure that’s true anymore. He’s told himself those words so many times, after each horrible, nightmare-inducing thing, but the truth is, each time is worse than the last.

That pattern doesn’t exactly bode well for him.

Your lips pull into a thin line. Steve can’t read your expression, but it makes something deep in his chest ache.

“I’m gonna ask you a question, and I want you to tell me the truth,” you say.

“That’s not ominous, or anything,” he says, trying at casualness like it’ll erase his blood and bruises.

“I’m serious,” you say.

Steve exhales sharply and says, “Shoot.”

A line forms between your brows.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

And he has no clue what to say.

The Steve who opened the door to you tonight is in no way the Steve from high school, who was confident and smooth and knew exactly what to say, but he’s still partly that guy. And if the situation was reversed—if it was him at your door, you with the injuries—he’d have this in the bag.

But no one has ever shown up at Steve Harrington’s door simply to make sure he’s okay.

Maybe that’s the reason he tells you the truth.

“No,” he says. “I’m not.”

Something inside him breaks as he says the words. Like he’s been held together by a clump of string for years, and the last one finally frays and snaps.

A sob climbs up his throat, and he tries to swallow it back down, but before he can, you’ve crossed the foyer and wrapped your arms around him. You bury your face in his chest and your fingers curl tight into the fabric of his shirt, and you’re warm and soft and even if you still smell a little bit like ash, Steve doesn’t care.

He stops fighting it. Lets all the horrible feelings, all the fear and loss and grief and regret, out of the cage he’s kept them locked in. He doesn’t even care how he must look, shaking in your arms, tears streaming silently down his cheeks and into your hair.

But you don’t seem to care, either, just holding him tight and whispering, “I’ve got you,” over and over. And he believes you. Just for a minute, in the dim front room, he believes you.

Eventually, Steve forces himself to extricate his limbs from yours, and he has to pretend the sudden loss of touch doesn’t sting. He’s already crossed all the lines he set so he wouldn’t ruin one of the few friendships he has.

“Look, it was cool of you to come over, but you really don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. Or, I will be. I always am, you know—” Steve waves at nothing, both his hands raised.

“Stop.”

Your fingers close around his wrists, stilling them in their wild gesturing. Steve freezes, too, eyes snapping to yours.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s your first aid kit?” you ask.

Steve sighs. “Bathroom.”

“Lead the way.”

-

You don’t leave after Steve’s many wounds have been disinfected and messily bandaged. And you’re still there when he gets out of the shower you order him into; he comes back into his bedroom to find you digging blankets and spare pillows out of the back of Steve’s closet.

It’s a clear message: you’re not going anywhere. Steve is so damn grateful he doesn’t have to ask for the company, he could kiss you.

Add it to the long, long list of reasons Steve Harrington wants to kiss you.

He stands in the bathroom doorway a moment, just watching you for a half a shorter longer than is not-creepy, before clearing his throat. You turn and a smile lifts your lips. Still, there are deep bags under your eyes, and your movements as you make a bed on the floor are slow, like you’re sore.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Steve says, leaning a hip into the doorway and folding his arms over his chest.

“What, are you volunteering?”

“Me? Not a chance,” he says. “If you remember, I was held captive, interrogated, and drugged today.”

You roll your eyes at his

“So, you’re kicking me out, then?”

“No,” Steve says, and loses all his confidence. He clears his throat. “I mean, my bed isn’t exactly small, and we’re both mature adults, so I figured we could handle—” He gestures wordlessly, hoping he doesn’t have to finish the sentence.

To his relief, you just nod a few times, suddenly refusing to meet his eye.

It’s quiet as the two of you flutter about before sliding in on opposite sides of the bed. It’s awkward, but not as awkward as Steve expects.

It’s more awkward because it feels normal. It feels like getting into bed with you is an action he was always meant for, and he doesn’t mean sex.

He means, a little house and a white picket fence and his glasses on the bedside table. A stack of your books on the other and your shoes on the floor at the end of the bed and a little dog or cat that you and Steve named something goofy.

A beautiful little life, and it starts here, with him climbing silently onto a creaky mattress with you tonight to do nothing other than sleep.

Maybe he got hit harder in the head than he realized.

You and Steve lay flat on your backs, hands at your sides, only a few inches between you despite Steve’s earlier boasting about the bed’s size. If he moved, or you did, you’d be touching.

“I really thought you were going to die down there,” you say after a few minutes of quiet. Steve wasn’t sure you were still awake. “I thought they were going to kill you. Robin and I didn’t know what they were doing to you, but every few minutes, we heard your screams, and I swear—” You stop. Pause. “It scared the hell out of me.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. Before he can figure something out, you go on, “If something happened to you, if I actually lost you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

And now Steve really has no clue what to say.

“You’d be okay,” he says. “And you don’t have to worry about me. You really don’t.”

“Yeah, I do,” you say. “Because if I don’t, who will?”

Steve stiffens. “I don’t need anybody’s pity—”

“It’s not pity, you idiot,” you say, angry and Steve isn’t sure why, isn’t sure what he said to piss you off. “I mean, three years now, I’ve watched you put everybody else first. You throw yourself in front of every single bullet from every single gun. And then, at the end of the fight, nobody… thanks you for it. I mean, you’re the only person who never really had a stake in this fight, but you stayed, because it was the right thing to do. Seeing people take that for granted, over and over, it kills me.”

Steve is quiet for a moment.

“What do you mean, the only one without a stake?” he asks. He rolls onto his side to face you, and though you dart a glance his way, your gaze drifts back to the ceiling.

“I mean, this all started with Will Byers, right? So, it makes sense that Mike and Dustin and Lucas were part of the fight. And then there’s El, which is self explanatory. Nancy and Jonathan were in it for their brothers. Joyce for her kid, and Hopper for Joyce. But you, Steve Harrington, you let Dustin into your car, and you drove onto the battlefield, and you never left. Haven’t you ever wondered why that is?”

“Because I’m an idiot, or I have a death wish, or both?”

“Funny,” you say. “You’re a good man, Steve. I really wish you could see it. I wish everyone could see it.”

“Me too,” he says quietly, so quietly he’s not sure he can hear.

You inhale. “You make me so mad sometimes, you know.”

“Not really a shock,” Steve says. “It’s kind of my thing.”

“No, that’s not—I don’t mean that. I mean, yeah, sometimes, but—” You turn your head and meet his eyes. This time, you don’t look away. “But you’re one of the smartest, toughest, bravest people I’ve ever met in my life, and I love the hell out of you for it, and it pisses me off because you still just see yourself as this asshole who deserves all the crap that comes at him. And you don’t.”

Affection swells in his chest, and it’s so big he can barely breathe, but it’s the best feeling in the world. He doesn’t even decide to kiss you. One second, he’s on his own pillow. The next, he lifts a hand to your cheek and lifts his head, leans in, presses his lips to yours.

And you kiss him back. You roll toward him, into his arms, and your hands are in his hair and your breaths are hot and uneven against his lips, and hell, all the alcohol and drugs in the world have nothing on you. Steve thinks he could do this forever.  

It’s only when his brain starts to turn itself back on a few minutes later that he breaks away, forehead dipped against yours, and says, softly, “I love the hell out of you, too.”

You tilt your chin up, mouth finding his again, and you’re both smiling, limbs entangled and sheets twisted around you.

“And I kind of like when you take care of me,” he whispers.

“Good,” you say. “Because you should get used to it.”

“That sounds like a promise.”

“It is,” you say, “and I intend on keeping it.”

And though Steve hasn’t seen much but broken promises, he believes you. He kisses you again, and he can taste the truth on your lips.

-

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[thatgirlstrawberry]

Spencer's Secret

In which Spencer doesn't answer his phone and the team goes to check on him and an unfamiliar person answers the door

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, mentions of sex, horny!Spencer lol, uhhhh lmk if anything else was missed!

Spencer Reid had never been sick a day in his life.

That's why when Morgan had received a voice-mail from him that he wouldn't be coming into work the next day (with a very unconvincing cough), Morgan had his doubts.

Spencer was actually just at home with his secret girlfriend. It was her birthday and the two just wanted to spend the day together.

Y/N wasn't a people person. So on her birthday, that meant no parties, no outings and no overwhelming gifts. Just the two of them, spending time with and loving one another.

The reason Spencer had never told the team about his girlfriend because he didn't want them all in his business and asking about her. And it worked out perfectly because he had told Y/N that his friends were very extroverted people and she wasn't by any means.

It was hard enough to try and get Y/N to get to know him because she was so shy and filled with anxiety. Now she was shy with anyone but him. With Spencer, she felt that she could be herself.

After a long steamy morning, Y/N and Spencer walked out of the bathroom wrapped in towels. "That was a good birthday present, Spence." She smiled, using a small towel to dry her newly washed hair.

Spencer hummed, catching up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He stopped her from walking and kiss her neck. "I'm called off of work today so we can do that as many times as we want."

"Mmm, I like that idea." She giggled, feeling his hands roaming her body. "I think we should pace ourselves though. We wouldn't want to get too exhausted." She smirked and spun around, wrapping her arms around his neck, standing on her tippy toes.

Spencer shrugged. "I wouldn't mind it." He shook his head before leaning down to kiss her. Y/N almost melted.

"Spence, we just took a shower." She groaned as she felt his hand clutch the top of her towel.

"Good thing we still have running water then. Huh?"

○●○●○

Morgan furrowed his eyebrows at his phone after listening to Reid's voice mail. Something wasn't right. He could've sworn he heard the shower running in the background.

"Morgan, is something bothering you?" Hotch asked as he walked into the bullpen.

The man nodded. "Yeah... Reid's not coming in today. Said he's not feeling well but something ain't right. I've called him six times and he hasn't answered. I'm worried about him."

"That boy has never been sick in his life." Emily said, shaking her head. "What if he's... in trouble or something?"

Rossi scoffed. "More like in someone." He mumbled. No one seemed to hear him.

Garcia bit her lip. "Maybe we should go check on him. Bring him some soup or something. If I'm being honest, it's worrying me that he won't answer his phone. I tried to call him this morning to tell him about the Doctor Who marathon in the park and he didn't pick up. Even after I left him the message." She nodded.

JJ sighed. "You guys, maybe he really is sick. We don't treat each other like this when one of us is sick." She paused as everyone took that into consideration. "Nah, who am I kidding. It's Spence."

"We should all head over there." Hotch told them.

Morgan was already advancing towards the doors. "I'll start the SUV."

○●○●○

After yet another shower, Spencer was trying trying his best to cook Y/N lunch seeing as the two had worked up quite an appetite. However, he was failing miserably. Spencer wasn't a chef and Y/N was perfectly fine with frozen waffles.

Y/N turned on the radio and danced in the kitchen while Spencer rifled through the freezer for the frozen waffles. All she had on was one of his navy blue sweaters and a pair of shorts and his socks.

"Do you have the blueberry syrup?" Y/N asked, standing on her tippy toes to peer over his shoulder. Spencer turned his head and kissed her cheek, nodding.

Before Y/N could tear him away from the freezer and kiss him, a knock came from the front door. Spencer groaned and sighed. "I'm sorry. Do you mind getting that? I know i have waffles somewhere in here."

"Sure, babe." She kissed his neck and then happily walked to the door. She opened it with a smile.

○●○●○

"Okay, everyone. We're here." Hotch said before getting out of the SUV. They were in front of Spencer's apartment building.

Emily squinted her eyes. "His curtains are open." She noticed.

"We should get up there." Garcia nodded, beginning to move to the door of his building.

The rest followed her quickly. They all walked up the stairs and JJ moved in front of the group when they reached his apartment. They all looked at each other when they realized that there had been music playing from inside. She leaned forward and knocked loudly on the door.

After a few moments, the door swung open and a woman in his unbelievably recognizable sweater (that was huge on her) and shorts met them with a smile. Her smiled dropped when she saw all of their shocked faces.

Derek glanced at Emily. "I'm sorry, do we have the wrong apartment or somethin'?" He asked. The girl furrowed her eyebrows.

"Sorry, who are you?" Y/N asked shyly.

"I'm Derek... who are you?"

"Uhhh...-"

She heard footsteps from behind her. "Hey, babe who-"

Spencer stopped in his tracks when he saw his entire team standing at his door with shocked looks on their faces.

"Is it just me or is there a girl in Reid's apartment?" JJ asked, not blinking. "And did he just call her babe?"

The doctor cleared his throat and nervously scratched the back of his neck. "Uh... guys, this is... Y/N... my girlfriend."

"Girlfriend!?" The team all simultaneously shouted. Y/N stepped back a little bit, feeling self conscious.

Spencer reached out to grab her hand and tugged her to his side. "Yeah. Uh, Y/N, this is Jennifer, David, Emily, Aaron, and Derek. These are the people I work with."

Y/N waved shyly and blushed. "Uh excuse me. I'm gonna go change... uh clothes." She stuttered.

The woman quickly broke away from her boyfriend's side and rushed to Spencer's bedroom and shut the door quickly. Spencer watched her go. He didn't look back at the team for a good ten seconds after she disappeared.

They were all silent until Morgan spoke. "Well ain't she cute 'lil thang?" He smiled. "Reid you... have a girl? For how long?"

"Six months, eight days, and about twenty-one hours." He told them, trying to avoid their eyes. "I've known her for about two years."

Garcia gasped. "Our boy wonder has a girlfriend!? And he didn't think to tell us!?" She asked rather loudly.

Spencer put his finger up to his lips. "Shhh! Guys she's really shy amd doesn't like new people all that much." He told them quietly.

One by one, they filed into the apartment, shooting him smiles. "My man!" Morgan smiled brightly, clamping his hand down on Reid's shoulders. Spencer tried to fight the smile that appeared on his face.

"I knew it, kid." Rossi shook his head. "I knew you weren't sick." He chuckled, shaking his head.

Spencer guiltily looked down. "I'm sorry I lied." Everyone looked at him. "It's just- It's her birthday, and she doesn't like to go out a lot and I just wanted to make her feel special since our job is so demanding." He told them, glancing back at his bedroom door.

"I understand Reid, but you could've told us." Hotch said. Spencer nodded and put a smile on his face when he heard his bedroom door open. He turned around and she had changed into the jeans that she came over in the might before but still had on his sweater with her hands stiffed inside the sleeves.

"So I take it Spencer never told you all about me?" They all shook their heads. "Well I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you all."

As the rest of the afternoon went on, Y/M found herself being a little more comfortable with these people whom she had just met. It was hard but she was really trying.

And Spencer couldn't love her any more for it.

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

Hey y'all!

I hope you liked this request! It was so fun to write because Spence being horny is just too funny 🤣

Love y'all and thanks for reading <3

[mediocre-writerr]

cardigan [amelia shepherd]

folklore challenge: day 2

amelia shepherd x fem!reader

requested by anon: say no more with the angst! can I request an Amelia angsty one shot where the reader comes in as Jane Doe and Amelia has only seen a glimpse of her bloodied hand when she realizes how severe the situation is. Even thought the rest of the team is busy working on her they let Amelia stay and stroke her hair and try to keep fem!reader calm and responsive since they know it might be their last moment. You can make it so angsty and I love your writing!

*not my gif*

“Amelia, you know the drill, let’s just give her some space. She’s going to be a little groggy as she wakes up,” an unfamiliar voice filled your ears as you stirred awake. 

You cringed at the headache that was pounding, “Hey, it’s good to see you,” a brunette girl with beautiful blue eyes told you.

You turned towards a shorter doctor who seemed a little older than the brunette, “Y/N, it’s okay. You’re in the hospital, you were in a car accident. You hit your head, but you’re okay,” you still looked at them with your eyebrows furrowed. 

“How are you feeling?” the bright blue eyed woman asked.

“Like I just got hit by a semi,” you told her and she laughed softly.

“Well you kinda did,” the girl said before the shorter doctor gave her a look. 

A small grin broke out onto your face, “Was anyone else hurt doctor?” you asked the blue eyed woman.

The shorter woman and the blue eyed one looked at each other, “Y/N, you know who I am right?” 

“You’re my doctor?” you said, but it came out as more of a question.

She shook her head, taking the seat next to you, “Um, I’m Amelia, your fiancee,”

You let out a breath, confusion written all over your face. You looked at your hand to see a beautiful ring on your ring finger. 

“I loved you? I can’t remember...” 

Amelia’s heart stopped as she thought back to this morning. Everything was perfectly normal this morning. You knew who she was this morning. 

The smell of coffee filled your nostrils as you started to stir about in bed. You reached your hand over, patting the other side of the bed, and groaned when you found it was empty.

You pulled the covers off of your body and let your bare feet hit the cool wooden floor. You were wearing Amelia's vintage tee and gray sweatpants as you made your way past all the energetic kids getting ready for school and towards the kitchen.

"Good morning Y/N!" Zola said as she ran past you.

"Morning," you mumbled, "Have a good day at school kids,"

"Bye Y/N!" Meredith's three kids yelled as they ran out of the house.

You finally turned into the kitchen to see your girlfriend pouring her coffee into her to-go cup. She was dressed up all fancy in heels and everything.

You stood up behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist before placing a soft lingering kiss on her jawline. Your heart skipped a beat when she let out a contented sigh, "Good morning, big conference today?"

"Good morning and yes sadly, trust me I'd much rather stay in bed especially after the special night we had last night," she turned around in your arms, placing a kiss to your lips.

Amelia grabbed your hand, "Where's your ring?" she asked.

"I thought we were keeping it a secret for now?" you asked her.

"We are, but there's no one here anymore. You can wear it and flaunt it off in front of me," she told you, a sheepish smile on her face.

You ran back to your room to grab the ring that was on your bedside table. You smiled at it before sliding it onto your ring finger as you made your way back to Amelia.

"Ah perfect," Amelia said, looking at you wearing your ring, "Soon we're going to be Mrs. and Mrs. Y/L/N-Shepherd,"

"I can't wait," you murmured, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her into a deep kiss. She wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you unbelievably closer.

The kiss grew more and more passionate, your hands playing with the hair in the nape of her neck. Her hands that were once around your waist were now moving slightly lower, "Amelia are you ready to-oh God!" Maggie's voice rang out.

You left your arms around Amelia's neck, hiding the new ring she got you last night, "Yeah, yeah I'm ready," she placed on more quick kiss to your lips.

"Good morning Maggie," you told her, your hands behind your back.

"Good morning Y/N, sorry to interrupt," she told you and you laughed softly.

"No worries, we'll continue it later," you shot Amelia a wink as Maggie's face twisted into disgust.

Amelia sent you a smirk, "TMI! Come on guys!"

You let out a roar of laughter before using your right hand to wave them off, "Have a good day,"

Amelia cleared her throat before standing up from the chair, “Excuse me,” 

“Amelia-” the shorter doctor shouted before running after her down the hallway.

She finally caught up to Amelia who locked herself in a supply closet, “You said everything looked good!” 

“It did! Koracick made sure he took away all of her brain bleeds, but you know more than anyone else here that the brain isn’t like a broken bone! It’s complicated!” Dr. Bailey told her.

Amelia aggressively wiped away her tears. She nodded, “She doesn’t remember me! The love of my life! My childhood sweetheart! She doesn’t remember!” she shouted. 

“Why don’t you take the day off?” Dr. Bailey whispered, “She’s gonna need you more than anything,”

Dr. Bailey left the room as Amelia slid onto the ground. Her back up against the door as she curled her knees up to her chest. She let the sobs wreck her entire body. 

All the memories they shared together. All the good and the bad times. The secret moments. All of that was shared between two people and now it’s only shared in one. 

“C’mon Y/N, let’s get you home,” Amelia told you as you stumbled away from Jo and Alex’s wedding.

She wrapped a protective arm around your waist as she pulled you closer. You drunkenly stopped in your tracks, looking up at her. The music from the party behind you echoed towards the two of you, “Dance with me please. It’s my favorite song,” 

You wrapped your arms around her neck. She smiled at you as you just started to sway, “Only one dance,” 

The two of you swayed silently as the song played out, “Do you think our wedding will be as eventful as their’s?” 

“You wanna marry me?” Amelia asked.

You looked at her like she grew two heads, “I’ve wanted to marry you since we were little kids playing hide and seek and having sleepover on the weekends. It’s always been you, Amelia,” 

“I love you Y/N,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

Days went by and you were doing better. Everything was doing better except for your memory. 

Amelia was a wreck everyone could tell. She barely went into work and when she did she made other people do her surgeries. She didn’t eat or sleep. It was hard to when the person she loved the most doesn’t even remember her.

She just kept thinking, how the hell did they get here. 

“So you and Y/N had a good night last night?” Maggie asked as the two were walking the halls of Grey Sloan. 

Amelia had a small smile on her face, “You could say that, yeah,” 

“What’s that smile?!” Maggie exclaimed nudging her shoulder. 

“No one’s supposed to know this yet, but Y/N and I are engaged!” Amelia whisper-yelled. 

She squealed in response, tackling her in a hug, “Oh my gosh! I am so happy for you two!” 

She was about to respond when she felt a buzz in her pager. Before she could check hers, Maggie’s went off as well. The two of them reading the pagers before running off towards the trauma center.

“What do we got?” Amelia asked, Owen as her, Maggie, Bailey, and Link slide up next to him.

“Jane Doe, she was hit by a semi. The truck driver apparently lost control of the semi and went flying towards the intersection,” he tells them and they all nod.

“Is she conscious?” Bailey asked.

“She’s been in and out,” 

As if right on the cue the ambulance stopped in front of the trauma doors. The paramedics wheeling the gurney out and towards all of you. They immediately brought the Jane Doe to the trauma room. 

Amelia, shined her bright flashlight into the Jane Doe’s eyes. The eyes looking vaguely familiar, but she quickly shrugged it off. Link started inspecting her broken leg. While Bailey and Maggie were looking over her vitals. 

