#starling do not put yourself down

[ynackerman9499]

Hello! This is me! 𝕪/𝕟 𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟! This is my tumblr in case you don't know me i have a youtube channel which I upload texting stories videos to it! And this is my first post here in tumblr (original)

Some male Hashiras + kagaya reaction to you sacrificing yourself for them

⚠ Warning : spoiler in kyojuro and kagaya, take of death, blood, injuries, crying, some of them are really short

Giyu Tomioka

You and Giyuu were fighting against 2 demons who used a blood demon art

You killed one and Giyuu killed the other one

Or so you both thought...

"You did well giyuu_san!" You said smilling putting your sword in place

While giyuu just nodded humming as a silent 'thank you'

This only made you smile even wider. You've been friends with giyuu with great amount of time now

You both actually gets along very well Despite your different personalities

So you got used to his comforting quiet gesture

"All right! Let's head back n-"

You suddenly stopped sensing that something is wrong While giyuu looked at you wondering why you fell silent so suddenly

"Wh-"

You breathed in sharply, catching a glint in the air watching it whizz towards Giyuu.

"not on my watch!"

You yelled, quickly drawing your sword breaking the unknown object in half.

Giyuu's eyebrow twitched, taking his sword out of its sheath.

"giyuu, there!" You shouted, pointing to the direction of the demon that was currently perched on one of the trees.

The two of you gave each other a knowing nod, rushing towards the trees and jumped landing on one of the branches,

"come back here you coward!" You barked, skillfully jumping from tree to tree, following after the demon.

The demon hissed, sending metal shards towards you and Giyuu, which the two of you dodged with ease

"breath of ice..." you mumbled taking a deep breath

"dance of frozen crystals!"

Streams of sparkling diamond-like figures flowed out your sword as you jumped upwards, holding your katana over your head as you swung it effectively cutting half of it's body;

sadly, not his neck, as he covered it with a steel-like substance.

"Y/n!"

Giyuu called out, causing you to look back at him wondering why did he sound so worried

You saw he was looking horrified looking at your chest rather than your face

'why did he sound so-'

You were caught out of your thoughts by yourself coughing something liquid out of your mouth

You looked down at your chest, a large sharp metal shard piercing through the middle of your chest

"uh.. F-fuck.." you muttered stumbling back and falling against a tree vomiting even more blood feeling it a bit hard to breathe

"y/n! No!" giyuu shrieked running at your slumbering and bloody figure against the tree

"giyuu.. The d.. emon" You mumbled, coughing out a worrisome anmountof blood, the crimson liquid spilling out of your lips in mouthfuls.

"i cant leave you..." he whispered as of scared of starling you

"i cant you are in_" "... Dying"

You corrected him. Mastering the last energy you had to cup his face with your bloody hand while lying in his embrace

"i am.. Dying, Giyuu..."

"no.. No you are not.. You can slow the ble-" "my lungs are... damaged giyuu"

Tears burned his eyes, hugging you close to his chest and placed his hand over your cheek

"i.. Love you... Giyuu... So... Much.. " you confessed as you started to lose consciousness and struggling even more to keep your eyes open

You took a deep breath but sadly... It didn't come out again...

"y/n.. Y/n... Hey.." giyuu said with shaky voice as a couple of tears escaped his eyes

"hey...don't do this to me, love... I–i love you too... Why did you do this... I–i don't deserve this..."he said as he closed your lifeless eyes with his fingers

"i am sorry i am too useless to be able to protect you..." he was now on full mode sobbing

Oh how cruel is it that you didn't even hear the person you love saying thing you wanted to hear from him the most...

Obanai Iguro

No...

No no no no...

That wasn't supposed to happen...

The hit was meant for him...

It was meant for him damn it!

Why did you have to take it for him

He doesn't deserve it

He doesn't deserve to live

Why would he live while you are here dying in his arms gasping and wheezing for air

He is enraged

His fear tends to come out as anger

So while you are literally dying he is shouting at you for how stupid you are, how foolish to waste your precious live over his useless one

His shouting you mutter out an Inaudible : 'sorry... '

Just then the anger turns into tears

"you idiot..." he wailed... Actually wailed.. Something you never thought you'd see, not that you wanted to in the first place

It was supposed to be him...

"don't you dare apologise..." he hugged you even tighter feeling you fading away from him as you tried to breath but it only come out as a horrible choking sound as you choked on your own blood

His cheek rested on top of your head

"o-oba... nai.. " you said chocking in the middle of word as the hole in your chest began seeping even more blood

"g–give them.. H–hell for m–me... Yeah?..."

Oh he would...

He would make them pay for taking you away from him

For making the only person who kept him moving forward...

Is now cold and limb in his arms...

Sanemi shinazugawa

Fuck!

Shit! Shit! Shit! Fuck!

He physically can't handle what he is looking at

As he refused to stop saving you even after you already stopped breathing

"shit! Shit!" he pressed harsher on the wound, the blood was slowing but not because of his relentless attempt...

You were gone... Not even being able to get a word out because of how harshly he was crying

For some reason... Even in your final moments you found it kind of comforting that he was try his best to save you

You felt your heart break looking at him from the other side hugging your cold, lifeless body... Trying to squeeze some warmth into it even though he knows its useless

Kyojuro Rengoku

You coughed out blood as akaza hand went through your stomach

"Y/N! NO!"

You took the hit for kyojuro

I mean... How could you not... You just couldn't let someone like him die

You just couldn't...

Gripping your sword harder, you slashed it against his neck making his eye widen

'she got in my way! And she still has the strength!

Akaza thought as he was amazed at how you still has the strength to even breathe

'Kyojuro, im going to die. I know. We had a life planned in front of us, but..l couldn't let you die. I just can't'

You thought as The demon tried to punch your face, but you stopped it with your other hand

"Y/N!!"

'you won't get away... Akaza!'

Looking behind the demon, but still applying force on the neck, you looked behind to see Rengoku with the boy from before charging at you with their swords.

A smile got onto your face.

'I wont ever let go off the sword ..Until I cut his head off!'

"INOSUKE MOVE! MOVE FOR Y/N-SAN!"

The boar now charged at you with speed His attack cut the demons arms, your sword still attached to his neck.

He was running away, clearly.

The boy threw his sword at the demon,.

stabbing him through the chest. Followed by Screaming of how he was a coward by running away and that both Rengoku and you were stronger than him.

You felt two gentle pair of hands gripping your back, drops of water, or tears, to your cheek as kyojuro took you in his embrace trying to stop the bleeding even though he knows it's a fatal wound

"Y/n.. No. No..please don't leave me! Please! I beg you! I will go down on my knees if it have to!"

"kyo... It's okay..." You say voice barely a whisper as you gathered all the strength you had trying to put your hand on kyojuro's cheek.

He quickly took your bloody hand in his and put it over his cheek

"no no... The hit was meant for me to take... Why did you have to get in the middle... Why.."

"i just couldn't.. Let–" vomiting blood "y-you... Die"

You said panting feeling like you can't breathe anymore...

Kyojuro the brust out sobbing burying his face in your neck as your body laid lifeless in his arms

It was supposed to be him dammit!

He was supposed to be the one protecting you!

Not the other way around!

On the other side tanjiro watching the scene feeling his heart break over and over again

Another love story between two lovers was ruined by those disgusting Creatures

Tengen uzui

after a long and hard battle you had ended up dangling off the side of a cliff barely holding onto an also seriously injured tengen.

He could feel your fingers slipping from his.

you were both tired and injured it was a tough battle and despite the demons head being cut off you had taken some heavy blows and now you were dangling off the side of a cliff, barely conscious as tengen held onto your hand with his

"dont worry y/n! ill pul you up Soon!"

you could see him struggling to hold your hand and knew that if he held on any longer he might go down with you

watching him struggle above you made your heart ache as you couldnt do anything to help

"Ten.."

the both of you made eye contact with each other

"thank you for being with me... I love you so much"

his eyebrows twitched at your words

"why does it sound like youre saying goodbye? y/n. You better hold into my hand!"

his jaw was clenched as he spoke to you

you couldnt leave him

if only he had killed that demon sooner

if only he could have protected you

in this moment he hated the gentle smile that was on your face

because to him it meant he had failed

"we both know we'll both fall if you dont let go, neither of us have enough strength left to do anything."

"its okay ten, im ready. i love you and I'll always be watching over you. live well"

he could feel your fingers one by one letting go of his hand and he tried as hard as possible to not let go

"y/n please! I.. I can't do this without you... "

you just shook your head

"im sorry ten but you have to, i know you can. you're going to do great things, with or without me."

"always remember that i love you... And i'll always be watching you"

With that, the last grip he had on you failed

the serene smile on your face was the last thing he saw as you fell to your probable death,

shattering his heart

he screamed your name on the top of his lungs as your hands disconnected followed by painful sobs

Not again...

First his siblings now you..

He lost so many loved ones

of course he knew that he was too injured to pull you up and the most he could have done was just hold onto you until help came,

If help came...

he hated this,

he hated himself

what was the point of being strong when he couldnt even save the one person he loved most in this entire world

"Live well" it was one of the last things you told him hed try his best to because you asked him of it but to him living well meant being by your side which was something he couldnt do anymore.

Muichiro Tokito

poor baby doesn't really know what to do

he's kneeling beside you with a worried look

he's sweating and his hands are clammy

he remains silent for the most part

"Y/n?"

He is right next to you, hand nervously taking your own

"Don't worry."

you give him a weak smile as scary as it was, just his presence was enough.

"|-what do I do?"

The fear in his face made your heart clench.

"Just stay with me. You dont need to do a thing..."

You squeezed his hand with the last bit of strength

you had, smiling softly

"Be careful okay? There are still a lot of demons left"

You didn't fear death,

but you did fear what would happen to those you

loved once it got to you.

Kagaya ubuyashiki

This took place before the explosion in the final battle era

Your husband's hand is cold in yours. You squeeze his

fingers and watch the moonlight bleed out the color of

his skin into silver.

"Are you well, love?" you ask quietly. A washbowl rests to your side, the cloth draped over the side dripping droplets of water down the floor. You take it and wrangle the water with one hand as best as you can,

laying it atop his forehead after. Kagaya closes his eyes and smiles beatifically. It looks painful.

"I will be fine," he says. A mere whisper; it runs wild in the echoes of the night. "| am certain... After tonight, everything will be fine again." You hum thoughtfully. Your heart turns like a clock,

mechanical, a slave to fate. You dare not tell him anything.

"I wonder. . " Kagaya starts. "How does the sky look tonight, Y/N?"

You looked up at the sky as the clouds moved to reveal the beautiful moon

"it's beautiful..." you said as he leaned into your hand as you caressed his cheeks

"he is here..."

A long shadow blocks the moonlight. You look up.

Plum red eyes stare back.

"It's finally nice to meet you, Kibutsuji Muzan," Kagaya says casually.

A chuckle flits in your ear, honey-thick and suave.

Muzan's jacket rests precariously on his shoulders,

and the wind picks up, as if trying to steal it away. The sleeves whip around him uselessly.

"Well;" he says. "You sure look terrible, Ubuyashiki."

If you do not look too closely, you can still delude

yourself into dreaming that this is a normal family.

Your twins have not stopped playing, and their

laughter mingles with the song.

*after the speech because i cant recall it 💀*

"Kibutsuji" You incline your head, a mockery of respect. "You may have prepared for everything.. But there is one thing you didn't prepared for.."

"and what would that may be?"

"this–" you pulled out teh explosion monitor and jumped on kagaya and just before it explored a room open under kagaya's bed and you both fell into a room underground where your kids were waiting for you to come and there was a secret door which led to outside

But it was quite the fall, but you shielded kagaya's body with yours as you he fell on top of you

"Uhmm... " Kagaya groaned from the pain of the impact but more at the though that you were hurt from the fall and his weight together

"it's okay... It's okay..." you said as you cradled kagaya's fragile body

"i just need you to hold on for me... Can you do that please?"

The explosion was loud on top of you but what was more terrifying was the piece of wood of the selling above you that was about to fall

So you quickly pushed kagaya out of the way just as the piece of wood fell on your lower body completely breaking it

"y/n! " Kagaya yelled as best as he could as he heard your crying of pain

"i am fine! I am fine!" You shouted as you tried to stop the tears from dropping from the pain

"kiriya! Listen! Take your father and run out of here!"

"b–but mo–" "no buts! This piece of seilling completely crushed my lower par! You won't be able to get it out! Even if you did i'd be just a burden! I won't be able to run! No go! Go!"

Kiriya quickly carried his father on his shoulder as best as he could

"no... Y/n... If we die... we die together.. That's a promise..."

"well.. Look like i have a change of plans, sorry love"

You said as you smiled sadly at him even though he can't see it

*time skip*

"CAW! CAW! KIBUTSUJI MUZAN IS DEFEATED! KIBUTSUJI MUZAN IS DEFEATED! THE FINAL BATTLE IS OVER! CAW! CAW!"

Kagaya opened his eyes at the sound of the noisy crow.. And for the first time in years...

He sees the sky clearly as the curse marks started to fade from his body...

He quickly tried to ran into the place where his estate is supposed to be with only one though in mind...

'y/n...'

He opened his eyes clearly for the first time in years and the first face he wanted to look at was yours

"oyakata_sama! Wait! You are not fully recovered yet!"

The kakushi tried to warn him but he just didn't care

He wanted to see you, to touch you, to tell you how much you mean to him even though words cannot describe, to make sure you are alright

But what he saw made him stop and his blood run cold...

The estate.. His home... Your home.. Is now crumbled to pieces with you under all that

he quickly took off and tried to dig into the rubble in hopes maybe.. Just maybe.. You are still alive...

"master..."

The kakushis and the remaining of the hashiras felt thier heart break looking at thier master like this...

Nevertheless, they started to help thier master find his wife.. I mean.. You were like a mother and a big sister to them all...

"I found something!" one of the kakushi shouted as he saw your bloody hand sticking out of the rubble

They quickly ran to where he was and started digging even more, just as they reached your head they all stopped and stepped back for thier master to take a look at you...

"oh my dear..."

Kagaya quietly knelt down where your bloody upper body only was visible

He caressed your bloody

cheek just as you did with him a few hours ago...

Oh how beautiful you looked... Even if you were cold and pale with your lips starting to get blue..

He missed you so much that he almost forgot the way you looked...

You looked even more beautiful than he remembered even with the black circles under your eyes and the few wrinkles that appeared on your face and the grey hairs despite how young you are...

"oh love... How many times did i tell not to worry to much about me..." Kagaya whispered as he caressed your cold skin with a few tears falling from his eyes "like this you will age before time..."

He hugged you one last time before the kakushis free your body completely from the rubble and take you to bury your beautiful body

Today the world won peace.. But he lost his...

[ddarker-dreams]

Idée Fixe.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Warnings: Some not SFW elements, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, emotional manipulation, depictions of general & social anxiety disorder, depictions of a panic attack, mentions of anxiety medication, Chrollo administers medications to Reader without her consent, and mentions of religion. Also Chrollo just really, really sucks. Word count: 12.3k.

You met a strange man at the arboretum today.

Perhaps you aren’t in a position to describe others as ‘strange’, considering your latest proclivity for expressing earnest thanks to any honey bees you happen across for their service. After much contemplation, however, it’s ultimately the word you arrive at. ‘Strange’ not in a disconcerting sense that inspires fear, but just being out of the ordinary enough to exude an undeniable allure. A raised panel on the floor you stumble over yet suffer no serious injury from. 

Well-kept gardens might be the closest imitation to heaven on earth. That’s what brought you to this little oasis hidden in the desert that is urban life. It’s the type of day romanticists wax poetic about: baby blue skies, puffy clouds, and moderate temperatures with a light, forgiving breeze. 

You situated yourself strategically, so you’d be beneath the shade of a magnolia tree whose pink petals kept fluttering down as if in greeting, and near a patch of daffodils that matched the shade of your gingham dress. Blades of grass tickle your legs, but not unpleasantly so, they scratch an itch found only in nature’s loving reprieve. There’s no thought of upcoming assignments, what to eat for dinner, or if buying that purse you thought was a steal at 30% off was a good idea or not. 

It’s just you and your book. 

Until it isn’t. 

Every woman is connected in the experience that is trepidation whenever a man randomly approaches. There’s no telling his intentions, if he has any. You’re left to smile awkwardly and temporarily realign yourself with religion by praying to a higher deity for his hasty departure. You map out potential escape routes and recall the pepper spray situated in your impulse-bought purse. He gently calls out “Miss”, confirming that he hopes to speak with you. 

At least he has the propriety to stop a few paces from where you sit, electing not to intrude on your personal space. This causes your shoulders to relax. In the few seconds you’ve been made aware of his existence, you recognize his appealing features. He has loose, dark hair, along with wide and seemingly unassuming eyes. His outfit of a dark gray turtleneck accompanied by a black jacket and pants somewhat strikes you as odd, considering spring is in full bloom. Two other details steal your attention away from this; those being the beige wrapping around his forehead and his spherical, turquoise-colored earrings. It’s like he was caught undecided between wanting and not wanting to attract attention. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he begins. You try not to think about how pleasant his voice sounds. “I’ve been trying to make sense of the directory, but I’ve never been the best with directions. Do you by any chance know how to get to the Starling House?” 

You nod. It’s a quaint, centuries-old mansion, maintained by the non-profit that oversees the flora here. Getting over the initial apprehension from his approach, you try verbalizing the most efficient path to get there. This proves more difficult than you expected since the arboretum is vast and has few waypoints that can be used for reference. Still, throughout your explanation whose unhelpfulness you grow painfully aware of, he patiently nods and makes no attempts to rush you through. 

This willingness to put up with your scattered description wins over your sympathy, pushing you past your sheepishness. 

“I guess I’m not good at giving directions. I could just show you the way, if you’d like.” 

“I’d hate to disturb your reading, but… if it isn’t a bother, I’d certainly appreciate it.” 

You’re already setting your bookmark into place. “It’s no bother. This is my second time reading it, anyway. So don’t worry. I’m not being left off on a cliffhanger or anything.” 

He smiles at that. When you’re preparing to stand, he extends his hand, a gesture that gives you a momentary pause. Well, you are wearing a dress. You suppose it’s the polite thing for him to do. You accept his unspoken offer and he hoists you up without the least bit of exertion on his part. His hand is warm and bigger than yours, slightly coarse too, surprisingly. His immaculate presentation gave you the impression of a trust fund kid or something in that vein. He’s tasteful in ensuring his touch doesn’t overstay its welcome. 

Your heart pounds in your chest. 

You catch a hint of his cologne. Sandalwood, amber, and leather blend together to form a delightfully woody fragrance. As amazing as he smells, you create a little distance, walking ahead motioning for him to follow. His longer legs have no trouble catching up, yet he never creeps too close. 

The short journey that you expect to only be accompanied by the sounds of cardinals chirping and house finches singing is interrupted by the man speaking up again. Oddly enough, you don’t mind. 

“Do you find your thoughts on Prince Myshkin’s initially endearing simple heartedness changed, knowing how the book ends?” 

You pause, taking a moment to realize he must be familiar with the work. This revelation fills you with a tentative giddiness. It isn’t often you have a chance to delve into your literary thoughts to a willing audience. There’s plenty more you could say on the subject, but you try to exercise restraint nonetheless. 

“I thought I might, but I found myself more critical of the other characters instead.” 

“Oh? And why is that?” 

He appears genuinely interested, otherwise, you would’ve kept it at that. 

“Ah, well, maybe it’s that they serve as proof that innocence is never meant to last. Or if it does, it’ll inevitably be punished. There are moments where I feel frustrated with the Prince’s naivety… but then I stop and wonder why it’s so bad to want to see the best in people. Does that speak to a flaw in his character, or to a flaw in the character of others? Maybe it’s both. I can’t help but feel the Prince’s case is more sympathetic.” 

His eyes never leave yours while you give your answer. Heat rises to your cheeks and you internally groan over the prospect of making a stranger listen to your ramblings. He was probably just looking to make casual conversation, not everyone wants an existential crisis on a Saturday afternoon. 

“You must be someone who wants to see the best in people as well,” he surmises. There’s no hint of mockery in his tone — he’s oddly sincere. He says it with a hint of bittersweet nostalgia. 

Before you can hazard a response, you come across a sign displaying information for an event at the Starling House. The building itself lies in waiting atop a hill less than a quarter of a mile ahead. He stops to read it, as do you, operating under the assumption he came here for the event. It seems that they’re displaying historic artifacts from around the area. You suppose this will be where you part ways. You’re about to wish him well when he sighs, the miffed noise stopping you. 

“I got the time wrong,” he frowns, staring at his wristwatch. 

The sign says the event begins at 6:00 p.m. and a quick tap of your phone reveals it’s 4:00. 

“If you’re looking for a way to burn time, there’s a nice garden behind the House that’s always open to the public,” you explain. This piques his curiosity. “If the sage is in bloom, you might get lucky and see some hummingbirds.” 

“That does sound lovely,” he says. Then, his lips quirk up, promising the start of a smile. “Would you care to join me, Miss…?” 

You give him your name and he nods, as if deciding it fits you. 

“[First]. I understand if my tour guide wants to get back to her reading, though.” 

Bashfulness creeps up your back and threatens to sink its fangs into your neck. Your heart’s rhythm takes an erratic cadence. He’s posing the proposition in such a lighthearted way, offering an easy out if you want to take it. You internally weigh your options on a scale that’s worn from overuse. He’s being friendly, you tell yourself. That’s all it is. 

“Well, I guess I’d be a shabby tour guide if I didn’t show you where the gardens are.” 

