#sweet just straight up topples over every single time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-passenger-if · 3 years ago

Note

one of my favorite angst tropes is someone breaking up with their partner in order to keep them safe! how would the ros handle this if newman did this to them? (also, would any of the ro’s break up with newman to keep them safe?)

combining it with

How would the ROs react to Newman who just texts them out of nowhere and the message just say "I love you always bye sorry" as if Newman was in a hurry and no matter how hard they try to contact them, no one picks up.

also

some angST!! How would the ROs react to Newman breaking up with them after being together for a looooong time?

and

ROs reaction to Newman wanting to break up with them after a while of being together?

Jonny and Horizon would break up with Newman to keep them safe. Fiama knows she can keep both of them safe, and Roach will do their best but if they have to die then they will die together xD

Combining Newman just up and disappears one day with Newman breaks up with RO after being together for a long time.

Long angsty scenarios under the cut.

“Mommy… kisses me… on the… cheek. Cheek. Cheek, Bruno. Listen, cheeeek. That’s chek.”

Bruno mutters the word ‘cheek’ under his breath a few times before adding another ‘e’ just on top of the first one.

“No,” Fiama tells him. “Erase the word and rewrite it. Well this time.”

Her son scowls but he does as he’s told. His round eyes slip away from the exercise book to the front door and stay there.

“Bruno,” she calls him. “Bruno.” He looks at her, and she knows. She just knows what he’s thinking about. Who he’s thinking about. “Cheek.” She points at the book.

He writes down the word very slowly and forcefully on the page. She still can read the wrong word under it, but she decides to let it go.

“The chick eats corn,” Fiama continues, “The… chick�� Chick, Bruno.”

He bites his lower lip, staring at her.

“Remember the chicks? Grandpa took you to see them…”

Bruno mutters ‘chick’ under his breath a couple of times, then his eyes go to the front door again.

“Bruno,” and she doesn’t want to lose her patience like this, but she’s tired and she wants to… she doesn’t know what she wants to do yet, but doing homework in the living room with a very distracted Bruno isn’t it.

Her boy scowls at her, pencil shaking in a tiny angry fist. He opens his mouth to retort when someone knocks on the door. His eyes widen, the scowl vanishes. He jumps off the chair, homework and pencil and Fiama completely forgotten.

“Bruno!” she calls out, but he’s already dashing to the door and yanking it open.

“Oh! Hi there, rabbit,” Fiama’s mother says.

“No!” Bruno replies trying to close the door again.

That’s when Fiama stands up and grabs him by the arm. “Don’t you shut the door in your grandma’s face!”

“Don’t you grab him like that!” her mother yells at her, and she lets go of Bruno as if he was a hot iron.

“Why are you here?” Bruno screams at Fiama’s mother. “I wanted it to be them!”

“Bruno!” Fiama scolds.

“No!” her boy yells at her. “This is your fault! You did this!” Then he’s running off to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Fiama isn’t the type to care about metaphors, but right now she completely understands what people mean when they say 'it felt like a bucket of cold water'.

The one that breaks the silence is her mother. “Well, didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

“Not now, mom.” Fiama grits out.

“Let us hope it doesn’t affect Bruno too much…”

“I said not now.” The glare she sends her mother’s way is enough for the woman to shake her head and turn away.

Fiama closes the door very carefully, and then rests her back against it, scowl set on the table where Bruno’s homework was left unfinished. A thought like a flash; the table toppling over, books and pencils, and the ceramic fruit basket flying in the air. It passes quickly. Fiama is taking slow deep breaths. She still remembers what happened the last time she let her emotions get the best of her. That familiar wave of shame and guilt washes over her as she remembers Bruno’s stunned silence when he found her sobbing in her room, sat in the midst of broken pieces of whatever she had lying about in there.

A single tear rolls down her cheek, one Fiama swiftly washes away. She promises herself this is the last she’ll ever waste on them.