It wasn’t until Amelia’s eyes landed on Jane Doe’s hand. Her left hand had dry blood all over it, but the one thing that stood out the most was the ring that was on her finger. The ring that Amelia got custom made.

She immediately looked back into your eyes to see you were already look at her. You opened the palm of your hand and extended it out towards her. Amelia gasped as she dropped her flashlight. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Owen asked.

“Page Koracick,” she said, immediately grasping for your hand.

“What? Why?” 

Everyone stopped what they were doing and just stared at her, “Because it’s Y/N,” 

And with those three words, Owen stopped what he was doing and paged him. Amelia took the stool and placed it next to where your head laid. She took her fingers and let out a shaky breath before running her hands through your hair.

“Hi love,” she whispered to you. You let out a small smile, physically in pain at just the simple gesture, “You’re going to be okay, okay?” 

Tom came bursting into the room with his trauma gown on, “Hey Y/N! How are you doing today?” he asked as he made his way up to where you could see him, “Right, that was a bad question. I’m gonna run a couple tests on you, okay?”

He walked back down to where your feet were, “Alright can you please wiggle your toes for me?” You tried moving your toes with all of your might, “Great, you’re doing great Y/N,” 

Amelia looked at him expectedly and he just shook his head. She let out a shaky breath, placing a kiss to your forehead.

“We’re gonna get her in for a head CT,” Tom said, but before he could wheel you out your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as you faded from consciousness.

“Y/N! Y/N, baby come on!” the younger Shepherd begged. Her bright blue eyes shifted towards your monitor to see what the problem was.

“Her pressure’s bottoming out!” Maggie said.

“We need to get her to the OR now!”

Amelia came back to reality as you asked her a question, “So I live with you and Meredith and all of her kids?” 

“Yeah, but you spend so much time in your office that Link built for you in the backyard that you’re barely inside,” she teased and you smiled.

“Why did Link build me an office outside?” you asked.

“Well you’re working on your first manuscript for your novel. You always joke and complain about how loud the kids are, so finally for your birthday Link built you an office,” Amelia told you, “I’ll show it to you when we get to the house,”

She led you to the backyard where you were in a quaint office. The office had sticky notes plastered all over the walls. Amelia pulled out the chair that was behind the typewriter, “You were always into vintage stuff, so instead of getting a laptop like a normal person, you bought yourself a typewriter.”

You sat down into the seat to see the words of the leftover manuscript that wasn’t finished. There were more pages down on the desk. Your supposed fiancee pressed a button on the remote which caused loud music to blast from the speakers. 

You felt your hands start to shake as the words that were in front of you were just a stranger’s words that were supposed to be your own. The music started to cause a pounding in your head.

“I would always be in such awe on how you focused like that. You always complained about the kids, but the music that blasted filled you with inspiration. It’s like words would just flow out of you. It was so-” Amelia went on and on. 

“God damnit! Please lower the music! It’s giving me a headache!” you yelled, taking her back by surprise.

Amelia lowered the music and then slammed the remote on the ground, “I am trying to help you!” she screamed back at you.

She lowered her voice, “But I am not your punching bag. We don’t talk to each other like this! Even when we were little kids we never yelled at each other like this. I know this is hard for you, but this hard for me too,” 

She stormed back into the house slamming her hand into the kitchen table. Her eyes filled with tears. She let out a sigh before looking at the beautiful messy finger painting.

Amelia sighed after a long day of endless surgeries. All she wanted to do was wrap you in your arms and hold you tight and just go to bed. But before she could go she heard loud laughter coming from the kitchen.

She saw you with little yellow finger painted onto your face. Ellis’ hand stained yellow as the wooden table underneath the two of you were dressed with paint. Zola and Bailey were working on their own and it was a lot less messy.

“So, what’s going on here?” Amelia asked and all four of you shot your head up scared.

“Arts and crafts,” you told her proudly. 

She laughed, “You know if Meredith comes home and sees the mess she’s gonna be pissed,” 

You lifted Ellis off your lap before making your way over to her. You kissed her softly. Just as she walked away from you, you grabbed her face and kissed her more and more. 

Amelia let out a gasp before grabbing the paintbrush and brushed more paint onto my face. You gasped before spreading more and more paint all over her. She finally ran out into the backyard with you following suit.

You finally caught up to her and wrapped your arms around her waist. She let out a squeal as you put more and more paint on her face. The two of you tripped over each other’s feet and fell onto the ground. 

She moved the hair away from your face and kissed you, “You have something all over your face,” you pointed around her face and she laughed softly.

“And you two got paint all over my kitchen,” Meredith said, her arms crossed.

“We’ll clean it up,” you told her.

The kids were standing next to her smiling sheepishly, “Oh I know you will, but you should probably hose yourself down,” 

With the help of the kids she lifts up a paint bucket and pours it all over the two of you. Amelia’s hand went to her pocket, her hands grazing, protecting the box that in her hands. The box that held her entire future.

Things with you didn’t get better. The two of you were in yet another argument over how this thing wasn’t working. 

“I’ve been driving myself insane making a complete ass of myself! While I’m trying to do everything I can to try and save this...to save us!” she screamed. 

You let out a breath, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you,” you whispered, “I’m just so tired of disappointing you,” 

“I know,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry. I just think it’ll be best if I go back to New York, spend some time with my family,” you told her.

“Okay,” was all she said before walking away.

You were about to step onto the last train to New York. When you heard a familiar voice come running towards you, “Y/N! Y/N wait!” 

Link was running towards you with a portfolio in your hand, “I know you’re not writing anymore, but it seemed like a waste if all of these months of work were going to leave,” 

“Thank you,” 

As you stepped onto the last train, Amelia was sitting in your once shared bedroom. She was wearing your hoodie that was stashed in her closet. She held it close to her taking in your scent. 

Tears falling down her cheeks. She looked at the ring that she fiddled in her hand. Everyone from her childhood has left her, was she the problem?

Her mother and other sisters thought that she was a disappointment.

Addison is in Los Angeles.

Mark is dead.

Her father is dead.

Derek is dead.

Your love for her and your friendship with her is dead. It left just as quickly as a father would. And it ran just like running water. She threw the ring against the wall before burying herself in her sheets. 

You were reading the manuscript when all of a sudden a letter stopped you in your tracks:

Dear Y/N,

My whole life everyone has left me or they’ve died. You were the only person who has ever stood by my side through it all. 

For the first time in my life, you made me feel like I belonged somewhere, and that place was by your side.

From there, you introduced me to things I never dreamed of, and you showed me what it means to be loved unconditionally. 

Without you, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. You are my best friend and the love of my life. Thank you.

That was when your brain pieced together everything else. 

You looked up from the letter to see Amelia on one knee in the backyard. She looked at you with a small smile and teary eyes.

“Everything in that letter I meant. I love you so much and I can’t imagine doing my life without you. So if you please Y/N do me the great honor and marry me,” she whispered.

It was your turn for your eyes to tear up, but you nodded and smiled at her, “I would love that,” 

You looked up from your seat on the train and ran out of the doors. You saw the familiar blonde hair as you made your way towards the parking lot.

“Link! Link wait!” you shouted, catching his attention. He turned to you with his eyebrows furrowed, “Can you take me back to my future wife please?” 

“Wait do you-” 

You nodded, “I remember Link, everything,” 

He wrapped his arms around you and spun you around. The two of you packed into the car and he sped towards Meredith’s. You knocked on the door, the only light coming from the house was the dim porch light. 

You paced back and forth before she opened the door, “Y/N? What are you doing here?” 

You took her face in your hands and pulled her in for a long lingering kiss. She pulled away breathless, her eyes filled with hope, “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you whispered.

“I knew you’d come back to me,” she whispered back before kissing you even harder than before.

[husbandohunter]

Stardew Impact [Stardew Valley+Genshin Impact x Reader]

Part 2/3 Zhongli, Xiao

Synopsis: “A mysterious phenomenon brought you and your s/o to an unfamiliar world: Pelican Town! Without the power of Visions, the two of you begin to learn the life of what it takes to be...a farmer?”

(DOMESTIC FARM LIFE ROUND TWO)

Genre: Fluff

Others

Diluc and Kaeya

Albedo and Childe

(A/n): This was meant to be part 3 but I couldn't wait to write xiao. Plus Ive been writing Albedo for almost the whole month already Word count_2.6k

-------

Xiao

• Thrown in an unfamiliar environment puts Xiao on high alert. Instincts kick in and his hand subconciously grabs for his spear. Nothing. Not even his vision activated. Xiao's gaze darts all over before landing on your figure. He sighs in relief, you're safe, that much he can decipher as of now.

• Stripped of his power, left with only claws and teeth (if must) to protect you from any dangers, he was ansty with every little thing. 

• The villagers are so nice??? For what reason must they have to act so friendly to strangers (Xiao wonders). The Mayor even granted you two a vast farmland free of charge. 

• Shortly he realized he no longer had his karmaic debt. Xiao wasn't sure how to live his life in this state. He dedicated his entire existence to years of slaughter and suffering that it became the only thing he knew. He won't admit it of course, he'll just throw in scoffs and remarks about how mundane activities are a waste of time when in reality, he just has no clue on how to handle them.

• Thats why the first day was difficult as you both try to figure out how to plant parnsips. Deciding it was better to go with an experiment, you split the share of seeds in half and used what basic knowledge you had on farming to finish the job. Xiao on the other hand tried copying what you did….though the outcome wasn't so desirable it was a mess. (His trained hands have taught him to be on the rough side).

• He doesn't bother socializing with the townspeople even though he has no karmaic debt to worry about. Xiao thinks you're more than enough anyways so what's the point? 

• Robin is the only person who can tolerate him for obvious reasons (cough Sebastian cough) she knows exactly how to deal with his personality type. His glares don't faze her, she simply thinks its just a teenage phase of some sort. 

• Eventually they become mutuals, Xiao thinks Robin is similar to Verr Goldet in a way. Since he's the one who does the heavy labour of chopping down trees and mining stones for building upgrades, he gets a chance to visit her house quite often. He comes back with lots of recipes too.

• You find out that his adepti blood never left him. Xiao doesn't need sleep so you better believe it when he tells you the next morning that he spent the whole night watering all 300 of your crops (watering is the only process he's good at for farming). 

• Sometimes you catch him staring out of the window, wondering what he may be thinking. Life was so much more different, almost hard to recognize. Was this real? Is it okay for it to be real, just this once? Ever since he committed his duty to Morax, Xiao didn't dream of a time when everything would be peaceful. Yet here he is, no longer a weapon but on a journey to find out what it's like to live as a normal person. 

• Spring: Every morning you find him kneeling behind the cabin with the pet cat (yes, cats seem to suit Xiao very much). He just stares at them, hesitant if he wanted to pet their fur or rub their chin. So he continues to glare intensely, scaring your cat away :(

• Whenever you wanted to attend any of the town's festivities, Xiao wouldn't even hide his distastefulness but goes with you regardless. Why do mortals consider hiding eggs and finding them a fun activity? And what kind of a name is Flower Dance? Can't they just call it a dance?

• Though…he does like the sight of you wearing a flower crown. Xiao likes putting stuff in your hair.

Since setting foot upon this new world, time seemed to have slowed down to the point that almost everything felt like an eternity. And you didn't mind, with him by your side, you wouldn't mind if it did last forever.

The lull of the grass was the only sound Xiao could hear as he closed his eyes and rested his head on your lap. You maneuvered across his scalp in small, subtle motions, surprised with how warm he felt against the heat your palm. He stirs a little and lets out a soft breath before turning his face to lay on the side.

You were slightly intrigued by the yaksha's new demeanor. From far away, Xiao was an intimidating man, even during the first time you laid eyes him, his presence felt similar to a knife pointing at anyone who dares to come too close. But now, the face that usually held his signature annoyance melted into something you never thought you'd see as the sun rays brushed against the surface of his fair skin. You observed the way his dark eyebrows stayed in a relaxed arch. The red crescents lining right above his beautiful long lashes and the sound of soft snores through parted lips. It was hard to believe that this man was the same person who claimed to have ended a thousand lives through thousands of years.

Did he fall asleep already?

Gently moving away the strands away from his cheekbone, hovered your gaze above him and whispered, "I thought adepti don't need rest."

"Hmph," Xiao responds, though there was no harshness in his tone, "Quit trying to be difficult, I didn't tell you to stop."

The smug grin on your face only widens. You lean downward and said to his ear, "And what's the magic word~?"

Xiao sighs at your antics. You were truly pushing your luck today and he simply didn't have the patience to entertain you. Without a warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you down, foreheads pressing until you were but a breath away. The adepti conquers, he does not plead.

• Summer: As expected, your parnsnips weren't able to grow as much. Thus, this season was going to be the one to make up for the lost profit. Xiao is very good at hunting, perhaps the best in the entire town. Though the way he catches fish is rather peculiar, said by the folks. He prefers to carve a spear made of wood and repeatedly stabs the lake until results show. Xiao dislikes the old fashioned way, he says its unproductive and it unecissarily takes too much time. 

• But as much as he scared the whole town, they were extremely grateful when he cleaned up the slime issues happening in the mines. You could say that he grew very popular since then and eventually mustered up the courage to greet him a hello whenever he passes by. 

• You nudge him to reply back. Xiao usually shoots you a glare but slowly, he learns the courtesy of acknowledging someone's prescence.

• Fall: You woke up to a burnt smell coming from the kitchen. Xiao just thought he would return the favour since you always worked so hard. (He was actually trying to figure out what a 'whisk' was. It was no wonder why there were eggshells in the dish!)

• You realized that Xiao was taking more initation compared to before. At night, when you thought the animals were actively jumping in the barns, the noise was actually from Xiao trying to adjust himself to the ways of tending the field. After learning what TV was, he would always switch to the channel "Livin off the land" to gain some insight. Truly, Xiao was greatful even though he knew he eventually had to return to his duties, he wanted to utilize the current days the best way he could. And what better way was it to just make you happy in return?

• Winter: This was the season to test the accumulation of Xiao's abilities: you caught a cold and he had to manage everything in his own. Xiao scolded you for not wearing enough and being too careless but at the same he considered that you must've been working too hard.

• Goes to Robin for help. She basically became his mom now. Prepares the food and leaves them in the fridge, she teaches Xiao how to use the phone in case he needed any help and also lets him know where all the essentials are. 

• Xiao stayed by your side the whole time even though you told him you'd be fine. But he refuses, he may no longer be a gaurdian but he was your gaurdian. That role never changed.

~~x~~

Zhongli

• You wake up on a soft bed with Zhongli sitting at a chair nearby. He hands you a cup of brewed water but you're still blatlantly confused. Seems like everything was taken care of by Zhongli, it ends up with him explaining everything to you. 

• The folks instantly assumes you both as a married couple. Who could blame them? He did carry your unconcious body all the way to town while asking for a local doctor. You can bet that the ladies wish they were you at that moment. Zhongli took care of everything, including with the contract with the new farm.

• It didn't take long for you both to adjust to the new lifestyle. Zhongli's accumulated knowledge was enough to last all four seasons. Days past by peacefully as you shared the tasks. He'd place down the stone paths towards the gate and you busied yourself with decorating the house. After that was done, Zhongli would rest upon the rocking chair outside your door (like the grandpa he is) and sometimes you'd join him in one reading session. His voice was soothing, you eventually dipped into a slumber as the evening grew colder. Just like always, your beloved brings his arm to encapsulate you from the wind, brushing his thumb against your skin subconciously while you snore softly into his shoulder.

• In a way, the townsfolk were right. You both do act like a married couple. It's basically domestic life with Zhongli in a nutshell.

• He gets connected with Gunther and lands a role in the Museum. Since he's there so often, Zhongli also manages to be acquainted with Elliot as well. Two men who have a common interest with books while speaking in poetic prose. Their conversation would last for hours to the point Gunther had to kick them out of the library!

• Veeeery good with the children, not in an entertaining way but its just the aura he reeks. Penny usually had trouble dealing with Vincent since he never seems to be able to focus but the minute Zhongli speaks, he's all ears. Not only that he was also very good with the elderly. He even recommended some herbs George could take to soothe his back issues.

• Problem is that he still forgets to bring his wallet and Childe isn't here to save him. So once you stepped foot into the Stardrop Saloon and Gus calls you over, he tells you about the cost he owed to his tab….

• But this tranquil life full of genuinity and deprived of sovereignty, he was overjoyed to be able to spend it with you. Because he knew you were unlike him, that all humans were born with an expiry date. He knew so well that after every new greeting, he would have to face the goodbyes over and over until the world eventually came to an end. He knew you were also going to be part of those many goodbyes while he would still be here.

• But as Zhongli walks amongst the fallen leaves, he remembered the beauty that carries within every new beginning. They brought him to you and he would never hesitate to trade his gnosis for it.

Spring: You shot up your bed when Zhongli blast the TV at full volume. He apologizes, saying that he was simply trying to change the channel. You figured it was best for him to go outside before he somehow glitches the screen until it couldn't repair itself (Robin charges for repairs).

• Every thursday you both go to Pierre's store to complete your grocery shopping. He offers to push the cart as you fill the basket with all the necessities (plus it saves you the trouble of having him tossing whatever he sees without looking at the price tag).

• Every afternoon you order a take out from the Saloon, sharing the meal while sitting at the fountain's edge near the community center. Every evening Zhongli would take you to explore the rest of the vast farmland, discovering places you weren't even aware of. It was no wonder why everyone thought you were a married couple. 

• Summer: Since the cabin was too small for a bathroom, you guys would have to travel up the mountains in order to get to the Spa house (cue sweatiness x10). 

• The concept of hotsprings was derived from Inazuma so it was no surprise that Liyue eventually took it after him. Zhongli had collected some incense from foraging items over the past few months, he knows whats up. But overall he gives the best bath sessions (hands down) and you were the one who insisted in joining him.  He was a gentle and sweet lover, always putting your needs before his. Ancient artifacts and old history books have always been precious to him, he treated you no differently.

The heartbeat of the oceans continues to rock back and forth until they brush up on the sandy shore, washing away the two pairs of footprints left behind by a man and a woman.

Gold against gold, his amber eyes reflected against the scenery. Millions of lights flashed among the sea when the sun began to climb down from the sky, it's rays hugged across the valley like an ethereal glow bestowed by the heavens as summer's wind brought even more warmth than what he had currently felt. You trance ahead of with the same light shaping around your form. 

"Oh hey there's another rainbow shell," you waved at him before running off, "I'll be back!"

How is it that you still continue to shine like gold in his memories?

Zhongli suddenly ponders at the chapters laying ahead of him. He spent so many years turning each page without ever reaching a conclusion, forever searching the fabled happy endings written in fairytale books, but he knew his immortality wouldn't grant him that wish.

Thus, the formal archon raised his pen and reweaves his own story. He envisions his future with you by his side, engraving every detail until it was immortalized in his memories.

Perhaps I shouldn't keep her waiting.

With a renewed resolve, Zhongli clutches the gemstone tightly in his palm, he seals the page with the final contract between your future and his.

• Fall: After getting your first house upgrade, it was time for the next event: the ceremony. Yes, Zhongli would only have a wedding if Liyue traditions were involved. Everyone was invited of course, they were quite intrigued with the flashy setup such as lanterns and fireworks (you were a little worried with where he got the budget for such items) and Zhongli even educated Gus about some recipes he can use for the Saloon.

• You found out that Zhongli was saving all his money for this day (it was no wonder that he couldn't pay for his tab!). Old habits die hard, it was a shame that he didn't have his powers to craft the right items, but at least he got to sea you in a traditional eastern dress (it's the part he was looming forward to the most).

• Fall is the best season. One you wouldn't forget.

• Winter: Ah he finally learns how to use  technology after three seasons. He only knows two channels from the TV which was 'Livin off the Land' and the weather channel. Zhongli oftens talks to himself as he tries to figure out more mechanics, he seems to be extremely absorbed in the most basic things.

• The miner of the house. But instead of using them to upgrade tools and donating them to the museum, Zhongli likes to keep some of them for collection. You could say your house also had a little museum in the other room.

• Romcom movies and soap operas. You can't change my mind that this is what you both spend your time watching as the snowstorm rages outside. 

[nagipops]

Hello!Can I request Giyuu x wind hashira reader who is very kind and compassionate to others (even demons).She’s also a doctor who’s amazing at concocting a medicine ( just like Shinobu) and she’s also Giyuu’s best friend ( She always protect him from Shinobu insults).Thank you very much,feel free to write this if you’re comfortable❣️.Also Sanemi and Shinobu are like her real brother and sister💖)Love ya~Have a great day~💕

FEATHERLIGHT

FEATURING: giyuu tomioka!

SUMMARY: in which your reward after a poignant battle becomes your new motivation.

WARNINGS: blood/gore tw, fem!reader

A/N: loved this prompt! my apologies for this being so late; it got buried in my inbox :( thank you for being so patient, this was incredibly fun to write!

"Ara ara, Tomioka-san," your sister's lilting voice sounded from behind you as the familiar scent of flora enveloped your senses. "Having some fun with my little butterfly again, aren't you?"

"Tch." Giyuu's cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink as he swiftly dropped your arm from his grip.

Whirling around to face your sister with a scowl, you cried, "Shinobu! We were just practicing sparring, don't get any ideas!" You could feel your face begin to heat up at your teasing sister.

"Mmm," she raised an eyebrow inquisitively before poking your cheek with a slender finger. "Maybe you should get to work concocting a love potion for a certain someone..."

"That's enough," Giyuu muttered, grabbing a hold of your arm once again. "Come on, let's go practice somewhere with less Shinobu-ing and more room to spar." He cast a murderous glance over your shoulder at your older sister who was innocently waving at the two of you with the sweetest smile on her face.

You gave an exasperated sigh as your best friend dragged you out of earshot from your teasing sister. "Sorry about that, Giyuu, she really is insufferable, isn't she?"