On the brief walk to the gardens, the man introduces himself as Chrollo. You both situate yourselves on the same stone bench. You sit on the right, he sits on the left. Once again, he leaves you plenty of space, never testing boundaries. The scent of nascent sage wafts in the air. While you scan your surroundings for hummingbirds, he tells you that his work often necessitates travel, hence his unfamiliarity with the area. 

“Does it ever get lonely?” You ask, not thinking much of it. He gives you a look you can’t quite place, so you elaborate. “Traveling all the time, I mean.” 

He tilts his head, more inquisitive than offended. “What makes you think it’d be lonely?” 

“I just think I’d get homesick after a while, always being in an unfamiliar place. I’d miss my family and friends.” 

When he continues staring at you in silence with those unreadable eyes, you swear you want to slam your head repeatedly against a wall. Not everyone has a good relationship with their family or people to call their friends. The weight of your potential insensitivity comes crashing down on you like a tsunami. 

You move your hands around wildly, rushing to correct your discourtesy. “Uh, I mean, that isn’t to say you need those things!” 

“You don’t think I have any friends?” 

Your face must be radiating more heat than a furnace. Still, the embarrassment doesn’t reach a point where you’re unable to notice his omission of the word family. “I didn’t—” 

Contrary to the reaction you were expecting, Chrollo laughs. Not a little chuckle, but a genuine laugh, hearty in a way that stands in stark contrast to his otherwise reserved demeanor. The smile it imprints on his face somehow feels different than what he’s displayed before. Those were always so well timed, lasting as long as necessary and never a second more. It hits you then just how handsome this man is. Alabaster skin, soft and glossy hair, lips as rosy as the blush on his cheeks from his outburst of laughter. 

It doesn’t last long, he’s quick to school himself. The speed he does so is almost unnatural. “I apologize, I’m only teasing. You’re very expressive, [First].” 

You let out something between a huff and a sigh. “God, I felt so awful…” 

“I can tell,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender when you send him a non-threatening glare. “To answer your question… I’ve never thought about it much. I suppose it is lonely at times.” 

This revelation pours a bucket of ice-cold water over the embers of your indignation. Your face softens and a stinging pain shoots throughout your body. You can’t bring yourself to remain miffed when you’re the one who dredged this topic up. People use humor as a means to cope, that may be what Chrollo does. 

“Enough about me, though. I’m far more interested in you.” 

You shift in your seat. Did it always feel so warm out? 

“Here, let me guess. You’re certainly a student. Hm… of the humanities, perhaps?” 

“You got the student part right,” you agree. “I’m majoring in criminal psychology.”

There’s something like a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh? Is that so? You want to catch criminals, then?” 

“Er… not exactly. It’s more that I want to help them.”

He blinks. “Help them?”

“Not, like, as an accomplice,” you earnestly reassure, to which he smiles, “How do I explain it… take the city around us, right? It’s considered one of the most dangerous in the United States of Saherta.” 

As if on cue, a cacophony of police sirens begins blaring in the distance. 

“In the 80s and 90s, there was a surge of incarceration, yet crime as a whole set higher records each year. The policy at the time was ‘build more prisons, give longer sentences’. Obviously, that didn’t work out very well for anyone… except for private prisons maybe… that’s a whole different beast. Anyway, you reap what you sow. Crime rate is going down, but communities were gutted by these policies. There’s still a lot of work to be done. I want to understand ‘deviant’ behavior so I can see what safety nets would benefit them the most.” 

Chrollo is such an excellent listener that unlike before, you no longer feel the pressure to remain succinct and have little qualms completely delving into your passion. His body language suggests total engagement. 

“Ah, so you view crime as a result of societal shortcomings.” 

“It’s more nuanced than that,” you shake your head. “Hell, even when there were only four people on earth according to the Bible, Cain went ahead and committed murder anyway. That’s like… killing 25% of the population… how messed up. Wait. If there were only four people on earth, who did Cain go on to marry? How does that work…? Asexual reproduction…?” 

“The Quran says Cain and Abel both had twin sisters,” Chrollo offers. 

“Alright, that makes more sense than asexual reproduction. Okay! Enough about theology! Back to crime. There’s no totally eradicating it, but there is circumventing it. That’s what I want to help do.” 

You’ve been so preoccupied with verbalizing your thoughts, you failed to notice he’s scooted slightly closer to you. There’s enough room for decorum yet you can’t help feeling slightly flustered. Why this cute guy is still hanging around despite the fact you casually mentioned asexual reproduction not once, but twice, is a phenomenon that transcends human reason. 

This is so going to be one of those interactions that haunts you periodically at three in the morning for the rest of your life. 

“It’s a noble pursuit,” Chrollo comments. Then, he places a hand to his chin. “Forgive me if this comes off as pessimistic, but… what if you put in all that work, only for nothing significant to change?” 

You shrug. “I’ve considered that plenty, trust me. It’s fine if I don’t kickstart a utopia. So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.” 

“One person, huh?” 

It seems more like a rhetorical musing on his part, so you allow yourself to be momentarily distracted. In your peripherals, there’s a flash of colors, shades of green and red bleeding together. A low buzz accompanies the sporadic sight. The blur moves erratically, high to low, then low to high. 

You cover your mouth to stifle a gasp, then whisper to your companion, “Chrollo! Look! A hummingbird!” 

The thrum of nature is a wonder you’ll never tire of. It inspires awe that reflects in your eyes like a mirror, enchants without needing to cast a spell. You wrongly assume that Chrollo must be partaking in the same miracle that has stolen your attention. He’s fixated, yes, but not on the right subject matter. He’s still staring at you. This disruption of your expectations can only be explained away by the possibility he hasn’t spotted the creature yet. To remedy this, you slowly point in the hummingbird’s direction. Finally, he breaks his gaze from your form, acknowledging what it is you find so fascinating. 

By then, it’s too late. Your newly made acquaintance departs as swiftly as it arrived. 

“Aw, that’s a shame,” you lament. The disappointment you’d feel if you were in his shoes would be immeasurable. “You didn’t get to see it for very long.” 

You have no concrete proof, but you swear every smile he wears is different than the one before it. 

“It’s alright. I saw something far better.” 

Curious, you glance to your right, searching for whatever it is. You must’ve misinterpreted whatever he was looking at before. “Something better than a hummingbird?” 

“You could say that.” 

The remainder of the time you spend together is relatively uneventful. Chrollo asks you a great deal about yourself, ranging from your hobbies to book recommendations. You try to return the favor — as is only polite, in your opinion — yet the conversation never lingers on him long before circling back to you. It isn’t until you say you feel vain talking about yourself so much that he offers some morsels of knowledge. Aside from traveling for his occupation, he’s something of an antiquarian, hence his interest in the Starling House’s event. He also reveals he has colleagues coming into town soon, the aforementioned ‘friends’ you questioned the existence of. The way he teases is so devoid of malice, you can’t bring yourself to be upset. 

The hour flies by. Good looks aside, he’s a remarkable conversationalist. There’s never an awkward silence or social misstep. One could even call him perfection incarnate. His steady cadence, command of language, meticulously formed ideas… they’re reminiscent of cogs in an automaton turning together in complete harmony. Paradoxically, this immaculate image speaks to some underlying defect in his character he mustn’t want anyone to see. There is such a thing as being too perfect. 

For whatever reason, this draws you in closer rather than repelling you. 

Chrollo’s disappointment is palpable when he glances at his watch. It’s then you’re reminded that all good things must come to an end. 

“I—” 

“It—” 

You both start and stop talking at the same time. When it’s made obvious you intend to stay silent until he speaks his piece, he motions to you with his hands, insisting you go first. 

“It was very nice meeting you, Chrollo,” you say, your voice softening. It’s amazing how you can feel your previously discarded sheepishness returning in real-time. Amazing and annoying. “I, uh, hope you enjoy the event.” 

“Please, I should be the one thanking you,” he insists. Then, for such a well-spoken man, he goes uncharacteristically quiet. Deliberating on some issue you’ll never be privy to. “You’ve already helped me a lot, but could I possibly ask for one more thing?” 

You give a nod.

“May I have your phone number?” 

You stare at him.

He stares at you. 

You continue staring at him.

He continues staring at you. 

His request echoes through your head like it was spoken in a vast cavern. Phone number… phone number... you have one of those. He is asking for it. He wants to remain in touch. Indeed, that is what the statement normally means. Ah, it must be in a platonic sense! It’s nice to have someone to talk to, especially since you both share many interests. Not many of your friends are chomping at the bit to discuss if obtaining the philosopher’s stone was a literal practice or meant to be interpreted metaphorically. 

Whoops, you left the poor guy waiting for a response. 

“S-Sure!” 

He hands you his phone without delay. You put in your contact info, then hold it up for him to take. His fingers brush over yours when he picks it back up and you shiver. 

Well, that was certainly nice. You’re forming a blossoming friendship. You love making new friends. The word repeats in your head as if it were a broken record. Friends, friends, friends. Don’t look too into this. Put your magnifying glass down, brain. The stupid three pounds of gray matter delight in tormenting you with outrageous ideas and conclusions. There’s nothing flirtatious happening here. 

“Also, I hope you don’t mind my saying so…” he trails off, weaving a web you willingly allow yourself to get trapped in, “But you are very beautiful, [First].” 

… 

Ohhhh, he’s been flirting with you this entire time, hasn’t he? 

-

Going on a date is a harrowing experience. 

For some unknown reason, your traitorous amygdala regards going to a café at noon with the same severity it would if a lion were actively chasing you down. Your flight or fight response raises the banners of war. The army it amasses digs its trenches, readies the cannons, its matches lit to fire off the artillery on standby. Who is the dreaded opponent, one may ask? No one. Absolutely no one. Incredibly enough, you can actively recognize this fact, and still, your physiological response claims it knows better. 

Social anxiety is so stupid. You thought you and your body were supposed to be on the same team. Whatever inspired this mutiny, whether it be serotonin deficiency or some other science-y term you can’t pronounce, you most certainly don’t appreciate it. 

To be fair, your parent’s reaction didn’t inspire much confidence. Your dad was asking for information on Chrollo you’re 90% sure could be used to conduct a background check, whereas your mom posited the idea he’s a human trafficker. You felt like a lawyer trying to plead your case for why it’s okay that an adult such as yourself may go on a date (sacrilegious, you know, premeditated murder would be more excusable). With some solid arguments and a few instances of stretching the truth (this sounds far nicer than the word lying), the tempest was dissipated. If Chrollo ever were to meet your parents, you’ll have to tell him he’s actually a sensitive, poetic soul that donates to orphanages and saves kittens from burning down buildings. He’s also celibate. More important than any of those things, though, he’s a political centrist. 

Suddenly everything in your closet either felt prudish enough to befit a woman entering the convent, or raunchy enough you’d need to wear a trench coat to leave the house unobstructed. In the end, you find a skirt that’d pass your middle school fingertip test and a cute blouse that shouldn’t land you in purgatory. 

Your hands are shaking when you go to do the winged eyeliner on your left eye. Then you sneeze while applying mascara, granting a raccoon appearance you could’ve done without. You feel wound up so tight there a mere poke could shatter you into millions of pieces. This is great. Millions of years of evolution led up to this. That selfish, inconsiderate fish should’ve never grown legs and stepped on land. Everything’s gone wrong since then. Fuck that fish. 

Ultimately, you succumb and take one of your ‘stage fright’ medications. If it’s doing anything to help, you can’t tell yet. 

You have to beg your dad to stop staring out the window with a pair of binoculars. 

Eventually, a sleek black car pulls in front of your house. 

Following the theme of the day, you almost trip over yourself walking out the front door. Your phone buzzes — no doubt it’s Chrollo telling you he’s here — but you decide to just go to the car rather than text him back. He must’ve spotted you, for he exits and gives you a wave. You’re grateful he did that while a considerable distance away. There was a time a guy waved at you and you thought he wanted a high five. Needless to say, that was a traumatic incident no amount of therapy could help alleviate. 

“You look absolutely lovely,” he compliments. Your Broca’s area temporarily malfunctions at this bold declaration. Fortunately, you gather yourself fast enough to stop yourself from saying “you too”. 

“Thank you,” the phrase comes out as smooth as butter. You silently congratulate yourself for your immaculate delivery of two words. “Wow… you have such a nice car. And here I thought you were a fellow member of the middle class. Am I allowed to touch this?” 

Chrollo chuckles, having gotten used to the peculiar way you word things after all your electronic communication. No matter how you expressed yourself, he still texted you back, so you figured he must be okay with whatever it is you’re doing. He would’ve blocked you by now otherwise. 

His reply comes as he holds the passenger side door open. “Ah, don’t worry. There was a bit of a mixup at the car rental place. I wasn’t expecting something of this quality either.” 

You tuck this piece of knowledge away for later, should any sugar daddy-esque allegations be thrown your way. One can never be too prepared. 

Sinking into the leather seat is a luxurious experience, although it's cold against the exposed area of your thighs. Chrollo slides into the driver’s seat not long after and sets the car into drive. You silently wonder if your neighbors think you’ve gotten into an Uber. 

The short trip to the café soothes your electrically fried nerves. You’re once again reminded of how good he is at making you forget your anxiety, he could put SSRIs out of business. Or maybe the propranolol is finally working. Whichever it may be, by the time you both order your drinks, you feel more giddy than nervous. Is it a good idea to drink a caffeinated beverage when anxiety threatens to drag you into limbo at any second? Probably not. Does that mean you’re going to wisely choose a different beverage? Nope. 

The sunlight is harsher in the afternoon, but you find this is offset by an occasional breeze. No one else is present in the outdoor dining area except for you and Chrollo. You choose the seat facing a row of bushes so you can observe the house finches and house sparrows fluttering about. One little fella is helping itself to a dirt bath in the freshly spread-out mulch. You coo at the adorable display, pointing it out to Chrollo who admits it is a precious sight. You’ve made it your raison d'être to convince him that every bird is equally fascinating, whether it be a rainbow lorikeet or a common pigeon. 

He takes the first sip of the drink you recommended. 

“Well? What do you think?” 

“It’s good,” he decides with a smile. “I can see why you get it so often.” 

“Right? I’ve thought about conducting an Ocean’s Eleven type heist to get the ingredients they use to make it.” 

“Oh? Do you grant a moral exception to thievery?” 

Despite how lightheartedly he phrases this, his eyes have a certain intensity to them. You mull over the question for this reason. 

“Hm… it depends, I guess? Some people need to steal to survive. I probably wouldn’t care if a rich person or mega-corporation got stolen from either,” you say. He quirks an eyebrow at your last statement and you hastily add, “A-As long as no one gets hurt, of course.” 

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his amusement. “Your reasoning is very cute.” 

You groan and shrink back into the garden chair. “I know, I know, that probably came off as terribly naive and self-contradictory… the issue is complex. Giving a one-size-fits-all type of consensus feels impossible. How about you? What do you think?” 

“Coveting is mankind’s original sin,” Chrollo begins. He’s using a tone that tells you to prepare for an in-depth explanation. “It’s a theme that’s recurrent throughout history. David and Bathsheba, Hades and Persephone, Heathcliff and Catherine… we always want what we cannot have. This dilemma never leaves us entirely. We either ignore it, despair in it, or succumb to it. The desire to steal is as involuntary as the diaphragm contracting for us to breathe or the electric signals that cause our heart to beat.” 

A house finch begins its soulful serenade in the background. 

“Wouldn’t you say that calling it involuntary implies we can’t control it, though?” You query. 

“The only way to exercise total control over it is to kill it.” 

“Some parts of us are better off dead,” you decide. “Getting what you want doesn’t guarantee satisfaction. The examples you listed… maybe they were happy for a time, but ultimately, their transgressions caught up to them.” 

“Is a moment of bliss not worth a lifetime of anguish?” 

“Maybe, if I was a sensualist.” 

He rests his chin on his fist, the skin beneath his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Is that what you’re saying I am, darling?” 

Your eyes widen and you almost choke on your drink at the unexpected pet name. Warmth floods your cheeks and you take a long second to recompose yourself. Your blatant display of embarrassment further fuels his amusement, he actually chuckles. You consider kicking him under the table, but decide that isn’t very ladylike. Then you remember it's the twenty-first century, and to honor your feminist ancestors, you scrunch up a napkin into a ball and fling it at him. Although the aerodynamics of your makeshift projectile are questionable, it almost hits him. Until he catches it with admittedly impressive reflexes. 

“You have a good throwing arm.” 

“And you should consider retiring from your white-collar job to join a baseball team,” you take a sip of your delicious drink. This is definitely the most memorable date you’ve been on. “But no, I don’t think you’re a sensualist. I honestly don’t know how I’d classify you. You’re jaded… almost misanthropic. You acknowledge the world for what it is, but it’s like you once thought it could be better. You don’t care to be proven right or wrong about it anymore, you want something else.” 

“Ah… when put that way, I must seem pathetic,” he muses, his casual air hardly matching the severity of the words spoken. 

“Not at all!” Your passionate outcry appears to momentarily take him aback. “If you’re still looking for something, that means deep down, you have hope you might eventually find it. To me, that’s admirable.” 

He regards you for a few moments, before closing his eyes, his countenance strangely content. “You’re a very interesting woman, [First].” 

“Pfft, not really.” 

“I’m afraid this a point I’ll have to insist on,” or so he says, but you both know he secretly relishes his contrarian ways. “I have to wonder, though. How is it you came to gather any of this about me?” 

“Your opinion on books.” 

He blinks. “Pardon?” 

“We interpret media through a lens that’s formed by our experiences, so… I dunno. You can just infer a lot from what a person gets caught up with in a story.” 

In Chrollo’s case, what he doesn’t pay attention to is equally telling, although it took you a while to notice his unique display of apathy. He’d brush on certain themes while giving a rather surface-level commentary. Playing it safe, almost. He still had such an excellent way of weaving his words, that telling it came from another person's loom was difficult. It wasn’t until you hit on a subject he truly cared for that you could tell the difference. He’d give insights so particular to him that they must contain the true essence of his character. 

Even if it is a mere glimmer. 

He speaks your name.

“Hm?” 

“About what I’m searching for…” he unwraps the napkin you unceremoniously threw his way earlier, smooths out the wrinkles, then returns it. “I think I may have found it.” 

-

Everything has a way of escalating faster than you anticipated. 

You’re about thirty minutes into the movie Perfect Blue. For some time now, you’ve been praising its merits to Chrollo, who recently said you should watch it together. This begged the question of where. In the months since you’ve begun dating, while your parents have taken a liking to him, you didn’t think the subject matter of the movie should be proudly displayed in your living room. 

To remedy this, Chrollo suggested watching it in his hotel room. 

You couldn’t fully explain your initial apprehension if you tried. You felt comfortable around him and have been alone together plenty. Yet for some reason, being alone with a man in a hotel room produced this mental image you weren’t sure you were ready for. He never pushed you or asked why you seemed hesitant to take things further than kissing and some light petting. His lack of questioning had the unintended side effect of birthing different doubts. 

Does he not want anything else? Is he only acting like it doesn’t bother him? Will a day come when he tires of your squeamishness and simply moves on? 

It’s this taunting mantra that haunted you in the lobby, the elevator, then the long, impersonal hallway to his room. 

Your chest feels heavy enough that you wonder if lead has filled your lungs. 

When he sat next to you on the couch, you barely registered his presence, much less his question if the temperature in the room felt agreeable. At some point, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Then his hand began to meander, although his attention never left the screen. He played with your hair. Gently stroked your forearm. His hand wandered down, down, down, to the hem of your skirt. He straightens the lightly bunched fabric out. Your heart pounds. 

Chrollo’s fingers stay there, seemingly placated. 

During the scene where Mima sees her reflection as her idol persona, his hand creeps onto the exposed skin of your thighs. He gives it a gentle, tentative squeeze. A soft gasp leaves you and your attention turns to him. Immediately, your eyes meet his in the dark. The side of his face is lightly illuminated by an array of cool tones. He uses his free hand to cup your chin, the pad of his thumb rubbing your lower lip. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

He speaks the question with such rapture, low and quiet. 

Your heart violently hits your ribcage like it’s trying to burst free. 

Silently, you nod. He tilts his head to the side and slots his lips against yours. There’s a pleasant buzz that tries so hard to overpower the frantic adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your body is at war with itself; indulgence or indignance. It’s a conflict that’ll never have a winner. You want to enjoy it — and you are, you think — so why does your biological makeup hold you as a prisoner without ransom? He tastes nice, feels nice. He did everything right. You don’t want to tremble at what’s a normal aspect of a relationship as if it were death itself hanging over your head. 

It’s this mounting frustration at your condition that spurs you into action. 

While maintaining the languid kiss, you situate yourself on his lap, a gesture that causes him to inhale sharply. He may be as surprised at your boldness as you are. You snake your arms around his neck and intensify the kiss. Humming, he reciprocates your ardor. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips and you grant him entry. He tastes of dark chocolate and mint, a combination you wish you could get drunk on, if only to put your tense body at ease. 

One hand squeezes and massages your thigh, the other cups your feverish face. In this position, you’re afforded no modesty. You can feel your skirt hiking up, exposing more of you. His fingers explore the new territory. They venture dangerously close to your panties, though he doesn’t go beyond there, as if respecting an invisible barrier. The cocktail of emotions this invokes is impossible to properly sort through. 

Can he feel the heat emanating from your body? Your pulse which finds new highs every minute? You want to lose yourself, but you can’t, your anxiety always drags you back kicking and screaming. It is an unforgiving warden that thinks you’d be better off in a cell. 