---

There's one lonely cloud floating in the blue sky and Jonny's eyes have been following its snail-like march for the last ten minutes or so. His neck is starting to feel stiff but he doesn't shift his position; watching the lazy parade happening outside of his window has kept his mind in silence. Sweet, sweet silence.

It isn’t surprising that it doesn’t last. Somebody is knocking on his bedroom door and Jonny really doesn't have the energy for this. He closes his eyes shut, focuses on the inverted shadow cloud burned in his tired retina. The door clicks open and he keeps still on his bed, chest barely moving. It's childish, he knows this, but it's the only thing that seems to keep Joaquin and Lucia from asking how he's doing or commenting about his love life, or even worse, trying to give him advice.

The visitor lingers there where they stand for another moment, before closing the door again. Jonny thinks he’s been left alone to go back to what apparently has become his favorite hobby as of late, when he hears approaching footsteps.

“I know you’re awake.”

“Don’t tell me they called you,” he says in a drawl, opening his eyes and fixing them on the man sitting on the bed across from his. Quino has the same green eyes, straight nose, and wavy brown hair Jonny has, however, his twin chooses to wear it shorter and well out of his face. He is, after all, the good-looking one.

“They didn’t,” Quino assures him with a conciliatory smile. Jonny’s skepticism must be written all over his face because his brother crosses his heart and shrugs.

“Why are you here?” Jonny knows why, but he also knows Quino too well and his twin has never been the type to start awkward conversations unless Jonny opens that door for him first.

“Do I need a reason? Can’t I—?”

“They broke up with me,” Jonny cuts him off, “I’m feeling like shit, I just want to sleep until I forget I ever met them, but every time people ask about it I think about them, and every time they tell me ‘it will pass’, and that I’ll ‘find someone new’ I just want to jump in front of a car.” Quino doesn’t say anything, he just nods while picking at his nails. Jonny rolls on his back, stares at the ceiling. “I know I’m way too old to be acting like this, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“You aren’t too old to feel like shit, Jonny. You loved them, and they left you. It’s completely understandable.”

He presses his lips together. He did love them. He does love them still. Stupid, so stupid.

“If you want to cry—“

“Screw off.”

“Not in front of me, heaven forbid,” Quino says with mock horror, “but you should cry sometimes. Crying is good for you, you know?”

Maybe it is, Jonny guesses, but he might have cried himself dry the night Newman broke up with him over the phone. Over the fucking phone, of fucking course. He rubs at his dry eyes. He doesn’t want to think about that. “Yeah,” he mutters.

The silence stretches until Quino clears his throat. “So, do you want to know why I’m here or not?”

Jonny turns his head and then frowns at the tickets in his brother’s hand. He blinks twice, recognizing the iconic font printed on them at once. He sits up an instant later. “You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m inviting you to see Metallica in Columbia.”

“Their last two albums suck,” Jonny says, yet he still takes the ticket from Quino’s hand.

“What doesn’t?” his twin asks with a laugh, and this time Jonny can feel himself smile.

---

One of the humans is awake. Shit. Roach thought they had at least another hour or two, now they’ll have to deal with them and their overfamiliarity and their hands and their faces.

The stub between their lips trembles and they realize it has gone out. They take it, frown at it and then flick it off. It flies in an arc, landing among its dozen of dead brothers. Roach knows at least ten of those are theirs—not that the parking lot of this dingy motel could look any worse by having more dead cigs lying about.

They look for their smokes in the denim jacket they are wearing—a gift from a trucker with a tendency to comment on people’s appearances and leave his jacket behind when going to the restroom—and almost drop the entire pack when the door at their left opens.

“Those things will kill you,” says the woman coming out of their shared motel room.

“Life is killing me,” Roach replies without missing a beat, but they don’t smile; she won’t see their face anyway, not when the sun has yet to come out, and the only lightbulb over their head suddenly burned out.

“Do you have another one?”

She comes to sit next to them on the bench and Roach doesn’t need light to see the deep crow's feet at the corner of her eyes and the dark circles under them. Their conquests always look immensely better under synthetic lighting, once outside, once they’ve used one another, it’s like the spell breaks.