"I'm just lucky you didn't get the same personality as her," he mumbled from up ahead as you navigated through tangled branches and boulders. “Her teasing is relentless.” Although his straightforward words must not have meant much to him, who always says what he truly thinks, they warmed your heart. You made him feel lucky.

“She’s only kidding, you know. She only teases people she really loves.” Taking a deep breath of the cool forest air, you recalled the countless times your older sister had been there for you, training you to create antidotes for all sorts of poisons, fighting off demons for you during perilous missions, and teaching you that the best way to get through a tough situation is to have a smile on your face.

She really did love you, more than anyone you knew. And you returned that love for your only sister.

All of a sudden, the raucous, persistent cawing of a crow circling above interrupted your nostalgic thoughts.

You immediately extended an arm, creating a perch for your Kasugai crow to land on. “What is it, Jiyu?” You soothingly stroked the ebony bird’s soft feathers, receiving grateful beady eyes in return.

“Caw! Sightings of demons reported in the forest in the South! Forest of the South! Wind and Water Hashira, report to the area immediately! Caw!” the crow screeched, tensing its sharp claws on your arm for a second before swiftly darting off into the sky.

You locked eyes with Giyuu, giving him a determined nod before dashing off to the forest in the South.

“There,” Giyuu whispered harshly, directing your gaze to the hulking demon less than ten meters away from you. The two of you were concealed behind a thick tree trunk as you scouted out the clearing, watching as the gigantic monster trundled around the glade.

A bloodcurdling shriek pierced through the air just then, instantaneously cutting off as soon as it sounded. You exchanged a look of horror with your blue-eyed partner, a pool of dread forming in your stomach.

A human life lost...

Heart aching, you sent a quick silent prayer to the gods above.

So many of those screams you have heard, so many lives lost to those demons. Those demons who are forced to live such a cruel, hatred-filled life.

Steeling yourself, you and Giyuu stealthily wove through trees and branches, nearing closer and closer to the demon ahead of you.

Their terror must end here.

The grotesque creature was no more than twelve feet away from you, snarling vilely as it searched the area for any humans. Laying in a bloody heap near its feet was the tiny body of a girl who couldn't have been older than six or seven years old. Stinging tears threatened to spill from your sorrowful eyes as you realized that could have been you many years ago had your siblings not rescued you from that demon.

Demons-- humans, just like you and Giyuu, who were forced to suffer the consequences of heir own unlucky fate. You became a pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps in order to help free these misunderstood creatures from their agony, and reunite them with their lost past. But their sins as demons could not go overlooked.

"Tomioka-san," you whispered to your best friend who was eyeing the drooling monster in front of you, hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sheathed sword. "You take care of the demon, I'll retrieve the girl and see if her life can be salvaged. Understood?"

He only nodded curtly in response, swiftly unsheathing his hefty blade with no more than a minute clink before teleporting to a lofty nearby branch. You remained hidden behind the thick tree trunk, watching Giyuu's fingers closely for a sign to commence the operation.

Giyuu tended to strike from behind with the advantage of the element of surprise, so you watched and waited for the demon's back to turn to him, flipping through your various concoctions stored in the tiny bag on your hip.

You waited, and waited, and waited...

Giyuu's thumb straightened out.

Immediately you were on top of the girl, analyzing all of her vitals and arriving at a diagnosis in a split second: she was still alive.

Injecting serum after serum and stitching up open wounds as the metallic clinks and crashes of battle surrounded you, you snuck glances at how your best friend was faring in combat. The demon appeared to be a formidable opponent, as it wasn't decaying into ashes just yet.

You felt trembling movement from underneath your steady hands.

"Gh..." A bubble of blood spurted from the tiny girl's crusted lips. Retrieving a vial of hydration from your pouch, you quickly wiped off her mouth and held it open as you poured in the refreshing liquid.

"Hello there, thank you for being strong." You hovered over your wounded patient, smiling softly. "I am the wind hashira, and we're here to exterminate the demon that hurt you. You're going to recover in no time, alright?"

The child squinted painfully at you, attempting to reorient herself in her unfamiliar surroundings. "Wh... where am I? Where’s my older brother?”

"The forest in the South." The sun was beginning to rise, but it was too dangerous to leave the injured victim out in the open clearing. “Your brother is…”

A wounded cry rung through the air just then, snapping your attention to the fight a few feet away from you. Your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach as you saw Giyuu's haori stained in fresh blood, pooling from his chest. He was staggering about, body heaving from the effort to control his breathing as he stared down the demon with venomous eyes. The creature only responded with a warbled cackle as he lunged for your best friend once again.

And you were on top of it in an instant, slicing the wisteria-injected needle-like tip this way and that, targeting the weak points of the demon’s body that Shinobu taught you of which would allow for quicker absorption of the venom. You darted around in such a frenzied blur that the creature could barely even blink before you appeared in front of Giyuu, shielding him from his tormentor.

“(Y/N), I— I was fine…” He clutched a hand to his crimson-stained chest.

“Tomioka-san, you’re bleeding very badly. I couldn’t leave you to get hurt.” You spotted the girl in the middle of the clearing, sitting up and looking around the area with curiosity. Glancing briefly over your shoulder, you assessed what would be the best move for both of them. “Are you able to move?”

“I’ll go help the girl. You— hck… you take care of this.”

A smile formed on your lips as he dashed away at the synchronization the two of you always shared. It was like you could read each other’s thoughts.

A pained howl snapped you back to reality as the demon in front of you seized and whined in pain as the poison began to kick in. One of the only differences between you and your older sister was that you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy at the elongated suffering your fighting technique brought upon your target in their final moments before death.

What did they think of? What were they feeling? Who did they want to cry out for?

The demon thrashed once before every single muscle in their body froze, and their mutated body dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. You stepped closer to them, locking your apologetic eyes with their four frightened ones as they trembled in fear.

Lightly tracing their gnarled neck with the edge of your sword, you whispered, “I’m sorry. Please cross over safely, where your loved ones will await you.” You pressed the blade into their neck, various crimson fluids spilling out—

“Si… ster…”

You stopped.

Flakes of gray skin began to crumble away.

“Where… little sister…”

Your thumping heart froze in your chest.

The body in front of you continued to disintegrate.

“I’m… so sorry…”

It burned and burned and burned, until smell of ash and death was all that remained of the little girl’s older brother.

The glade was enveloped in the warm, glittering glow of dawn as the shimmering rays of sun trickled in through the thinning treetops.

A pair of kakushi had escorted the little girl away, who had been blubbering with tears as she was dragged away from the remnants of her demonized brother.

You knelt before your best friend now, applying an abundance of salves and bandages to his battered chest with a numb buzzing rushing through your veins.

“… Okay?”

You snapped back into reality.

“(Y/N), you’re out of it… are you okay?”

Your eyes latched on to Giyuu’s, who was gazing up at you from your lap with a concerned look.

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Family.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to keep your tears at bay, nodding softly.

A weight lifted off of your thighs as you wiped at your cheeks, when you suddenly felt arms wrapped tightly around your trembling body.

Eyes snapping open, you realized that Giyuu was hugging you.

“Giyuu—”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt.”

The labored, uneven breathing near your ear disputed that statement.

A single tear slipped down your cheek.

“Giyuu… let me take care of you. Please.”

“No. You need it more than I do.”

Arguing with him was useless, and you were so exhausted.

So you let him hold you.

And then he kissed your cheek.

It was only a soft, featherlight peck.

But it was your new motivation to fight.

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

[azaleavi]

Stranger with a knife - Y.B.

Summary: A stranger disturbs you in the middle of the night. Turns out that stranger might have a thing for knives.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: use of knives, blood, alcohol mention, stab wound, mention of knife kink, very brief hint on use of poison

Author’s note: My first ever Yelena fic!! I’m super nervous to post it so please give me feedback! I’ve never written for a female character before but i hope you guys like it!

Feedback is always appreciated and don’t forget to reblog and like if you enjoyed it and want to see more. Thank you!

Masterlist

It's in the middle of the night when you hear noise coming from outside your front door. It must be the neighbor you think and turn to your other side, away from the door to your room. You look at the digital clock and the bright red numbers tell you that it's just a little past 4 am. You are used to the people living next to you making noise. They always go out partying and they come back around this time so you don't make a fuss about it.

The noise of a few cars passing by on the street flow through the open window with the movement of the curtain caused by the light breeze. It does nothing for the heat that settled inside the four walls, the summer sun not letting go of you even during the night when it's sleeping.

You hear the noise again, like a person grunting just outside your little living space. It must have been some party you smile to yourself, a little jealousy seeping into the curve of your lips. You wanted to go out and party sometimes. Of course, you do, but that kind of time is not something you have.

The noise comes again, not moving an inch away from you and you realize that it's a female voice. You sit up in bed, worried for the mystery woman. She might be in trouble and you could not sleep knowing she might need your help.

Your feet touch the ground beside your bed just as the front door opens. The creaking of the old door echoes through the quiet space as you freeze in your spot, hands on the edge of the mattress ready to push you up to stand. Didn't you lock the door?

You are thankful that your eyes are used to the dark as you stand on shaky legs, trying to be as quiet as possible. Slowly walking to the door you grab the wood to open it just enough to look through the crack. An outline of a smaller figure catches your eyes as she stumbles in and closes the door behind her. At least she has some manners.

She stumbles onto your couch, her hands clutching her side. Landing on the soft cushions with a groan, she turns on her back.

You open the door a little more but stop your movements as it creaks. Damn old doors. She looks up from her stomach that she is still holding and your mouth opens in shock as she locks eyes with you. She has beautiful eyes.

"What-" she starts speaking, but her words fell short as she loses consciousness and falls back onto the couch. In a panic, you walk out the door and turn on the light. The woman has a big red patch on the side of her shirt and you can see her flesh under it as the fabric is cut open.

You pull the shirt away from her wound to check it out and you realize that it's not as bad as it looks. You are not a doctor, but you can tell that she doesn't need stitches. Pushing her shirt up just enough, you go and get some water, a towel, and some bandages. She needs your help no matter how she broke into your house. You clean all the blood away and wrap her in the bandages to the best of your abilities. When you are satisfied with your work you sit down on a chair facing the couch. You know you couldn't sleep with a stranger in your apartment so you decide on watching her. Your tired body has other plans though and you slip into sleep 15 minutes after.

-

The morning sun shines onto your closed eyelids making you stir in your sleep. Realizing what happened you jolt awake, almost falling off the uncomfortable chair you have been sitting on for the past few hours. the woman is still in the same place, passed out. A sigh leaves your lips in relief. You don't know what she would have done to you if she woke up before you.

Your stomach grumbles into the quiet morning air, signaling that the small dinner you had was not enough. After one last check on the woman, you walk into the kitchen to prepare something for you, making a little more than you usually would in case your guest wakes up hungry too.

As you busy yourself with breakfast, you don't notice the woman wake up and look around the unfamiliar place. Felling something around her torso she looks down and sees a bandage neatly wrapped around the wound she sustained last night. Her eyes land on your frame standing by the stove and her training kicks in. Standing up she quietly walks over to the kitchen counter that has knives on it and grabs one.

You feel a presence behind you, but before you can turn around you feel the coldness of the metal pressed to your neck. Your hands stop moving as you gasp. Her other hand goes around your waist and you can't help but grab onto it in panic.

"Who are you?" her accent is thick as it rumbles inside your ear.

"I think I should be the one asking that" your accent is just as prominent yet slightly different and she is taken back for a second. Who are you to talk back to her like this when you have a knife to your neck?

"I asked first" the childish claim is the only thing that comes out of her mouth, her brain unable to think of anything else. You tilt your head slightly as if saying fair.

"I'm the owner of the house you stumbled into in the middle of the night" you don't know where this confidence comes from, but you like it "Your turn" you look at the tiles on the wall ahead of you, trying to make her out in the reflection but it's no use. It's way too blurred to make out any features, but you can feel that she is around the same height as you.

"I'm the person who stumbled into your house" you can basically hear the smirk in her voice and you hold back a groan.

"I'll need a little more than that" you talk back to her and she is surprised once again.

"Well too bad" she lets go of you and you immediately turn around to come face to face with the most attractive woman you have ever seen. You look into her eyes and now it's your turn to be speechless.

"I was right" you mumble as a small smile plays on your lips.

"About what?" she furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

"Your eyes are really pretty" her whole body freezes at the compliment that leaves your mouth. She stares at you for a few seconds then clears her throat and turns away from you.

"So what happened?" she sits down on one of the chairs, keeping the knife close to her hand. Just in case.

"I told you. You walked into my house and bled on my couch" you shrug as you turn off the stove. Taking out two plates you scrape the food into each. She watches as you place one plate in front of her before sitting down on the chair across the table.

"How do I know you didn't put anything in this?" she looks down at it and she has to admit, it smells delicious.

"You'll have to find out" you tease her but immediately regret it as the knife is back under your chin, pressing against your skin almost breaking it.

"I'm starting to think you have a knife kink" your eyes don't leave the blade as you continue to tease her. She scoffs at your comment and pushes the knife harder against you "Okay, okay I'm just kidding" you try to de-escalate the situation as you hold your hands up in surrender. She takes mercy on you and pulls away the knife from your throat. A sigh escapes you as she leans back into her chair, making her smirk under her nose.

"Do you want me to eat from your food too?" you raise your eyebrows but she waves you off.

"I'm not hungry anyway. Do you have some vodka?" she tilts her head that you find oddly adorable.

"Vodka?" you ask back in surprise. Why would she want alcohol early in the morning?

"Yes" she nods like there is nothing wrong with what she is asking for.

"Sure" you shrug, acting nonchalant. If she wants to drink so early then she has another thing coming. You walk to the fridge and pull out a bottle. Trying to shield it from her view, you pour it into a shot glass and turn around to face her. She is sitting there impatiently as you hand the glass to her and she drowns it without thinking. You can see on her face that she was expecting the familiar sting of alcohol. Instead, she got a big shot of water from you. You can barely hide your smile as you see her face drop. She turns to you and you hide your mouth behind your hand.

"Do you think you are funny?" her voice is low as she stands up and you take a step back.

"A little, yes" you scrunch up your nose while nodding. She feels her anger dissipate at the action, but she steels herself.

"Okay then funny girl why don't you tell me your name?" she takes another step closer to you, but you mirror her movement backward.

"You first" your eyes don't leave hers as you play this cat and mouse game.

"I could kill you in a second" she threatens you, but for some reason, you don't budge. Everything you do baffles her and she needs to figure you out.

"If you wanted to kill me you would have done it already" you tilt your head to the side with a small smile. She stops in her tracks as her heart almost skips a beat at the action. Almost. The expression on her face makes you furrow your eyebrows "What?" the question shakes her out of her stupor and she raises her knife once again. She needs to leave right now before she does anything she will regret.

"If you tell anyone that I was here" she steps closer and this time you don't move back "you will die a painful death" you suck in a sharp breath at her words.

"Wait, you are leaving?" there is a slight sadness in your voice that she notices, but chooses to ignore. You don't even know why you want her to stay. She is a stranger that got stabbed and broke into your apartment in the middle of the night. You shouldn't want her to stay.

"I already stayed longer than I should have" she explains as she puts down the knife on the table and walks towards the front door.

It's already open by the time you reach her and you grab her elbow in a hurry. Her hand wraps around your wrist so tightly that it hurts and you hiss as you pull away from her. She mumbles a sorry under her breath as she fully turns back to you.

"I need to-"

"At least tell me your name" you interrupt whatever she wanted to say. Your eyes are wide as you look at her, your voice having a hint of desperation. Her heart beats just a little harder as you stare at her with so much hope in your eyes. A sigh parts her lips as she brings her hand to your cheek. Her palm presses against the soft flesh on your face and you can't help but lean into her touch. You don't know her, but you feel more comfortable around her than you had with anyone in your life.

"Yelena" you didn't even notice that you closed your eyes until it snaps open. Her name. Yelena.

"Yelena" you whisper is like an echo of an empty staircase of her voice and she concludes she likes it. You stare at each other for a few quiet seconds, her hand still on your cheek.

"Don't move away from this place" she lets go of you and leaves you perplexed by her words.

"What?" you ask back. You must have heard her wrong.

She doesn't answer you. Instead, she walks away from you and only throws you a smile over her shoulder. You stand there as she walks down the stairs and disappears from your sight.

Your mind is a mess as you close the door and press your back against it. You don't know anything about her other than her name, but you know one thing. You won't move away from this apartment until a specific blonde woman shows up at your door again. Maybe this time not bleeding.

[strawberrylemonz]

Fateful Night

Grian never forgot his original home, his original family. He didn’t remember the adoption of him and his brothers, but he remembered time after that. His father, King Philza Minecraft, was kind and firm to his sons and his kingdom. He remembered Wilbur’s love of all things musical, how he preferred words over a blade. He recalled his days training alongside Techno in the courtyard, both laughing as they beat their opponents together. He remembered his bedroom in the right wing of the castle, in between Technoblade and Wilbur’s. He remembered his crown and his cape, how he would proudly wear them during celebrations and balls.

But those days were over, he had to remind himself to move on. SMP Earth’s portal had been out of commission for years now, and no one knew why. Signs that the server still existed were found, but no one could piece together the pieces to find the issue with the server. No one could make contact with anyone stuck inside the server, and no one inside could get out. Grian couldn’t get back to his former home, he couldn’t get back to his family. In a way, that makes things easier to live somewhere else. He had disappeared from SMP Earth as a young child, much too young. Now, as a grown man, no one knew of his royal status. He didn’t push to hide his status from his new friends and family, but his situation wasn’t exactly anything that anyone could easily bring up into a conversation. Instead of trying to find a way to tell people, he just found it easier to not acknowledge at all.

He still can’t help but wonder, to question. He still didn’t understand how he was taken away from his room, his palace. He did question some of the competitors in MCC, how they seemed so familiar yet so different. He did wonder whatever became of his baby brother. He remembers many names for the child, but his brain couldn’t pinpoint what name was chosen in the end. It had been so long ago when the child was adopted that his brain couldn’t mush together his name. But he still remembered his eyes, how they shone with curiosity. He still recalls the night that he and his brother’s met the young babe for the very first time.

----------

The winter was colder than usual that year, too cold. Techno and Grian were walking beside Wilbur, taking sips of hot cocoa as Wilbur rambled about his newfound hatred of anteaters. Classes had ended hours before, and they were trying to their best to pass the time until dinner was prepared. They would have usually spent this time with their father, all talking about their day as they sat in the king’s study. Unfortunately, for the princes, this tradition was broken that night. Their father had left after lunch to conduct his weekly visit to the cities and towns that fell under the kingdom’s protection. Unlike the previous visits, however, he had not returned yet. Visits usually lasted a few hours, but tonight was different. It had been six hours since lunch, and he was still gone. As much as they wanted to panic, the triplets knew that things would be okay. This was their father, after all, nothing could scare or harm him.

Grian waved at the night guards as he and his brothers entered the courtyard. They made it halfway when they heard the familiar sound of wings flapping. Turning around, they greeted their father as he landed in front of them. They were stunned, however, why their father hastily nodded to them, before rushing away without a single word. The boys watched in confusion as he curled his wings over himself, as if to shield something in his arms. Although his face appeared to stay neutral and calm, the triplets knew better. Their father was afraid, they could tell by the way he held himself. After exchanging glances with each other, they rushed to follow him, their hot cocoa long forgotten. They followed in worry, listening as Phil barked orders in an unfamiliar, stern voice. They watched as servants ran off, gathering all the nurses and doctors they could find. Phil kicked his bedroom door open, causing the triplets to jump back in surprise. When they regained their composure, they rushed forward to see what their father was shielding. Or, in this case, who he was shielding. The three princes froze in their spots as their father unraveled his wings, revealing an infant babe, bundled in a tattered and burnt blanket. They made their way to step inside the room, but were quickly ushered aside by nurses, who closed the door before them.

“Was that a baby?”

“New sibling, pog.”

“What do you think their name is?”

“I bet it’s a boy!”

“Nuh uh, it’s a girl!”

“Guys, they’re a baby, not an it.”

“I bet I’ll be the favorite brother.”

“No way!”

The triplets sprung into action, ready to greet their new sibling. Rushing back to their rooms, they all quickly worked to make themselves presentable for the welcoming. Dawning their softest sweaters, they each exited their rooms to return to their father. Wilbur adjusted his beanie, Techno his crown, as Grian adjusted the grip on his stuffed cow. All sharing a satisfied smile, they made their way to their father’s room. As they walked down the hall, they took note of the sorrowful expressions of the nurses and doctors who were walking in the opposite direction. When they finally reached the door to the room, they were greeted by a familiar witch doctor. The man smiled down at the young princes, tipping his hat to them as he walked away. When they entered the bedroom, they saw their father sitting on the bed, his back turned to them. As they moved towards him, they were greeted by him, his voice soft.

“Boys, you should be at the dinner table by now.”

“Is that our new sibling?”

Wilbur played with his fingers as he watched his father’s movements, Techno and Grian following their brother’s actions. Phil finally turned to face the three boys, who all faltered at his tired eyes. Giving his sons a tired smile, Phil beckoned the three boys over to him. Slowly approaching the bed, they saw the infant lay on the comforter, his small hands balled into a fist and clinging to his blanket. They watched as he took ragged breaths, his chest rising and falling in uneven patterns. Techno was the first to speak up.

“Is it okay?”

“Techno, don’t be rude!”

“Heh?”

Phil lightly chuckled as he returned his gaze from his sons to the small infant, who was sprawled upon the bed, his breathing becoming shakier as the seconds passed. The triplets frowned as the sadness returned to Phil’s eyes, his voice getting quiet.

“I found a village outside of our kingdom’s borders. It had been burned and destroyed by pillagers. I searched the village many times, but he was the sole survivor. I found him, bundled up, laying in the snow. He wasn’t moving or responding, but he was breathing. That was enough to get me to rush him back here.”