Chrollo admires you when you pull back, in desperate need of air. You’re starting to feel dizzy and you don’t know if it’s the right kind. There’s something hard forming beneath where you sit. His lust for you is apparent, and you want to please, want to be normal. It should be fun. Your friends regale you with stories of taking strangers home and never feeling more than butterflies in their stomach. That’s what you want. Not this contortion of the aforementioned organ that makes you think your insides are slowly liquifying. 

You still haven’t fully caught your breath, each one growing more shallow, more panicked. He finds other ways to entertain himself, namely, by lavishing your clammy skin with kisses. Your jawline, neck, then collarbone. He’s so calm you think you might be envious. Finally, he works his way back up, teasing your earlobe with his teeth, his breath warm as it fans against you. 

Thump, thump, thump. 

“[First],” his voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. Garbled, distant. “Should we take this to the bedroom?” 

You break into too many shards to fix. 

You get up. Straighten your skirt. You think you mutter something about needing a moment. Your legs don’t feel right. They move anyway. The bathroom’s door knob is like ice. You grab a hand towel. Turn on the faucet. Soak the towel until it drips water down the sink basin. Sit on the floor. The tiles are almost as cold enough to help. You place the towel around your neck. Your ears are ringing and you wish they’d stop. You hug your legs to your chest. What is it you’re supposed to do? Breathe? 

It’ll pass, it’ll pass, it’ll pass. 

It always does. 

Just hold on a bit longer. 

Feeling comes back in your hands first. It spreads throughout your body, though the antidote is far too late. Exhaustion is the next thing you register. The kind that seeps into your cells, makes your limbs feel like dead weight. Cognition returns as well. You remember where you are, who you’re with, what you’ve done. 

It’s been a while since you’ve experienced one of these. Somehow, it’s worse than you remember. Infinitely worse. 

A shiver runs down your spine. Has it always been so cold? You wonder what temperature your body was running at for you not to have noticed sooner. 

How nice it is that your homeostasis decided to return. Is your sympathetic nervous system giving itself a pat on the back? Celebrating and popping champagne bottles at yet another job well done? We’ve done it successfully again, folks, you imagine it cheering. We’ve stopped her from doing something completely normal and harmless! 

You’d laugh, but this time, you can’t bring yourself to. 

As tempting as it is to stay here and pray for the tile floor to swallow you whole, you sincerely doubt that’ll happen, so you’re left with the far less appealing option of being an adult and facing the predicament you’re in. Getting back up, you’re treated to a glimpse of your reflection. 

The change in your complexion would make any onlooker think you’ve seen a ghost. 

Abruptly, you’re fourteen again, trying to get your mom’s attention so you can beg her to take you home because the social gathering of ten or so people is just too much. Next, you’re fifteen, talked into some weekend youth getaway because saying ‘no’ makes you feel guilty and the car ride has another two hours remaining. You feel sick, terribly sick, but you don’t want to get sick, because then your peers would think you’re strange, so you sit there and endure. Then you’re sixteen, locked in the stall of your high school bathroom, trying not to pass out because you think it’d be an inconvenience to anyone that happened upon you. 

You thought you were over this. You’ve done the therapy, read the self-help books, and taken your medication every day like clockwork. 

What’s left for you to do? 

Why does it always come back? 

Chrollo asks if everything’s alright when you walk back over to the couch. You say yes. He then asks if he can get you anything. A glass of water, please, is your reply.

You can tell he’s examining you when he hands the glass over. Your face warms — not in a fun way. The television screen is dark and yet you’re fixated on it like it’s the most intriguing thing in the world. Going from feeling as if you’re a stranger in your own body to being hyper-aware of everything never fails to give you whiplash. You can hear the low thrum of the air conditioning, footsteps coming from the hallway, the steady drip of the sink he filled your glass from. You think to rub your eyes then stop yourself; that’d smudge your mascara. It’d be nice if he could at least think you’re pretty as you struggle to hold yourself together. 

“Was it something I did?” Chrollo questions. He almost sounds… curious, a concept you furiously scrub from your head. You’re exhausted and your brain is waving the white flag. Attributing false interpretations to his words is not going to help. 

“N-No, not at all, I, um,” you have the words, you just don’t want to say them, so you opt for taking another drink instead. The glass runs out of water, your safe haven disappearing with it. “Just… a panic attack. It happens… sometimes.” 

“Entirely unprompted?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. “Kind of…? It— nothing about it is exactly logical. I can know I’m fine, believe it too, and still, that doesn’t matter. It’ll happen anyway. I guess I have some reservations about that level of physical intimacy, but what my body decides to do is completely overkill.” 

“You always minimize the role your anxiety plays in your life,” Chrollo points out. You’re grasping the glass tight enough that your knuckles hurt. “You can’t mention it to me without making light of it in some way. Is there a reason for that?” 

Well, he’s got you there. 

You’re about to joke and ask if he’s the one studying the behavioral sciences, when you realize that’d just be proving his point. 

So uncharacteristic acrimony bubbles to the surface instead.

“A reason? I can give you more than one. It’s stupid, it’s annoying. The most simple things become like a fucking life or death experience for me and I can’t stand it,” you feel tears gather at your lower lashline but you’re too far gone to care. It’s a good thing your mascara is waterproof. “And then I… I think sex sounds nice, but when it actually gets to the moment, I feel so guilty and anxious and wrong that I leave my partner frustrated or thinking they’re some sort of monster.” 

Usually, Chrollo's countenance is difficult to read, but there’s this raw emotion that makes itself known. Understanding? Relief? You don’t know for certain. It disappears without a trace, leaving you no way to confirm or deny your intuition. It’s probably too fried to be reliable, anyway. 

“Hm… you must think all this would put me off, then. Make me want to move on to someone else.” 

A knife stabbing you in the gut and twisting its blade until your viscera turned to mush would hurt less. 

“Sweetheart, I was already aware that it was worse than what you let on,” his voice sounds so kind and near, you marvel at it, the gravitational pull drawing you in. You barely realize he’s brought you into an embrace. Your cheek is against his chest, right above his heart. His has a calm, steady rhythm, whereas yours is picking back up once more. “Your avoidance of talking on the phone, how soft your voice gets when interacting with strangers, the way you act like you’re an inconvenience by asking for the slightest assistance.” 

The tears you tried holding in break free, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. 

“I find these qualities of yours very endearing. You can go from passionately speaking about your interests over dinner to going shy the second the waiter walks over. You care so much, feel so much… it’s a wonder to me. You experience this life in the exact opposite manner I do.”

With the hand he isn’t using to keep you secure against him, he rubs your back up and down. 

“Ah, my poor, sweet girl. What a tender heart you have,” he whispers. His grip on you tightens. That’s when you hear it — the undeniable sound of his heart beating a bit faster than it did before. “I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not after all the effort I put into stealing it for myself. No, I’m almost hurt you entertained the thought. Have I ever treated you with anything less than the utmost care? Hm?” 

Chrollo starts to pull you away from him, yet you refuse, clinging adamantly to his torso in an attempt to hide your face. He ignores the way you shake your head and by exerting the slightest force, achieves his original goal. His fingers find purchase on your chin, which he tilts upward, allowing himself an unobscured view of your puffy eyes and runny makeup. He smiles, wiping away your tears with such gentleness, he must think you’re made of porcelain. 

Sniffling, you remember he asked you a question, and attempt cobbling together a coherent response. Such is the polite thing to do. “I guess not.” 

“And why do you think that is?” 

“... The once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to conduct an in-depth case study for your future dissertation on GAD and SAD?” 

His visage lands somewhere between mild bemusement and exacerbation. “I know you’re smarter than that. Try again.” 

“My winning personality, once you wade through all the mental illness?” 

“That certainly plays a role.” 

“I know I’m cute, too. I suppose that helps. Otherwise, I’d be completely and utterly fucked.” 

“Yes, yes — you are terribly cute.” 

Sensing your hesitancy to land on a definitive answer, he decides to spell it out himself. “I’m fond of you, to a degree I previously thought myself incapable of. I have a… callous disposition, for lack of a better word. Yet for whatever reason, this doesn’t seem to bother you. I’ve never cared for subjective terms like ‘good’ or ‘evil’, but… if there is goodness in this world, it’d be found in you.” 

Chrollo’s knuckles brush against your cheekbone as he speaks, seemingly bewitched by the glittering stream your tears left behind. Tangible proof of your emotions that tumult like a tempest, whereas his often remains an unmoving body of water. 

You take his cheeks in your hands and glare at him. This time, when your lower lip trembles, it’s with righteous anger, not sorrow. “Why do you always talk about yourself like you’re the world’s biggest villain?” 

His eyes slightly widen — you’ve never used a tone like this with him before, or anyone else, for that matter  — though his composure doesn’t wane for long. 

“So what if you don’t think everything is sunshine and rainbows? You aren’t heartless; you just know the dangers of putting your heart on display for everyone else to see. I can’t blame you for that, from what you’ve told me.”

He’s never been particularly forthcoming about sharing details from his past. What you do know is that he grew up in extreme poverty, without parents or a guardian, scraping by with some other children in a similar situation. You never pushed to learn more. There was this quiet melancholy that possessed him in the rare moments he shared glimpses of his childhood. The specters that haunted him could almost be felt lingering in the atmosphere, turning the air heavy and thick. 

“You lost a precious friend in such a cruel way. That loss of innocence, it’s unforgivable, it’s completely unfair…!”

This time, your tears aren’t for you, they’re for a little boy you’ll never know and a girl that you couldn’t if you tried. “I don’t get why you’re so harsh on yourself. You act like you’ve done something unforgivable.” 

He parts and closes his lips. Whatever he intended to say, he must’ve decided against it. Instead, he pulls you back against him, almost greedily. He presses kisses atop your head then murmurs a few words you can’t quite catch. Your body is deprived of energy, having flickered through almost every major emotion a human being can experience. If your parents wouldn’t have fussed over the act, you could’ve fallen asleep on him for the night. 

The person who inadvertently caused your blistering anxiety is also the best balm for it. 

It’s unexplainable, teetering on the edge of delusion, this sentiment that he could shield you from all harm. He’s always so sure of himself when you remain plagued by indecisiveness. He can talk you out of any irrational thought, anchor you when a stressful situation is beginning to be too much, and understand you almost eerily well. He’s able to piece together your chaotic thought processes with next to no context. He listens to you, remembers everything you say (and you mean everything), and genuinely values your input, even if he disagrees with your opinions. 

This level of an intimate connection is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

“No one’s ever cried for my sake before,” he thinks aloud. He’s stroking your back again, almost mindlessly. You swear there’s something magical about his touch. 

“Do you think I’m weird?” 

“There are a lot of words I’d use to describe you,” he decides. As always, he’s clever at avoiding questions he doesn’t wish to answer. “Currently, the one that stands out to me the most would be…” 

You feel his lips curl into a smile against you. 

“Warm.” 

-

The arboretum is far different in autumn. Green leaves have transitioned into rich auburn and golden shades, hesitant buds nowhere to be seen. The grass beneath your feet is crunchier, the foliage dry and scattered, almost as if it were trying to form a protective sheath for the earth. No longer can you hear the melody of grasshoppers and buzzing from busy bees. The wind whistles when it blows, the underlying frostiness biting at your cheeks and ears. 

“Ah, would you look at that, it’s a junco,” Chrollo points out. You cover your mouth to muffle a gasp. Thanks in part to your guidance, he’s gotten better at identifying different types of birds. While you’d like to think it’s because he appreciates them too, you’re convinced he finds your excited reaction far more interesting. 

The little blob of black and white hops to and fro, using its feet to rummage for anything edible. You silently lament your lack of birdseed. You’ll have to settle for cheering the tiny friend on from afar. 

Hand in hand, you both traverse the area of your original meeting. Sweet nostalgia swirls in your chest. You’ve always found it befuddling how a single chance encounter can permanently change the trajectory of your life. In the moment, you have no idea how your actions will go on to form ripples that influence the future. Whether this is chaos theory or some other fancy metaphysical-sounding concept, you haven’t the slightest clue. 

What you do know is that meeting Chrollo was a catalyst for something greater. 

A wave of chills cascades over you.

“Are you cold?” He inquires, his tone having this ‘I told you so’ quality to it that you don’t appreciate. You’re wearing a light beige, plaid fitted blazer, that while chic, doesn’t have much insulation. You waved off his initial concern by saying you’ll warm up once you both get to walking around. So much for that. 

“Cold is a mindset,” the chattering of your teeth doesn’t do much to help your cause. He raises an eyebrow. “Mind over matter… mind over matter…” 

Chrollo shrugs his coat off and drapes it over you. “I wouldn’t want you to get sick, dear.” 

“You sound like my grandma.” 

“The one who tried taking my head wrappings off, or the one who kicked me?” 

“A combination of the two that coalesces their tendency to fuss over me.” 

“You’re very easy to fuss over,” Chrollo chuckles at the face you make at him. “You’re absolutely precious. It’s a mystery to me how you make the smallest acts endearing.” 

At this, you strike a dumb pose, winking at him all the while. “Aha, it’s no mystery. You have my irresistible charm to thank for that.” 

He sighs wistfully. “Indeed I do.” 

Although the sage gardens behind the Starling House are no longer in bloom, you decide to swing by anyway. The plans for the remainder of your day follow a similarly simple yet pleasant precedent. You’re going to go window shopping in a quaint commercial district, grab something to eat at a pub, then end the night off with a movie. Chrollo’s trying to convince you to watch some indie flick that’s in black and white and uses a 1.19:1 ratio. You want to watch Alien, a classic he’s never seen like the weirdo he is. 

The walk isn’t long or monotonous. It’s so idyllic that you could believe you’re the only two people in the world. 

However, that isn’t the case. Upon entering the garden, you’re quick to note the presence of another.  

A young woman is kneeling down, murmuring under her breath. She’s acting as if she’s lost something and can’t find it. Frowning, you detach yourself from Chrollo, approaching her with the intent to offer your assistance. She doesn’t lift her head upon hearing the obvious sounds of your footfall. She just continues blindly grasping at the ground. 

“Miss?” You ask, to which her entire body freezes. “Did you drop something? I could help you look for it.” 

She mutters another incomprehensible jumble of words. 

“Hm? What was that?” 

You lean over in an attempt to hear her better. 

Then, much to your confusion, she enunciates your full-given name. Even while doing this, she doesn’t spare you a single glance. 

“Have to… have to…” she’s back to being difficult to make sense of, “I have to…”

 A strange sensation possesses you.

Have you met this woman somewhere before? You do a quick mental scan of her disheveled appearance and come up with nothing definitive. Her hair is matted, her complexion sallow and her cheeks sunken in. Her disoriented state stirs concern within you. It’s a good sign that she’s still conscious and exhibiting motor functions, but the longer you examine her, the more you can tell she isn’t in a proper state of mind. You don’t want to leave her out here alone in such a vulnerable state. You try to push aside the uncanny feeling that came from her apparently recognizing you when you’re certain you’ve never met. 

Chrollo speaks your name. Turning around, you face him just in time to catch a surreal expression forming on his countenance. His eyes widen slightly, his lips part, then he’s reaching out for you. 

The passage of time grinds temporarily to a halt. 

And then there is a visceral burst of energy. 

It’s as if a blizzard manifests from the direction the woman is hunched over in. There’s this thick, harrowing tension that causes your legs to buckle at the knees. Swirls of negative emotions wrap around you in shadowy tendrils. Grief. Hysteria. Rage. Bitterness. Most notable, however, is the sickening yearning to inflict harm. How can a human being produce and project such raw feelings? It’s like hatred itself has been given a palpable form, submerging you in a swamp of mire. 

You don’t understand what’s happening to you, but you do have this primal foreboding that the longer you’re exposed to it, the more endangered you’ll be. 

In the millisecond it takes for you to blink, Chrollo is no longer in your line of sight. 

It’s strange, you think. There are no knives, guns, explosives; or anything that could hurt you in the traditional sense. In a way you could understand and reliably assess the threat level of. 

And still, despite this uncertainty, you have this unshakable premonition that death isn’t far away. 

-

You wake up in a bed that is not your own. 

Your body is drenched in sweat, your muscles sore, and your head feels as if it’s being clamped in a vice-like grip. Trying to get up proves to be a poor decision. Nausea and dizziness force you to lie back down. You take shallow, frantic breaths, wincing at yet another wave of throbbing coming from your temples. Your senses aren’t reliable either. The first few times you open your eyes, dark spots dot your vision. Then there’s your hearing, or lack of. There’s this distant ringing that while slowly fading, isn’t replaced by anything better. Your hearing grows so muffled you almost think earplugs have been jammed in your ear canal. 

Groaning, you manage to lift yourself off the mattress with trembling arms. The dark spots fade away enough for you to make out your surroundings. 

You’re in Chrollo’s hotel room, lying on his bed. 

It’s nighttime. The digital clock sitting on the bedside table reads 3:40 a.m.  

The next thing you do is feel around for your phone. It should be in the back pocket of your jeans, but it isn’t there. 

The brisk air takes your breath away when you tug the comforter off. Your body groans with protest at all the movement, yet you ignore its request to lay back down, the situation at hand far too perplexing. Your outfit is the same as the one you put on this morning, aside from your boots, which sit together near the wall. You then assess your body for any physical injuries, finding nothing visible to explain your current malaise. Are you hungover? Frowning, you dismiss the idea. You know your tolerance well and never try pushing it. 

Taking small steps and using the wall as leverage, you make your way over to the adjoined bathroom. You fill a dental cup with water and down it instantly. After satiating your thirst, you call out for Chrollo, your voice gravelly with sleep. 

No response. 

Sighing, you slink over to the closed bedroom door. Your equilibrium steadies itself enough that you only need to grab onto something every few steps. The handle doesn’t budge. You try again, exerting more force — still nothing. The subsequent attempts end in the same manner. There’s no denying it, it’s been locked. That begs the question of why. Safety, maybe? It’s possible Chrollo stepped out for whatever reason and wanted to ensure no one could get to you. Then again, that’s what the deadbolt on the door leading to the hotel hallway is for. 

You don’t want to start rattling the door and making a scene when you’re certain there’s a solid explanation for this. He has to come back eventually, his stuff is still here. Although, you can’t help noticing how sparse his personal belongings are. The book he was reading no longer sits on the bedside table, the framed picture of the two of you gifted by your parents isn’t on the wardrobe either. Next, you check the closet, finding it in a similarly desolate state. You once pillaged a shirt of his when you grew tired of wearing a dress, so you know its usual presentation. The hangers remain on the rack yet everything else is gone.

Chrollo told you his job had placed him in this city indefinitely. Is he planning to move to another hotel? 

Not knowing what else to do, you sit on the edge of the bed. The former pounding in your head has soothed into a far less egregious dull ache. You must’ve been asleep for a decent chunk of time, this initial grogginess is what you experience upon first waking up in the morning. You hope you weren’t unconscious for too long. It's an unsettling thought, being in that vulnerable state, totally shut off from the world. 

A few minutes of absentmindedly admiring the twinkling lights that make up the city skyline’s pass. 

Then you hear the door handle jingle. 

Chrollo silently examines you. It’s almost as if he’s gauging your entire being, anticipating what is to come. His mouth is set in a straight line and he’s standing unnervingly still. There’s this intensity to him that has you breaking off eye contact. Your mouth goes dry and you temporarily forget how to form words. You had so many burning questions in his absence, why is it that they've been wiped clean from your head now that he’s here? 

When you find the courage to look up at him again, there’s not a vestige of his former expression. The grave lines have smoothened out and you no longer believe you’re face to face with a stranger. 

“How are you feeling?” He’s quick to close the distance. The mattress dips, adjusting to his presence by your side.  

“Oh, uh, not the best, but… I don’t think it’s anything serious,” you say. Silvery moonlight shines into the room, illuminating him in an otherworldly veil. Goosebumps line your skin when he takes the side of your face into his hand. He’s cold. “I’m mostly just confused. Is— is everything okay? Why am I here?” 

“How much do you remember?” 

Remember, remember… that’s right, you hadn’t given that much thought. You pick through your hazy memories aloud. “Well, we were at the arboretum, just walking around. I remember heading to the gardens behind the Starling House. Then… um…” 

You squint and furrow your eyebrows together. It’s as if your recollection was a film reel that had been trimmed after that point. You try piecing together a mental image of the garden. Hummingbirds? Sage? No, that isn’t right, you’re thinking of its spring appearance. The colors would be more muted, there’d be less shrubbery. The image grows sharper.

Then there’s a shadow. 

Vaguely human-shaped, situated right in the middle of the mosaic you’re trying to form. Their outline isn’t solid, it’s splotchy, like water paint left to run on a canvas. 

Finally, something clicks. 

“That woman!” You exclaim. The corner of his lips twitch downward. “That’s right! Is she okay? She seemed so out of it.” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“How is that possible? You were—” 

“Let’s focus on you for now,” he cuts you off. There’s a finality in his voice you can’t bring yourself to challenge. “Can you tell me what symptoms you’re experiencing?” 

“Um, some disorientation and a headache.”

“I see. I’ll get you some painkillers, then.” 

You grab his wrist to stop him when he starts getting up. “I’d really prefer you told me what happened first.”

When he doesn’t immediately acquiesce to your request, you quietly add, “Please.” 

His eyes soften at your gentle, uncertain timbre. He intertwines his fingers with yours and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“Earlier, when we arrived at the garden, you grew lightheaded and fainted.” 

You take a moment to process the information. It seems plausible enough, yet the more you mull over it, the more little details start to catch your attention.