Roach holds two cigs between their lips and lights them with practiced ease. They offer one to their broken Juliette. It’s the least they can do; they do remember biting her hard at some point in the middle of their sexcapade… or maybe they bit one of the others, they aren’t sure anymore.

She accepts it with a thanks and takes a long drag. She sighs out the smoke, peers at Roach as if she could somehow pierce through the shadows and take a good look at them. “You are young, darling,” she croaks out. “Way too young to be doing this shit.”

“Smoking?” Roach asks innocently. Words read out from a script, tone sweet, face immobile. The face of a ghost really, one that haunts and judges them.

The woman shakes her head and then points with her thumb at the room behind them. “I bet you aren’t even thirty yet.” She tilts her head at them, eyes narrowing and still trying to see. “Whatever happened to you… you can opt out. It isn’t easy, but you can move on, you can leave your old self behind. It’s never too late…” A coughing fit interrupts her fortune cookie monologue, and Roach is super ready to skedaddle now.

They stand up, rub their hands together. “Speaking of,” they exclaim with fake enthusiasm, “I should hit the road now. It was a pleasure, really,” they add just as if they were wrapping a 5-cents bow around used pair of socks. Here, happy birthday.

Roach jogs off before she can add anything else.

“Hag,” they mutter around their cigarette. They stop as they catch a glimpse of their reflection in the window of a stripped car. The face scowling at them is silently judging them for stealing it and then using it to lure in humans. “It’s poetic, ok?” Roach explains with a tense grin. “You fucked me over so this is my way to return the favor, pet.” The reflection doesn’t reply, but Roach doesn’t care. They don’t care. They never cared, actually. Who said they ever did?

---

Slow, deep breaths. Inhale, one… two… three… four. Exhale, one… two… three… four… five… six…

Horizon opens their eyes. They are crouched in front of the ceremonial pitcher. Looking down at their reflection in the water makes something like a thumb-size metal ball roll in the back of their skull. They wince in pain and lose whatever little balance they had before. Horizon doesn’t yelp when they fall back on their ass; the sudden waves of nausea coming up like lava inside a volcano could turn a bad situation into a nightmarish one at the flip of a hat.

“Ah,” they whine in a whisper, “if there truly is anything out there, up there, or around, please make it stop.” They run a hand down their face, suppress a fiery belch.

They blindly look for the pitcher and submerge their other hand in the cold water. Dominus Dove and Domina Basil would blanch in horror and anger, but right now, this is the best Horizon has felt since Velour dragged them out of bed, wrapped their robes around them, and pushed them into their office.

Running wet, cold fingers through their messy hair is the best feeling in the world, so they continue this little ritual for a while… and another while… and a little longer…

The door opens just a crack and Horizon’s gaze jumps to Velour’s so fast that the metal ball comes back with a vengeance. An arrow piercing their brain back to front.

“Ahh!”

“This isn’t happening,” Velour hisses as they slink into the room and close the door behind them. “Tell me this isn’t happening.”

“This isn’t happening,” Horizon mutters trying to smile through the pain. They open their eyes to find a very frowny, very serious Velour staring down at them. The smile slips off their face like a slug going down the drain. “I’m so sorry, Velour.”

“As you should,” they reply coldly, and Horizon wants to cry because there’s so much more to their tone than just scorn; they are truly disappointed and they have all the right to be.

“I’m a mess,” the words sound strained to Horizon’s ears, and they can feel new tears threatening to spill down their face again.

Velour’s jaw tightens before they crouch down shaking their head. “You are drunk,” they whisper in a mellow way. “And we can’t let anyone know that.”

“No, we can’t.”

“Alright, I’ll tell them you are indisposed. Wait here, and please, stop playing with the sacred water, Domini.”

Horizon can feel themself blushing in embarrassment, but they nod nonetheless and almost don’t wince when the metal ball ricochets around their skull.

Velour steps out of the room, their voice booming in the cabin, “Domini Horizon has fallen ill with a fever. Today’s prayers will be under my supervision.”