Grian tore his eyes away from his father, deciding to look at the sleeping child. The boy was cute, Grian will admit, but he did look sickly. Wiping some of the sweat off the infant’s forehead, he asked the question that plagued his mind.

“Will he be okay?”

His father and brothers turned to face him, watching as he combed the baby’s hair to the side. Techno and Wilbur quieted down as they faced their father. Phil sighed as he watched the tenderness in Grian’s actions. Closing his eyes, Phil spoke up.

“The regular doctors said there wasn’t anything they could do for him. The nurses said that only a miracle could pick him up from death’s door.”

The triplets felt colder than they have ever felt. They had just got their new baby brother, and now they were losing him. They had to say goodbye before they could say hello. It just wasn’t fair-

“However,”

Three small heads quickly returned their gazes to that of their father’s.

“The last doctor, an old friend of mine, managed to contact the stars. A goddess, Clara, had apparently responded without hesitation. She happily agreed to revive the child and give him her protection.”

The three couldn’t bring themselves to make a witty remark to their father. Magic was real, this was true. Totems of undying were real, this they knew. But as much as they loved listening and reading the stories, the three could not bring themselves to believe that the gods would care for an unknown babe. Complete nonsense, if you asked them. For all they knew, their father was just trying to keep their spirits up, so he most likely crafted a story so that the boys wouldn’t panic when the magic occurred. As they all turned their attention to the sickly baby, they noticed that he stopped breathing. There was silence as the four waited, watching. Wilbur couldn’t stop the watering of his eyes as he latched onto Techno, who was stiff as a board. Phil just closed his eyes, appearing to be praying to whatever entity was listening in, watching the panicked family. Grian, blinded by his own tears, watched over the infant. He let out a shuddering gasp as he held onto the child’s stiff hand with his own. Suddenly, the feeling of warm hands passing through him caused his eyes to widen in shock, the stuffed cow in his arms being pulled closer to his chest. The warmth left as quickly as it came, but that wasn’t what kept him silent. There, laying on the bed, was the baby, breathing normally. Leaning over to get a better look at him, he noticed the warmer tone in the baby’s skin. He took note of the small freckles that began to fade into view, seemingly to mimic small stars. Clutching the cow, Grian prepared to call his family over, only to be stopped by the child furrowing his eyebrows. With a quiet yawn, the baby slowly blinked his eyes open. Grian felt his throat tightened as beautiful, big blue eyes stared into his. Grian couldn’t help but notice how the child’s eyes were as of the sea and the stars conjoined into one. Suddenly, the child switched his gaze down to the stuffed cow in Grian’s arms. Eyes widening with excitement, the baby wiggled his arms free and reached for the toy, squealing in delight.

It was then that Grian knew that he fell in love.

----------

Grian always thought of his family, every day. He had found a new family with Hermitcraft, with its people and with his makeshift children. He was grateful for the family he had now, but he couldn’t help but miss the one he once had.

“Grian! Are you almost ready?”

Shaking his head, Grian called back to Mumbo, who was outside of the room. Reassuring Mumbo that he would meet him at the gates, he smiled as he finished getting ready. As he adjusted his shirt, Grian couldn’t help but feel giddy for tonight. How could he not? It was a special night on the server, after all. One of their youngest members, Tommy, had something grand planned for everyone to see. Tommy was a unique and unusual case for all the hermits. He had appeared two years prior, broken and dull. With nothing but a few personal items, he was nothing but a broken shell of what he used to be. The hermits worked hard to get him to where he was today, to help him heal. They still didn’t know his past pain, but they didn’t push him to reveal anything he didn’t want to. It took a while, but the boy eventually trusted them enough to settle down and make a home there with them. Now, they were ready to see his biggest project on the server. Months prior, Tommy had requested a big area to build an amusement park. He explained that it would be a fun and safe place, and that it was the gate for him to open up about his past to them. He brightened up as the hermits all voiced their encouragement and approval. He insisted on completing the project all by himself, and he did. As soon as it was complete, he sent out invitations to all the hermits for a private opening night. The invitations were dated for tonight. Humming to himself, he peeked into a spare room, satisfied to see Jrumbot and Grumbot asleep for the night. Grabbing his coat, Grian gave his reflection a nod as he left the house, on his way to meet the rest of the server.

----------

Tommy was almost jumping with joy as his friends arrived at the gates, each dressed in casual formal attire. His eyes scanned the crowd, pride blooming in his chest as he took note of everyone who arrived. When he saw Grian, he couldn’t help but cheer alongside his chat. Once he saw that everyone had arrived, he cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Fellas! Can I get a humina?”

Laughter bubbled in his throat as the hermits chanted without hesitation. Joy filled him as he cheered alongside them.

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

Taking a deep breath, Tommy nodded to himself with a smile as joy filled his tone. Quickly thinking over the few points in his speech that he wanted to voice, he happily spoke up.

“Thank you for coming, I mean it. Believe it or not, it took me forever to convince myself to send the invites. I’m glad I did, and I’m glad you all came. It means so much to me that you guys care so much. I hope to repay the kindness to the fullest. For now, however, I’ll give you guys a park and a backstory. Y’know, because I’m cool and shit. I’m like Spider-Man, tragic backstory and all that shit. Mentor tally is through the roof, heh.”

The hermits laughed and cheered at the young man, who glowed with pride before them. They had watched him pick himself up from the brink of death, watched as his dull eyes brightened with love and joy. Ender, they all loved this young hermit.

“Okay, enough stalling. I, TommyInnit, proudly present-”

Affectionate snickers filled the air as Tommy mimicked a drumroll.

“Innit an Adventure!!!”

Cheers erupted from everyone as the sign was revealed, and the gates unlocked. With a giddy bow, Tommy let them enter the newest star attraction of the server. Stress and Impulse doubled up, snatching Doc while they were at it. Grian smiled at Mumbo, who joined his side in the front of the crowd. The two nodded a greeting to Xisuma, who nodded back as Tommy began to show them the map, explaining the different areas of the park, as well as how he would conduct the tour, leaving his tragic hero backstory for the end, when they reached the campfire. After the basic points of the tour for opening night were completed, they all went on their merry way.

Their first stop was the center entrance of the park, dubbed “Tavern Town”. Living up to its name, there were two large taverns, both surrounded by shops and booth games of all kinds. As Tommy explained the way the lodging system would work in the different areas of the park, everyone took note of how much Tommy’s building skills had improved since his initial arrival, something they all felt pride in. He had truly grown so much since he first stumbled in, scared and confused. Once the excited teen finished going over the points for the area, everyone was free to explore the area. Grian opted to ruffle the teen’s hair, praising him for his work so far.

“What the fuck, Big G? Watch the hair, bastard. You know my badass locks take time, bruv.”

“Oh, shut your mouth, princess. I’ll mess with your hair if I feel like it.”

Grian could feel a few affectionate glares directed at the two, but he and Tommy could only smile at each other. Just as he was going to continue showering the younger boy with affection, Mumbo called him over. Tommy smiled as he followed in suit, not quite ready to leave the older man just yet. Soon enough they approached Mumbo, who happily dragged them to a door in the mountain that everyone seemed to be entering, interested. Grian glanced at the lit up sign that addressed the building.

The Cavern of Memories

Determined to face his past, Tommy put up a determined face and followed everyone in.

It was beautiful. There were rows upon rows with sections that represented different servers. Each small section represented a person. Everyone explored the various bonds their favorite bandit obtained during his life so far. The saw the elegant and aesthetically pleasing section of Eret, a strawberry dress neatly sewn by hand with a bi flag hanging above it. Flowers surrounded the stand, and the lighting made it beautiful. A crown and a pair of sunglasses sat elegantly by the stand. They murmured in awe at the different people from different worlds. Niki, Puffy, Schlatt, Dream, Karl, Quackity, Sapnap, BBH, Skeppy. They snickered as they stared with adoration at the sections for a Lani and Drista, which were made to be elegant, dainty, and full of chaos. They never prepared to see so much bedrock and forks in one section, with bee plushies and butter knives in the other. They studied the section created for Tubbo, who, according to the sign, was still Tommy’s best friend.

The group grew excited as they entered the rows for the hermits, dispersing and happily gawking over their personal sections. They couldn’t help but let the happiness swell within them as they saw the sections made especially for them. They appreciated everything in the sections, each item carefully crafted and picked for them.

Mumbo laughed as he pulled Grian over to the sections for Grumbot and Jrumbot. As Mumbo voiced his interest with the detail, Grian’s eyes wandered to an unexplored set of rows. Well, the entrance to it, at least. Furrowing his eyebrows, he headed over to it, curious. Tommy took notice and decided to follow, wanting Grian’s feedback the most. Little by little, everyone began to follow Grian and Tommy into the last section. As Grian stood at the entrance, he peered over to read the sign that stated the server these rows represented. He felt a sharp intake on his part as he read it over and over again, trying to make sure he was reading correctly.

‘SMP EARTH’

Letting out a breath, he entered, Tommy and Mumbo by his side. As he studied the sections and it’s layout, he knew where he was. This first part was obviously Business Bay. Perhaps Tommy was from there? Perhaps Tommy came from the same server he did.

Maybe Tommy knew a way back home.

“The Antarctic Empire? You really are social, Tommy.”

Grian’s eyes widened as he quickly looked over to Doc, who was reading the sign of the next part of the sections. Desperate to see what Tommy knew, he hurried over in unusual silence. The rest of the group quietly followed, worried for Grian’s sudden shift.

He froze.

He couldn’t believe his eyes.

How did Tommy even get all this?

Ignoring the worried voices behind him, Grian made his way to the largest section, and the last one. There, sitting elegantly upon the wall, was a family portrait. Phil lovingly smiled as his wings spread proudly behind him, his arms open and slightly extended. To Phil’s right was Grian’s eldest brother, Technoblade. He sat with a sharp yet, somehow, kind gaze. To Phil’s left was the second eldest, Wilbur. He smiled brightly, his eyes barely visible behind the grin. And there, in the center of the two, sat Grian. He smiled slightly, eyes filled with joy and love. In his arms, was his brand new baby brother, who stared curiously at who had to be the painter.

The royal Antarctic Empire outfits were on display, the crown of each respective member set on display beside each outfit. Many items were hung with sorrowful pride. Elytra there, a guitar in the corner, piano against the wall. Weapons of all kinds hung in an organized manner. Emeralds decorated the empty space. Grian felt his chest hurt as he choked on his words. He wasn’t even aware he was being addressed until two hands firmly grabbed his arms, and a face appeared.

“-kay, big man? What wrong?”

Tommy’s worried gaze trapped Grian in uncertainty. Finally able to form words, Grian’s broken voice filled the silence.

“How…How did you know them?”

Tommy blinked a few times, before turning around to face the display. They didn’t need to see his face to see the sorrow in the teen. Sighing, Tommy pointed at the baby in the portrait.

“See that lil’ man right there? That’s me, as a baby. Apparently I was found by the King, Philza Minecraft. He’s my adoptive dad. Then there’s my oldest brother, Technoblade-”

God, everyone could see how he tensed upon saying the name of his brother.

“-Then there's Wilbur. He practically raised me-”

Once again, his body language told the story. The way he slouched in defeat gave off warning alarms.

“-Then there’s my last older brother. I actually can’t remember his name, he went missing while I was still so small. I do remember some things from him, he gave me a cow on my first day. He’s also great at playing games, very pog. He’s actually the first face I saw when I arrived. You see, I was found in the snow of the ruins of what was once my village. I was dying, but then a witch doctor came and spoke to a goddess in the sky who agreed to revive me and shelter me. I still talk to her, whenever I get the chance. She’s guided me through a lot, she’s great. Her name is-”

“Clara.”

Tommy froze as he turned around, facing the owner of the voice. Grian just stared at him, desperation and hope in his eyes. Tommy stared in confusion as Grian approached him. Furrowing his eyebrows, Grian peered into the teen’s eyes. They stayed blue for a moment, but only a moment. Suddenly, Tommy seemed to have burst to life. Constellations painted his face, wonderful and beautiful as they are. They were Tommy’s one-of-a-kind and unique freckles, crafted specifically for him. And in his eyes? The stars and the sea danced together once more. Suddenly, Grian was wearing his best sweater in his father’s room once again, a cow hugged to his chest.

And then, he broke.

Tears escaped his eyes and he let out a strangled sob, throwing his arms around the younger boy, pulling him into a hug. Tommy let out a startled yelp as his friend engulfed him into a tight and gently embrace, sobbing into Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy had no idea what was happening. Why would Grian be so entranced by SMP Earth? Why would he care about Tommy’s relations to his family? Why did he know about Clara-

Wait-

Oh.

Oh.

Hol y sH I T

Pulling away, not quite believing what his mind put together, Tommy peered at the mess that was Grian. He looked, truly looked at his features. He still wasn’t sure, he didn’t want to hope. He didn’t want to hurt again. But as soon as Tommy peered into Grian’s eyes, he knew. There was no denying it. He knew those eyes. He’d never forget those eyes. They were the same, loving eyes that welcomed him into his new life.

“What the fuck, man.”

Mans before anyone could half-heartedly tell him off for his language, Tommy broke as well. The floodgates were let loose, and Tommy was the gatekeeper who allowed them to be free. Big blobs of tears fell off the boy’s face as he shoved his face into Grian’s chest. Grian, in turn, held onto Tommy as if he would disappear. The two crumbled to the floor, Grian rocking his baby brother in his arms once more, whispering soothing words to him. The rest of the group watched, and their very own hearts seemed to have burst alongside their two friends once they heard the next words.

“I’ve missed you, big bro.”

“I’ve got you, shooting star. I’m not letting you go, not again.”

All the hermits knew right then and there that the rest of the night would be filled with nothing but happiness and love.

They knew that the two finally found their home.

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

This series has been inspired by @petrichormeraki (my beloved, dearest enemy of a blog)

@petrichormeraki has also made art based on this chapter! So has @sydneys-sketches !

New Brother Pog - @petrichormeraki

The Royal Family of the Antarctic Empire - @petrichormeraki

Grian finds the portrait - @sydneys-sketches

Part 1 [CURRENT]

Part 2

[rizlowwritessortof]

Meant To Be - Chapter 9

Dean and Jordan are each trying to escape their painful pasts. Their chance meeting and a dangerous encounter begins a relationship that may give them both a new start.

Pairing: Police Detective Dean Winchester/Jordan Taylor

Word Count: 5547

Warnings: Smutty smut 

Aesthetic by @editsbymichele on Instagram; Dividers by @firefly-graphics​ 

Jordan moved her arm, and the unfamiliar tug of the IV finished waking her from a deep sleep. Her eyes opened, focusing slowly on the figure of the man sleeping in the recliner beside her bed. Dean was sound asleep, arms flung wide, an occasional soft snore escaping his parted lips. She smiled, relieved to see him there, safe and apparently uninjured. His vest was draped over a nearby chair, his boots beside it, badge and gun still in place at his waist.

She watched him silently until the quiet whoosh of the opening door made her turn her head that way. A nurse came in, her eyes falling on the peacefully sleeping man, and she quietly made her way to Jordan’s side. “How are you doing?” she whispered, taking her wrist between her fingers to check her pulse.

“I’m good. The doctor said once this bag was gone, the IV could come out – can you do that?”

“Sure!” She worked on that, nodding her head towards Dean. “Looks like you have your own private security, huh?”

Jordan grinned. “I’m very lucky.”

The nurse nodded, her eyebrows raised in agreement. “Yeah, you are. Well, let me know if you need anything else. Doc should be here in a couple of hours, once he okays it, you’ll be able to go home.”

“Thank you,” Jordan whispered back, and the nurse walked back to the door, turning with an expression of appreciation as she glanced back at Dean, pretending to fan herself before grinning and pulling the door closed behind her. Jordan giggled softly, and Dean stirred a little, his eyes opening slowly, squinting as he tried to focus. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she teased, and a crooked smile quirked up one side of his lips.

“Hey, yourself. How are you doing?” His voice was raspy with sleep, eyes heavy-lidded, his hair mussed and adorable, and she smiled affectionately back at him.

“I’m good. Head still pounding a little, but not as bad.” She threw her covers back, swinging her legs around, and hopped off the bed, coming over to crawl into his lap.

“Are they sure, they checked you out?”

She looked into his eyes, nodding. “Cat scan, the whole works. I have a concussion, but everything else is okay. Nurse said I can go home as soon as the doc checks in.” She leaned in to kiss him, and he pulled her closer with a soft hum against her lips.

He slipped his hand just beneath the hem of her hospital gown, fingers trailing over her knee as he laid his head back and smiled at her. “Donna’s bringing some clothes for you, she’ll be here in about an hour. Then we can stop and see Sam, if you want.”

She nodded. “Yes, I definitely want.” She cuddled against him, kissing his neck before settling her head on his shoulder with a sigh. When Donna arrived, they were both asleep in the chair.

She knocked lightly on the inside of the door, and they both stirred, yawning. “Hey, Donna,” Jordan smiled sleepily, not moving from her perch.

“Hey, you two. I hated to wake you, but I think the doc’s on his way soon, anyway. How are you feelin’, hon?”

“A little headache and neck pain, but other than that, I’m ok. I was better when I woke up and saw Dean sitting here and I knew you guys were all right.”

“Oh, hell, yeah. Like they used to say on Dukes of Hazzard, we cuffed ‘em and stuffed ‘em,” Donna joked, and the girls laughed. “Of course, Dean wanted to kill the creep that had you, but…”

“Sometimes it sucks being one of the good guys,” he grumbled, and Jordan smiled down at him.

“Don’t feel bad, I kinda wanted to kill him myself,” she said, dropping a kiss on his nose before sliding off his lap. “You brought me clothes?” Donna held out a bag and Jordan took it with a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’ll get dressed, and then we can go see Sam?”

“That’s the plan, as soon as the doc lets you go,” Dean answered, and she stepped into the bathroom to change.

After an impatient wait, the doctor finally showed up to release Jordan, and they all headed to Sam’s room together. He was sitting up and talking quietly to Sarah when they walked in, and she jumped up to give Jordan a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay! You must have been terrified,” she sympathized, and Jordan nodded.

“Not something I want to go through again,” she agreed, then moved over to the bed to take Sam’s hand. “I was so damn worried about you.”

Dean came around to the foot of the bed where he could see his brother. “Yeah, even on the ransom call when I demanded to talk to her, it was “I’m okay – how’s Sam?” he grinned. “And you guys have matching black eyes. Somebody needs to take a picture of this.”

“Gotcha covered,” Donna piped up, grabbing her phone. “Get down there next to him, girl, we have to capture this for posterity.”

“Just what a woman wants to do after getting shanghaied and spending the night in the hospital – get her picture taken,” Jordan sighed, rolling her eyes, but she bent down next to Sam so Donna could capture the moment, laughing as Sam whispered some funny comment in her ear. Donna held out her phone with a triumphant grin.

“It’s a keeper!”

Jordan sat next to Dean on the way home, drowsy and content with his arm around her. She looked up at him, confused, when they pulled up in front of her apartment building. “We’re not going to your place?”

Dean hesitated a moment, then turned to look at her. “Doc said nothing strenuous, lots of rest. I just thought it’d be better if you were in your own bed, and we wouldn’t be – you know – trying to do strenuous stuff.”

She giggled, shoving at his shoulder. “It’s okay, you need to get some sleep, too.”

“Yeah, and – Donna and I have a lot of statements to take the next couple of days, and paperwork to do. We’ll have to get your statement at some point, but not until you’re rested up.” He leaned in close and kissed her tenderly. “C’mon, I’ll walk you up.”

He hung around the apartment, chatting with Donna until Jordan had showered and got ready for bed, going in to kiss her goodnight before he left. It didn’t take her long to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was late evening when Dean and Donna came home the next night, and Jordan sensed tension between them as soon as they walked through the door. It had been a long couple of days, and everyone was bound to be on edge, so she didn’t ask what was going on.

“Want a beer?” she asked, and Donna shot her a tired smile.

“Not me. I’m heading for the shower and my bed, it’s been a long day.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I should head out, too. Donna, we’ll talk about this later.”

She looked up at him, her voice sharp. “I’ll walk you out,” she said, and Jordan bit her lip nervously.

“Guess I’ll get ready for bed,” she said softly. “G’night, you two.” Dean was not acting normal at all, and Donna was pissed, and she suddenly wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” Dean said softly, and Jordan nodded, noting the death glare Donna was aiming his way. The obviously feuding partners headed for the door, and Jordan walked towards her room, her stomach in knots.

She had barely walked into her bedroom when she remembered she had wanted to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, so she turned and headed back that way. She closed the fridge and heard Donna’s voice raise just enough that she could hear, wishing she had stayed in her room but unable to make her feet move.

“Dean, you know how I feel. I don’t like it at all, you blindsided me with this. You have to talk to Jordan.”

“I know! I will, I just – I have to… there’s just some shit I have to figure out, think about. I didn’t plan for this to happen, at least not this soon. Not right after… I mean, really, we haven’t been together that long, but…”

“Well, you’d better figure it out, and fast. I’m not good at hiding things. And I shouldn’t have to. I wish you hadn’t even told me.”

“I’m sorry! I had to fucking talk to somebody, and I thought maybe my partner wouldn’t be such a dick about it!”

Now Dean sounded pissed, and Jordan felt sick. She rushed back to her room, afraid Donna would come back into the apartment and see her standing there. Her hands were shaking, her head spinning, memories of Darrel’s demeaning and belittling comments echoing through her mind. She crawled into her bed, curled into a ball, trying to ignore them, but they wouldn’t leave her alone. All the old insecurity she had worked so hard to recover from came flooding back, overwhelming her. It hadn’t taken Dean long to get tired of her, apparently. And Donna was upset with him because he wasn’t talking to her about it. How could she think he actually wanted more with her than a casual fling?

She hadn’t felt this small since the end of her relationship with Darrel, and she finally fell asleep, exhausted, dark thoughts haunting her through the restless night.