“Okay…” you trail off, pursing your lips. A vengeful throb from your head causes you to wince. He notices — frowns — then places a featherlight kiss against your forehead. The thoughtful gesture doesn’t invoke any pleasant warm fuzzy sensations. “So I fell unconscious for over ten hours and you didn’t… call an ambulance…?” 

“That is correct.” 

You shuffle in your seat, momentarily taken aback at how easygoing he’s acting about the entire ordeal. “Why?” 

“I’ve been monitoring your vitals,” he reassures. Sensing your growing apprehension, he adds, “I can promise that you were never in serious danger. I would’ve acted accordingly if you were.” 

The phrase ‘acted accordingly’ doesn’t tell you much either. What does he mean by that? Is there some threshold you needed to enter for him to have taken you to the hospital? Your various volunteer experiences with the city’s vulnerable communities taught you that if a person is unresponsive for over a minute, an ambulance should be called, just to be on the safe side. Besides, isn’t that just common sense? Chrollo is an intelligent man. You can’t fathom any line of reasoning that’d justify not erring on the side of caution. 

You glance at the clock again. 4:03 a.m. glows in the dim light of the room. It’s late. You wonder what your parents—

Holy shit. 

“Do my mom and dad know?” You glance around as if expecting to find them. There’s no way they wouldn’t have insisted on calling emergency services if you were unconscious for that long. 

“I didn’t inform them, no.” 

“What?” You make no attempts to tone down your incredulity. “Then— they must be out of their minds with worry! My phone, where’s my phone? I need to tell them I’m okay!” 

You shoot up off the bed too fast and your body doesn’t take kindly to the rushed movement. Debilitating lightheadedness causes you to lose your balance. Chrollo steadies your swaying form and helps sit you back down. You scoot away from him as far as you can, your thoughts an absolute mess. Nothing here is making sense. It’s not even a puzzle that’s missing a few pieces, there’s almost nothing to work with at all. 

He’s staring at you in that strange, anticipatory manner again. It makes your stomach churn. 

“My phone, Chrollo,” you hold your hand out. “There’s no way you don’t have it.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t give it to you,” he sounds apologetic too, which makes your subsequent temper flare up even worse. 

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, exasperation winning out. You were trying to be reasonable, but that is over and done with. “You’re acting like— like there’s nothing weird happening! Can you please take this seriously? You’re really starting to freak me out.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I knew this wouldn’t be easy for you, so I wanted to remain calm for your sake.” 

Your tongue couldn’t properly form words if your life depended on it. Sure, remaining calm in a crisis is helpful, but he isn’t acting like this is a crisis. He’s treating it as if he was burdened with sitting you down to relay bad news that no one else had the heart to share. 

You’re starting to think you don’t know the person you’re talking to. 

“For my sake,” you repeat in a wry deadpan. “If that’s true, then tell me what’s actually going on, Chrollo. Because I know you’re bullshitting me.” 

Not calling the ambulance or informing your parents, withholding your phone… then there’s the matter of how he got you here in the first place. Did he carry you through the lobby? No good samaritans thought it was unusual to see a man carrying an unconscious woman up to his room? Hotel staff these days are trained to have a vigilant eye for these situations too. Not one person thought it might be a good idea to ring up law enforcement over such a blatantly suspicious act? 

Nothing is adding up. 

“I’m being more forthcoming than you think,” Chrollo says, as if he’s doing you a favor. He tries reaching out for your hand again, only this time, you don’t allow him. “Everything I’ve said and intend to say is the truth, even if you don’t particularly like it.” 

That’s a hell of a creative way of putting it!

“Who was that woman earlier? What did she do to me?” 

“I have someone ironing out the details, but from what I’ve gathered, she was sent with the intention of killing you. I don’t believe she was aware of the fact herself until you entered her vicinity, triggering the necessary condition for the true culprit’s ability to activate. Otherwise, I certainly wouldn’t have allowed you to get so close.” 

Someone was sent to kill you? You? A run-of-the-mill college student who has no enemies to speak of? It’s not like you’re a part of the fucking mob. That can’t be right, not to mention the bizarre jargon he’s using. There’d be no plausible motive. If he says she was sent, and you choose to believe he isn’t making this all up, that implies it was premeditated. Not a spur-of-the-moment decision. That’d almost make more sense. 

That is, unless… 

You stare at him, eyebrows knitting together. 

“If you’re telling the truth — and right now, that’s a big fucking if — does this have something to do with you?” 

“That’s my clever girl,” he praises, entirely devoid of condescension. The pure fondness in his voice makes you sick. It’s almost as if he’s delighting in watching you piece this nightmare together. “Yes, you haven’t deliberately done anything to earn the wrath of the wrong people. They simply know getting to me is near impossible, hence their decision to go for the next best thing instead. That’d be you, dear.” 

“Oh my god,” you bury your head in your hands. “Why… why am I not freaking out more? I should be hysterical, or, or— I don’t know…” 

“Beta blockers,” he reveals. You look at him like he’s speaking another language. “In anticipation of how… touchy this conversation was going to be, I thought it might be best for you to be in a good headspace while receiving this information for the first time.” 

“You drugged me?” 

“If that’s how you want to look at it.” 

“Because that’s how it is!” 

A lump forms in your throat and lodges itself there. Are you stuck in a hellacious dream? Or hallucinating, perhaps? Visual hallucinations aren’t supposed to be this cohesive or clear. There has to be another explanation. Something you’re missing that’d make this all go away. The beta blocker admission certainly holds weight. Your heart rate, while slightly elevated, isn’t anywhere near as chaotic as it should be. It’d explain the general malaise, fatigue, and lightheadedness too. That, and you doubt you’d be able to think this clearly if there wasn’t something heavy pumping through your system. 

Your eyes hesitantly settle on Chrollo, who sits there perfectly still and almost relaxed. He’s observing you like a hawk. 

“Listen,” you try using a mellower voice. He raises an eyebrow at your drastically different approach. “You had ample opportunity to hurt me and you didn’t. That must mean you have my best intentions at heart, right? Why don’t we try to work something out, because this isn’t sustainable. My absence isn’t going to go unnoticed.” 

Chrollo sighs, heavy if not unsurprised. “Sweetheart, I’m not suffering a break from reality, although I’m sure you’d prefer to rationalize it that way. I assure you I’m lucid and everything I’ve done is intentional. You’ll come to accept it eventually.” 

It isn’t going to help, yet you feel your remaining grains of patience slip through your fingers. 

“What’s this talk about a ‘condition’ and ‘ability’, then?” You challenge. 

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d mention that,” he doesn’t sound like you landed on a reason that’d prove him wrong. “How to explain it… you once told me you think there are phenomena in this world that can’t be explained by empirical evidence. Consider this an example of that. I’m sure you must’ve felt it before you fainted. An intense, concentrated sensation that awoke your primordial fear. Bloodlust.” 

You want to argue until you run out of breath, but this description does strike a chord. Reality itself feels as if it’s drifting further and further away. In an awfully cruel twist, Chrollo and his collected disposition is the most grounding factor you have to latch onto. 

“I’m sure it’s a lot to take in,” he finally replaces that matter-of-fact tone with something resembling compassion, “But know this: you’re not in any danger. Neither are those you care about, so long as you act sensible.” 

Shivering, you hug your arms around your chest. “How can you say that to me so easily? I thought… I thought you…” 

He’s enveloping you from behind. You didn’t even see him move. Weakly, you struggle against his hold, but you’re not in any condition to put up a fight. In the event you were, it’s doubtful it’d make much of a difference. He’s strong. It goes beyond physical strength, into some esoteric realm you’ve become forcibly acquainted with. He’s exerting this slight pressure that makes your heart skip a beat, despite the medication. It isn’t comparable to what you experienced in the garden — there’s no malice — it feels more like a warning. 

“You’re surprisingly sensitive to Nen,” he murmurs, humming contentedly when you go limp against him. His chin rests atop your head and his arms ensnare your midriff. “How interesting. No matter. Whatever your fascinating brain concocted is still true. You may think me merciless, but if you knew me, you’d find this to be my greatest act of mercy yet.” 

“I thought I did know you,” is your weak reply. You don’t recognize the sound of your voice. 

“The parts of me I wanted to show you, yes,” he moves your hair aside so he can press a kiss to the nape of your neck. “And a few glimpses you gleaned in your own way. Really, you are such a sweet girl. Willing to overlook discrepancies to see the ‘good’ in me.” 

Heat rises and ignites on your cheeks. “I-I could scream, you know.” 

“You could.” 

That’s not the reaction you were expecting. 

“You’re… not going to try and stop me?” 

“No,” he responds. “I’ve always found experience to be the best teacher.” 

“You really,” you heave a humorless laugh, uncertain of what else to do, “You really don’t see anything wrong with this?” 

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, marveling at how your pulse remains steady, thanks to his intervention. 

“‘So long as I can say I helped one person, that’s good enough for me.’” 

“What?” 

“It’s what you said the first day I met you,” Chrollo explains, nostalgia evident. “I’ve thought about those words often. Your effulgence, your desire to do right by others. It made me wonder if there could ever be anyone more perfect for me than you. You, whose pretty neck I could snap before you’d ever realize what happened, stirred up a sentimentality in me I thought myself incapable of.” 

Sandalwood, amber, and leather. His scent is the same as that day.

Are his intentions? 

Is this a prophecy he himself ordained and always intended to see fulfilled? 

“You stole my heart, and as recompense, I will steal you. Think whatever you want about me, dear. Just don’t think I’m selfless enough to ever change my mind.” 

[late-to-the-party-81]

What's up, Buck?

AN: And another late answer to an ask! Hahahaha. Thank you for the thot, Em. He looks so grumpy here!

Unbeta'd ficlet ahoy!

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

CW: Antagonistic work colleagues to lovers, Grumpy Bucky, Canon typical violence, confessions of feelings, idiots in lust, kissing, implied future smut.

“What’s up, Buck?” You called out with a smile as you passed the metallic staring machine in the corridor. He didn’t answer you. He never did. Just flared his nostrils and kept on staring, while you kept on walking.

“What’s up, Buck?” You gave him a jovial shoulder bump as you found him in the communal lounge-slash-kitchen, holding a bowl of cheerios and milk in his left hand and shovelling it into his mouth with the spoon in his right. He scowled as some of the milk sloshed, but said nothing.

“What’s up, Buck?” You gave him a wave as you strode onto the quinjet, passing where he and Steve were sitting sorting out their equipment, as you followed Nat to the cockpit. He tossed his knife over and over in his hand, glaring at you, but as usual, stayed silent.

“Quit bugging him,” Nat chided.

“But he’s gotta answer me sometime. How many missions can we get through where he doesn’t even exchange a single word with me? I’m determined to get him to say something, even if it’s just ‘fuck off’ or ‘shut the fuck up’. It’s not normal, Nat.”

“Yasha isn’t normal, скворец. Who would be after everything he’s been through?

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right…it’s just that I get on with everyone, Natty. I don’t know why he’s so grumpy with me.”

“He just doesn’t know you yet. It’s gonna take him a while to warm up. If you haven’t noticed he doesn’t really talk to me much.”

“Aah, yes, but he does talk to you.”

“You just want him to notice you crushing on him. I see those eyes you make at him.”

You stuck out your tongue at her, but Nat just shook her head, put on her headset, and started her pre-flight checks. You sat back and tried not to ruminate on the intriguing, and very hot brunette super-soldier.

—----

You pulled your knife out of the chest of the goon you’d just downed and jogged down the corridor in front of you. 

“I’m on my way guys, wait for me to catch up…”

“Don’t worry, Starling. We won’t leave you behind.” You heard the smile in Steve’s voice over the comms and rolled your eyes to yourself. The daft nickname that Nat had given you, after she found you doing karaoke exactly once, had now been adopted by the rest of the team. Well, almost the rest of the team.

You saw a partially closed door ahead of you and pushed it open, coming face to face with Bucky’s rifle. You skidded to a halt and raised your hands in the air.

“Heeeeeeey! What’s up, Buck? Apart from your gun, that is.” You stuck out your index fingers and pressed it to the end of the barrel, pushing it away from you. Bucky glared. You tried not to notice how sexy he looked all battle dishevelled.

“Come on, man. Lighten up.”

“I almost shot you.” It took you a moment to decipher the growl he made and then another moment to process that he’d actually spoken to you. 

You grinned and made a theatrical stagger towards the closest wall, clutching a hand to your chest.

“Be still my beating heart! He speaks!”

Some of the tension went out of Bucky’s body and he lowered his rifle to point at the floor.

“Are you always so blasé?”

“Are you always so stoic?

He rolled his eyes and started to walk away from you down the corridor. You trotted behind him, trying to keep up with his long-legged stride, and turned off your comms transmitter.

“Is that why you don’t like me? You don’t think I take anything seriously?”

He stopped short and you almost ran into his back.

“I don’t ‘not like’ you.” He turned and looked you over.

“Could’ve fooled me, Sergeant Barnes. This is the first time you’ve ever spoken to me.”

“This is the first time you’ve said something that isn’t that ridiculous phrase.”

You pinched your nose, feeling a headache coming on.”

“You do realise that if you’d done anything other than just stare at me, all haughty and serious, I’d have expanded my vocabulary.”

“Maybe I didn’t know what to say. What was I supposed to say?”

“Anything, Bucky. I don’t know. Maybe ‘Nothing, just chilling’, or ‘the value of the Yen against the Dollar’. Anything. We could’ve been getting along all this time, you know.”

“Anything, Starling? What if what I wanted to say wasn’t appropriate?” He took a step towards you, backing you against the wall. His expression had changed. “What if I didn’t want to ‘get along’? What if I want something different? I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know what you want. Maybe we want the same thing?”

His eyes were dark and for some reason you were transfixed by the way his tongue popped out from between his lips.

“Umm. Erm. Is it warm in here? Just me? Maybe we should be going, you know, catch up with the others.”

“Don’t change the subject, not when we’re finally talking, скворец. You want to ask me, don’t you? You want to ask me that stupid question one more time to find out what I really want to say, don’t you?”

His breath was warm on your face, his eyes hypnotising you. He was standing so close his knee was almost slotted between your thighs. All you’d have to do would be to drop slightly and you could grind against it and…

“What… what’s up, Buck?” You barely recognised the croaky voice that came out of your throat.

Bucky’s right hand came up and cupped your face, thumb moving over your cheekbone and he dropped his head even closer.

“My blood, скворец, every time you talk to me. That’s what’s up. I want to kiss you to stop you saying it, and then carry on kissing you to find out what other things your lips will say…”

He moved his lower body closer, pressing his hips against you and heat suffused your skin at what you felt.

“And when you prance around in those tiny sleep shorts that barely cover your ass, guess what else is up?”

You drew a ragged breath into your lungs, feeling dizzy from the adrenaline coursing through your body.

“Do you understand now why I didn’t respond?”

The gap between you was infinitesimal. You were so close you were breathing the same air and at some point your hands had come up to rest on the leather of his tack jacket

“You should have said it, Buck. You should have said all those things, and we could have been doing this sooner.”

You closed the gap.

At the first touch of his lips against yours, both dry and chapped due the exertion of the mission, your eyelids closed allowing you to just feel. His mouth moved over yours, not softly, but not aggressively either, like he was trying to hold back. Your fingers curled into his jacket and the firm material creaked. You could smell leather, and gunpowder, and steel, and Bucky’s sweat. 

You wanted more. Wanted to drown in it. Drown in him. 

You wanted to run your tongue up his chest and taste him, you wanted to wind your fingers into his hair and clutch him to your breast, you wanted…

“Starling? Buck? Where are you guys? Did you stumble into some more trouble? We’re waiting for you at the jet.”

Steve’s voice burst in over the comms, pulling you both out of the moment. Bucky stepped back from you and pressed his finger to his ear.

“We’re here, Stevie. Don’t worry, be with you in a few minutes.”

You lent against the wall, and grabbed your water bottle, taking a healthy slug and giving yourself a few moments to collect yourself. 

“Come on, Starling. You heard the man. Let’s move out.”

You gave him a sharp nod and strode forward. You got a few steps in front of him when you felt Bucky grab you, his cool left hand feeling blissful against your heated skin.

“Oh, and our conversation isn’t over, doll. Not by a long shot.”

You gave him a coy smile.

“Your room or mine?”

Tag list: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @flordeamatista @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @ohsymphony @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @talia-rumlow @poppunksnowwhite

[curtis-corner]

STAND BY ME (Darry Curtis) - PART 5

Fic Masterlist HERE

This took a bit longer than I wanted, but I hope it's worth the wait! We're setting the scene a bit for future chapters. Thanks to everyone who shares this story and comments! Things are going to heat up!

Part 5

Dating Darry Curtis was like something out of a dream. You were so happy you almost felt like your mouth would permanently stay in a smile. You missed him like crazy when you weren’t with him, and when you were with him the two of you were inseparable.

If he wasn’t holding your hand, he had his arm around your shoulder. While you both didn’t do anything more than an innocent kiss on the cheek in public, when you were alone it was a whole different story.

Which is where you found yourself now: straddling his lap in the driver’s seat of his truck, parked way out on the outskirts of the city. Your hands are in his thick hair and you felt like you had been kissing him for hours. He had been running his hands up and down your stocking-clad thigh, stopping just shy of your skirt that was practically around your waist.

He shifted you, you moved back and landed right on the horn, sending a loud honk through the deserted area and starling you both.

“What the hell,” Darry said, his voice scratchy. You start to giggle, you can’t help it. “I guess I need to be getting you home soon anyway.” You rest your forehead head against his.

“Mm, do I have to go home?”

“Believe me baby, if I could spend the rest of the night right here, I would.” A thrill runs through you.

“I like that. Baby.” You clarify and his lifts his lips to yours for a kiss that’s over long before you want it to be. You climb off his lap, trying not to look too foolish as you move to the passenger seat. When you get settled, Darry reaches his hand across the seat and holds yours. He drives with his left hand, maneuvering the truck easily back to the east side and you wonder if it’ll always feel like this.

--

Mr. Murphy had started Murphy’s general store with his late wife back in 1924. You had never met Mrs. Murphy – she died over ten years ago, and his only son died in the second world war, so the store was pretty much all he had. He was a kind and fair boss, but he took a bit to come around to more modern convivences.

“I’m just sayin’, that’s the third person this month to ask about puttin’ their bill on a credit card.” Sheila says and Mr. Murphy waves her off.

“If people can’t buy it with the cash they got, they shouldn’t be buying it.” It was a long-standing argument that you tried not to get in the middle of. Mr. Murphy was in the store today to review and place the weekly order, and he had you help him look everything over.

“The laundromat downtown said they are getting a credit card machine next year.”

“They’re just saying that, ain’t no one is going to ever put their laundry on a dang credit card.”

“With prices all going up, a credit card will be the only option.” Sheila warns and you bite your lip to keep from laughing at the expression on Mr. Murphy’s face. Sheila and Mr. Murphy didn’t often work at the same time, but when they did you were always entertained.

“We need three cases of dish soap, not two,” you point to his sheet and he erases the number two and writes a three. The door jingles and Darry walks in, brushing some snow out of his hair.

“Well, look at what we have here!” Mr. Murphy exclaims, and you feel a blush rising. Mr. Murphy took far too much delight into you dating Darry.

“He’s a good boy, you should say yes when he proposes.”

“We’ve been dating TWO weeks!”

“I proposed to my wife after two weeks. Ain’t no use in waiting, you’re just wasting time.”

“Mr. Murphy,” Darry shakes his hand. He turns to you and smiles. “Hi there.”

“Hi yourself. You’re off early today?”

“Snow is making it too slippery to be on the roofs.” You glance out the front window to see the flurries from lunchtime have turned into a true snow. “I’m on my way to pick up Ponyboy from school, but I figured I’d duck in and say hello.”

“You remind me of me at your age, could never miss an opportunity to see my girl. Five minutes with her had me smiling all day,” Mr. Murphy’s eyes are bright behind his glasses and you have the sudden urge to fight back tears. You shared a soft smile with Darry and saw Sheila rolling her eyes up at the register. You guess not everyone was a romantic.

“What are you working on?” Darry asks, glancing down at the papers spread across the countertop.

“Weekly order.” Mr. Murphy says. “Your brother alone is the reason for more legal pads.” Darry and you share a smile. You both had nearly the same conversation the other day while you helped him make chicken pot pie.

“I don’t doubt it. Just hope he ain’t the reason for all the extra beer too,” Darry points at the list and Mr. Murphy lets out laugh and turns to you.

“You just talk all day about how handsome he is, you never mentioned how funny he is!” Your blush is back at Mr. Murphy’s antics.

“Is that so?” Darry is well aware he’s teasing you, but he can’t resist.

“Don’t you have a kid brother to collect?” You say, putting a hand on your hip.

“I suppose I do. And I’ll come pick you up after you after your shift too.” He gives you your favorite grin, the one that really shows off his dimples and heads out after saying goodbye to everyone, even Sheila.

“That boy looks at you like you’re Christmas morning.” Mr. Murphy says, still slightly teasing but his tone is softer.

“He’s pretty swell,” you smile, watching Darry wave one last time before his truck heads out.

“You’re pretty swell too.” Mr. Murphy pats your hand twice, then returns to the order.

The warm feeling that had settled in you the past few weeks grows a little stronger.

--

When you get home, a man you’ve never seen is at your kitchen table, and your mother’s small collection of jewelry is spread out in front of him.

Your father introduces him as a jeweler from downtown, but the man doesn’t look too much older than you and is dressed in a leather jacket and jeans instead of a suit and tie you’d expect from a professional.

“That brooch was Grammy Sue’s,” you point to a brooch in the shape of a swan. As a child you were fascinated with it, always asking your grandmother if you could feel it. She had promised you that you could have it one day.