“Are they ok?” somebody asks.

“Yes, but they are very tired and would appreciate being left alone in their cabin. Any concerns or questions you have can be brought to me.”

Efficiently, they march into the office again. “Lean on me, Domini,” they instruct and Horizon does as they say. A few moments later, The Domini is back on their feet and being herded out of the office and through the cabin. They keep their head down, letting their hair cover their face.

“Poor Domini,” another person loud-whispers, “they are drenched in sweat.”

Next to them, Velour tenses up, but they don’t let their discomfort show in any other way.

Once in Horizon’s cabin, their assistant sits them on the bed and fetches them a glass of water.

“They aren’t worth any of this, Domini,” Velour says, and Horizon keeps still, lips barely touching the water. They look up at their assistant but say nothing. “That’s all I wanted to say, and that’s all I’ll say on the subject.”

Horizon puts down the glass on their lap, both hands holding it still. They lower their gaze before softly replying, “Noted.”

Velour makes to leave. They open the door before saying over their shoulder, “And stop drinking. If I come back to find you drunk again, I swear I’m leaving. For real this time.”

Horizon nods slowly, and doesn’t look up until Velour closes the door behind them. Once they are out, the Domini puts the glass down, next to the bed, carefully lies down, and lets the ugly sobs come gushing out of them like muddy water from a broken levee.

#ask #tp fiama #tp jonny #tp roach #tp horizon #is this dramatic enough #hope it isn't too messy n_n'

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years ago

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Hello! I read your headcanons of how Azul, Riddle, Malleus, Epel and Silver would try to court Reader and I wonder if you could do the same, with Ruggie, Jack, Jade, Floyd and Sebek?

“Courting...that’s serious business. Once you pick a mate--and that mate chooses you, you’re together forever, so you can afford to be choosy. What, me? Hmph. That’s not something I need to be concerned with right now.”

If you want to read the same prompt but for Azul, Riddle, Malleus, Epel, and Silver, check those out here.

***Warning: mild spoilers for chapter 5 and Ace’s Groom For A Day personal story (part 2)!***

Curiouser and Curiouser...

He plucks little dandelion bouquets for you! Regularly, Ruggie would eat them in a salad or a stir fry, but he’s willing to sacrifice a few dandelions just to see you smile.

If you ever need anything done, Ruggie’s the first to jump and offer to help you out. He’s already used to running errands for Leona-san, so he insists that it’s no trouble at all to also run errands for you!

Ruggie picks up a few extra odd jobs (at the Mostro Lounge and Mr. S’s shop!) and saves up Madol to buy you small trinkets.

He plays his heart out in Magical Shift! He’ll play even harder if you mention coming to one of his games. Watch Ruggie pull off a bunch of cool tricks he taught himself while he plays--look, look, let’s upside down on his broom! Neat, right?

Cracks lots of jokes! Ruggie loves talking casually and being able to make you giggle. Please laugh more and more with him.

He’s still pretty curt when it come to speaking with you, but he makes sure to smile more. And his tail? It’s always instinctively wagging when he’s around you.

Jack will spend more time with you! He’ll find himself offering to walk you and from class. When you finally get to your destination, Jack tends to linger like a lovesick puppy until you vanish from his sight.

He’ll show you his cactus children! O-Only if you want to see, of course. Jack beams with pride as he tells you about each one. Hopefully you find them as interesting as he does!

Jack will play to his strengths! Need help with your textbooks or moving something heavy? Jack’s your guy. He already excels in P.E., too--whenever Jack pulls off an impressive physical feat, his head will whip in your direction to gauge your reaction.

If letting you touch his ears and tail is what will get your attention, then so be it. Jack will allow it--even has he stiffens and blushes a bit at your touch. He wouldn’t mind doing this every day, you know...

Expect nothing but honeyed words from Jade. He has a silver tongue, and he knows it, that bastard. He’ll use that to his advantage to make you blush and squirm.