Jordan stayed in bed the next morning until Donna left, not wanting to see anyone. She moved through her day in a daze, unable to focus on anything but her misery. She was in love with Dean, but something had happened to change his feelings towards her. Maybe last night hadn’t been about the doctor’s orders at all. Maybe it was just the first step in distancing himself from her. And even worse, if they weren’t going to be together, how could they possibly get back to the warm, easy friendship they’d had before? Everything was such a mess, she was a mess, and there was nothing she could do to fix it.

Late that afternoon, there was a soft knock at the door before she heard the key in the lock. Dean peeked his head in, seeing her sitting there, and came in, alone. He looked nervous, and she felt that sick, hollow feeling in her stomach again, dreading what was coming.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Where’s Donna?”

“She’s at Doug’s. Wanted to give us some time to talk.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He came to the couch, sitting down and rubbing the back of his neck before turning his body towards her. He glanced at her before he started talking, then kept his eyes in his lap, his hands fidgeting and rubbing over his thigh occasionally as the words tumbled out. “So, I’ve been kinda messed up for the last few months – I mean, you know that. When I went to South Dakota, when I met you, I was… I didn’t know if I wanted to come back to work, back to Kansas City. Anyway, while I was there, working on my car, I needed a part, and I found this little repair and body shop there. The old guy that owns it was pretty cool, we got to talking, and I told him how I grew up in Kansas working at my uncle’s body shop. He got me a beer and we just sat there and shot the shit for a couple of hours, it was the most I’d talked to anybody for a long time. When I got ready to leave, he said, ‘Dean, I’m gonna give up and retire one of these days. I’d sure like it if somebody like you would buy this place and run it like it should be run.’ Well, I told him, sure, give me a call when you do that, and I’ll see where I’m at.”

He looked up at Jordan again, then back down before continuing. “Well, he called me yesterday. And if we hadn’t just wrapped up the whole mess behind that shooting, I don’t know if I would even think about it. But – I’m burned out. I don’t love my job anymore. I really think I want out. Donna’s pissed at me, feels like I’m abandoning her or something, but – I can’t do this job if my heart and my head aren’t in it. I can cash in my pension and buy that shop, do something I used to dream about when I was a kid working for my uncle. Live in a place where you can walk down the street without worrying about getting mugged. Watch some sunsets, see what real peace and quiet feels like.”

Jordan was struggling not to cry, but her tears were winning, rolling silently down her face, and as she sniffed softly, Dean raised his head to look at her. “So - you’re leaving.” He stared at her, a stricken expression on his face at her obvious distress, his mouth open to speak, but she went on. “I mean, I get it, you’re not happy, and you don’t feel about me the same way I feel about you. I mean, Darrel always said I wasn’t enough to keep a man for long, I should have seen it coming. I should have stayed away from you in the first place.” She started to rise from the couch, but Dean reached out and stopped her with a firm grip on her arm.

“Whoa! Hey, where is this coming from? No – just... Baby, no… God, I fucked this up.” He shook his head. “Damn it, Jordan, I don’t want to leave you. I’m not leaving you. I want you to come with me. But we haven’t been together for that long, and you just got to KC, and I didn’t want you to feel like I was pushing you too fast...” He moved closer, his hands cradling her face. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I had no idea you thought that’s what was happening.”

“I heard you and Donna last night, I thought you were sick of me, I thought you wanted to leave me, and I thought that’s why Donna was mad at you, and all I could think about was the shit that Darrel used to say to me...” Dean pulled her into his arms, holding her tight and soothing her until she quieted down. Then he took her by the shoulders and moved her back, taking her face in his hands and kissing her gently.

“If it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna erase what that asshole did to you, I don’t care if it takes me the rest of my fucking life. None of it is true. You hear me? And I’m not leaving you. If you really want to stay here, I will work through my bullshit and stay. But if you want to come with me – I told Earl I’d call him back tomorrow, let him know. I know that’s not much time, but...”

After a moment of thoughtful silence, she responded, “So, maybe I could still work for Sam, from home?”

“I’m sure you could. We can talk to him, we can go to the hospital so you can discuss it with him, if you want.”

“And we could go to Molly’s for bacon cheeseburgers and pancakes...”

“And frosty mugs of beer. Yeah. And I thought we could maybe buy a little house, and you could come and have lunch with me at the shop sometimes.” He kissed her nose, then her lips, and a smirk slowly curved his lips. “And maybe I could come home for lunch sometimes, but not for lunch, ya know?”

Jordan blushed, looking up at him from under her damp lashes. “You could.” He kissed her again, lingering over her lips, and she let out a little sigh, melting against him. Her arms slipped around his waist, handfuls of his shirt in her fists as his tongue touched her lips, then slipped between them with a moan.  

“Maybe I should stop,” he mumbled reluctantly, barely parting from her lips as he spoke, and she tightened her grip around him with a little whimper.

“Dean… it’s been two days, I’m fine, and I need you...”

He groaned, kissing her again, hard, before stopping to look into her eyes. “Are you sure? That you’re ready? Your head...”

“Please, Dean, I promise, I’m fine.” She slipped her hands underneath his shirt, moving them up his back and dragging her nails gently over his skin. “I need you to hold me, I need to feel you inside me...” She brushed her lips along his jaw line, then down to his pulse point, sucking gently at his skin, and he swore, letting her push him down. She stretched out, her body full length over his, grinding against his erection, her lips crashing down on his again. His hands gripped her ass, his hips rising up to meet her as she moaned into their kiss. She finally raised her head, panting for air, her eyes dark with want. “Maybe we should go to my room… in case Donna...”

Dean nodded, and she climbed off of him, heading to her room with him hot on her heels. He was halfway undressed by the time he reached the room, dropping his clothes in a pile before stretching out on the bed, lazily stroking his cock with one hand as he watched Jordan strip down. “C’mere, sweetheart...” he urged, and she climbed onto the bed, settling over top of him again and raising up to let him guide himself to her entrance. She wasted no time, impaling herself on him slowly, her eyes closing and head thrown back as she took him in fully, her thighs trembling beneath Dean’s hands.

“Feels so good, baby...”

She didn’t move, the sensation of him pressing into the deepest part of her making it hard to breathe, so delicious that she wanted it to last forever. Her hands fell on top of his, clutching, her eyes finally opening to meet his heated gaze. “Dean…” she whined softly, and he shuddered as she clenched around him.

“Whatever you need, sweetheart, just tell me,” he said softly, his hands gently kneading at her thighs.

“Hold me.” He raised up slowly, gathering her close against his chest, fingers trailing over her back as he dropped hungry little kisses on her lips. After a few moments, he laid back, pulling her with him, his lips ravenous on hers as she began to move her hips. She was completely lost in him, the wanton sounds muffled by their kisses making him crazy, and he clutched her tightly to his chest, wanting to feel every inch of her against him.

It was delicious torture, the slow grinding of their bodies together, and Jordan pushed herself up with a soft cry as she neared her orgasm, her nails digging into Dean’s shoulders. He slipped his hands beneath her, squeezing at her breasts before giving her nipples a gentle twist, clenching his teeth as she came, grinding down hard on top of him and quivering around his aching cock.

She dropped down, her heart pounding against his chest, and he stroked his hands over her back, soothing her with gentle whispers and kisses to her forehead. She finally tipped her head back to look into his face, an endorphin-drunk smile on her lips. “Are you good?”

“So good,” she answered with a sigh.

“No headache?”

“Dean, I’m okay. Stop worrying.”

He grinned. “Okay, but I’m taking over from here.” She raised her eyebrows at him, then let out a surprised little cry and pouted when he pulled her off of him, and he laughed as he flipped her to her back on the bed beside him. Before she could say anything, he was snugged up between her thighs and slipping back inside her, his lips silencing her pretended protests. “So, you got a problem with that?” he teased, his lips brushing over hers, and she smiled, arching up a little beneath him.

“No problems here. None.”

He tilted his hips a little, making Jordan’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, and bent to take a nipple into his mouth. She sighed, head thrown back, blissfully enjoying the waves of pleasure washing through her. Dean began to move, slowly at first, shifting his attention to her other breast with a moan as she shifted her hips to meet him. As he began to thrust faster and harder, he raised his head to look down at her, watching her expressions as he drove them higher. She opened her eyes, staring up at him with such heat in her gaze that he let out a growl, capturing her lips in a ravenous kiss, swallowing her cry as she began to come undone. “Let go, sweetheart, I’m right there with you,” he managed to say, burying his head in the slope of her shoulder as he came, everything inside him white hot and throbbing in time with his pounding heart. Jordan was still letting out soft little whimpers when he regained his senses, finally going quiet after a long shudder.

They laid quiet in each others’ arms for a time, neither of them wanting to move. Dean finally shifted himself over, laying on his side next to her, and she turned towards him, a contented little smile on her face, her eyes shining as she looked at him. He let his fingers trail over her cheek, ducking his head a little with a shy smile. “What?” she asked softly, taking hold of his hand. He shook his head with a small shrug of his shoulders, his eyes still averted.

“I don’t know. Just – the way you look at me. Makes me feel like I should, I don’t know, do something amazing for you.”

She laughed softly. “You mean like asking me to run away to South Dakota with you?”

His crooked smile grew, and he looked back into her eyes again. “No, I mean something really big. Rope the moon, slay a dragon, you know – big.”

“You wanna be my hero?”

He huffed out a laugh, blushing a bit. “Yeah. Maybe I do.”

She raised her hand to his face with a soft smile. “Well, you already are.”

“C’mere, you,” he whispered, pulling her close, kissing her with all the emotion he couldn’t express in words. After several minutes, he moved away slightly, a finger beneath Jordan’s chin to tip her head back so he could look into her eyes. “So – what do you say, should we call Earl?”

She grinned, nodding. “Yeah. Let’s call Earl.”

Jordan parked in front of the shop and smiled up at the newly edited sign. Where it used to say Earl’s, now it read ‘Dean’s Body and Repair.” It had been three months since they had moved to South Dakota, bought a nice little three-bedroom ranch with a fenced-in yard and settled in. Dean’s business had taken right off, Earl’s loyal customers staying with him thanks to Earl’s glowing endorsement, and seeing him relaxed, happy and enjoying his work made her heart smile.

It was Friday night, closing time, and Jordan glanced around, making sure no one was around to stop her for a chat when she got out of the car. The coast was clear, so she headed into the shop, turning to lock the door behind her with a smile.

Her heels clacked against the concrete floor as she made her way back into the depths of the shop, her short skirt swinging with each step. Dean was just reaching for a shop towel after washing his hands, his coveralls down around his waist, and she felt that little clutch in her belly that she always got at the sight of his shoulders, bared in the tank top he was wearing. His eyebrows raised with surprise as she approached him, his eyes roaming over her. “Hi.”

“Are you the mechanic I’ve been hearing about?”

Dean’s lips twitched as he smothered his grin. “I’m the mechanic here, yeah.”

“I was told that you’re the best body man around.”

He tilted his head back, his eyes narrowing a little. “You were told?”

She shrugged. “I hear things. I came to see for myself.”

“Okay. So – what kind of work do you need done?”

She walked slowly over towards the Impala, which was sitting in the nearest stall where it was parked after an oil change. Dean watched the sway of her skirt, swallowing hard as she twirled to lean her back against the gleaming fender. “I was hoping that you could just check things over for me, see if I need anything – touched up.” She put her arms out to her sides, hands on the car, trying not to smile as Dean’s eyes were pulled to her cleavage. “Also, I think I might have a problem with my – intake manifold? Is that what you call it? I was told that you have the perfect tool for that kind of work.”

Dean cleared his throat a little. “So, what kind of car do you drive?”

Jordan smiled. “Oh, I’m not talking about my car.”

A smirk was beginning to curve his lips as he walked towards her, stopping in front of her to look up and down her body, slow and deliberate. “Well, from what I can see, your chassis is in perfect condition. But I’d have to get hands-on to be sure.”

“That’s the idea.” Her voice sounded breathless, catching just a bit as his hand touched her thigh, slipping beneath the hem of her skirt.

“You’re a bad girl, aren’t you? That short little skirt, and no panties?”

His fingers were trailing over her hip, squeezing at her ass and then sneaking around to explore between her thighs as she struggled to speak. “I wanted to make you happy.”

She bit at her lip as he stroked his fingers over her, teasing at her clit. “Oh, I’m more than happy,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust. He brought his fingers up to his lips, sucking her flavor from them before reaching for the buttons of her low-cut blouse. “Fuck,” he growled as he opened it to see the red satin and lace bra beneath, and she moved her arms to let her top fall to the floor. “You locked the door, right?”

She nodded, unable to form words at the moment, the heat of his gaze and his touch rendering her speechless. She braced her hands against the Impala again as his fingers traced the edge of her bra, caressing the rounded flesh above the fabric, then tugging the cups down and bending to drag his tongue over a nipple. She let out a soft whine, and then his large hands grasped her by the waist and set her up on the fender before he reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, tossing it out of the way and attacking her breasts in earnest.

Finally he laid her back on the car, staring down at her, his hands roaming over her body as she squirmed, every nerve electrified at his touch. “So fucking beautiful,” he growled, moving to flip her skirt up and pull her legs over his shoulders, bending to bury his face in her pussy with a moan. Already on fire, within moments she was thrashing underneath him, her heels flying from her feet as she shouted his name, coming hard as he drove her over the edge.

Once Jordan had calmed, Dean stood and dragged his forearm over his face, then reached for her waist, lifting her from the car and setting her to her feet. Legs wobbling, she leaned against the fender, watching as Dean, his eyes never leaving her, shoved his coveralls down and unfastened his jeans. He pulled her close again, walking her to the back of the Impala before shoving all his clothing down to his knees and spinning her to face the car. He wrapped one arm around her chest, his fingers kneading at her breast as his other hand covered her sex, holding her tight as he nipped at her neck. “You know what happens when you strut in here in your high heels and short little skirt with no underwear, naughty girl?” he rumbled in her ear, and she shook her head, trembling in his hold. “You get bent over my car and fucked.” At his last word, he plunged two fingers inside her, startling a cry from her lips, his arm around her the only reason she was still on her feet. After a few well-aimed strokes, he pulled his hand free from between her thighs and pushed her forward over the trunk, growling, “Hands on the car, and don’t move.”

After he had arranged her to his liking, moving her legs farther apart and pulling her hips towards him, he lined himself up, one hand on her back to keep her in place as he slowly penetrated her, pressing forward until he was balls-deep and she was whimpering beneath him. “You okay, baby?” he asked softly, waiting for her to nod before he moved, a tiny shift of his hips that made her moan. “If you liked that, just wait.” He pulled back, the slick drag against his sensitive cock making him hiss in a breath, teeth clenched. He pushed forward again with a soft growl, fighting for control for a moment before beginning a quickly increasing rhythm, his hands gripping Jordan’s hips to hold her in place. Each thrust forced a cry from her lips, incoherent begging and long, low moans of his name, spurring him on.

He felt his balls draw up tight, forcing a “Fuck!” from him as he began to flood her with his release, driving into her hard and fast. A moment later, she arched up with a broken shout of his name, her cunt seizing around him and making him swear again, shaking uncontrollably until she dropped to the shining surface of the Impala’s trunk, her breath coming in harsh sobs.

He let go of her, supporting himself with his hand against the car for a moment, waiting for his head to stop spinning. Jordan laid there beneath him, still panting, boneless and limp. Dean stood, pulling his pants up around his waist, and lifted her from the car and into his arms. He walked to his desk chair and sat with her in his lap, cradling her close against him. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, his hand smoothing over her back, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

Jordan tilted her head back to look at him, a serene little smile on her face. “Hey.”

Dean chuckled softly. “You good?”

She sighed, snuggling back against his chest. “I’m amazing.”

“Fucking right, you are. What the hell got into you today, anyway?” He smiled down at her, hands still stroking over her silky skin. “Not that I’m complaining...”

She shrugged a little, a shy smile curving her lips. “Ever since the first day I met you, I had this fantasy of being manhandled and fucked by a really hot mechanic.”

He blushed a little, bending to kiss her, lingering over her lips for a few moments. “So, did you walk down here like that?”

Jordan giggled. “Ummmm… no. I know it’s only three blocks, but I could just see a little breeze kicking up and me walking bare-assed down the street. And besides, I was afraid Mrs. Murphy would want to stop me and talk about her cat.” Dean laughed, and she continued. “So no, my car is outside.”

“Well, good – I think maybe we’ll drive home together, I think I need to clean the Impala before I take her out. Somebody made kind of a mess on the trunk.”

“Not my fault.”

“Totally your fault.” He kissed her firmly as if to seal his winning of the argument. “So, how about we go home and shower, then hit Molly’s?”

“That is the second best offer I’ve had all day.” She reached her hand to his face, her eyes soft and searching. “You know, I was thinking. Everything that’s happened to us – if I hadn’t been running away from Darrel, and you hadn’t been trying to escape the shit in Kansas City – we never would have met each other. I think it was meant to be.”

“Oh, baby, definitely,” he said as she stretched up to kiss him again. “So – maybe we should try to find your clothes.”

“I have no idea where my shoes are. I think I kicked them off when you were eating me out like a wild man.”

Dean’s laugh echoed through the garage. “You can go home barefoot, I’ll find ‘em later. I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for a bacon cheeseburger.”

“Oh, God, yes. And a beer.”

He wrapped his arms around her for one more squeeze. “Yep. Definitely meant to be.”

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Agents of the Golden Throne

It took me longer than I wanted to write this, but here’s the follow up to the current story thread.  We see more of the Inquisition and their methods, we have what I sincerely hope to be a heartwarming moment, we touch on the subject of xenophilia, and, of course, we get to see the Grey Knights bust heads.  I hope you enjoy the story, and, as always, no one except Drake and his crew belong to me. 

“I carry with me an Inquisitorial Seal.  It is a small, unassuming object contained in a neat box of Pluvian obsidian.  It is a modest thing.   Relatively plain, adorned with a single motif and a simple motto.  Yet with this little object I can sign the death warrant of an entire world and consign a billion souls to oblivion.”  -Inquisitor Flast of the Ordo Malleus

“It is Mankind’s holy destiny to rule the stars, and rule them alone.”  -Lord Inquisitor Knael of the Ordo Xenos

“Do not worry: your memories will return with time.”  The deep bass voice of Lord Hector Rex cut through Vir’s headache.  He was aboard the Fury of Deimos, the heavy starship that served as the headquarters of Rex and the Grey Knights.  He looked around him, taking note of the gloomy gothic architecture and the massive cathedral windows of the hangar bay.  A cadre of humans stood around him; individuals that he was sure he knew but couldn’t really remember.  His memories were in the back of his mind, flitting things that he tried in vain to claw back to the forefront of his brain.  He remembered being on some strange planet… something that had to do with the color red.  There was some sort of white orb, too.  Nothing else besides that.  He couldn’t recall the interior of the Fury of Deimos, something Rex unabashedly told him they permanently deleted.  No one save the most powerful and dedicated servants of the Ordo Malleus could come aboard a starship of the Grey Knights and still leave with their memories.  It was explained to him as a simple security measure, but it still irked him.  He could, though, remember the probing, the strange devices… the pain.  It was the singular most painful experience he had ever gone through, and that was saying a lot.  Ripping through someone’s mind to make sure their soul was untainted did a number on the pain receptors of nerves, not to mention the utter wrongness of such an act.  

But, apart from the pain and the memories of the elderly Inquisitor guiding him through his recovery, he could remember nothing except brief hints; shadows of what he once was.  Then there were his companions, people who he was certain he should know but didn’t.  There was a brown haired, easy-going man dressed in a black and yellow jumpsuit.  It was something he would have found ridiculous except for the sense of respect he felt for the individual; that particular memory ran deep.  

Looking rather confused was a man with close cut hair, wearing what Vir vaguely remembered as a combat armor bodysuit.  Faint memories of competence, fighting side by side, something in common…  This man was some sort of friend.  Trustworthy.  

The third perplexed individual was wearing high boots and a leather jacket vest, similar to his own.  This one Vir held slightly in awe, somewhat like the first man.  He remembered hearing stories about this one, but, frustratingly, couldn’t remember.  

The last had a black coat and boots matching his equally black hair.  Blue eyes roved suspiciously around the hangar, looking with untrust at the Inquisitor and the other Imperials.  A series of conflicting feelings rose from the sight of this man: good advice, utter hilarity, slight insanity, and a disturbing amount of large explosions.  What the hell…?

“How soon will our memories recover?” asked the black coated man.  Rex scratched his head.  Vir could tell he was frowning behind his mask.  

“This is not an exact science.  I would estimate a day, perhaps two, for all of your memories to fully come back to you.  It could be as little as an hour, or, in the most extreme, as much as a week.”  Rex noticed the alarmed looks being cast his way.  “Though that is unlikely.  I can give you my utmost assurance that all of your memories, except for the ones of the halls of this ship, will return.”  Another man entered the room, this one dressed in a distinctly Imperial style, with an elaborate, overly-embroidered greatcoat and cap.  Vir remembered him… from somewhere.  He thought this man had been on his ship before.  His ship… what was his ship called?  Something fierce, he hoped.  The man bowed to Rex and spoke in a worried, but polite tone.

“Greetings, Lord Inquisitor.”  

“Greetings, Commissar Cain.”  All four of the non-Imperials in the hangar looked up sharply.  Cain.  They remembered him better with a name to go with a face.  “I trust your stay in the hangar has been satisfactory?” inquired Rex.  

“It has.”  Ah, yes.  Cain stayed here because he didn’t want to get mind wiped.  And he didn’t touch the orb, like we did.  That’s why we’re here!  The orb!  Cain cleared his throat.  “With all due respect, Lord Inquisitor, and I do recognize that this is your area of expertise, but was it necessary to completely mind-wipe them?”  Rex cocked his head curiously.