“And she’s dead, so now it’s not.” Your father spat out and you physically recoiled. You had never heard such venom in his voice. “Go find that old bracelet of your mother’s, she said those were genuine pearls.”

You feel your stomach drop, you loved that bracelet. You wore it whenever you got dressed up, it was a beautiful and delicate bracelet your mother had received from her aunt when she was younger. You knew exactly where it was – in the top drawer of your vanity. But you blurt out:

“I lost it.”

“You what?” Your father stands up from his chair and your stomach tightened again. He had never been physical with you before, but he had also never been so desperate for gambling money that he sold off jewelry before.

“I-I lost it. At Easter mass last year.” You hope he doesn’t remember how you wore it for your first date with Darry only a few weeks ago. He doesn’t seem to: instead he spends a good few minutes yelling at you before banishing you to your room.

You have tears in your eyes as you take the bracelet from it’s hiding spot and put it in the shoebox at the back of your closet with your California money. You tried not to spend your life waiting for ‘someday’ but you couldn’t help but wish for the day when you were out of this house. When the person who greeted you when you walked in the door wasn’t passed out drunk or scrambling for money.

You wanted a house full of love, with the radio on and people laughing and singing along to the best songs. With something good cooking in the kitchen and cookies in the jar. And someone to greet you and always be happy to see you.

You know it’s too soon to be thinking these thoughts and picturing Darry in every one of them, but you let yourself have a few moments to think about what it could be like.

--

Talking to Darry on the phone each night was one of your favorite things. Whether it was a few minutes to say goodnight, or an hour when you talk about all sorts of things, his low, deep voice would soothe you.

You listen to him talk about Soda and Steve’s run in at the diner with two other greasers, and about Ponyboy’s trouble with styling his shorter hair.

“You alright baby?” He asks and you realize he must have asked you a question that you never responded to.

“Shoot, I’m sorry. I’m alright…” You trail off, not knowing how to begin.

“You know you can tell me about it. Whatever is bothering you, I mean.” And even though you can’t see him, you can perfectly picture the look on his face. And you know you can trust him with this.

“When I got off my shift there was a man at the house. My dad was selling my mama’s old jewelry that she had left. I guess it’s just not sitting right with me. The guy seemed…strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Like he certainly wasn’t from any reputable jewelry store. And my dad got so angry when I told him I didn’t have my mama’s old pearl bracelet.” You sigh. “Even though…I do have it. I don’t try to make a habit of lying, but I just saw all her things, some of the only things we got left from her, on the table and ready to be gone for good and I….I just couldn’t let him sell that too.”

“I think that’s okay.” Darry says softly. “It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“I spent all night feeling bad about it. Maybe he could have used the extra money instead of me holding on to an old bracelet from a woman who probably ain’t ever coming back.” You let out a breath and twist the phone cord around your index finger. “Sorry. You shouldn’t have to listen to all this, it’s silly.”

“It ain’t silly.” Darry says firmly. “If something upsets you, I wanna hear about it.” You smile.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You say softly and you know at the other end of the phone Darry is smiling. He always does when you use a term of endearment with him.

“He didn’t do anything to hurt you right? Your dad?”

“No, he just yelled. I stayed in my room and he left not long after the other man did.”

“You know my front door is always open. Doesn’t matter the time.” He’s told you this before, he never likes dropping you off at an empty house. And you think for a split second about your daydream of a warm home that was full of love.

“I know.” You say quietly and you take a deep breath, wanting to steer the conversation away from your troubles. “Alright, tell me more about how we’re going to get Pony’s hair to grow faster.”

NEXT UP: Darry's birthday and a tough anniversary for the curtis boys

[choccyhearts]

Lollipop Chainsaw // Steve Harrington x Reader

Note: is this too niche of an idea? i originally thought of this as an eddie fic until i realized, no, steve fits the profile for handsome jock obviously, and he would love any kind of sexy couples costume with his partner <3 (also this idea came to me because i thought it'd be sooo hot but awful irl)

CW: 18+!! Suggestive and spicy but not smut, fem!reader, light soft!dom!reader/sub!steve dynamic, steve is in LOVE, modern!steve but only cause of the video game, plzz lemme know if i missed anything!

Here's the costume btw:

♡

Steve wasn't ever really into Halloween. He did all the traditions, but it wasn't a time of year he was dying to celebrate. As he got older, he liked it for the reasons young people like it -- drinking and sexy costumes. Not that he didn't have a sweet tooth too, though.

But once he started dating you, he quickly discovered how serious people could take the holiday. Not that he was complaining. He thought it was adorable, the way your face lit up when you'd see a pumpkin or skeleton in front of someone's home, or how excited you'd get when you were making your autumn treats. And it meant he had a wide variety of dates he could take you on -- haunted houses, hay rides, pumpkin picking, picnics.

He also helped you decorate, putting up the really high stuff like spider webs and lights. He loved how big your smile was when you saw your vision come true thanks to his help. He may not love Halloween, but he sure loves you, so I guess he loves Halloween by association.

But when it came to picking out a costume, something he was excited to do, you had other plans. He wanted to do something cheesy and coupley or sexy and totally hot. He'd always thought it would be cute to have the couples' costume experience for just one night. A silent way of showing you off to everyone, making sure they know you're only his.

You, however, told him that you already knew what you were going to be and it was going to be a surpise. Steve knew he was going to like whatever you pick, but he couldn't help but feel a little bummed that another Halloween was going to come and go and he once again wasn't going to live out his couples costume fantasy.

So, now he lay on your bed, tossing a stress ball into the air and catching it while you're in the bathroom. It's Halloween weekend, and there's a party you're both excited for. Steve decided to go without costume, not having come up with a good idea soon enough. You asked him sweetly over the phone to wear his old Hawkins varsity jacket and the pair of jeans that hugged his ass and bulge nicely but refused to clue him in why.

A sigh leaves Steve's lips, his eyes lazily following the stress ball as it soars and drops over and over again. It had been almost half an hour, and you were still in the bathroom. He was getting antsy, wanting to check in and see if you were okay. He knew it took girls a while in the bathroom (though it could be argued he takes just as long), so he just assumed you were trying to fix your hair or makeup.

"Babyyy, are you almost finished?" His voice comes out whinier than he wants, but it still gets his point across.

"Almost, Stevie. I promise it'll be worth it," you call to him lovingly.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your belt. You knew this idea was perfect, and you were counting down the days until you could reveal it. Your eyes drift over your body in the mirror, donning a Juliet Starling costume.

When it came to picking out the perfect costume idea to surprise Steve with, you wanted something that would take his breath away and wrap him even tighter around your finger. Most sexy couples costumes were good, but you didn't want to be the third Morticia and Gomez at a party. You wanted something you figured no one else would wear, and after playing the game, Lollipop Chainsaw, you knew it was the perfect costume.

Steve hums softly to himself, mind blanking as he continues waiting. You walk into your room, and like a puppy, Steve sits up putting all of his attention on you. He smiles at you, heart racing as he looks at your cute appearance, standing in front of him with your hair in two pig tails and makeup done softly.

"You look sooo pretty, baby," Steve grins, face flushed and eyes shining.

"You can't even see my costume," you tease, as you've hidden it under a robe.

"Doesn't matter, still look pretty," he blinks slowly, very love drunk.

"Well, you look handsome too, my love." You walk to him, standing between his legs as you set your hands on his shoulders. He lets out a 'mmm' and brings his face against your stomach, needing to just melt into you. You delicately drag your nails against his neck, not wanting to mess up his styled hair.

"My handsome, adorable lover boy," you coo before pulling away. He tightens his arms around you and grunts in response.

"No, wanna stay like this," his voice is muffled as he speaks against your body.

"Don't you wanna see my costume? I wanna see yours." You successfully free yourself and take a couple steps back.

"Yeah, speaking of, why did I need to wear this?"

You don't answer verbally. Instead, untying your robe and sliding it off your body, revealing the cute blue and pink cheerleading uniform. You let the robe fall to the floor as you do a small spin to let Steve look at all of you. His eyes widen and get shinier as he refuses to blink, his mouth parting in an 'o' shape. Lights are on, but no one's home.

"What do you think? Isn't it cute?"

Your little boyfriend can't even hear you, his brain too occupied drinking in your seductive beauty. All he can think about is how mouth-watering your thighs look, how soft and plush your tits look, how he could just barely see your ass when you turned. He wants to keep staring but he also wants to touch you.

"Stevie?" You walk forward and use two fingers to guide his chin to look up at you.

He blinks a few times, involuntary tears falling as his eyes rehydrate.

"I'm sorry, baby, what did you say?"

"Do you like it?"

He pulls you against him again and groans loudly.

"You kidding, me? I looove it, I mean it. I fucking love it," his hands squeeze your ass which makes you jump. You bite back a moan, not wanting to let him distract you.

"Thank you, sweetie." You kiss the top of his head. "And now, for the other surprise!"

"Another surprise? Baby, I don't think my heart can take it."

"Come on, you'll reallyyy like this one," you say in a sing-songy tone.

"Well, I reallyyy like this one, just fine," he mimicks you. "So why don't we just stay here, put on a scary movie, and I show you a few tricks of my own."

He holds your left wrist and begins kissing up your arm, knowing it's your weakness. You hum happily, always enjoying getting loved on by him. His lips are soft and gentle as they stamp your skin over and over again. But his efforts are useless.

"Nope, nope. Let me show you the other half of the costume." You pull off as he gripes at you.

You go into your closet and pull out a thick, neck brace looking collar with a metal loop on the back. You keep it hidden behind your back from Steve as you walk back to him.

"So, you've never played this game, but our costumes are inspired by two characters from a game called Lollipop Chainsaw. I'm Juliet, the protagonist, a zombie hunting cheerleader, and you get to be her football player jock boyfriend."

"I see why you asked me to wear this now."

"There's just one thing about her boyfriend."

"Is he zombie?"

"No, actually, Juliet saves him by decapitating him."

"So you're asking to decapitate me," Steve asks with heavy sarcasm lacing his tone.

"No." You roll your eyes before pulling the collar from behind your back, and Steve eyes it confused. You walk towards him and motion it to him, asking if he'll let you put it on him. He nods, trusting you and remembering you said he'd like it. You've never steered him wrong yet. What's the harm?

You unclasp the collar and begin to gently wrap it around Steve's neck.

"After she decapitates him, she does a spell to keep him alive. And, for the rest of the game, she needs to keep him safe."

You click the collar shut and allow Steve to make any adjustments. Once he confirms he's comfortable, you continue.

"So, she keeps him with her by attaching him to her belt."

You turn and show him you have a clip attached to the side of your belt. You look at Steve as he slowly makes the connection of what you're asking him to do.

"So, I thought, obviosuly not for the entire night, you could stay clipped to me. And it stretches too, see?" You demonstrate that the clip is on a stetchy wire. "So if you need to move around you can."

He stays quiet, an unreadable look on his face. Your face heats and stomach drops. This is not going how you thought it would. You knew Steve wanted to do a couples costume and you should've just planned it with him instead of trying to surprise him and-

Steve slides off your bed and down to his knees. He shuffles over and grips your leg, looking up at you with pleading eyes. This was somehow better than anything he could've imagined. He should've known you'd do something so thoughtful.

♡

And that's how you end up walking around a party with a large prop chainsaw in one hand and your lovesick boyfriend Steve attached at the hip, literally. His big, strong hands grabbing and groping you anytime he needs a Halloween treat (the real reason you picked this costume) and soft, wet mouth biting your ass and thighs anytime he wants a trick.

Unsurprisingly, he stays attached the entire night!! He sits on his knees while you mingle and talk to your friends, lays his head on your lap when you sit on the couch, and chooses to just stumble over his feet while you walk around --and yes, he does need to grab your ass cheek while you move, how else is he supposed to hold on???

It's safe to say Steve's favorite holiday is now Halloween...

[aloneatpeace]

SHADOW OF THE PAST

Chapter 2

┌───── •✧✧• ─────┐

New friend of Max

└───── •✧✧• ─────┘

Dean had gone to work early promising to come back earlier. the crimes in the towns here is harmless robbery or kids breaking in private property just for dare.

the paperwork is heavy and Dean hates paper works more than anything. so used to work in busy cities that had criminal from low life thief to murders it is sudden shift that had him struggle a bit. but nonetheless he does it for you and who doesn't mind having a relaxing workplace in this field. the best part is he can eat a whole pie while working there is no worry of someone calling for urgent assistance.

you on the other hand fully enjoying the and embracing the new life. it's like dream come true for you. you have everything you ever wanted, and it still feels like a dream.

The sound of soft music playing in the house as you had arranged the two-guest room already now on to arranging the storage room. Max is just lay beside the door watching over you as per Dean request. Max would occasionally whine when you don't glance at him every few hours.

Max hair on his skin stands suddenly lifting his head he looks at the hallway intensely. his head tilted to side. his ears pick up slow footsteps standing up he walks towards you his bit on your dress demanding your attention.

"Just a minute Max." you coo at him putting the vacuum cleaner cords neatly eye still on the entangled cords.

Max snarls pulling your dress he starts pull you with him. giving upon the work you let him guide you walk toward wherever he wants. "what's is max. do you need anything?" 

you step out the storage room as you do a shiver run down your spin. Max tug you to the kitchen without letting go of your dress.

once you’re in the kitchen he just lay facing the door to kitchen. you open the fridge sighing when you nothing really is there. yeah, seems like you need to some grocery shopping immediately.

you don't want to make dean do it. maybe you can prepare everything and buy the items you both need from the store and you two can cook together. And your baby needs more food even though max food is only thing in his box he deserves more treats.

texting dean letting him know that you're going to store you set out with max to your destination.

The store is not busy at all, and cashier is sweet girl probably working for extra income smiled at you politely even swoon over max who walking around like he owns the place but politely though. pushing the cart along your isle you put everything you need in yours.

you may have spent more in the favorite part of store desserts selecting the perfect tub of ice creams and frozen dessert you at last stop. And you did not forget to pick some pie as well.

as if max knows where you’re going, he takes the lead sniffing he sit Infront his food Isle with sparkling eyes tail wagging he softly barks at the bags of his favorite which happens to be very high. you smile at him petting his head you look around once you're satisfied there is no one you decided to put your climbing skills to test moments like this where you miss dean so much.

But you would do anything for your baby.

"You might hurt yourself, there" a deep amused voice said from behind you making startle and cling on the shelf slowly put your foot down and feeling utterly embarrassing you turn to the voice max too was curious he stands Infront of you but be was not barking like he did with the neighbor.

A tall man, emphasize on the word tall, stands Infront of you a burnet hair sharp cheekbones and jawline hazel narrowed eyes shining with smile on his lips his large hands holding a bottle of organic juice and salad box that's the only thing he was carrying.

"Sorry for starling you,” he transferred his items on one hand crouching down to pet max who happily accepted the petting. " that's your favorite bubbly?". max bark in response he standing up he walks towards the item grabbing it for you with ease. he put it down on your cart.

"Thank you for that" you say politely you were still stuck with fact that he resembles your husband the same eye color tall as hell both of them. maybe you're just overthink like you always do.  but dean did mention that he has brother but that for some reason you didn't think.

you start to pull your cart "come on max " as usually he listens taking the lead.

Sam too starts to walk with you " I'm sam by the way" he said putting his hand out for shake.

you accept his hands with a small smile, not wanting to be rude to the man who just helped you. also, he seems harmless and kind.

"You from around here?"

you shake your head " i just moved in recently with my husband"

Sam hoped his surprised face goes unnoticed by you and seeing that you rather focused on guiding your cart he nods.

" I'm guessing you're also new here" you state walking towards the counter you place your items to check out.

" Yeah ... I'm here for... work." he said shifting on his foot.

you smile thankfully at cashier calmly putting everything in your bag and sam to catch up with his on bag in his hands. Stepping out of the store you turn to Sam " see you around, sam "

sam gives a soft smile nodding his head " yeah, have a good day "with that you depart from him with max walking in front of you.

the fridge and carboarded are stocked, neatly done. the house is silent the only sound is max paw moving around the house can be heard occasionally.  you were crossing out the do list that stuck to the fridge when you felt someone's present behind you.

you stop feeling the hairs on your skin standing up, the feeling of eyes on your figure intensifies. on a quick turn you look back with heart beating out of your heart but finds no one. you close your eyes for a moment running your palm down your face sighing.

the figure eyes find your figure again before disappearing. Just then max come around and looking at the closed storage room.

Sam Winchester sits on the bed in the motel that he is staying in with a book on his lap his laptop opened with a tab detailing about the town that he's in, Delchasecoos. he doesn’t fully know what reason he is here; the blurred vision still doesn’t make any sense to him.

he just hopes this journey doesn’t end with what happened last time. the last time he had vision it ended up in apartment of an abandoned building buzzing city, the scene was disturbing to say the least much like a horror movie a lone mattress and chains and takes outs on the corners he also discovered something on the basement of the building that he does not want remember it was far more sinister and petrifying but for normal eyes it may seem some teenagers prank, something they created for they found funny. but those who has knowledge and understanding the supernatural world exactly knows what it was and how malevolent it is.

Sam thought he failed to save the person but the same vision came back few months after the same vision came back startling him out of nowhere.

Everything is fogged, its like he’s watching from an old tined mirror. The women being followed by the shadow constantly waiting for her to let her guard down. Then he would hear her screams echoes around the home that they in but he can’t reach her, it’s like he is in labyrinth, in the end she is. then its changes he does finds her in the end, laying in a small pond of water her white gown drenched in water the white gown tainted with flowy red blood that sweeps out the knife that pierced into her heart.

He would cradle her in his hands screaming for to wake up, he can feel his heart beating out his chest with pain, anger and hopelessness and loss of someone he holds dearer to his heart, the felling losing his love though he doesn’t know her, her face still unknown to her.

He wakes up with body glistening with sweat and heart racing, so many question running in his head that his mother was also unable to answer. While his other vision is clearer this one has been haunting him for months.

then there are the thoughts about his brother, who run away from his family after a nasty fight with his father. Sam won’t lie and say he didn’t think about running away from his family and he doesn’t blame his brother for leaving to search for new life, haunting ghosts and supernatural creature isn’t ideal job. Though his brother and him were great at it at the end of it is exhausting and leaves thousand thoughts and doubts.

A part of understand why he left but other part hold resentment that he left him alone.

Though he feels content after helping people in needed, their grateful eyes and smile of gratitude something that he appreciates, but when he tries to sleep in night its eyes and mind never closes. A longing lingering feeling for something that he doesn’t know makes him restless. Still now his mind is ever ruing engine of a vehicle with thoughts and unclear visions, still restless.

Series masterlist

[alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice]

Confessions

Part 4 of Weaving Constellations - continued from here. Part 5 here

(A/N: I actually posted this before, but soon deleted it because I didn't like it and did some rewrites/added a scene. If you're one of the 3 people that liked this before it was deleted I am sorry I hope you see this one XD Also! Lyra's arcane focus is a pendant that twinkles like stars and her magic has a twinkly quality to it, thus Karlach's nickname for her. Enjoy some angst!)

CW: emotional manipulation/abuse

Midnight smiles at her, but it’s not the soft loving kind of smile she has come to know. This smile holds danger behind it, a storm brewing just behind those golden eyes. “Starling, I want you to explain what I just saw through your earrings. It appeared to me that you gave away the very artifact I wanted to a wizard who eats the magic out of them.” He grabs her chin, pulling her gaze up to him. “You would not be so foolish, would you?”

“He would die without it, Midnight. Please, try to understand what I’m up against right now! I need all the help I can get.”

“Ah yes, you’re up against such dire odds, why not include alienating the source of your power to the list?” Midnight seethes. “Do you love him, is that what this is? The first human man that is marginally kind to you and you throw yourself at him? Starling, I knew you were desperate when we met, but have I not been generous? Have I not given you everything you need?” He pushes back a lock of her hair, gentle and soothing. “Do you not love me anymore?” His voice is soft, pleading.

“No! My love, it’s nothing like that. He’s a friend, a good one, but I love you!” She takes his hand, leaning her cheek into it, eager to reassure him.

He pushes her away harshly, his voice taking on an equally biting tone. “Then why would you do this? I could not care less about mortals and their petty concerns. If he dies, he dies! Give it a couple more decades and nature will take care of it regardless. You serve me, first.”

She’s never seen him be so… heartless before. Capricious perhaps, in that classically fey way, but to be talking of mortals like the dirt under his shoe… Perhaps she has never gotten close enough to another mortal to talk about them with him. “Midnight… I’m mortal.”

“You are different. You are a mortal with the power and knowledge of an archfey at your disposal. I chose you for a reason, starling, but if this behavior should continue… I may regret my choice.” He looks down his nose at her, haughty and challenging. “Tis a first infraction, so I will be merciful. A day without your powers. Let us see how you like the feeling of being without me since you wish to push me away.”

Lyra reaches for him pleadingly. “Midnight, I’m not pushing you away, I swear.” Is this all they are? Patron and servant? No, certainly not. But why won’t he listen to her? Why won’t he understand?

“We will speak after your punishment. Goodbye, Lyra.”

Gale is the first thing Lyra sees when she wakes. He’s sitting next to her, nose buried in a book. Lyra can tell without sitting up that they’re back at camp, but she has no memory of getting there. Her head is pounding, she must have hit it when she fell. As she stirs, Gale’s attention fixes on her and his tired expression breaks into a smile. “Thank the gods, you’re awake.”

Midnight’s voice is still ringing in her ears. She wants to cry but tries to keep the tears inside.