Along with sweet words, Jade will always “accidentally” touch you, be it brushing his fingers against yours when you’re reaching for the same book, or bumping into you at just the right moment to send your papers flying. Oh dear--let him help you with that. It’s not as though he had this orchestrated from the start, fufu.

He’ll cook for you! Not in the Mostro Lounge--he insists on a more...private setting. Perhaps your place--or his? Jade promises he will prepare an extravagant meal for two.

Jade will send you flowers--nothing too extravagant, just a few of them here and there, straight from the Botanical Gardens. Other times, he’ll send mushrooms. He cultivated them himself--isn’t he so caring?

You can always rely on him to be a shoulder to cry on. Jade offers soothing words and wipes away your tears with a gentle smile. You’re playing right into his hands. Ah, but it feels so sweet and comforting that you just let yourself fall into the abyss of his love.

Floyd straight up says that he “loves you” every single day. He makes sure to remind you plenty, too--he somehow always manages to sneak the phrase into conversations.

Demands praise! Like, allll the time! Look, look! He just squeezed this naughty runaway guppy of Azul’s! Didn’t he do suuuch a good job? Give him compliments and head pats now!

Glomps you without warning. He’ll lurk around corners and attack you when you least expect it--like some shark charging at you in the water. It’s going to be hard to shake him off--Floyd hangs all over, pressing his weight against you and nearly causing you to topple over!

If he’s in the mood to see you, he’ll drop whatever he’s doing (be it class or his shift at the Mostro Lounge) and come seek you out! Eh? What do you mean you don’t have time to hang out right now? That’s okay. Floyd will just toss you over his shoulder and haul you off to play anyway.

He’s not tactful at all in his “courting” (if you can even call it that). Floyd tries to monopolize all of your time, and he gets whiny if he thinks you’re paying too much attention to other stuff! If you question him about it, he’ll be extra cheeky and ask, “Eeeeh? I thought we were pretty much already dating~”

Sebek tries to court you by using Lilia’s outdated dating advice. That means he’s going to send you letters--and several of them. Each one seems to be longer than the last, and every three letters, he’s sure to include a photograph of him smiling in it.

Tones down all of his shouting about Malleus-sama. While Sebek continues to devote his life and body to the Young Master, he is aware that a potential partner would not enjoy having their ear talked off about some other man. Sebek wants to make himself come across as agreeable and available!

He generally has a better control over his volume! If he talks too loudly, that might frighten you--though he also (unintentionally) laughs harder and louder when he’s with you, flashing his little fangs as the while.

He fusses over you! If you look the slightest bit tired, Sebek will swoop in with a cup of tea or the offer of assisting you with your schoolwork to lighten your load and send you off to bed sooner.

Sebek invites you to read with him. He has a selection of novels that you can borrow, and you can even discuss them with him if you like. He’s able to give recommendations if there’s nothing in his collection that catches your eye. If you’d like, he can be a part of your story.

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stanknotstark · 3 years ago

Text

Serinakakers As Proof

Serinakakers are actually called Norwegian butter cookies in english and I don’t think i’ve ever had one but they look good to me lol i didn’t feel like making a whole new otherworldly dessert sorry I’m lazy sometimes 😂

Summary: You’re dating Loki but keeping it a secret as per Loki’s request. The team starts to question if you’re lying about your ‘lover’ and Loki has to save you because Thor has really bad timing.

It all started two weeks into dating Loki. Loki was a little unsure what the team’s reaction to you two dating would be so he told you to keep it a secret for now. You respected his wishes but that didn’t stop you from flaunting about how you had the best ‘lover’ (Loki refused to be called boyfriend) in the world.

Two weeks in Valentines came up and Loki had a vase of beautiful flowers sent to you with a little card that said, “For the fairest of them all - your love” In reference to Snow White, which you had both watched very recently.

You had taken them around the whole tower, telling people it had come from your lover when they asked.

“At least give us his name, I promise to not, like, totally have a background check on him!” Tony says with a pout.