“We did not mind-wipe them.  Unfortunately, it is a side effect of the process that makes sure they are untainted.  If we could avoid it, we would, but there is simply no other way.”  Cain nodded.  

“Very well.  I thank you for your explanation, Lord Inquisitor.”  He glanced at the still confused four mind-wipe victims.  “May I take them back to their ships?”  

“You may,” replied Rex with a nodd.  He made a curious symbol on his breast, folding his thumbs together and outstretching his palms.  “May the Emperor guide you, Commissar Cain.”  Cain returned the gesture and bowed. 

“And you as well, Lord Inquisitor Rex.”  He gently guided the four to a shuttle.  “Come now.  We need to get you back where you belong.”

Rex watched them board the shuttle and take off.  They were strong of mind and soul, those ones.  That must have been why the Prognosticators of the Grey Knights had told him not to interfere with their business.  He had been annoyed that xenos had seen the Knights, but it was inevitable, he supposed.  After all, the Sons of Titan had teamed up with the enigmatic Aeldari to fight the daemons of Chaos when necessary.  More xenos, especially ones deemed necessary to the future by the seers of the Grey Knights, couldn’t hurt too badly, he supposed.  There were worse enemies out there.  He did, however, chafe that those pesky GA delegates were still around.  He had pulled rank and ordered the Knights not to destroy them.  That would cause too much of a political headache.  Though, he did discreetly mind-wipe them with his powers, and pull the orbital defenses of the Rundi homeworld from the chairwoman’s mind; information he had subsequently turned over to Inquisitor Vail.  They wouldn’t ever remember meeting him.  A good thing, all things considered.  They had neither the training nor stomach for fighting demons.  He spun on his heel and strode into the hall of the Deimos.  There was work to be done.

Aboard the shuttle

The shuttle had roved from ship to ship, dropping off passengers that barely remembered where they were going.  The yellow-shirted man, who had introduced himself as Kirk (some more slight memories came from that realization… something about a TV show?) was left on a ship called the Enterprise (a good name.  Adam hoped his ship was named something just as good.)  The First Mate, a tall thin man with strange pointed ears, had sighed as if this were a regular occurrence and led Kirk deeper into the ship.  

The short haired man was left aboard the Normandy (memories of beaches, and machine guns, and mass death in a war a long time ago.)  A raven haired woman wearing a bodysuit that left little to the imagination greeted them.  

“Ah, Commander.  Welcome back.  I trust everything went satisfactory?” she asked.  The other man stared at her.  

“You have a strange accent,” he said at last.  “Where are you from?”  The woman, who Vir presumed to be the First Officer of this ship, merely cocked an eyebrow.  Cain rolled his eyes and stepped in.  

“Ms. Lawson, the Inquisition performed an intensive interrogation on Commander Shepard, the side effects of which include the temporary, and I stress temporary, loss of memory.”

“He has no idea who I am.  Or anyone else,” stated Lawson bluntly.  Cain nodded and pushed Shepard from the shuttle.  

“Off you go Commander.  Hope the doctors don’t take you apart.”  The shuttle ramp closed, veiling the sight of a very confused Shepard and very exasperated Lawson.  It took off, slipping through the void.  The silver shape of a large, rectangular ship flitted through the viewport.  Vir looked out in wonder.  This ship… this one’s mine.  What is it called…?  Harbinger?  Harbinger sounds right… but… no…

The shuttle touched down in a large, open hangar.  A shorter, brown haired woman stood at attention there, waiting.  The ramp came down with a heavy thunk, and Vir and Cain exited.  

“This is our stop,” said Cain.  “Will you two be alright?” he asked the shuttle’s other two occupants.  The black coated man nodded jerkily, still staring into space.  

“What?  Oh.  Yes.  Don’t worry about us.  Commissar Cain.  Admiral Vir.”  He rattled off their unfamiliar names, the taste of the words strange on his tongue.  As the shuttle took off once more, the woman approached Vir and Cain.  

“Admiral,” she said with a crisp salute.  Vir looked her over, trying desperately to remember who she was.  Obviously some sort of ship’s officer.  

“Ah… yes,” he stalled, trying to buy time for his memories to return.  “Uh…”  The woman stared at him.  

“Are you… alright, Admiral?” she asked, perplexed.  Before he could do anything to embarrass himself, Cain stepped in.  

“Ah, Simone.”  Simone!  Yes!  Now he had a name to go with a face.  Simone was his… assistant?  Maybe?  “As you know,” continued Cain, “Admiral Vir was interrogated by the Inquisition.  The side effects of which include temporary memory loss.”  Simone’s mouth set in a hard line.

“Those utter-” she stopped herself, realizing who she was talking to.  “Ah.  Yes.  Commissar.”  She turned to Vir, clearly trying to ignore that she almost criticized the most deadly and powerful organization of Cain’s home government.  “Admiral… you really don’t remember me?”  Vir shook his head a miserable ‘no’.

“No.  I don’t.  There are bits, and pieces… but not much.”  

“Well, you should probably get settled.  Go to your cabin; someplace familiar.  I’ll make sure Kril doesn’t kill you,” said Cain with a wink.  He strode off, Commissar’s greatcoat swirling.  Simone watched him leave.  

“What did they do to you…?”  muttered Simone.  “I’m your First Lieutenant, Admiral.”

“Ah hah!” came Vir’s triumphant shout.  “Yes.  Simone.  I remember you are my first lieutenant.  It’s coming back.  A bit.”  

“Alright, then.  I’ll take my leave, Admiral,” she said.  Vir shook his head, still confused.  He wandered through the hangar, somehow knowing where the exits were and where they led.  He knew his cabin was somewhere towards the front area of the ship, near the bridge, but found his feet taking him a different way.  He walked through the bowels of the ship, saluting the crew he passed with automa-like precision.  It was mechanical.  He remembered none of them, but for an unknown reason kept walking until he reached a door near the engineering area.  He instinctively stepped inside, though he did not know where it led or why he did so.  

The room was bare, with empty metal walls and a corrugated steel floor.  The walls were covered with elaborate weapons blueprints and armor designs.  In the corner, huddled over a workbench, a large figure welded something.  Flying sparks illuminated a sleek blue carapace and four arms.  Vir had no idea who this was or what sort of creature it was… but he knew it.  He trusted it.  He felt safe here.  Hearing his footsteps, the figure turned around and lifted its welding mask.  

“Adam?  You got back already?” He felt something stir inside him at her (he knew it was a her) voice.  

“I… I can’t remember anything,” he confessed.  “The Imperials interrogated me… one of the side effects was temporary memory loss.”  The blue alien stood to its full height.  

“Those bastards…  You don’t remember me?” she asked.  Vir shrugged.  

“Tell me your name.  It helps with remembering,” he replied.  She stepped forward and took his arms.  

“Sunny,” she said.  Suddenly, everything clicked.  

“Sunny,” he replied.  It was a statement.  A sentence spoken by a weary man who has finally come home.  

“You… you do remember me?” asked Sunny with concern.  

“I remember your name,” said Vir with a smile.  “Clearness.  Blue skies.  Light.  Warmth.  Happiness.  Sunny.”

“Is… is that it?  You don’t remember anything else?”  Vir stepped forward and threw his arms around her.  He felt tears go down his face as he buried it into her chest.  She drew him close, her four arms wrapped around him.  

“Yes.  I remember that I love you.”  

Aboard the Millennium Falcon

The Falcon was full to capacity.  Nearly fifty individuals were crammed inside.  Han Solo and Chewbacca were quietly flying in the cockpit.  Not a single word passed between them, for the First Mate realized his Captain wished to be alone with his thoughts.  In the small recreational spaces of the ship, sitting morosely in the chairs that controlled the dorsal and ventral guns, slouching in the hallways and resting in the cargo holds were dozens of the Apocalypse’s armsmen.  

After Thomas Drake had returned from the Fury of Deimos, he had instinctively gravitated towards Richter and Ordelphine, whom he had told his predicament.  The two had immediately and bluntly set him straight, giving him the beginnings of his memories back.  He had been lucky; most of who he had been and what he was doing returned within the span of hours, no little thanks due to his First Lieutenant.  He had been scrolling through his computer files when a note to himself had popped up… and he had a sudden epiphany.  Which was why the Falcon was currently headed to a small but busy moon in the far reaches of this galaxy known as Noctopolis.  

The note, and the realization it brought, was simple.  The Holy Ordos of His Divine Majesty’s Inquisition and the laws of the Imperium of Man were harsh.  They were known to declare all those who dealt in alien technology Excommunicate Traitoris.  This meant that the individual in question was expelled from the Church and light of the God-Emperor and cast out of the human race to be hunted down and executed.  If such a punishment was fit for those who merely traded technology crafted by aliens, then what of those who romanced, or even copulated with aliens?  The punishment for such an act would be… unbelievable.  Unfortunately, xenophilia was an accepted act in five of the nine galaxies that now made up reality.   Should His Majesty’s Inquisition find out that such people were accepted, it would mean instant and eternal war.  

Drake realized the Inquisition could deal with aliens by themselves, for if the aliens fought alongside humanity against larger threats, then they were an asset.  However, if Holy Humanity debased itself with aliens, and to the Inquisition, if aliens were treacherous and convinced humans to perfore perverse acts with them, then the Inquisition would have no other choice but to step in.  This would result in any alien race that had any sort of xenophiliac history with humanity to be exterminated, and human civilizations that thought xenophilia was acceptable to be brought under Imperial compliance.  

The civilizations and the xenophiles themselves had no idea of the storm that was about to bear down on them.  With Inquisitor Amberly Vail of the Ordo Xenos now in this galaxy and presumably finding out whatever she could about it, Drake had what he believed to be four options.

One, he could do nothing.  The simplest option.  If he stood by, Vail would find or overhear that Admiral Adam Vir had convinced the Galactic Assembly that xenophilia should be legal.  In that case, Drake could claim plausible deniability and the Inquisition might believe him.  Regardless, the xenophiles would be rounded up, the GA destroyed, and this galaxy would become part of the Imperium of Man.

Two, he could turn the xenophiles over to the Inquisition.  For eradicating such a large heresy, the Inquisition would probably give him whatever he wanted: advanced weapons technology, one of those delightful gothic starships, perhaps his own private moon.  However, innocents would die, the Scoundrels would be broken up, and Vir, Quill, Kirk, and Shepard would despise him before being forever silenced.  

Three, he could tell his compatriots or wait for them to do something.  However, Thomas Drake had succeeded and survived in life through one maxim: if you wanted something done right, then you did it yourself.  

Four, he could side with the xenophiles.  He would have to do this carefully, as, otherwise, the full wrath of the Inquisition would come down on his head.  He would have to get them underground, undercover, completely invisible from any prying eyes.  Already, he had sent warning messages to the Milano, Normandy, Omen, and Enterprise.  All were hand written and hand delivered, all written in Drake’s camera-less cabin.  No one could hack into handwriting.

The question was hard.  The answer was simple.  He was siding with the xenophiles.  Why?  At the moment, the xenophiles were sitting there, doing nothing.  The Inquisition, on the other hand, had gone and messed with his brain.  All moral concerns aside, he was siding against the Inquisition ‘cause fuck ‘em, that’s why.  Ah, spite.  That most excellent of motivators.  

The Falcon touched down on the putrid streets of Noctopolis, the polluted air swirling around the landing gear.  Drake and the armsmen disembarked, leaving Solo with Chewbacca to reclaim the last vestiges of his shredded memory.  The armsmen wore garb similar to Drake, all in heavy boots and trench coats.

Good: the trench coats were not armor or uniforms, and thus they would not be easily recognized.

Bad: a group of people wearing black coats and strutting about an overcrowded criminal-ruled moon would be seen and possibly remembered.

Best: trench coats could conceal weapons.  A lot of weapons.  Each of Drake’s armsmen wore clothing that was reinforced to stop bullets, and had enough guns on them to fuel an army.  No one would be messing with them today.  

They walked through the streets, their massive numbers and intimidating bearing making sure no one got in their way.  Making their way down fetid alleys and downwards, ever downwards, they reached a gorge with red smoke, pollution from some nearby factory, billowed.  They made their way through a deserted alley and reached a door.  Drake knew it hid a deceptively large building.  

“Fan out,” he ordered the armsmen.  “Surround the building.  No one in or out without my permission.”  The armsmen nodded.  Weapons were pulled from concealment, the larger ones assembled quickly by their wielders.  First Squad had drawn duty today, and Saul stood by Drake’s side.  Two black coated women stood next to the door, shotguns at the ready.  He wasn’t expecting it, but there could be hostiles inside.  You never knew when you might need a hot breach.  Drake rapped on the door.  There was a long pause.  Drake and Saul stood unmoving.  The armsmen were ready with their weapons, turning the door and the alley into a kill zone.  Eventually, a slit opened and a pair of human eyes peered out.

“What do you want?” asked a somewhat surprised voice.

“I’m a friend of Adam,” replied Drake, the grin on his face unable to hide itself.  There was a snapping and rattling of chains and locks being undone, and the door opened.  Drake and Saul stepped through, two other armsmen who had been ready to provide support with compact submachine guns hot on their heels.  A man with electric blue hair stared, frightened, at the quite obviously mercenary soldiers that had just walked through his door.  Before he could say or do anything rash, Drake held out a calming hand.  

“Relax.  In this case, I really am who I say I am.”  He held out a paper, which the man took and carefully scanned.  

I, Admiral Adam Vir, hereby state that Thomas Drake is a close confidant and can be completely trusted.

Drake had papers with similar messages from all the Scoundrels.  He had forged their signatures and had their fingerprints on file.  It was, perhaps, a breach of trust, but he would not be offended if they did the same to him.  It was just good business.  Plus, such documents were very useful.  Very useful indeed.  As the man puzzled over what was happening, Drake held up a finger to his comms device.  

“You know, you really should change your passwords.  And your back door code is 0-0-0-0.  Sloppy,” sighed Drake.  “Very sloppy indeed.”  The blue harried man gapped up at him.  Drake sighed again.  “Can we, perhaps, go somewhere to talk business?  That is, of course, why I came.”  The man nodded, still slack jawed, and led the mercenaries through what seemed to be some sort of club and into the back rooms.  A group of strangely dressed humans and aliens stood there, apparently summoned by the blue haired man.  Drake sat in a vacant seat, the cheap leather scratching through his coat.  Saul and the two other armsmen stood beside him, their coats open, ready to grab hidden guns at a moment’s notice.

“Are you here to kill us?” opened one of the humans abruptly.  The other faces at the table were silent, but held the same worry.  Drake sighed for a third time.  

“I only kill those whose deaths are necessary or deserved.  You are neither, so you have nothing to fear from me.”  There were a few audible sighs of relief.  

“Then why are you here?” asked a small, furry alien. 

“I come with warnings.  There are those who would kill you, and I wish to prevent that,” replied Drake calmly.  There was a splatter of derisive laughter before another human held up a hand. 

“Are you… one of us?  Why would you want to warn us?”  Drake gave a rictus grin.  Some of his table-mates visibly shrunk back.  

“No I am not.  Frankly, I don’t care about you or your opponents here.  Let us just say that it’s better off you weren’t mass murdered by zealots.”  That brought a series of murmerings.  

“What?” asked a Drev.  “I think you’d better start from the beginning.”

“Indeed,” replied Drake.  “It is always wise to start at the beginning.”  He settled into his chair.  “I’m sure many of you are familiar with the fact that there are now nine galaxies in this universe, not just one.”  A chorus of yeses greeted this fact.  “You may also be familiar that in one of these galaxies resides a government known as ‘The Imperium of Man.’”  A chorus of hissed curses greeted that name.

“Xenophobic scum,” muttered someone.

“Hmm.  Yes,” replied Drake neutrally.  He leaned back even further and crossed his legs.  “At the present moment,” he continued, “The Imperium’s secret police, known as the Inquisition, is here, in this galaxy, investigating a completely unrelated matter.”  More mutterings.  “They are bound to investigate everything they can about this galaxy, and when they do, they will find out about your existence.  If this happens, you will all be tortured to death, and the GA, with most likely every alien race here, will be exterminated, with the galaxy coming under Imperial rule.”  Drake smiled over their horrified faces.  “I do not wish to see that happen.  Which is why you must do as I say.”  They all leaned in, desperate to hear if he could save them.  “One, you must disperse.  Groups attract attention.  I found this place easily, because I knew what to look for.  The Inquisition is even more adept than me.  Two, you must leave this place.  If a trail can be found, something I am trying to erase, believe me, but, if a trail can be found, it will lead to this moon.  Three, you must never, ever practice any sort of xenophilia, or have anyone suspect what you are.  Four, if you do as I say, and are still captured by the Inquisition, you must tell them that you are alone; a singular degenerate alone and unloved in this universe.  They will ask you to betray your comrades; don’t.  They will kill you either way.”  There was a stunned silence, before the room went up in shouts.

“No!”  

“Absolutely not!”

“You ask us to give up everything!  Everything we’ve worked so hard for!  To no longer be ourselves!  Adam Vir would never do this!”

“Adam Vir is not here!” thundered Drake.  “You are dealing with me now.”  He stood and rubbed his forehead as he paced.  “Nothing I have told you, or will tell you, is a lie.  My colleagues are, to a man, all better people than I.  However, they are, at times, unbearably naïve.”  He spun around and fixed them with his most intimidating glare, the one that made corporate oligarchs, high generals and planetary governors quake in their boots.  “Be grateful that you are dealing with someone who knows precisely what they are talking about.”  The table sat back down and watched Drake.  He frowned.  “Now, I can get you off this moon; get you to wherever you want to go.  I can give you new identities, multiple identities, just in case, food, tickets, papers: whatever you need to start a new life.”  He paused.  “However, all things come at a price.”

“I knew it!” hissed one of the humans.  A tesraki held up a hand, silencing the other members around the table.

“What do you want?” 

“I want information.  And you are going to give it to me.”

“What do you want to know?”  The voice was resigned to its owner’s fate.  Drake leaned forward. 

“Everything about the LFIL, everything about Admiral Vir, and everything about this galaxy that I don’t already know.  Give it to me and follow my directions, and I can ensure you will survive.”

Aboard the Fury of Deimos

Lord Inquisitor Hector Rex stood on the command bridge of the Grey Knight’s ancient ship, surrounded by the mindless servitors that crewed it.  In front of him were winking holograms of Admiral Vir, Captain Kirk, and Commander Shepard.  Deep into the blackness of space, a space station, so sleek and unlike anything Imperial, orbited an empty planet.  A camera feed from inside the research station flickered through the terminal in front of him.  What it displayed was clear signs of daemonic presence.  

“We got word just recently that this research station went dead,” said Vir.  “They apparently had some sort of artifact they were studying here.  It only came alive in the past few days.”  The cameras showed an infestation.  The artifact had spread throughout the station.  Twisted masses of white bone, flickering with red energy and black ooze, clung to the floors and walls.  Dark energy, lit with crackles of red, pulsed through the ceilings as if the station were some living thing.  As if the red crackling were arteries, filled with blood, flowing to the artifact, the beating heart of corruption.  The station’s crew were all dead.  Their bodies were held up by tendrils of bone, some twitching slightly as the horrible mass grew inside them.  Bone spread through every empty space in their bodies, growing through their eyes and mouths, infesting their noses, even going through their very veins.  To the watching Scoundrels, it was horrifying.  To Lord Hector, it was just a regular day.  

“It was good of you to inform me,” he replied.  “Stay aboard your ships.  We shall take care of this.”  The Scoundrels nodded.  If there were people who knew precisely how to combat this sort of thing, then they would differ to their expertise.  Rex deactivated the holograms and turned, walking off the bridge.  As he strode through the ship, he sent a mental message to Doctor Strange.  Strange was aboard, just in case the Knights or Inquisition needed his help.  He was staying in the hangar bay, though, for he just didn’t want to take the chance of being mind wiped.  

Strange.  We are cleansing the research station here.  Stay aboard.  If you receive word of any other artifacts being activated, you are free to intervene as you see fit.  

Understood, Lord Inquisitor.  I’ll be keeping my eyes open on the areas that celestially connect to Polaris.  

The Scoundrels awoke from their induced slumber with a warning: there were corrupting artifacts, hidden in the locations that Polaris was connected to.  These artifacts needed to be destroyed.  Rex couldn’t agree more.  

Through the halls bearing the symbols of the Grey Knights he walked, until he reached the teleportarium.  The five Knights who had accompanied him on this mission stood there, silently waiting, weapons in hand.  Rex simply nodded at them.  No words were needed.  His sword was always at his side, his armor always on him; no need to go get them.  

The silent party of Ordo Malleus operatives stepped into a large circular chamber, mysterious machinery clanking along the walls.  A servitor trundled forward, and flipped a lever.  

With an almighty crack of displaced air, Lord Hector Rex and the Grey Knights teleported aboard the now derelict research station.  The pulsating mass of bone and energy crackled ominously around them.  They marched inexorably forward, untouched by the corruption.  

“They are coming,” spoke the rumbling baritone of one of the Knights.  “This thing defends itself.”  Without warning, a fallen scientist leapt at them.  It’s eyes were dead and gone, replaced by inky black spots of primordial darkness.  It’s mouth stretched impossibly wide, bone spurs ready to shred flesh.  

It was unnaturally, unimaginably fast.  

The Grey Knights were faster.  

Nemesis force halberds crackled to life with but a thought, pure blue-white energy flowing across their blades.  The Knight nearest to the lifeless abomination spun at speeds the mortal eye could not follow, his psychic powers enhancing his already enhanced body.  The blade of his halberd connected with the thing’s neck, cleaving through bone and thin, lifeless skin like a knife through tissue paper.  The once-human fell, the unnatural life in its eyes gone.  With its death, the station exploded.  

Tentacles of bone whipped forward, seeking to impale the intruders.  More infected bodies darted forth, running at the Knights with speeds that would have astounded a normal human.  The darkness seemed to grow deeper, an unnatural deficit of light swimming forward to fill the halls.  