“How are you feeling?” Gale asks, putting a hand to her forehead to check her temperature. “We did all we could to look after you, but you seemed to be in quite a state, like fitful dreams.”

“You… could say that,” Lyra mumbles, slowly sitting up with Gale’s assistance. Karlach is the first to notice and grins, running over to her. “Soldier! You’re awake! Oi, Shadowheart! Twinkles is up!”

Shadowheart is all business. As the only healer in their ragtag team, she approaches Lyra with the demeanor of a very exhausted doctor. “None of us could figure out what happened to you. The only lead we had was Gale determining fae magic was involved, which isn’t terribly helpful when you’ve been exploring a hag’s lair.”

“I thought you might have caught some of that poison cloud and suffered a delayed effect, or that handling of the artifact may have caused adverse effects. I swiftly disposed of it, rest assured. One of the few upsides to my condition is that it's not terribly picky about enchantments or curses.”

As Gale rambles, Lyra catches Wyll watching from a distance, and when she looks at him he nods like his suspicions have been confirmed. “It wasn’t hag magic, it was my patron.”

“Like we need another ticked off patron making life harder for us,” Astarion grumbles, “no offense, Wyll.”

“It doesn’t look like you’ve been relieved of either of your eyes, or had twenty years taken off your life, so there doesn’t seem to have been any typical archfey punishment enacted, at least.” Lyra quirks a brow at Gale, slightly surprised he’s so knowledgeable about fey pacts. Then again, he seems to be a little knowledgeable about everything.

“He’s definitely cross with me,” Lyra admits. “Our overall agreement is that I bring him magical artifacts… and he wanted the one I gave to you.” She looks to Gale. “You assured me it was a matter of life and death. I hope I made the right choice.”

Gale is silent, staring in shock at Lyra. “Gods, twinkles, I think you actually made him speechless,” Karlach remarks in wonder.

His mouth finally catches up with his brain and he says, “yes, yes of course, I assure you I will not take this sacrifice lightly. To think you would risk angering your patron simply on my word that it is necessary… I am deeply touched.” He takes her hand and does a flourishing bow. “You, my lady, are a true paragon of honor and kindness.”

Lyra pulls her hand away. That’s certainly not true. Hells, she has barely thought of disobeying Midnight before, and this was not the first moral quandary she encountered. “It’s… the first time I’ve ever done anything he did not want. I have always done as he’s asked. This is uncharted territory.”

“How long have you had this pact?” Wyll asks.

“A year, but it feels like a lifetime.” Lyra smiles at the nostalgic memory of those early days, “And we were… involved before the pact. First a curious student who happened upon a mirror connected to planes beyond and her personal tutor from the Fey Wilds. Then…” Then lovers. They are lovers, right? He’s never said he loves her, but fey are different. “Well, I suppose I ought to be honest about this with you, if we’re to rely on each other. I entered into a pact with him when I stole for him. I took a powerful artifact from the Strixhaven archives.” She sighs, avoiding Gale’s gaze, remembering how he asked her why she was on the sword coast. “I fled to the sword coast on the run from the law.”

Everyone is silent for a moment, waiting to hear if she will elaborate more. Gale breaks the silence. “You realize that you have an intellectual aptitude that certainly exceeds plenty of the peers I studied with at Blackstaff,” he says, “you didn’t need a warlock pact to achieve magical power, surely you know this.”

“It wasn’t for power,” Lyra retorts, on the defensive. “It was for love.” She doesn’t quite know why she felt so secretive about her relationship with her patron, but even admitting that she got caught up in the romance of it all brings the heat of shame to her cheeks. “I don’t regret loving Midnight. And even as… angry as he is that I disobeyed, I know he still cares for me. But… I do regret what I did for the pact.” She has been laid bare before her companions. She feels the need to fill in any half-second of silence just to ease the tension that seems to grow stronger and stronger. “Now you all know my past, and why I got off easy with my patron.”

“Gods you’re a goody-goody aren’t you,” Astarion remarks with a melodramatic sigh. “If we’re all going to confess every time we’ve lied, cheated, or stolen, we’ll be here a tenday.”

“I am no stranger to the regrettable lengths one will go to for love,” Gale offers. “I can hardly judge when the consequences for my misguided deeds are rather more dire than trouble with the law.” He takes a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. “It is time you learned the truth of my condition.”

He was not exaggerating. Lyra’s issue of leaving school and hiding out on the Sword Coast pales to the potential immediate annihilation of an entire city.

It’s quite a lot to take in, but one thing is certain. “We’re in this together, Gale,” Lyra assures him. “I’m not leaving you.”

Though not romantic in nature, Lyra will look back on those words later and realize that it was her first confession of love. She never had many friends before, but Gale… the more she learned about him, the more she felt they understood each other. She would not give that up, no matter the danger involved.

[aiysan2]

Chapter 2 'Going Under' Dabi x Reader

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You allowed your power to work, holding his hands tighter as you allowed yourself to wonder. Were his dreams different than the ones you encountered here? Did they hold truths and lies of outside? Would they be gruesome or mundane? Would they change depending on his mood? You allowed yourself to ponder before basking in the task at hand.

Slowly your vision cleared, a broad man in front of you, he was quite statute, and had red covering him from he'd to toe. His eyes were similar to Dabi but these made you want to cower in fear instead of bashful. A red patch grew on his neck and upper lip, and he had a somewhat imposing presence, you felt like cowering in fear in front of him.

" Hey Endevour!' You called your voice replicating Dabi's.

The man now named Endeavour turned around his face seemed to be in a constant scowl, brows permanently furrowed together in distaste.

" Look what I can do?" Dabi called out again.

A pale hand stretched out, your hand suddenly engulfing in flames, you became starled put remained unharmed as they became blue. You were confused, then realising that with must be Dabi's power, perhaps that was why his skin was so dry due to the flames that emitted from his body. If that was the case he had no reason to be hiding his body, especially if it had been altered by the gift the creator bestowed on him.

" That's amazing, they're much stronger than mine." He complimented showing off his red flames as well.

Cool, Dabi thought then turning his head to the others you hadn't noticed in the room earlier.

" That was so cool big bro!" A boy who looked like a carbon copy of the large red man chirped, white locs atop his head while red tuffs hid behind his ears.

Nodding her head in agreement was a woman with hair of white and red, square framed glasses around her eyes, they twinkled with excitement as Dabi increased the flames in his hand, feeling nothing as his family took a few steps away to not get captured in the heat.

" You've got to be careful, even All Might won't be able to handle these." Another woman said, though she looked double the age of the young lady from earlier, beautiful white hair and grey eyes complimenting her alienly attractive face.

" Thank you guys." He smiled crying happily while looking at the ground, the group smiled sympatheticly while he teared up and engulfed him in a tight hug.

The image became fuzzy after that, you blinking and finding yourself back in your own body instead of looking through Dabi's.

What a cute little dream.

" Who is Endevour?" You asked when you came to, brow quirked as you looked into his blue eyes. Blue eyes that once looked at you with serenity now twisted in anger and hatred at the mere mention of that name.

" Sorry have I offended you? I did not mean to cause any mental strain." You apologised squeezing his hand as reassurance. He quickly yanked his hand away, he could feel it growing inside him, the distaste and anger that pushed him into this foreign territory in the first place forcing him to blend in and mix with hippies.

He could feel the fire burning in his chest and threatening to engulf him. You obviously had some sort of mind reading quirk, and would soon expose him to that Maame woman and they would feed him to wolves or something horrible.

"Dabi," you whispered your voice so soft, it broke him out of his usual self pitying shame. " Im very sorry. I should've told you before I used my power. "

You mentally repented for being so pushy with someone's secrets.

Dabi allowed himself to take a breath, letting the heavily weeded atmosphere into his lungs to calm him down. He shouldn't be this worked up over his father, he should be busy trying to forget the bastard.

He sighed collecting his thoughts piece by piece holding onto the part of him that gave a damn about people around him, his demeanor changing with the mention of his father.

" What's your quirk?" He asked, watching panic wash out of your face as you looked at his non chalant deamanour. It contrasted greatly to your shared nervous energy from earlier, was this Endeavour that bad of a man that the mention of him can render someone emotionless.

" Quirk?" You asked, tilting your head slightly as you tried to figure out what he meant the difference in terms already starting. " Power, you mean?" Suddenly piecing it together.

Dabi nodded, you slowly pulled him by the wrist to the step of one of the cabins, the two of you taking a much needed seat so you could have a long conversation.

" I see dreams." You concluded, not wanting to scare the pretty eyed man away with your rambling, you still very much enjoyed his company.

" But I'm awake?" He asked, curious as to how that meant you got his father's hero name.

" How do I say this?" You thought, not really having to explain your power to someone before, you were never required to use it and understanding your quirk when you weren't a soldier or have an offense quirk meant you were using it without permission.

" I can, enter the dreams of people and animals when they sleep, and I can see what your dreams for the future are when you are awake."

" Like a dreamwalker." He told you, watching as your face lit up at the name , he felt giddy as you smiled, prideful that he caused that radiance to grace your face again.

" Yes I like that." You found his hands again holding them tightly it eases the pain that you sense burning in his chest. " I truly am sorry for looking at your dream without your permission. I have to admit that I'm very curious about the outside world. I'd be grateful if you could answer my questions." You pleaded, watching the anger melt from his eyes as great fondness took over, your heart jumping when he nodded his head.

" You'll have to follow me." You mumbled, the both of you standing up and weaving between cabins before getting to a large cabin. The two of you walked in, Dabi being greeted by an array of beds lined up at the edges of the one roomed building. His eyes were drawn to the ceiling that held symmetric art that swirled and curved in a truly hypnotising way. He found himself standing on the spot, staring up at the carved banisters holding the structure of the building the faces of animals and angels that he would assume protected everyone as they slept, sculpted delicately.

" Dabi come here!" You exclaimed, holding your hand out as you waved him over to your bed. He stepped around the small group of 4 that sat in a circle weaving baskets while whispering prayers. He looked at your wide excited eyes, noticing a leather book in your lap, your knuckles paling with your tight grip.

" Sit down."

He sat himself at the edge of the bed, wanting to respect whatever boundaries you held for yourself. Though they proved to be very little as you budged next to him so close that your thighs were touching. Dabi froze eyes going wide as he stared into space. That earlier ease that you gave him disappeared, he felt stressed, scared you would notice the way blood rushed to his face when you smiled at him or the deep gulp he took when words left your lips or the way his heart sprinted when you called his name.

Take a breather Touya it's just a girl.

Your fingers threaded through the pages of the book, finding the page with all your questions and thoughts, trying to find the least thought provoking one. You exclaimed as your finger found an alright one, a simple one that would be answered quickly.

" Do you wear the same clothes that we do?" You asked, you had noticed throughout the half an hour you'd known him that he seemed to fidget a lot with the robes as if he never wore something so long and free before.

" Erm.." He thought, thinking about what he could relate it to. " Not really, not unless you're a prude." He answered honestly, looking at your orange green dress that looked like a cross between a sundress and milkmaid outfit.

You looked down at your clothes, suddenly wondering if he thought negatively about you, did he find you unattractive, undesirable or did he think you were so pious that you wouldn't even entertain thought of him in the slightest. You hoped he didn't take the whole angel thing seriously.

" I don't think I'm a prude." You whispered.

" I didn't mean it like that." He panicked, hating that your smile left your face once again. " I like what you're wearing it's very nice, I'm just used to wearing a lot less layers, like trousers and a top or jumper if I'm feeling modest." He answered trying to make up for his lack of ' thinking before speaking'.

" Right." You nodded, lifting up a pencil and jotting down his answer in your notebook.

" And what's a jumper?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He could talk to you for ages the morning going by quickly with your constant chatter and questioning. He felt at ease something he hadn't felt in a while with the pressure of becoming better than his brother weighing on his mind, the constant need to prove that he wasn't a failure to his father, clashing with the affection he so desperately needed from his mother. The two couldn't simultaneously work together.

" Last one for today, it's almost time for me to lead prayer." You smiled stretched out on your bed as you lay belly down. Dabi still sat in his same position, something nagging him to stay alert when near you, especially with the gazes of others lingering on the forgiener sat with Maame's angel.

" You lead prayer?" He swung himself forward, standing from your bed and extending a covered hand out to help you up. " I thought you said you were too young." You rolled over and took his hand standing beside him as the two of you walked out of the cabin.

" To young to lead the commune, but my love for prayer is strong and I love to share it with others. " You smiled fondly eyes closing as you stopped a second taking a breath of air.  " I wish you enjoy it here and find the peace you are hoping for, I know I have found mine."

Dabi tilted his head, a sudden guilt flooding his chest and drowning him in despair. His brows furrowed at the thought of disappointing you. Ideas of running home when the coast is clear thrown so far to the back of his mind, you'd think All Might himself threw it. His head now conjured thoughts of you feeling upset you weren't able to help him, him creating insecurities for you caused by him and figuratively slapping himself for having you so high on his priorities list. He had just met you.

" I.... hope so too." He lied.

" Now then, you shall wait in the hall with everyone else, while I go and prepare okay." You sultry voice pulled him from his guilt. He was worried, what kind of thoughts would he have without you there to steady him and keep him in this make believe land of everything will be ok. He had only spent time with you and that large woman, how would the others treat him knowing that he had snuck in. Knowing that he was able to get through the trees.

" Wait what do you mean go to the hall, why can't I just follow you?" He asked, holding his voice from wavering, he wasn't going to cry like Touya did, he was Dabi now and Dabi doesn't cry over silly stuff like having to speak to strangers.

" You must sit with everyone else." You reasoned holding your arm up to give his arm a reassuring pat.

Poor soul he must be frightened.

" You need not worry everyone will welcome you with respect, you are soon going to be a part of Swarga, isn't that right?" You prompted him by nodding making sure he nodded with you like a child.

" Good." You smiled, " you must interact with others, I can not be your only friend."

As much as Dabi wanted to admit he wouldn't mind you being the only person speaking to him, you seemed quite eager for him to speak to other people and who was he to disappoint.

" You're right I'll go, of course."

You pointed his way, turning yourself towards somewhere else and wondering away.

You entered the hall through a back entrance, sitting on the small bench inside and holding your head in your hands as you let out a deep exhale. Had you let this stranger affect you so much, you couldn't allow yourself to harbour feelings for him you had a responsibility over him and you weren't old enough to even have relations yet.

Yet the feelings were so intense, even asking him to leave you be felt torturous. This was harmful, very harmful, these feelings could easily stir to feeling of lust before anything else and you weren't going to fall into the trap of that sin again.

But his eyes, they were so enchanting, so amazingly beautiful you just felt yourself being drawn to him, felt yourself spilling everything to him within 39 minutes of meeting each other. You wished him to be in your present and your future, you wished him to know all about you as you know all about him, you wished that he harboured the same feelings you so suddenly held for him, but reality wouldn't allow such a sin for a crush, your religion was much more important to you than that.

You again took a deep breath shaking away all your doubts and religious guilt asking your creator to forgive you for everything that you had done intentionally and unintentionally in the future and past before standing up and walking through the large carved door.

You walked up onto the podium, offering a kind smile to the 64 people in your sect before opening your mouth. You were always very knowledgeable when it came to selflessness and being a peaceful and accepting person but your thoughts were clouded as you began speaking about the lust.

" The creater has given us a time to put those harmful thoughts into something productive like reproduction, and of course before that feelings like this can stir inside you and infect your mind, the most you can do if fast and give charity to those around you so you won't even have the energy to commit such acts."

Your eyes glided over the crowd, looking hopefully for the glowing blue eyes of the captor of your heart.

"A-and..." You paused suddenly feeling all are knocked out of my lungs. Blood rushing to your head as you tried to remember what you were talking about.

" Please welcome Dabi!" You exclaimed not being able to back track having stayed quiet for much to long. Your hand pointed at him, the watchers eyes landing on him, staring at his robes that resembled an elders and the tuffs of white hair sticking out under his turban.

" Good afternoon Dabi." They greeted in unison, polite smiles on their faces.

He felt under pressure under their glares, all expectant, all curious.

" He has joined our community this morning and searches for repentance under my and Maame's guidance, please make him feel welcome, he is shy." You concluded feeling proud of yourself for integrating him properly, not noticing the way his head produced sweat with the growing attention on him.

" Let us pray and then eat."

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[nowandthane]

7 snippets, 7 people

thank you @vakariansvixenand @stormikins for tagging me!! <3<3<3

no pressure tagging @xoshepard @poetikat @sweetmage (feel free to not read this it's all mass effect jsdhfg) @illusivesoul @westernlarch @sillyliterature @mxanigel @menacingmetal @grim-starling

These are all gonna be from Sarani's longfic because I'm not writing anything else atm. Mostly rough and unedited too so beware xD

cw for suicidal ideation in the last two

She turned to look at him, shocked at the outburst. His eyes were wet with tears that stubbornly refused to fall. He glared back at her, as if challenging her to defy him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought that she really should. This was insubordination. But she felt so relieved that someone else was making the decisions that she just relented, turning to look back out into space in silence.

“How could I have left him behind?” she whispered, long minutes later. Her face was wet. Joker was quiet for long enough that she stopped expecting an answer — what could he have said, anyway? But he did answer.

“You were doing your job, Commander. I… I’m sorry.” And he really did sound sorry for her.

“This job fucking sucks.”

-

Finch sneered. “I can find a dozen Reds who’ll swear they saw you kill aliens for fun. Who’s going to believe you then?”

His grey eyes caught hers, and held them steadily. The world slowed down as she seriously considered whether he really did know. Even without proof, anyone who had known her then could put two and two together and figure out what she did — no one else could have done it. But no one ever cared before.

Now it was something they could use against her. And they were threatening to.

Was that was he was doing? His words saying one thing, but meaning another?

I know you killed her, but I won’t say it in front of them. As long as you do what I say, no one else will ever know.

Was that what was behind his words?

The image of her, of Nazia, crying and begging Shepard for forgiveness intruded on her mind. Her screams echoed in Shepard’s ears, her blood sticky on Shepard’s hands.

-

“Do you compare yourself to your old Captain a lot?” Garrus asked.

“Not really. Not anymore.” Shepard shook off the thoughts rattling in her head. “I know I have a screwed up moral compass. That’s just a result of my ‘upbringing’. But I don’t let that turn me into monster. I don’t want to cross any more lines, but I keep stumbling over them anyway.”

Garrus looked at her, his thoughts and emotions inscrutable. She was getting better with reading turians, but he seemed closed off to her at this moment. Silence became heavy in the air, and she did nothing to break it.

“I wonder…” Garrus finally mused, “if I killed Saren, would I be struggling with it now as you are about Finch? I don’t know what the answer to that is, and that — that kind of scares me. Am I a monster, Shepard?”

“No, Garrus.” She smiled at him a little sadly. “You’re not a monster.”

“Yet,” he said. “Don’t you ever think that it takes a monster to stop a monster?”

“Sometimes,” she answered. “Mostly, it feels like an excuse.”

Garrus nodded. “Why did you get so angry when he called you by your name?”

-

“How about a new name?”

“What’s wrong with Shepard?”

“No, not that. Don’t you want to change Jane?”

“What’s wrong with Jane?” She frowned.

“Well clearly the orphanage just named you that because they couldn’t be fucked to actually care about you. Don’t you want a name more fitting for who you are?”

“I don’t want any connection to the people who threw me away like I was trash,” she said curtly.

“It’s not about your parents,” Nazia insisted. “They suck, but you have a whole culture that you come from.”

“I know nothing about it.”

“So? Don’t you want to reclaim it?”

“Well, you clearly want me to.”

“Just think about it. It can be like… like a new start for you!”

Considering it. Maybe it is better, to have a new name, one untainted by the dirtiness of her beginning. And if Nazia was the one renaming her, so much the better. She was the one who made Shepard feel like a human. And if this was important to Zi, then it was important to her.

-

“You think you know me so well?” she asked, sneering. She regretted it almost immediately when the animation that had taken hold of Garrus abruptly left him. He had seemed more alive for a brief moment there, much more like the angrily passionate man who had argued with his superior at the Presidium, or the one in Dr. Michel’s clinic, ready to take on a group of thugs alone.

As his commanding officer, it didn’t feel good to have made one of her own people feel so small. But even outside of that, she felt bad because she did think he was a good person, just misguided. And this conversation they’d just had was their first real one. They had been getting to know each other.

He was turning to leave when she said, “Wait. I’m sorry.”

He turned back to her, expectant, but now that the apology had come out of her mouth, she floundered for what else to say.

“I was trying to compliment you,” Garrus pointed out, breaking the awkward silence. “Didn’t think you’d take it so badly.”

-

“Do you still want to die?” Shepard asked.

“Do you?” Thane returned.

She had to turn away. “Sometimes.”

Leaning against the viewing window, she turned her gaze on the drive core below — pulsing, powerful, dangerous. Peripherally, she noticed Thane standing and coming to her on silent feet, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“I don’t.” His presence behind her felt like a weight she couldn’t shake off. “I agreed with you, once. That perhaps those of us who have died should stay dead.”

“You never really died,” she said.

“In all the ways that matter, I did.” He touched her shoulder, so softly that she barely felt it, except that there was no atom of her existence that could ever be unaware of him. “Will you not look at me, siha?”

-

The dream begins as it always does: with the fall. Falling through the nothingness of space, the alarms in her armour chiming as she gasped desperately for oxygen. There is a breach somewhere. Probably around her torso, where pain and warmth radiated.

She flailed helplessly, heat and hurt building. But it never did reach an unbearable point. They faded away as she fell, and with them went the burdens she carried. Her legs stopped kicking and her arms stopped reaching. She fell looking at the vastness of space, that blanket of mystery she had watched so often when she was stuck on Earth, so determined to get away.