Lord Hector unsheathed his blade.  The sword was called Arias, an ancient weapon carried by the Ordo Malleus’s greatest heroes, reportedly blessed by the Emperor Himself during the Great Crusade.  It glowed with faint golden light, repelling the darkness around them.  He now brought it forward onto a corrupted scientist; a quick slice, almost as if he were swatting a fly.  The infected form fell, cleaved in two by Hector’s power.  

The Grey Knights spun and swirled through the station as if they were smoke.  Untouchable.  Untaintable.  Their psychic powers churned through the air, leaving blessed purity where there had been corruption a moment before.  They moved in tandem, augmenting each other with their power, exactly in tune with their brothers’ minds.  They were a brotherhood of demigods, slayers of the demonic, a group that brought only death to the damned.  

Lord Rex spun Arias in a defensive pattern, the consecrated blade shredding every attacker that reached him.  He held out a hand, and a dead Vrul scientist that had leapt at him, bone-fangs ready to tear his throat, stopped in mid-air, suspended with his mind.  His fist closed.  The Vrul exploded into bone shards.  

A wall of force, crackling with golden energy, swept away the encroaching darkness, fueled by the combined might of the Knights.  The scientists were all dead now, shredded by the psychic ammunition of the Grey Knights wrist-mounted bolters or cut down by their crackling blades.  The tentacles and walls redoubled their efforts, desperate to make sure the Inquisition didn’t reach the artifact at the center of the station’s corruption.  

With a swipe of his hand, the Grey Knight’s sergeant flicked open the heavy doors that led to the artifact’s chamber.  They saw it, a small mass of bone, swelling with unnatural power.  With a flick of his sword, Rex cut the tendrils that suspended it.  The very station seemed to shriek underneath them, the bone tendrils spasming.  Rex held the thing in mid-air, unwilling to touch it.  

“What shall we do with it?” he asked the sergeant.  

“Put it in a box.  Take it back to Titan.  We must study this,” replied the deep voice.  Another Knight came forward with a purified small metal container, and Rex telepathically lowered the artifact inside and sealed the lid.  With a mental command to the servitor, the Knights and Lord Inquisitor disappeared, teleported back to the Fury of Deimos.  The starships of the Scoundrels and Inquisition erased any trace of the station, its memory gone forever.  In its box, the cursed artifact pulsed, another relic to be taken back to the headquarters of the Grey Knights to be studied.

I hope you liked it.  If you have any requests or want me to write about a specific group or person, please tell me!  Wherever you are, have a great day.  

[missaudreyhorney]

The Big Game

Modern AU where Jim Hopper is at your parent’s house for a Super Bowl party. That isn’t a plot so much as it is a very flimsy excuse for me to write out some dirty thoughts I have after seeing this photo of David Harbour looking like an absolute DILF.

Content Warnings: Rated M for age gap, kissing, over-the-clothes touching, a bit of Daddy kink, a little physical intimidation. All that good stuff. Female Reader. Slightly OOC for the sake of funsies. 1.6k words.

Tagging @t-u-m-s​. Anyone else want to be tagged when I post something new? Let me know.

“I know you said not to bring anything,” you announce as you walk into your parents’ house from the garage, “but mom told me the doctor said you should be watching your diet.” You place the tray of vegetables on the kitchen counter and turn towards the living room. “So I brought you some ve-” your words are cut off by the sight of an unfamiliar man sitting on the couch.

He’s wearing jeans, a dark grey polo shirt, and a black baseball cap that’s on backward. Just his profile alone is stunning. Thick eyebrows, an adorably pointy nose, and a strong jaw covered by a short, scruffy beard. He turns to look at you and it feels as if your heart stops.

“Hopper, you’ve met my daughter before, right?” your father says as he stands up from the chair to greet you.

“No,” the man answers coldly, eyes now fixed on the tv.

Your father comes into the kitchen and gives you a hug. “That was very nice of you, sweetie, but your mom’s been making me eat vegetables every day. This is the Super Bowl. All I want today is wings and potato skins.”

You hear his words clearly but they don’t register in your head. You’re much too distracted by this Hopper person you’ve never seen or even heard about before.

“Where’s everybody else?” you wonder aloud.

“They’re not here yet. This is just the pregame stuff,” your father clarifies.

Hopper glances at you again and you feel like you’re melting as you lean into the countertop. He’s so hot. Nothing like the boys you go to school with. Nothing like a boy at all. He is one hundred percent man.

“You wanna get a snack and join us?” your father requests in a jovial tone.

“Um, I have to, uh, put this other stuff away,” you point to the bag of groceries on the floor next to you.

“Oh, right,” your father acknowledges.

“Where’s mom?”

“Getting a couple of last-minute things for the party. She’ll be back soon.”

You roll your eyes. “I told her I would do that.”

“You know your mother, “ he says, walking back into the living room. “She never listens.”

You take a moment to admire Hopper before removing the food you’ve purchased from the bag. His arms are tantalizing, with the type of muscle not built from going to the gym, but from moving furniture, fixing cars, and other forms of manual labor. Seeing the veins in his hand as he drinks a bottle of beer makes you lick your lips. You can’t stop yourself from shooting him more glances as you finish putting the remainder of the groceries in their rightful place.

There’s no way you can sit in there with that gorgeous man and pretend to be calm or make casual conversation. Instead, you slowly and carefully make your way upstairs to your bedroom, or rather, what used to be your bedroom before you started college. Leaning against the inside of the door and taking a deep breath, you pull your phone from your pocket to distract you.

Your mother arrives about ten minutes later, with a football-shaped ice cream cake, and you admonish her appropriately. Soon after, more people show up to the party and the game starts.

With increasing frequency, your eyes drift over to the handsome stranger still on the couch, and within time, his begin to drift towards you as well. You try to keep busy by topping off people’s drinks, refilling the chip bowls, and putting more snacks in the oven but it’s ultimately no use. You can’t avert your gaze for longer than 5 minutes at the most.

Every time you catch him looking at you, heat rises in your chest and radiates out through your limbs. Under normal circumstances, you would welcome this feeling, but with so many sets of eyes surrounding you, the feeling is almost embarrassing. You don’t know how much more of it you can take and you have to get out of there. Not necessarily out of the house, but just away from Hopper.

During a detergent commercial, you try to sneak back upstairs. When your mother asks where you’re going, you tell her that you’re not feeling well and you need to lie down. It is at least partially the truth.

Sitting down on the small bed, you begin to scroll through Instagram to get your mind off of him and you quickly lose track of time. A while later, you hear someone ascending the staircase. Standing in the doorway of your room and looking down the hall, you see Hopper’s impossibly long legs lumbering up the steps.

“What are you doing up here?” you question quietly.

“It’s halftime,” he declares as he closes the space in between your bodies. His scent is so manly, like tobacco and aftershave.

You take a step back. “Don’t you want to see...whoever it is that’s performing?”

“No,” he answers, entering the room. “I want to see you.” His voice is low and deep, causing your thighs to gently quiver.

“H-Hopper, right?” you stammer, breath getting caught in your throat.

“You can call me Jim,” he offers. It's not until you're this close up to him that you see how incredible his eyes are. They're such an unusually dark shade of blue.

“Okay...Jim.” You can feel your cheeks flush as you utter his name.

He looks around and takes a sip of his beer. “Is this your old room?”

“Yeah,” you answer, “haven’t lived here in years though.”

“Who’s Troy?” he asks you with a slight chuckle.

You give him a confused expression, completely unaware of who or what he’s referring to. He points to the wall behind you and you turn your head to look.

“Oh,” you laugh nervously, seeing your old Troy Bolton poster. “It’s Zac Efron. I used to have a crush on him.”

He nods his head in recognition.

“My tastes have…matured since then though.”

“Have they?” he asks with his curiosity piqued.

You nod vigorously as he approaches you like a lion stalking a young gazelle. Attempting to be coy, you back away, until your legs hit the bed and there’s nowhere else to go.

He puts his beer bottle on the nightstand. “What’s your taste in men like now?”

“Older,” you admit, looking up into his beautiful eyes.

“How much older?” His hands clasp around either side of your waist.

“I don’t know,” you answer breathlessly as your hands move up to his shoulders. “About 20 years?”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his lips are on yours in a fiery kiss. Something about this feels wrong, but at the same time, oh so right. You do have a genuine preference for older men, but one that’s friends with your father is really pushing it. As much as you hate to admit it, part of that excites you. It turns you on that he’s in his 40’s and there are a dozen or so people downstairs who could catch you two together at any moment.

Your mouth gasps against his when he shoves you backward and you both fall onto the twin-sized bed. He tastes like beer, a flavor you’re not fond of, but the absolute last thing you want to do right now is to stop. Suddenly, his left hand pulls your hair, yanking your head to the side to give his mouth better access to your neck. He kisses and sucks your sensitive skin there, making you squirm with equal parts pleasure and arousal.

“Oh, Daddy,” you breathe as he nibbles on your earlobe.

“Did you just call me Daddy?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you confess. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I liked it.”

You moan as his teeth graze your skin. The way he’s biting and sucking on you, it feels like he’s going to leave a mark, and at this point, you don’t even care. You don’t care about anything at all other than the way your body feels underneath him and his wanton mouth.

Another moan tumbles from your lips as run your fingers up his hairy forearms and grasp onto his biceps.

“Not so loud, huh? They’re gonna hear us.”

“You should have shut the door,” you reprimand halfheartedly. The sensation of his beard scratching the flesh over your collarbone has you pushing your hips into him.

“Too late for that now,“ he dismisses as his palm presses just below the zipper on your jeans.

Again you let out a moan, this one strained as you try and fail to be quiet.

“Why haven’t I seen you here before?” he inquires, his fingers now massaging against the denim.

“I’ve been at school,” you pant out.

“Well, you’re just going to have to come over here more often, aren’t you?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy!” you moan as the fingers of his free hand start to slide up the back of your t-shirt towards your bra.

“Hey, Hopper. You up there?” your father calls from downstairs.

Slapping a hand down on his head to keep his hat in place, Hopper jumps up from the bed and sprints to the door. “Yeah, I’m, uh, just looking for the bathroom.”

In a daze, you close your eyes and stay on the bed. It’s not until now that you notice how much your blood is pumping and your heart is pounding. With a resigned whimper, you realize that you’re aching with an overwhelming need left by his immense hand rubbing you through your jeans.

“Hurry up. The game is about to start again.” The sound of your father’s voice is a massive buzzkill.

“I’ll see you later, alright?” Hopper suggests to you as he stands in the doorway.

You don’t know what that means exactly but you’re looking forward to finding out. “Alright,” you sigh.

READ PART 2 HERE!

[suzukiblu]

wing

Bruce opens the front door of the manor and Kon-El is standing on the steps in unassuming civilian clothes that don't look like they belong either on a farm or at a punk concert, a cheap duffel bag slung over his shoulder and his hands jammed tight into his pockets, body language unsettled and uncomfortable.

"I'll call Tim down," Bruce says, already resigned to putting up with the kid at dinner tonight and breakfast in the morning. Every time he shows up looking like this, Tim refuses to let him leave before a full twenty-four hours are up.

"Please don't," Kon says tightly, and Bruce . . . pauses. Looks at him more closely.

Processes.

There's a faint little unfamiliar scar on Kon's face. A thin white line splitting his left eyebrow, as if someone actually hit him hard enough to bleed. He's not wearing any earrings, and the scattered piercings that should be in his ears . . . aren't. There's one, but only one. His build is off. A little less brute strength in it; a little more flexibility. He's standing like he doesn't know how to fight.

And, again: the scar.

When and how did anyone actually cut him like that?

"'Don't'?" Bruce repeats, his eyes just barely narrowing.

"There were eighty-four pearls," Kon says, and Bruce's gut goes cold.

Tim didn't teach him that. Tim would never. None of them would ever. Even Jason was never angry or bitter or broken enough to compromise that code.

So someone else taught it to him.

"The doctor is out," Bruce replies by rote, perfectly neutral, and Kon's shoulders sag with . . . relief. He's relieved. He didn't know if Bruce would know what he was saying.

He wanted Bruce to know what he was saying.

"I'm sorry," Kon says, swallowing roughly. "I fucked up real bad this time, B."

That's not something Kon's ever called him. The look on his face isn't an expression Kon's ever directed at him.

This isn't Kon.

"Name," Bruce orders, just as perfectly neutral.

"Jackson Kyle," Kon mutters, his eyes slanting away guiltily. Bruce is in no way inattentive or oblivious enough to miss either Tim's middle name or Selina's last one in that answer, much less the guilt. "Technically."

"Technically?" Bruce asks, not even bothering with a pointed tone, and "Jackson's" mouth twists. He doesn't bring his eyes back to Bruce's face.

"That's not what you call me," he says.

"Inside," Bruce says, stepping back from the doorway. Jackson swallows again, visibly steeling himself, then steps across the threshold. Bruce doesn't ask why what "he" calls him is more his name than the technical answer is, and doesn't ask what "he" calls him either.

That's the whole damn point of that code phrase, after all.

"Report," Bruce orders as soon as he closes the door, and Jackson shifts his center of balance and stops standing like he doesn't know how to fight.

And meets Bruce's eyes again, too.

"Alternate reality," Jackson says, and sounds just like any one of them when the worst has happened. "Things went–bad. Level Omega, final phase. You ordered me to take the out. I said no, and you shoved me through anyway."

Of course he did, Bruce thinks.

Jackson would've died with that version of him, otherwise.

"Solo flight?" he checks without any actual hope for a merciful answer. Not if Jackson had to be forced to take the out.

"Yes, sir," Jackson says, his hands curling into fists at his sides and his mouth going tight. "Nightwing was already–it was solo."

Bruce doesn't imagine a version of himself that had to bury Dick.

That didn't have time to bury Dick, more than likely.

"Downstairs for decontamination, containment procedures, and questioning," he says. Jackson nods, short and efficient. He doesn't protest the precautions.

Maybe Kon would've, but Bruce doesn't actually know him well enough to know.

This version of the kid knows all about him, though, doesn't he.

He takes Jackson to his study. They don't run into Tim or Alfred on the way, and no one else is in the manor right now.

That's for the best.

Bruce looks at Jackson. Waits. Jackson glances at him, then to the grandfather clock.

Its hands move. Tactile telekinesis, obviously.

And 10:48.

Obviously.

The door to the cave opens.

So yes, Jackson knows all about him, and the manor, and the cave, and who knows what else.

[svgarpills]

For the drabbles, would you do an ishimondo one where mondo has a high fever and taka has to take care of him while he sweats it out? Mondo may even talk in his sleep while he hallucinates stuff idk fever dreams can be weird but knowing mondo and his past he’d probs say some weird stuff and taka would just be there the whole time trying to get his temp down

Ooh ok lets give this a shot

--

Ship: Ishimondo

Characters: Kiyotaka Ishimaru, Mondo Owada, Makoto Naegi (briefly)

Warnings: n/a

*I wanted to somehow add Chihiro into this, like make it after their death but idk i couldn't make it work with the context of chapter. 2 and its timeframe

--

Kiyotaka was in a living hell.

Forced to watch his classmates kill each other and then be sent to a trial where he had to watch another classmate die in front of him. Monokuma's shrill laugh still echoed in his ears when he sat in his dorm each night, head buried in his hands. The only reason he was still going was because of the unlikely friendship he managed to form with Mondo.

Speaking of the biker, he...wasn't in the dining hall. Kiyotaka had a system in place, and ignoring the sickening feeling he got when he saw the empty seats of Leon and Sayaka, he noticed one more that should be filled. That was...odd. Mondo might've been foul-mouthed and quick tempered most of the time, even as Taka's friend, but he always showed up to Kiyotaka's meetings.

"Has anyone seen Mondo?" He asked. The students all looked at each other before shrugging or shaking their heads. Fighting the looming sense of dread building in his stomach he cleared his throat. "I'll go get him, then! There's no excuse to be late!" Determinedly, he stood and exited the dining hall, where he allowed himself to take a shaky breath and rush down the hall.

Mondo couldn't be dead, could he? Surely there was no reason someone would risk becoming a blackened so soon after the first trial. Mondo could defend himself, but he couldn't stop himself from worrying as he swallowed thickly. He reached Mondo's door quicker than he thought possible and raised his hand to knock. He didn't mean to be loud, but his shaking arms didn't allow him much control over the gesture.

The rooms were soundproofed, so he couldn't determine if Mondo had heard him or not. The lock turned and opened slightly, violet eyes meeting vibrant red. "Ah, you're awake!" Mondo stared at him and Kiyotaka noticed the beads of sweat formed on his skin. "Are you feeling alright? You look..." he trailed off, not sure if it would be rude to point it out.

"'M fine," Mondo muttered, voice rough and a bit scratchier than usual. "Had a 'lil fever for the past day or two, 's nothin' serious." Kiyotaka reached out hesitantly to place his palm on Mondo's forehead and recoiled at the heat. "I'm fine, bro. Now c'mon, that dumb bear might do somethin' any second now."

"It is something serious! You need to be resting, Mondo, not investigating." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Go lie down, i'll ask Naegi to grab a water bottle or something." He knew a bit about fevers- not much, but whenever he was too sick to overwork himself he tended to just lie in bed and drink water. So that would...probably work. Why was nobody here an Ultimate doctor?

"Fine. You're not gonna stop talkin' about it so I might as well." Kiyotaka couldn't sense any real hostility in Mondo's voice, so he nodded in agreement. "...What're ya standing there for? Go tell Makoto and then come back, if you're gonna be so worried y' might as well stick around." He blinked before clearing his throat and muttering an agreement. Thankfully he knew where Makoto most likely was, probably waiting for him.

Once he had explained the situation and gotten a couple bottles of water, he returned to Mondo's room. He hesitantly turned the doorknob and found it unlocked. He'd have to tell the biker how dangerous that was later, when he was actually able to comprehend the lecture. It'd be annoying to have to repeat everything when he wasn't feverish.

"Bro?" The room was a bit dim, but still bright enough for him to see. Nothing answered him, so he stepped further into the room. He set the water bottles down on a table and wiped the condensation off on his sleeves. It was just a bit of water, it'd be fine. "Mondo?" He noticed the bed, or more specifically the teen passed out on top of the blankets in a postion that seemed more uncomfortable than anything.

Ah, that's good. He needs the rest. Taka pulled one of the spare chairs to the bedside and sat, resting his hands in his lap. This was just to make sure Mondo didn't get any worse, he told himself. It was perfectly reasonable logic, there was no way to send him to a real doctor, so Kiyotaka would just have to monitor him until the fever left.

Mondo shifted slightly in his sleep, brow furrowed slightly as his face turned from peaceful to more troubled, lips pulled down into a barely visible frown. Maybe he was having one of those dreams Kiyotaka had heard about, the ones that made no sense and often accompanied a fever like this. He didn't want to wake the biker up unless it seemed truely necessary, so he just watched as he shifted again.

"Daiya..." That caught Taka's attention. That name was unfamiliar, he didn't know anyone named Daiya. "...'m sorry, wasn't...wasn't strong 'nough." That just added to his confusion. Mondo was plenty strong, so what could've caused him to say something like that. The biker muttered something else, but it was soft and incomprehensible, delusioned mutters and slurred words as the fever slowly worked its way out of his system.

Taka was still sitting in the chair when Mondo's eyes opened again, bleary and slightly confused. "Oh, you're awake!" Mondo groaned and sat up, nodding slowly. He still seemed a bit out of it, either from the dream or the fever, but he didn't look as bad as before. Taka took that as a success.

"...Taka, bro, did'ya sit there the whole time?" He raised an eyebrow, slight amusement on his features as Taka blushed and stumbled out an explanation about watching over him while he was sick. The moral compass passed him one of the water bottles, cap slightly askew, and told him to drink.

"You need to keep hydrated to fully recover! I expect to see you at the next meeting if you feel better tomorrow, bro!" Mondo rolled his eyes fondly and took a sip from the bottle as Taka pressed a hand to his forehead. "You don't feel as warm, which is good. Keep resting the rest of the day and you'll probably be fine tomorrow."

"Whatever you say, bro." Kiyotaka nodded and left the room. Mondo would be okay, he was sure of it. The fever was going down and he seemed lucid enough to take care of himself and follow Kiyotaka's instructions. As he walked down the hall, he couldn't help but spare one more glance at Mondo's door before reassuring himself everything would be fine.

-

Kiyotaka couldn't help but feel nervous as he waited in the dining hall, trying to resist the urge to pace back and forth on the smooth floor, but when Mondo entered and called him 'bro' just as confidently as always, he felt some of that anxiety slowly melt away as he replied with just as much energy.

Maybe not everything in this killing game had to be awful.

[moonknightly]

and you keep me holding on : santiago garcia x reader (seven)

Word Count: 1.8k+ — a short one today, fellas

Excerpt: “Some nights he goes to the bar and finds a warm body to bring home, one that doesn’t care about the wedding band on his finger or the women’s perfume coating his sheets or that goddamn stuffed wolf that now occupies what was once her side. Some nights he sits on his kitchen floor and drinks himself into oblivion.”

Warnings: I said a few bad words. This chapter is pretty light. 

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

OCTOBER THIRD — ZERO

Santiago hates October. He hates October so fucking much, he can’t even put it into words when he’s asked to explain himself after he casually mentions it to one of his co-worker’s, someone who wasn’t around a year before when his entire life went to shit. He hates talking about it, hates thinking about it, doesn’t know how he could even begin to explain it.  

So he doesn’t answer. He only shrugs, and rolls his eyes when he looks up and catches the horrified expression on his captain’s face.

Santi’s past the breaking down and the sobbing. He’s past the uncontrollable emotions and the erratic behavior. He doesn’t need people to continue to be so careful around him, he just needs things to finally get back to normal-

He stops before he can continue on with that thought, with that wish, because nothing will ever be normal again. Not like it was, at least. He takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he has a new normal, a new routine.