And she did. The choices she was presented with had been unacceptable to her, and so she had found another way. She became more — made herself more. She had explored the galaxy, helped people, saved lives… She’d made a difference.

For better, not worse.

When she lost consciousness, it was without pain. Without worries. Peace was not something she had ever been familiar with, but she learned what it meant, right there at the end.

If only it really was the end.

[dancingbabya-notes]

Nothing is right with you!!

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Speedy (Roy Harper) x Male half alien reader

This is very much young justice influenced, how old am I? you don't need to think too hard about that just know this is the first of a series I tried to write and... never played out say hello to some of my 2017 writing

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Roy? It just had to be him, huh? The universe didn't just set me up with some cute alien boy or something? Why did the only thing to survive have to be the fucking glowing of the heart?  

"Y/n, what's wrong baby boy," the soft voice of my mother catches me off guard as I pull my hand from my hair. 

"Nothing, I…um gotta go now. Don't wait up for me, alright? You have work early tomorrow," I smile as I walk over and give her a small hug. 

"Be careful, I know how it was when I met your father, it was difficult to put it simply," she whispers as she walks away. 

I chuckle and shake my head as I teleport with a quick snap of my fingers, being in the kitchen of my mom's apartment wasn't much of a change from the chilly rooftops of Starling city. California is a lot colder at night than I really appreciated, but one can learn to love it. Standing on the rooftop in front of me was a slim redhead with dark circles around his emerald eyes. Both of us were very aware of the peeking glow of red on the left of our chests. Closing my eyes, I waited for the wind to blow one last time before I heard his voice. 

"So, what exactly are we going to do about this problem, Y/n?" His voice was hoarse like he had been yelling for hours. 

"I dunno Roy, what do you suggest? It's not like it would change anything we still have a job to do, don't we?" I state, clenching my hand in the pocket of my hoodie. 

"Possibly quit," he hisses. 

"Yeah, I'm totally going to give up the best opportunity in my whole life, Roy. Either you act professional or we can butt heads the whole time," I glare at him. 

"I am being professional, Y/n. Maybe you should be the one that sucks it up," Roy states in a monotone voice. 

"I understand that you want nothing to do with me, but honestly you aren't being professional at all. One: just because you didn't want to work well with other kids you go off on your own and try the whole solo hero thing, but oh wait you got kidnapped and cloned. Then once back to being yourself you somehow have some kind of heart and try to be 'kind' but that fails too. Now you are being a douche all because you don't want to follow some stupid matching of your species," I had started at a whisper and felt my voice climbing. 

"How do you know all that?" He steps back. 

"Your mind isn't the quietest. You lack mental barriers," I groan and turn to leave. 

Before I can go anywhere someone lands down in front of me, with a sigh I sit down cross-legged as the alien superhero walks closer. 

"What seems to be the problem, boys?" Asks the broad voice of Superman. 

"Nothing that concerns you," Roy hisses. 

"Sure, it is, only if the two of you insist on being so loud," sighs a deep voice behind me. 

"Fucking hell," I curse. 

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" The dark knight states. 

"This really has nothing to do with either of you," Roy groans. 

"What are they talking about?" Superman, obviously clueless, asks. 

"They are talking about their glowing hearts, humans have evolved over the generations and this trait specifically has seemed to be the one that has lasted the longest," Batman explains. 

"Roy, we are leaving," I grumble about to snap my fingers when Batman grabs my hand. 

"Not so fast, this is something that you will need to understand. It's no game," Batman snaps. 

"Well we don't want anything to do with it," I counter with a glare. 

Roy turns his back to the two adults trying to lecture us. Superman seems still very confused. Batman sighs and forces Roy to sit down next to me as Superman looks the both of us over. 

"I've been on earth for a long time and I've never noticed this," he frowns. 

"Because not everyone is close to their match, and some don't care enough," Batman explains. 

"Will you leave the two of us alone," Roy shouts. 

Before either male can answer, I wrap my dominant arm tightly around the angry redhead next to me and teleport again. This time as we stop, I shoot my hand to cover his mouth shaking my head. The black walls of the room we stood in were glowing red as I walked to one wall and placed my hand against it. Once the entrance way opens, I pull Roy into the room and wait for the opening to close again. 

"Where did you take me?" He frowns as he pushes me away. 

"My second home," I shrug sitting down on the table that was right next to the door. 

"What do you mean second home?" He sighs. 

"To put it into simple terms, we are on another planet. To be specific we are on my dad's home planet," I explain. "Surprise, I'm half alien. Specifically sarulk." 

"Why did you bring me here?" He shouts louder. 

"Well, it only takes me a few seconds to get here. The only other person who knows about my home planet is my mother and Batman, but Batman has never been here." I state, looking back at him. 

“So, our situation still needs to be handled,” he sighs. 

“If that’s what you want to do then I guess that’s what we will do,” I nod. 

"What are we going to do exactly?" He groans sitting down. 

I stare at him for a moment as I think. "How about we just accept it? Now before you try to argue against it, hear me out. I'm not saying let's get married or anything, I'm really not in the mood to accept defeat like that. Why don't we just keep going about our lives like we have been? All because our anatomy thinks that we belong together doesn't mean we have to stay together; I'd rather keep life going about the way it is. And being half alien on earth isn't easy like how you're human. I'll take all the help I can get with this being accepted into human society, how come you never found out I had a sister until today, it's due to the fact that she was cast out of human society, and I don't want the same." 

"Are you sure this is going to work?" 

"No, it takes two and I know that I'm asking a lot of you and your pride. But I feel like we can continue about life and you can find a nice girl to marry in a few years and have kids, and I can do the same. Hell, if it's to keep things normal I'll personally ask if we can be separated and never have to be in the same place unless absolutely necessary," I offer with a nod. 

“We can see how this works,” he nods. 

Returning back to earth was quick, as we stood on the top of the roof, I stared at the sky above. Roy was looking at me as I considered something. 

“I’m going to do something,” I sigh. 

“What are you going to do?” he frowns. 

“I’m going to do something, and you close your eyes after I’ve done, I’ll leave,” I explain. 

“Fine, do it quick,” he rolls his eyes as he closes them tight. 

With a nod and a quick wave to be sure that his eyes are closed, I lean close and press my lips to his. He stays statue still and I pull away, with a small nod I quickly leave and chuckle at the food sitting on the counter for me. 

“I told her not to wait up for me,” I roll my eyes as I make my way to tuck my mom into bed.

<-♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡ —♡—♡—♡—♡—♡—♡ ->

Masterlist

[caker-baker]

Babble

The villain dodged the chair that was thrown at them.

For the state that they were in, the hero was unusually strong.

“We’re not doing this again, are we, starling?”

“Let me go and we won’t have to!”

The villain sighed and set down the tray of food, readying themselves in a fighting stance.

“Come on then.” They invited. “Get it out of your system.”

There was no fight to be had, not really. The hero was powerless now, and while they had slightly above average strength, they still couldn’t hold a candle to the villain’s. It didn’t help that the villain had a speed and grace that the hero never had, even before the loss of their powers.

“Are you done?” The villain asked, pinning the hero to the wall.

“Screw you!” The hero barked out, breathing heavily from the fight.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” They released the hero. “We need to run more tests today. I think I’m close to deciphering what entered your bloodstream. Once that’s done, I’ll reverse it, you’ll go back to your old self, everyone’s happy.”

“I don’t need your tests. And I don’t want this sick version of help!”

“Yes, because you wandering deliriously in the street doesn’t warrant a need for help. Could you imagine if some civilian had found you babbling on about your heroic identity?”

“I’m not delirious anymore, and I don’t babble! Let me leave.”

The villain crossed their arms. “You know the conditions, starling. I fix you, you tell me how it happened, then you can go.”

Huffing, the hero sat on their provided bed. “Go to hell. I’m not telling you anything.”

“Then you’re not leaving.”

“And you’re not running anymore tests, Villain. You hear me? I’m tired of it.”

One could almost feel it when a villain became angry, something in the air itself changed, becoming thicker, a storm readying to destroy.

“It isn’t up for debate, starling. We need to figure this out.”

“No, we don’t.” The hero’s voice was cold. “I’m done being a hero.”

That thoroughly shocked the villain, though they would never show it.

“No.” They said simply. “No, you’re not.”

“That isn’t for you to decide.”

“It is when you’re in my care. Eat. I don’t want you lightheaded when I run the blood test.”

“I said I won’t do it. Consider this my retirement plan.”

The villain scoffed. “Being pathetic and powerless is your retirement plan? Come now, starling–”

“You don’t get it.” The hero stood. “You’ve never had to deal with this, you’ve never understood the strain of being a telepath. I don’t want my powers back.”

There was an eerie silence as the villain put two and two together.

“You did this to yourself.” They knew better than to phrase it as a question. “You took away your own powers.”

The hero didn’t look at the villain. “I wasn’t supposed to end up on the street. It wasn’t supposed to make me delirious. You weren’t supposed to find me.”

“But I did, and you better be grateful to have someone willing to fix this for you and not let you burn in the fire of your own mistake. Do you know how easy it would be for me to find out who you are? Your friends? Family? What if I wanted revenge? Consider yourself lucky that I don’t.”

“Then what do you get out of this?”

The villain didn’t answer that. “I’m sorry that telepathy’s caused you such pain, but you don’t get to quit. That’s not fair to the people who depend on you. Eat. I won’t ask again.”

It was a fight when the villain drew blood, another struggle when they tried to inject the new serum into the hero.

And in the end, the hero cried from voices that were never their own.

[autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze]

The Reaper and The Devil - final part

Hello, lovely people!

I'm sorry it took so long to write the final part, I was in Brussels and then had a couple of difficult weeks with work but it's here!

Thank you again to @weemssapphic for the love and time you put in to betaing this fic for me, love you so much <3

Taglist: @crow-raven-crow @weemssapphic

Warnings: Talk of Heaven and Hell, mentions of death/losing a loved one

I hope you guys like it, I've really enjoyed writing this series!

It’s an odd feeling, dropping a soul off at Heaven’s gates. A place you have never stepped foot in but have so much knowledge of. It isn’t, unsurprisingly, as human souls expect it to be either. There are no white clouds, no ‘pearly gates’, no angel at the door to greet them. Heaven is actually quite plain. The entrance is a simple dust path through a forest. The gate is a simple kissing gate in a gap of the trees. The sky is slightly overcast but the sun is there, always the perfect desired temperature for the soul walking through the trees. 

You smile to yourself as you walk hand in hand with Lucifer a step behind Maeve. She is looking at the trees around her, mouth open and eyes twinkling with awe. Apparently, Maeve’s favourite season is autumn. You know this because the air has a crisp chill to it, the trees are bright with orange and red hues and every step you’re taking sends the sound of crunching leaves and twigs echoing into the forest. And, apparently, her favourite time of day is golden hour because the world around you is lit with a warm glow as the sun finds its way through the cracks in the tree canopy.

Maeve turns on the spot and looks at you, a wide grin on her face. “This is incredible.”

Your mouth curves into a side smile, your eyes filled with care and amusement as you take in Maeve’s child-like wonder. “I’ll never grow tired of it, I must admit.”

“Is it like this for everyone?” Maeve turns back around as she speaks, her head turned towards the sky as a flock of starlings fly overhead. 

“Yes and no.” You chuckle, stealing a glance up at Lucifer who is looking down at you in such a way that warms you from the inside out. “The season, time of day and temperature are all unique to each soul’s preference.”

“How does It know?” Maeve stops in her tracks as she asks the question, taking a moment to turn on the spot and close her eyes with her head to the sky and her arms outstretched. 

“It’s Heaven, Little One. That’s Its job.” Lucifer steps behind you and wraps their arms around your shoulders, leaning their chin on the crown of your head. You reach your hands up and rest them on Lucifer’s forearms as you trace languid patterns with your thumbs. 

There’s a beautiful calm in this moment. Standing here with Lucifer holding you, watching Maeve as she marvels at the beauty of the realm she’s in… If you didn’t know any better, you would lose yourself in this moment. You’d stay forever. But you know you can’t. God doesn’t like you being here for longer than needed and Lucifer is playing a dangerous game by being here at all, even if they are on this side of the gate. 

You sigh and squeeze Lucifer’s forearms gently, the lightbringer pressing a soft kiss to your hair as you do so. Maeve looks at you both and her face falters. 

“What’s wrong?” Maeve’s eyes are filled with concern and it breaks your heart to know that you’ve pulled her from her bubble.

“Nothing, Love.” You smile, not entirely convincing but you can’t help the slight melancholy that is tugging in your chest. 

“Tell me.” Maeve hugs her arms to her chest and takes a step back towards you.

Lucifer feels you tense in their arms and cuts you off before you have a chance to speak. “We just don’t have much time.”

You look to the ground, leaning back into Lucifer’s arms as you focus your attention on a leaf on the ground. 

“You’re not coming in?” The tone of Maeve’s voice made your gaze snap up to meet her own. Her eyes were shimmering with disappointment and sadness. 

“We can’t. I’m afraid this is as far as either of us can go.” You don’t know why you feel choked up but you do. Maybe it’s the fact that you want nothing more than to protect and watch over Maeve’s young soul on Elsie’s behalf. Or maybe it’s because you wish you could sit with Lucifer in the Meadows of Michael. You close your eyes and imagine it for a moment. Their black wings outstretched on a bed of wild flowers, you lying in their arms as you laugh and kiss and-

“Oh.” The hint of pain in Maeve’s voice breaks you from your trance and you look at her once more. “How do I find who I need? How do I know where I’m going? How do I-”

Lucifer releases you from their grasp and walks around you, approaching Maeve with tenderness. “Once you go through the gate, everything will become clear. I promise.”

Maeve jumps into Lucifer’s arms and you watch as she nuzzles her face against the lightbringer’s cream robe. Lucifer doesn’t hesitate in wrapping their arms around the girl and you feel a lump form in your throat as you realise Lucifer will never see Maeve again. The soul they saw being born into the world. The girl they have kept an eye on and celebrated since she was thought into existence. Maeve can visit her family on earth, she can call on you if she wishes but once she steps through the gate Lucifer will never see her again. Your heart breaks as a tear falls from your cheek and hits a leaf at your feet. 

“Enjoy your eternity, Little One. I hope you know nothing but love and peace from this moment forward.” Lucifer whispers into Maeve’s hair as they caress her curls with their hand.

Maeve tightens her grip. “I wish you could know the same peace.”

“I do now that I have a certain reaper by my side.” Lucifer smiles softly and places a chaste kiss to the crown of Maeve’s head. “Now, Little One, don’t keep him waiting.”

Maeve steps back and looks up at Lucifer confused for a moment before turning her attention to what Lucifer is looking at behind her. 

“Pops.” Maeve whispers as she steps out of Lucifer’s grasp. 

Benny is standing on the other side of the gate, grinning and waving with pure glee. Maeve starts running towards him, the leaves cracking beneath her feet with every stride. She staggers to a stop just a few feet from the gate and turns her attention back to you and Lucifer as you walk to Lucifer’s side and take their hand in your own.

“Thank you.” Maeve is smiling but tears are streaming down her face. “Thank you for making my last moments so full of love and care. I’m going to miss you both. Take care of each other. And enjoy your eternity.” 

Maeve blows you both a kiss and you feel Lucifer’s grip tighten on your hand as you both send one back and wave as Maeve walks through the gate and jumps into Benny’s arms. You watch for a moment as they both laugh and Benny wipes the tears from Maeve’s cheeks. As they walk away, arm in arm, Maeve steals a final glance over her shoulder at you and Lucifer, offering one final smile before they both disappear from view. 

The world around you and Lucifer glimmers for a moment before dissolving into the familiar view of Lake Focalor. Lucifer sits at the water’s edge and for a moment you stand and watch them, concern and worry marring your features. 

“Luci…” You take a tentative step towards the Morningstar and place a soft hand to their shoulder.

Lucifer looks up at you, tears threatening to spill out of their eyes, and laughs. You smile softly as you begin to chuckle as their laughter grows with intensity. You lower yourself onto the bank beside them as they continue to laugh, watching them with confusion as you feel yourself laughing with them. 

“Forgive me, Lamb.” Lucifer relaxes after a moment and wipes the tears from their cheeks. “I just didn’t expect to feel relief.” 

“You have nothing to apologise for, Luci.” You take their hand and lean into their side, resting your head on their shoulder as you both look out at the red water. 

“I’ve watched her for years. I’ve seen her grow and become an intelligent, funny and loving young woman. I’ve worried about her every day. Being the ruler of Hell means I’ve seen the worst of humanity over the centuries and I’ve worried about Elsie and her family getting caught up in it. Now I have one less soul to worry about.” Lucifer’s voice was trembling but calm. You can tell they mean every word. 

It’s surprising, Lucifer finding peace in a human going to Heaven. You’ve watched as Lucifer has revelled at souls being sent to Hell. You’ve witnessed their wings shiver with anticipation of the things they will do to certain humans who have ended up in their domain. It never occurred to you that they would also find beauty and celebration in the other souls going to Heaven. But, you remember, the Devil is an angel afterall. 

Lucifer shifts and pulls you onto their lap so you’re straddling their waist. You look down at them and take in how soft and adoring their gaze is. Their hand finds purchase in your hair and pulls you toward them, kissing you with tenderness as their other hand rests on your waist. You glide your hands up to their face and let them rest on Lucifer’s neck, slowly stroking their skin as you continue to kiss them with all of the love and care you have to give. 

“Thank you.” Lucifer whispers against your lips.

“For what?” Your voice is low as your eyes dart between the lightbringer’s.

“For showing me that love, care and compassion are still possible for me. For allowing me to love you with every fibre of my being. For being everything I ever could have hoped for.” Lucifer’s lips ghosted over your own as they spoke and you felt your body ignite with pure adoration and love as they whispered against your skin. 

“Thank you for letting me love you how you deserve.” Your voice is barely audible but Lucifer’s lips curl into a soft smile and there’s no doubt in your mind that they heard you. 

They pull you in again, kissing you soft and slow. Their wings flutter as your tongues meet and you smile into the kiss. You entwine yourselves as you try to convey how you feel and you realise something: Eternity suddenly doesn’t feel like a long enough period of time to spend at Lucifer’s side.

[lost-walmartbag]

Stan x reader s2 pt 6

Warning: Drinking, swearing

Background: Late night kitchen talk with Kyle

Status: Ongoing

Previous part

Next part

More than happy

Kyle came back after you put Sarah to bed. It was weird. As you were stepping out of Sarah's room and quietly closed her door you saw Kyle doing the same with the front door. You both looked guilty, the kind of guilty that you know you don't want answers to. At least not yet, not while you have the same look.

"Wine?" He said with a crooked smile.

"Yeah." You said walking to the kitchen with Kyle trailing behind you.

You two stayed in that silence for a bit as you opened a cheap bottle of wine you and Kyle only had when you needed to get drunk. Kyle pulled out the glasses, not that they were made of actual glass. They were plastic and for some reason detachable in three different places.

You and Kyle got them from a yard sale from an old woman down the block. They were one of those glasses where one said 'Mrs.' with a kiss next to it, while the glass that was dedicated to Kyle read 'Mr.' with a mustache next to it.

As you poured the wine your hands had other plans as they couldn't stop shaking and you spilled some on the counter.

"Fuck." You muttered.

Kyle came up from behind you and put his hands on yours. He stabilized you as you tried to pour the wine again. He was warm. He always was. You hated how much you loved his warmth, how much you could see yourself craving it at night. And how he would happily give it to you if you would ask.

"Hard night?" He whispered, his breath hitting your ear.

"Yeah...Sarah asked where you were." You said putting down the wine bottle.

"I'm sorry. I tried getting here as fast as I could. Think I should give her a kiss goodnight?" He asked, still maintaining his closeness.

"Yeah, but try not to wake her up. She's been asking a lot of questions." You whispered, knowing that because he was so close he could hear the shakiness in your voice if you spoke normally.

"I'll be right back then." He whispered, finally pulling back.

You stare down at the cheap wine in your glass. You couldn't watch as Kyle left, it hurt too much. He was perfect. Stable. Really you could see yourself loving him for the rest of your life.

And you did love him. More than you can put into words. You knew he loved you. I mean what kind of man raises a kid he knows isn't his for four years without loving you even a little?

He takes care of Sarah. He takes care of you. He's a good man. A better man. Better than you think you deserve. Especially when every time you're with him you can't help but think of Stan.

You love Kyle. But you love Stan. And it was different. Stan was the kind of love that wouldn't leave you standing by the time it finished. You don't know if that's what Kyle would be because you can't see his love ever ending.

"She is out cold," Kyle said with a chuckle as he walked back over, starling you out of your thoughts.

"Yeah...I don't even know how long she managed to stay up." You said taking a sip of your wine.

"He's doing pretty rough." He said after taking a sip of his own wine.

You bit your lip. You didn't think he'd bring Stan up so soon. At least not while you were still sober. You gulp down some more wine before putting your now empty glass down. You stared at the small drops of wine in the bottom of the glass, not wanting to meet Kyle's eyes.

"Was he okay at least?"

"As good as he could be. He was drunk."

"I figured." You said with a sigh. "What do I do Kyle?"

"You know I can't tell you, Y/N." He said putting his hand on your shoulder.

"Why not? You're so much smarter than me. Figure this out for me. Tell me what to do." You said putting your face in your hands.

Kyle sighs and pulls you into a hug. His arms wrapped around you, pressing you against him. He smelled like pine and sandalwood. His hand gently stroked your hair as he put his face on the top of your head.