He wakes up in his new apartment each morning, fixes the covers and pillows on just one side, makes breakfast for himself and only himself. He showers by himself, pays for one coffee from his new favorite coffee shop. He does the grocery shopping, does the laundry, remembers when the bills are due all by himself, no longer looks to the fridge for a sticky-note reminder. Some nights he goes to the bar and finds a warm body to bring home, one that doesn’t care about the wedding band on his finger or the women’s perfume coating his sheets or that goddamn stuffed wolf that now occupies what was once her side. Some nights he sits on his kitchen floor and drinks himself into oblivion.

That’s his normal. That’s his routine.

He fucking hates it and he fucking hates October, but it’s his life now, and he’s just going to have to get used to it.

And so he ignores the look on his captain’s face, ignores his co-worker’s persistence, and shuts his computer down the second it hits 5 o’clock — another unfamiliar part of his new routine. He’s always off work right on time, hasn’t had a second of overtime since-

He sighs, and pushes away from his desk, shrugging his coat on. He feels like it’s one of those nights where a bottle of whiskey is all the comfort and company he needs. His thoughts, those emotions are getting too close again. He can’t let them get too close.

Santi can’t remember how much is left in the bottle of Maker’s Mark he has at home. He can’t even remember if there’s another bottle tucked away behind that one, so he stops by the liquor store on his way back to his place and grabs three bottles off the shelf. The guy behind the counter recognizes him now, and the judgment in his eyes is always clear, but Santi always ignores it. He pays, and at that point he’s only a few blocks from his apartment, so he walks.

He walks and he doesn’t think about a damn thing. He’s gotten good at that, turning his thoughts off on command.

And he’s so lost in his nothingness he almost doesn’t notice when he gets home and his front door’s unlocked, deadbolt and all.

He’s never left the door unlocked. Not even before.

Santi slowly, silently sets his things down on the ground, and his hand easily finds the gun on his hip. He pulls it from its holster, flicks the safety off, but keeps it aimed towards the floor even though his first instinct is to shoot first, ask questions later. There’s only one person he thinks it could be.

But still, he keeps it pointing downwards, and pushes the door open with the toe of his boot.

The light in the hallway is on, and so is the one in the living room. He always makes sure all of the lights are off when he leaves in the morning, and Santi frowns. If Nathan broke into his place, he’s sure as hell not being subtle about it.

But once he makes it down the hall and into the main living space, he sees Jay standing against the island. Not Nathan. Just Jay.

He should’ve suspected the man with the key first.

“Jesus Christ, man,” he sighs, running a hand through his graying curls. Jay eyes the gun in his hand, like he isn’t surprised to see it pulled on him, and Santi sighs a second time before turning the safety back on and setting the weapon on the endtable by the couch. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Santi heads back to the door to grab his things, and he hears Jay’s shoes hit the hardwood floor as he moves into the living room and sits on the couch. Santi’s eyebrows furrow when he doesn’t say anything, and after he has his whiskey stored away for later, he finally looks at him. Really looks at him.

Jay’s face is pale, eyes a little puffy. He’d been crying, that was completely obvious, and as Santi moves closer, he can tell his hands are shaking.

“Hey, what is it?” Santi asks, sitting on the coffee table, hands resting on his knees as he leans forward.

The other man starts to bounce his leg, his eyes looking everywhere but at Santi. It takes him almost a full minute to finally speak, and when he does, his voice wavers.

“They found her,” he mumbles, a small, humorless laugh following his words. “We found her.”

Santi can tell from Jay’s tone that it isn’t good.

“We got a call from State Patrol earlier, about a girl they found in a ditch on the way out to Montauk. They needed someone to ID her so I went and-”

Santi feels that all too familiar bile rise in his throat, and he’s up before Jay can finish his sentence, running towards the kitchen so he can heave into the sink.

His head’s spinning. His arms and legs feel numb and the panic comes back full force. The pain, the grief, all of it hits him so violently in the chest he forgets how to breathe. It feels like the air had been forcefully knocked from his lungs and he feels like he’s getting ready to black out and-

And Jay knows he’s fucked up.

He quickly moves to Santi’s side and puts his hand on his shoulder, shaking his head almost frantically. “No, no. Santi, listen, hey, we need to get going.”

Santi just looks at him while his chest heaves, while sweat starts to drip down his forehead. “What?”

“I came over to take you to the hospital. Come on, you need to see her.”

Santi looks positively horrified, and it’s been months since Jay has seen him look so close to breaking down.

“You want me to identify her body now? Fuck, Jay, I thought you-”

“No.” Jay cuts him off, shaking his head again, mentally kicking himself for not starting the conversation this way, but to be honest, he still can’t wrap his head around it. He’s still in shock. “Santi, she’s alive.”

“Stop fucking with me man-”

“I’m not!” Jay promises, hands reaching out to grip Santi’s shoulders. He shakes once, twice, then laughs again, but this time, it’s in relief. “She’s alive. She’s alive and we need to get you to the hospital now-”

Santiago does black out.

He doesn’t remember much about the next hour. He doesn’t remember Jay peeling him off the floor when he finally came too, doesn’t remember being dragged downstairs to Jay’s truck, doesn’t remember the drive to the hospital out on Long Island, though he does briefly remember wishing they’d been able to get her back to the city. He trusts the doctors and the nurses at her hospital, wants them to be the ones taking care of her. He wants her closer to home, closer to something, somewhere familiar. 

But even so, Santi doesn’t fully snap back to reality until he’s standing in front of Graves, and the numbness subduing his body and mind quickly fades into anger.

He’s so fucking angry. All he sees is red.

“You didn’t call me first? You were supposed to call me first, not anyone else.”

Graves holds his hands up, almost as if he’s afraid Santi’s going to rush him, and honestly? He thought about it.

“We wanted to make sure it was really her before we-”

“You had enough time to send Jay to my place. You could’ve called me at work, fuck, you could’ve just shown up-”

“We didn’t think that was a good idea-”

“Will you two shut up.” Cameron’s suddenly standing between the two, a hand on each of their chests, gently pushing them back from each other. “This is the last thing either of you should be doing right now.”

Santi knows she’s right, it’s the last thing he wants to be doing.

He just wants to see her, to touch her, to make sure she’s really there and breathing. His anger evaporates as quickly as it came, and he can’t pick an emotion to describe the feeling that replaces it.

“Can I see her?” he asks Cameron, coughing gently to hide the way his voice cracks, though she catches it. So does Graves, so does Jay.

Jay turns Santi to face him when neither Cameron nor Graves say anything, and he sighs, taking a moment to think about his words carefully before he speaks. “Santi...listen, she’s been through hell-”

“You think I don’t know that?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “You think I haven’t thought about that every damn day for the last fuckin’ year?”

Jay flinches, but he’s quick to relax. He reminds himself that everyone’s emotions are running high, he shouldn’t take it personally. “I just, I mean...fuck, it’s a lot, okay?” 

He looks almost scared, and Santi suddenly understands why he’d acted so scattered back at the apartment.

Santi nods, but doesn’t say anything, mostly because he doesn’t know what to say. He just wants to see her. They all know that.

So Jay leads him down the sterile white halls, and Santi shoves his hands into his pockets. His stomach twists the deeper into the building they get, but he pushes down his fear of hospitals and doctors and instead focuses on the fact that she’s still alive.

She’s alive. They found her. She’s alive.

She’s alive.

Though she doesn’t really look it.

Santi stops the second his eyes fall on her, motionless in her hospital bed, hooked up to different wires and tubes. And just like earlier, it feels like the air has completely escaped his lungs. He thinks he might be sick again.

It’s her. It’s definitely her, but she looks so, so frail — so unlike herself, and though Santi expected it, he’s not prepared for it.

He blacks out again, and just like always, Jay catches him before he hits the ground.

[kat0v01]

The Main six meet MC under the mistletoe

Thank you @kyravecele for the request!

Asra:

It was the day of the holiday gala and the streets were buzzing with excitement. Vendors sold their wares at discounted prices just for the occasion as musicians played from the rafters, flooding the streets with rhythmic melodies. Many customers out on the ground grabbed anyone nearby and danced, moved by the music. You had a few things to pick up and all the jostling and dancing made it difficult to navigate the marketplace. As you were passing by one dancing pair, a bump in the side knocked you into someone ahead of you. The someone turned around and when their eyes landed on yours, they immediately flashed with concern. As you were straightening up, the person held one of your hands and placed their arm around your waist. From their closeness, you could see their deep purple eyes framed by white eyelashes. They asked if you were alright and you smiled and said you were now thanks to them. The person smiled in return and introduced themselves as Asra. You introduced yourself and thanked them, saying you still had shopping to do and that you’d be on your way. With a wave, you ventured out into the crowd. At this point, you had one more thing to get and even more dancers in your way. You swiftly maneuvered around everyone, relieved you made it through without incident. As you made your way to the last vendor, a couple of kids rushing past you suddenly caused you to lose your balance, but instead of tumbling to the ground, your back hit something strong and warm and hands around your forearms held you in place. Looking behind you, Asra smiled down at you and jokingly said you both had to stop meeting like this. You laughed and thanked him once again. After a brief chat, Asra cocked their head in the direction of the music and offered you a hand. They said it seemed you both had been fighting the flow of the day for some time and it’d be a shame if you didn’t take part. Taking their hand, Asra pulled you close and you both began dancing a traditional holiday Vesuvian dance. Stepping into the flow of the street was electric and you felt light and energized by the holiday magic in the air. After dancing for some time, you both stood by a vendor booth catching your breath. You snickered to yourself and when Asra inquired what was funny, you pointed at the mistletoe above you and teasingly asked if they were brave enough to kiss you. Asra smirked and leaned in, and you, surprised he accepted, hurried to close your eyes. Asra’s breath ghosted your lips for a moment before you felt a chaste kiss against your cheek. You opened your eyes to see Asra smiling at you softly. They thanked you for the dance and said they needed to hurry home. As they turned to leave, you called out that you hoped to meet again. They turned around with another brighter smile and said they were sure you would.  

Julian:

Julian was positive that he’d spend the holiday evening at the clinic. He’d prepared his books, equipment and clothing, but right before setting out, there was a knock at the door. Opening it, he found Mazelinka standing there with her hands on her hips. She looked Julian up and down and clicked her teeth disapprovingly, saying she knew he’d try to scurry out at some point in the evening. Julian began to explain that he was going to the clinic but was cut off abruptly by Mazelinka’s invitation to the little holiday gathering she agreed to have at her place. Again, Julian was about to interject, but Mazelinka cut him off with a whack to the shoulder and told him he was going, and she’d hear none of his excuses. Julian walked over with Mazelinka and grew a little nervous at the numerous voices inside. He asked her who was there, and she listed off the usual suspects, but explained that there was someone new who Asra brought along. Julian relaxed when he heard the list and began to say he would stay for a little while before heading to the clinic when his eyes stopped on you, the ‘someone new’ Mazelinka mentioned, and he was transfixed. Mazelinka glanced at him and told him to fix his face before walking into the kitchen. Brushing back his hair, he walked over to where you were sitting. You looked up when you heard the doctor approach and smiled brightly at him. Julian politely asked to sit with you and you happily agreed. You said you’d heard about him and he chuckled nervously, replying that he hoped it was good things. You laughed and said of course they were good things. You admitted you were surprised to see him here tonight, seeing as he spent most times at the clinic and was rarely seen at functions. He replied that Mazelinka encouraged him to go but confessed that he wasn’t intending to stay long. You asked if he still intended to leave soon and he smiled and said no. The confusion was clear on your face because he chuckled and then said he usually spends holidays on his own, but getting to meet you, the ‘someone new’ he had heard Asra mention a few times, made him want to spend time with you instead of participating in his depressing yearly ritual. You blushed at his admission and said you were flattered that he looked forward to your company that much. Suddenly, he turned red, stuttering that he hoped he wasn’t imposing, and you didn’t mind him being there. You assured him it was fine, and you were glad he was here. Julian smiled delightfully, but then blushed a vivid red and stared down at his hands nervously. You raised an eyebrow, but then heard someone’s throat clear and looked up to see Asra holding mistletoe above both of your heads. He rolled his eyes with a smile and said he clearly needed a push. Julian shyly looked up at you and asked what you thought about it. You replied that it would be fine as Asra gave the mistletoe to Julian. He held it above your heads as he jerkily neared you and placed a kiss on your temple. You thanked him and said it was your turn. While he attempted to stutter out a response, you leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. When you pulled away, he stared at you speechless. You asked him if this was a better night than he had planned at the clinic and he silently nodded with a blazing red blush across his cheeks.  

Muriel:

Asra decided to host a get-together at the shop for the holidays. He asked you to come and when you agreed, he spoke excitedly about a friend he wanted you to meet. You liked Asra’s friends, so you shared some of his excitement. He also explained that his friend—Muriel was the name—was shy, so it took a lot of coaxing to get him to come. It was supposed to be an intimate little gathering with only friends, so he hoped he could relax and enjoy himself. At the party, you felt Asra hook his arm with yours and politely excuse you both from your conversation. Dragging you with him, you saw a tall man rooted in one corner of the shop, half observing the guests and half staring into his drink. The man tensed when he saw you, but slowly relaxed as Asra gave introductions. After some brief chatter, Asra politely excused himself again to attend to the rest of the party, but not before smiling coyly at you and sauntering off. You both made small talk until there was a lull in the conversation. You heard a murmur from Muriel, but when you asked him to repeat himself, he blushed. A little louder, he said that you weren’t what he expected. Curious, you asked him what he thought of you now. Tightening his hold on the cup, he flushed brighter and quietly said you’re kinder and more patient than he imagined. You smiled and confessed that he wasn’t what you expected either. When he inquired what you thought of him, you smiled and said he was even cuter than you thought. Blushing wildly, he drained the rest of his drink quickly to save himself from embarrassment. Chuckling, you placed a hand on his arm and guided his face down to yours. In a whisper, you asked him what he thinks you want to do right now. His brow creased in confusion, but when you pointed above and he saw the mistletoe, he looked back at you with widened eyes and gaping mouth. You smiled and placed a hand against his cheek, watching the tension in his face and shoulders slowly relax. You kissed him gently, and were elated when you felt his lips press back against yours. Pulling away, you smiled brightly at him as he gave you a soft smile back.    

Nadia:

It was the day of the holiday gala and Nadia had spent almost all of it finishing up last minute details for the event. One of the very last things to do was one more check of the guest list. Scanning the list of all the attendees, she mentally checked off all the people expected to attend but stopped at your name which was momentarily unfamiliar. She asked one of the courtiers for their input and they reminded her that you were another magician friend of Asra’s, and this would be your first visit to the palace. The information jogged her memory and she resumed checking the list of names. She wondered what you were like and was excited to finally have a chance to meet you after hearing so many good things from Asra. Once every detail had been accounted for, Nadia, accompanied by two courtiers, went to oversee the last of the decorations. On the way, there was a small commotion echoing from the entranceway with servants welcoming the magician Asra and someone else. The noise drew closer as three servants led Asra and you into the main hallway. Asra and Nadia shared a brief wave and on the way to one of the party rooms, briefly made eye contact with you as Asra brightly explained something she couldn’t hear. Later, Nadia donned her outfit for the evening and went to oversee the last minute food preparations. On the way, she spotted you just exiting your room in your outfit for the night. Again, there was a moment of eye contact, but a servant directed you towards the ballroom and several waited for Nadia to proceed to the kitchens in the opposite direction. Well into the evening, Nadia grew weary of the chatter with nobles and other important figures in Vesuvia and excused herself to her favorite outdoor balcony. At the doorway, a lone bit of mistletoe laid at her feet from one of the outdoor decorations. She picked it up, feeling the exhaustion of the day creep up on her. Letting a tired sigh escape her lips, she paused at another audible sigh close by. Stepping outside, she found you leaning against the balcony railing, staring at the city below. She approached you, asking if the festivities were not to your liking. You looked behind you and nervously chuckled while shaking your head. You said everything was very grand and lovely, but it was tiresome after some time. Nadia smiled to herself and agreed, taking place right next to you. You both chatted casually and laughed until the air between you was light and happy. She confessed that she was excited to meet you but was sorry she didn’t get to talk to you properly until now. You explained that you understood since you saw how busy she was all day, but you were happy to finally have a chance to speak with her. Nadia blushed and replied that talking with you had been the highlight of her whole day. She frowned at the little mistletoe plant in her hands and said she wished getting the palace ready was as easy. You smiled at the little plant, taking it from her hands and remarking at how adorable it was. Nadia stared at it for a second and said she wasn’t sure why it was necessary for decoration; they didn’t have plants like it back in Prakra. You smiled coyly and said you could show her what it’s for. She nodded in agreement and then quirked an eyebrow as you held it above her head. You leaned in and kissed her cheek. Nadia blushed and then laughed, saying you were quite bold. You laughed along and then told her it was her turn. She gave you a mischievous smile and placed a kiss on your forehead, saying this was an unusual but enjoyable Vesuvian tradition.    

Portia:

Julian asked you to visit his sister Portia’s cottage one day to help her decorate for the holidays. He explained that she had spent the last few days preparing the palace for the holiday gala coming up, so it was truly remarkable that she had the energy to do even more. You were surprised too, considering how big the palace was, but Julian said the holidays were one of her favorite times of the year, so it made sense to him. When he knocked on the door, you both flinched at loud clamors and rumbles from somewhere inside the house and a very disoriented Portia opening the door with tinsel sticking out of her hair in odd places. She grabbed both of your arms and tugged you inside, exclaiming with relief how happy she was now that she had help. Julian chuckled and pulled out a few strands of the colorful decoration, saying she wouldn’t have this much trouble if she didn’t decide to do this every year. In response, Portia placed her hands on her hips and frowned, saying that working in the cold, depressing clinic every year was not very festive at all. He laughed, agreeing with her there. Pausing for a moment, he quickly introduced us, cursing himself for not doing so from the beginning. Portia smiled, teasing that he was always so forgetful. You told Julian it was alright and then asked Portia where she would like us to begin. Smiling brightly at you, she grabbed a handful of tinsel and began directing us. About a half hour into decorating, Julian cursed aloud and sheepishly told us that he had something to attend to and he was already late. Portia shook her head at him as he apologized several times saying he’d likely be back towards evening. You both waved him off with Portia calling after him to stay safe. Portia thanked you for staying on to help and said it was good you were here since she’d been wanting to meet you for some time. She said Julian had spoken a lot about you and how well you’d both get along. You replied that you’d wanted to meet her as well from hearing stories about the two of you from him. You both laughed about your common link and remarked that it was ironic he wasn’t here right now. Portia blushed and said she loved her brother, but she was also happy to get to meet you without him around. You blushed as well and said you were enjoying your time there. Before long, the decorations were done and the two of you relaxed for a moment. Portia clapped, happy with how everything looked and hugged you. Looking into each other’s eyes for a moment, Portia giggled, and you laughingly asked her what was funny. She pointed above you both and you saw you were standing under the mistletoe you had hung together earlier. She blushed and asked if it was okay and you nodded. Leaning in, you both kissed each other until you were interrupted by a knocking at the door. Julian called out that he was back from his earlier appointment and he brought snacks. You and Portia shared a chuckle before walking to the door to let Julian inside.

Lucio:

The evening of the holiday gala, you and Asra were greeted by Portia at the door. She explained Nadia wished to see us before the events of the night started and escorted you to a lounge. Nadia sat on a couch having a quiet conversation with a blonde man sitting next to her. She stood when we entered and welcomed us to the palace. The man stood up as well and smiled, but more in your direction than anywhere else. Nadia introduced the man as Count Lucio, someone you had heard of but never met. Asra smirked at the introduction and said to you that it was hardly necessary since his reputation most definitely preceded him. Lucio scowled at Asra, but quickly returned his attention to you. Walking towards you, he inquired how the two of you had never met. You said it was a pleasure to meet him and he gently took your hand and kissed it, uttering that the pleasure was all his. He turned to Asra and asked if they had been hiding you all this time. Unbeknownst to Lucio, you heard a quiet ‘yes’ under their breath. He kissed your hand again with a charming smile and said all is forgiven since it happened now. With a sigh, Nadia interjected and told Lucio that you would need that hand to eat dinner later, so it was time to end your exchange. Asra hooked arms with you and tugged you out of the room as you heard Lucio bid you farewell. Later in the evening, you found yourself alone at the gala. Asra had been asked to help remove Volta from the banquet hall quickly or there wouldn’t be enough food left for everyone else. They promised to meet you soon. In the meantime, you wandered the length of the ballroom, watching people chat or dance on the main floor. There was a tap on your shoulder and when you spun around expecting Asra, you were a little surprised to find Lucio standing there. He smiled and inquired if you were enjoying yourself to which you replied yes. He gestured towards the hallway and you both set into a comfortable stroll. Lucio chatted your ear off about Vesuvia and the improvements that had been happening lately and before you knew it, you were outside in the gardens. He led you to a stone bench to rest for a while and then asked about you. You spoke a bit about how you knew Asra and the type of apprenticeship work you did. Lucio sat there, listening intently, with a smile. You paused in your talk and embarrassedly asked why he was smiling. He replied that he was charmed by you even before you met when he heard about your missions with Asra. You blushed and said you were flattered, but curious why he was so intrigued by you. Jokingly, he said he was happy you’d been able to put up with him so far and that you were more wonderful than what he had thought. He took your hand and asked if you could put up with him a little more. You were confused but responded that you could. Lucio reached behind him and produced a small branch of mistletoe and hung it above your heads with a smile. It was a sort of nervous smile, and he said if this was too far, you could say so and it would be fine. You giggled at him and leaned in, planting a kiss on his lips as he kissed back immediately. Parting, you smiled coyly at his blushing face, replying that you could handle him so far.