"I can't imagine what you're going through right now." He whispered as he gently swayed. "But I know you'll get through it."

"How do you know that?" You whispered as you buried your face in his chest.

"Because you're impulsive."

"Gee, thanks." You muttered.

"It's a good thing. It means you're strong. Because even though all this shit is happening to you, you're still standing. And you're trying to think about what to do and that's why it's not working." He said pulling away just enough to see your face. His hands moved from your back to cup your cheeks. "You don't like to think things through before you do them. You just do."

"But this doesn't just affect me anymore. It affects Sarah. I can't do something without thinking it through anymore." You said closing your eyes and leaning into his touch.

"When have you ever thought anything out even with Sarah?" He said with a chuckle. "You hand her without a second thought, you still went to college even while you were pregnant, you kicked a kid when he pulled Sarah's hair last month."

"He had it coming."

He laughed and smiled down at you. "He did, but if you had thought about it for even a second you wouldn't have done that. It always works out because you love Sarah and that always overrides anything else going on in your head."

"But this is different." You protest looking up into his eyes.

"Why? Because you love him?" He asked, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

"Yes! That is exactly why!" You said leaning your head back in frustration. "I loved him in high school and got pregnant. I loved him and he left me. I love him and every day it fucking kills me."

"Y/N this isn't about you loving him. This is about you loving Sarah. If you never want to see him again...he would go back to wherever he was even if it killed him." He said, dropping his hands from your face. but leaving the warmth they gave you.

"I want Sarah to have her dad in her life. I always wanted that...but I feel like if I do something about it...it's like telling you, you aren't doing enough." You said as you watched the small smile on his face drop.

"Are you saying this is hard to do because of me?"

"Of course it is! You could have gone to fucking Princeton, you could have had a fiance by now, a life outside of living in this shitty apartment, sleeping on the couch so Sarah and I can have our own rooms, staying up with me at night when she's sick because you know how scared I am, calling out of work so you can go to her school events!" You rambled. When you finally stop talking you see Kyle just staring at you like you had two heads. Your chest rising and falling rapidly staring back at him.

"I do all that because I love you both."

"That's the problem. I hold you back. I stop you from being happy." You said, choking on a sob as tears filled your eyes.

"You think I'm not happy?" He asked, glaring down at you in anger. His pale cheeks painted red and his lips pulled to a thin line. "You think that every day when I get to see Sarah growing up and laughing, that I'm not happy? You think that every year when you and I stay up baking a cake for her birthday, that I'm not happy? You think that every single fucking night when I get to kiss her good night, when I get to hear you snoring in your bed, when I lay on that shitty pull-out couch and thank whatever fucking god that put me here for giving me the fucking chance to be in your lives, that I'm not happy?"

He scoffs and shakes his head. He takes a step back and runs a hand through his red curls, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath before he can meet your eyes again.

"I'm more than fucking happy Y/N." He said putting a gentle hand on your cheek and wiping away your tears. "Even when I'm in this kitchen telling you how fucking stupid you are as you cry because you think 'you're holding me back'. Even when you stand here and tell me you love another man while his daughter whom I have raised sleeps in another room. I'm still fucking happy."

You stared at him. Processing each and every syllable that escapes his lips. His chest is rising and falling like yours had. You knew he loved you, you knew you loved him. But you always thought that love was different from what other people mean when they say 'I love you'.

Wasn't it?

"Kyle I love you but-"

"I know. I know it's different. I'm ok with that." He said pulling away from you. "There was a time when I hated the thought that you didn't love me back but I realize it's not the way I thought. The way I love you is timeless. And that's what I want it to be."

"But you can't possibly be ha-"

"God you're so stupid." He said kissing your forehead. "I'm happy and I always will be. Y/N we aren't meant for each other but you're still my soulmate. I wish I could love you the way you love Stan but I don't. I love you in a different way the way you love me."

"So not romantically?" You ask looking into his eyes.

"Conceded much?" He said with a smirk

"Bitchy much?" You retort

"Ouch." He said with a chuckle. "But no. I can see myself loving you like that, but even with the years we have together, I don't love you romantically. Love isn't a waiting game. Love is simple but complicated."

"Like with Stan?"

"Like with Stan." He said gently stroking your cheek.

You nod and smile softly because, since the first time since this started, you were okay with not knowing what to do.

A/N: Heyyyy. Yeah so anyway hope ya'll liked this 😋 thank you for reading bye bye love yall 🩵

Taglist: @jessiegerl

[motelpearl]

I'm watching star trek voyager so I'm gonna put my thoughts below & keep adding onto it (yes I'm going from tng -> voy & skipping ds9 for now at least even though I feel like I'm missing out on context bc trekkies seem to hold ds9 as like the gold standard of star trek but I watched a couple episodes & I just couldnt dig it)

the relationship of kes & neelix is so bewildering to me like what does she see in him like hes not even a bad person but he's just a lot dumber than her & has that "where's my hug" type guy energy also he's like so old not even in a sugar daddy way just in a boomer way like doesn't kes's species only live 9 years

I hope tom paris goes through some character development because as of right now he's soooooo annoying like referring to chakotay as an "indian" all the time......ugh one would hope we wouldn't still be doing that in the 25th century also I knew from seeing online discourse that chakotay's writing is stereotypical in a well intentioned but still badly-aged way & it's not ruining the show for me but whenever he closes his eyes & the panflute music kicks in I just sigh deeply

the vidiians are fucking terrifying bruh its giving a cure for wellness

I HATE HISTORICAL REVISIONISM IM SORRY BUT IT WILL NEVER FEEL COMFORTABLE TO ME EVEN IF THEYRE DEAD. NOT THE MARK TWAIN RPF IN TNG NOT THE AMELIA EARHART RPF HERE IT JUST AINT RIGHT

OKAY MAYBE I WAS WRONG WHEN I SAID NEELIX ISNT W BAD GUY BC WHAT DO YOU MEAN KES IS A PREPUBESCENT 2 YEAR OLD

not the voyager defeating an alien by becoming submissive & breedable (of course the voyager has a blue plasma trail & pronouns....)

JANEWAY WANTS CHAKOTAYS DICK SO BAD PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER GIRL WHERES YOUR DECORUM

tuvoks hairline is so fascinating to me

not belanna being lowkey in love with chakotay too & then them showing his bare ass in the next episode....rick berman was on this man like a fat kid on a smartie

FUCK THE KAZON UGLYASS BEASTS

seska needs to be in jail bruh

I SWEAR TO GOD IVE WATCHED ENOUGH STAR TREK THAT I CAN TELL JUST BY THE CAMERA ANGLES WHEN AN EPISODE IS DIRECTED BY JONATHAN FRAKES LIKE HE'S ALWAYS DOING WEIRD DUTCH ANGLE TRACKING SHOTS & STUFF LIKE THAT

so I heard that threshold is like the worst episode in the entirely of star trek & after watching it I honestly dont think it's that bad like sure it's an implausible premise but it's not as bad as like code of honor or sub rosa

NOT BEEF BEING A Q....TWO OF MY WEIRD NERDY INTERESTS ARE OVERLAPPING ALSO THE CAST LIST OF THIS EPISODE SCARES & EXCITES ME. FUCK Q SEXIST ASS MOTHERFUCKER FIRST HE CREEPS ON THAT TEENAGE Q THEN HE KILLS ALYSSA OGAWAS BABY NOW HE SAYS WOMEN CANT BE CAPTAINS & SEXUALLY HARRASSES JANEWAY. DIE.

I always wonder how they get the alien makeup on babies like in this episode with the baby with horns on its head & that one episode of tng where they showed baby borg. also the concept of teleporting a baby out of the womb for an easier delivery is hilarious

tuvok & neelix toxic yaoi?

bruh if this episode is setting up the possibility of suder just letting out his violent impulses one last time & going scorched earth on the kazon & the doctor helping him by means of holographic skulduggery & then tom paris showing up with a cavalry of fucking talaxians to lay the smack down I'm gonna laugh so hard

TOM PARIS FINALLY STARTING TO REDEEM HIMSELF

THE PORTRAYAL OF 1990S EARTH IS SO FUCKING FUNNY TUVOK WEARING A DURAG TO COVER HIS EARS PLEASEEEEE

time travel episodes stress me out so much though like PLEASEEE put the tricorder away. not belanna & chakotay getting kidnapped by hillbillies omg the shots where the guy kicks chakotay & then belanna kicks the guy were edited so weirdly

starling reminds me so much of elon musk

is the alien possessing kes bisexual?

too bad q got to die of old age instead of janeway giving him the electric chair

janeway gettin her lara croft on we love that

why cant vulcans just jack off during pon farr like I thought hand stuff was their whole thing

this isnt voyager specific but shuttlecrafts should really have seatbelts like the amount of times people randomly get injured because turbulence throws them out of their seats....WE SOLVED THIS ISSUE 500 YEARS AGO

not tuvok building the Doohickey

why are they leaving harry unattended on a borg cube WHY DOES STARFLEET NOT MANDATE THE BUDDY SYSTEM HES JUSTA LITTLE GUY & NOW HE'S GOING TO GET ASSIMILATED

WHAT THE JESUS IS THAT

awww bless kes I knew she would leave & I was worried she would die but I'm glad she left on a lighter note

"welcome to the worst day of my life" hi my name is belanna dark'ness dementia raven torres (yes I know losing the warp core is serious but that line was giving "we live in a society")

DID HARRY & SEVEN HAVE SEX. BRUH

eugh I wrote in my other star trek thread that borg assimilation is one thing that just gives me such deep discomfort like even though the borg gradually become sort of overdone the concept of assimilation becomes increasingly terrifying regardless like seven's backstory just creeps me out so much like the concept of her parents just being these sort of rebellious scientists who thought they were gonna make some great discovery out in the delta quadrant (sidenote I hope it gets explained more how exactly they got out there like did they go through a wormhole too?) & just stumbling upon these unimaginable horrors that they had no chance of fight & having to watch as their naivete & hubris destroyed their childs life & everyone they previously knew had no idea where they went or what happened to them EUGH ITS SO CHILLING

wait how did they get the warp core back was I not paying attention

tuvok getting his gilf certificate in the mail we love to see it

species 8472 are terrifying even though the CGI is so low-poly

okay this is a pretty pointless criticism but it annoys me how all the female characters wear heeled boots & on that note the grey turtleneck under the uniforms looks so ugly like post-s3 TNG had the best looking uniforms & this isnt coming from a biased place just bc tng is my favourite (also the movie era uniforms that were red & had random white straps were SO UGLYYYY & DUMB LIKE HOW CAN YOU TELL ANYONES RANK OR DEPARTMENT IF THEYRE ALL RED)

I hate the way the borg queens spine swings around like a cat's tail

opening the episode with harry kim getting his tiddies sucked....ON PRIMETIME TV? IN THE 90S?

I just know that anti-alien-sex law got put into place because of riker

since like late season 3 I'm finally starting to understand why trekkies say janeway has sexual tension with literally everyone

a vulcan shedding a single tear when hearing an artificial lifeform perform a piece of classical music? NOW WHERE HAVE I SEEN THAT BEFORE......*taps chin pensively*

tuvok & neelix detoxified yaoi?

BARCLAY & TROI YASSS

NEVERMIND NOT BARCLAY BACK ON HIS HOLODECK BULLSHIT

not the space Irish again (also from what I've seen irish people are apparently really offended by the irish reunification of 2024 meme <\\\3)

if janeway were alive in 2024 she'd be on tumblr making posts like "I need to get sent to the seaside for my health"

I didnt expect the episode "virtuoso" to suddenly take such a resonant turn but in the age of generative ai it's strangely prophetic

the double whammy of seeing jeffrey combs & the rock as the guest stars in this episode

I got injured the other day & have been pretty much bedbound because of it & whenever a scene takes place in sickbay I think "spare dermal regenerator 🤲"

they bring back kes just to give her makeup that makes her look like Christopher Walken <\\\3

ugh I love troi shes such a queen

why does the borg queen look like this -> 🥺

honestly I'm kinda sad that I'm on the final season

poor tuvok man first he almost gets assimilated, then he gets mind controlled, now hes just trying to fuck but he's thwarted by political tensions

I kind of want to rewatch st: picard since I know seven's backstory now & have the context of the borg's decline like I saw trekkies saying janeway "handled them" but now I know the exact circumstances

omg I know chakotay & seven somehow end up together (at least for a while) when the show ends bc I've had so much of voyager spoiled (tbh that seems to the usual reason i watch shows, I get a bunch of it spoiled & then I'm like "but how do those dots connect") anyway that literally makes no sense bc I can't think of a time theyve ever interacted since seven became a character but like chakotay & janeway were RIGHT THERE THEYVE HAD TENSION SINCE SEASON 1 IM NOT EVEN A SHIPPER CAUSE IDC THAT MUCH BUT IT WAS RIGHT THERE (& I read the wikipedia page for each episode after I watch them cause idk I like learning behind the scenes stuff & in the "reception" section of each page theres always something like "fans were disappointed that janeway & chakotay did not bang like screen doors in this episode") LIKE THE FANS WANTED IT IT WAS A LOGICAL COURSE OF ACTION IT WAS SET UP SINCE SEASON 1 & THE WRITERS CHICKENED OUT. WHY THOUGH?

noooo belanna dont do eugenics ur so sexy aha

POOR TUVOK BRUH SEASON 7 IS JUST A YEAR OF TUVOK SUFFERING

THE DOCTOR MAKING PHANTOM OF THE OPERA REFERENCES....DID HE JUST BECOME MY FAVOURITE CHARACTER (even though he pronounces "fantome" entirely wrong)

"she's suffering from dysphoria syndrome" janeway trans?

I know this show was made in the late 90s/early 2000s but nothing hammers that point home like seeing the same exact fishing rod toy I had as a kid in this episode that aired a month after I was conceived

just when I thought the Q couldnt get more annoying....one of them is a teenage boy

NOT SOME WRITERS BARELY DISGUISED FOOT FETISH SEEPING IN.....I COULD NEVER BE AN ACTRESS

one thing that has never stopped annoying me is the fact that we literally see naomi wildman be born onscreen & then she goes from newborn -> 9 year old over the course of like 2 seasons

okay I finished it & I'll need more time to collect my thoughts but the basic idea is: I liked the show but I feel like there was lots of possibilities that went unexplored but one thing I especially liked is that unlike TNG (which is still my favourite trek) the female characters got storylines that didnt just revolve around interpersonal stuff (ie. family/romance) but actually got to use their specific skills

but now I'm rewatching the first couple episodes of because I honestly had no idea what was going on (I didn't even realize the doctor was a hologram until like halfway through season 1 & I didn't realize tuvok was spying on the maquis until like season 3) & one thing I have noticed is that NEELIX WAS SO FUCKING UNHINGED IN THE FIRST EPISODE LIKE HE COMES OFF LIKE HEATH LEDGER AS THE JOKER IN THAT SCENE WHERE HE VIDEOCALLS VOYAGER & STRUTTING AROUND THE TRANSPORT ROOM IN HIS PIMP COAT & ALL THE WATER STUFF LIKE WHO IS THIS MAN also belanna's makeup was so bad I'm sorry <\\\3

[starlite-writes]

Hello I am here to be a problem! Anyway!

1 -> Angel 11 -> for any 5 of your kids bc I would ask for all of them but that's excessive so I am just asking for 5! 19 -> Asirli 21 -> Silk and Tussah C: 33 -> Mal 36 -> A......a.......angel......asking for a friend....................also Dr Silk

!! Thank you for asking i appreciate you... dropping these under the cut because BOY did it get long

1. If your oc was to host a TV show, what would it be about? Would your oc be good at it? What sorts of guests would appear?

God, could you imagine Angel hosting any kind of TV show? LMAO But I think, if they had to... maybe some kind of weird psychology show... How To Gaslight 101... /hj They have no guests ever it's just Angel all the time because they can't share the spotlight... but you know, of course, there was a guest on last week; don't you remember? No? Hm, weird. There was definitely someone there. Perhaps you should pay closer attention next time.

11. What is the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to your oc?  Do they still feel ashamed for it? Were there any witnesses?

Oh, God. Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Luke! I think he's still really embarrassed about punching Maximilian when he first showed up... it was really out of character for him, but to be fair this was immediately after Mal in his mind and he was extremely combative and disoriented... he's apologised many times and so has Maximilian for making it worse but that. it took them a while to get over that first impression LMAO like a week before they would even say a word to each other kind of while. But now they're friends so it's cool.

Maximilian... even though it's probably not canon anymore, the masquerade was one of his top three for sure. Being paraded around in fancy clothes and forced to act like you like your kidnapper while you're stuck in a fucked up mass dream with your co-workers, who should have kept you from being here in the first place? That shit scarred him. In Trinity, it is 100% Silk putting him under curfew like a grounded teenager. Absolutely humiliating he has never recovered from that.

Tinashe... she was super excited when she first got her android body,,, but when it inevitably broke down the first time you know she was hella embarrassed and cursing Remy to hell and back. Imagine trying to pass as a person and then your body just breaks??? Awful.

For Mal,,, canonically, I got no idea. in Trinity, his first meeting with Starling. You try to beat someone up and you just beat yourself up instead???? Fucked up. But at least he got a hot black-magic-witch partner-in-crime out of it.

Rixi... that time Tina called her out about being in love with Remy and told her she was crazy for it. Rixi is really good at pretending things don't bother her or brushing them off after she has a cry but I think that's one of the few things that's stuck with her even though she never addressed it again.

The Raven Prince... [All of these words have been stolen from me sorry.]

19. If your oc were to be arrested for something, what would it be for? For being too kind, for a legitimate crime?

Asirli,,, stole a priceless map, probably. They were going to return it! They just wanted to study it a little! Is that so wrong? :(

21. Are there any public events your oc would love to go to? Concerts, plays, movies, parties, etc? What about ones that they would hate? Why?

Oh, hmm... I mean, there's not really anything they couldn't get themselves invited to, if they really wanted, but I think Silk would want to go to a casino and let loose for a weekend. I think she would really enjoy it, actually, especially given her competitive streak, but alas... that would require her to take time away from work. For Tussah... literally anywhere he would not be recognised would be great. Let him be Aurelius for a single day. Let him go to like. an art studio and paint with a group for a day without being hounded about work.

Places they would hate... Silk's is the beach. Tussah's is literally anywhere further than five feet off the ground. In all seriousness, Silk doesn't really enjoy large gatherings all that much, and Tussah gets bored during movies. He's a talker.

33. How does your oc’s own perception of themselves compare to how other people see them? Is your oc aware that other people see them differently (if it’s different)?

Thank you for choosing Mal out of everyone; he is The character for this question!

Mal definitely sees himself as someone who is much smarter and more mature than he is. He thinks he's cunning and strong and all, but he's really just extremely lucky (and being in league with Angel doesn't hurt). Mal's one of those who outwardly has a very inflated sense of self, and to a degree, he's definitely tricked himself into believing it. He's certainly aware that Angel (and most other people) sees him as childish and impulsive, but he doesn't really care too much, because regardless of what Angel says or thinks, they still need him, and vice versa.

36. What is your oc’s ideal night out like? Or would they rather spend it at home?

Wow, I can't imagine why you'd be asking this for them (/lh /s).

For Silk! Her ideal night out is a quiet visit to a planetarium so she can infodump at you about the stars,,, maybe a trip out to the middle of nowhere to look at constellations and have a cup of coffee and some dessert...

For Angel! Good luck getting them rested enough to go anywhere! But if you did manage, they'd probably enjoy a really fancy dinner and a formal concert... or like,,, a night at the opera. You know. Something pretentious.

[chloristoflora]

The Fool was not about, but the door was left standing open, a fair indication that he had gone out. I set a small fire, put on the kettle, and then took some time with washing up and shaving. I had just smoothed my hair back behind my ears when I heard the Fool's footsteps on the porch. He entered with a basket of eggs on his arm. When I looked up from drying my face, he stopped in his tracks. A wide grin spread slowly over his face.

"Why, it's Fitz! A bit older, a bit more worn, but Fitz all the same. I had wondered what you looked like under that thatch."

I glanced back into the mirror. "I suppose I don't take much pains with my appearance anymore." I grimaced at myself, then dabbed at a spot of blood. As usual, I had nicked myself where the old scar from my time in Buckkeep's dungeons seamed my face. Thank you, Regal. "Starling told me that I look far older than my years. That I could return to Buckkeep Town and never fear that anyone would recognize me."

The Fool made a small sound of disgust as he set the eggs on the table. "Starling is, as usual, wrong on both counts. For the number of years and lives you have lived, you look remarkably young. It's true that experience and time have changed your features; folk recalling the boy Fitz would not see him grown to a man in you. Yet, some of us, my friend, would recognize you even if you were flayed and set afire."

"Now there's a comforting thought." I set the mirror down and turned to the task of making breakfast. "Your color has changed," I observed a moment later as I broke eggs into a bowl. "But you yourself don't look a day older than the last time I saw you."

The Fool was filling the teapot with steaming water. "It's the way of my kind," he said quietly. "Our lives are longer, so we progress through them more slowly. I've changed, Fitz, even if all you see is the color of my flesh. When last you saw me, I was just approaching adulthood. All sorts of new feelings and ideas were blossoming in me, so many that I scarce could keep my mind on the tasks at hand. When I recall how I behaved, well, even I am scandalized. Now, I assure you, I am far more mature. I know that there is a time and place for everything, and that what I am destined to do must take full precedent over anything I might long to do for myself."

Fool's Errand, by Robin Hobb (Tawny Man Trilogy #1)