You laugh and shake your head. “No can do Tin Man. He doesn’t want you all to know who he is just yet.”

“See, that makes me a little skittish, if he doesn’t want us to know he has something to hide.”

“I agree with him and think he should remain nameless.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Tony points out.

You shrug at Tony and do the motions for zipping your lips closed and throwing out the key.

Loki ends up picking a random day, a month later, to send you a big basket of chocolate, your favorite hard candies, and really small plushies of all the Avengers (It’s totally not his way of giving you sweets because you’re on your period). Your favorite plushy isn’t one of the Avengers, it’s a small plushy of Loki. Because you’re given the basket in front of everyone you make sure not to freak out over the Loki plushy but you keep stealing glances at the god who sits apart from everyone else, reading.

“He even got you Loki?” Steve asks bewildered.

“Like it or not, Loki is part of the group. Seems he has built a group of fans now.” You say, stealing a glance at Loki who smirks at his book. You know he’s pleased you’ve defended his honor.

“You do realize I’m right here, do you not?” Loki says, still not looking up from his book.

Steve at least has the decency to look ashamed and his cheeks flare up.

“There’s not a card with a name!” Tony says making everyone look at the basket again.

“Of course not, you dumbass.” You say, slapping the back of Tony’s head, Tony proceeds to throw his hands and slap away at your receding hand. Thor and Bruce chuckle with you at his childish antics.

“Can you at least give us a letter in his name?” Clint asks from your side.

You sigh and look to the ceiling in thought.

“K.”

“Kevin!” Clint immediately yells. “Wait, we don’t know a Kevin.”

“Who said you know who it is?” You ask as you gather your basket to put in your room.

Clint completely disregards what you said and yells, “Kate!”

Natasha hits Clint’s arm, “She’s straight, stupid.”

Tony then pipes in as you walk away rolling your eyes, “Kyle! Kaden! Kayden but with a y!”

“His name doesn’t start with a k guys!” You yell as the elevator closes, exasperated.

Next, a week and a half has passed when they start questioning your relationship. Thor figures it out but only because he grew up with the thing you’re gifted.

You had been the last one to enter the kitchen for dinner and right as you entered Thor came up to you with puppy dog eyes and was holding a tin of sweets. You take a long look at the delicacies, they’re some type of cookies, in a swirl pattern, and decorated with powdered sugar. Thor answers your questions right after you think that.

“They’re butter cookies, can I please have one, your boyfriend sent them.” Thor says making sure to enunciate the word boyfriend. Your eyes snap to Thor’s and the god smiles down at you. On one hand it looks innocent but you see past his facade.

He knows.

You clear your throat and grab the tin from him, making sure to pull one of the cookies out and give it to him.

“Since you’re nice, sure, big guy.” You say giving Thor a look that said ‘Say nothing’. Thor bounces from foot to foot, shoving his cookie in the face of the other Avengers.

“She likes me!” Thor roars then demolishes the cookie in a single bite.

You laugh, glance at Loki from under your lashes as you look at the cookies and pick one out to try.

When the cookie touches your tongue you can’t help closing your eyes and moaning. You chew and the cookie just melts in your mouth. You moan as your take another bite and you think you could practically orgasm this cookie is so damn good but remember the entire team is there.

When you finish the cookie you open you eyes and look at everyone. Tony is looking at you like he wants to eat you, Natasha is eating her food like she doesn’t fucking care, Steve is blushing so hard you think his head might explode. Clint is shocked, and Bruce is looking at you with a raised brow. The last person you look at is Loki who sits there staring at you with flushed cheeks and a glint in his eye that says he’s going to tear those noises from your lips again, this time without the cookies.

You cough and look at Thor who is smiling like he is satisfied. You understand why he wanted one so bad now.

“I’m sorry but what the fuck just happened.” Tony says shaking his head.

You laugh. “I had an orgasm while eating a cookie, get with the program.”

“Honestly, if his cookies are that good you need to marry the man, just saying.” Tony waves his had at you then goes on to start eating his dinner.

You go to eat another cookie but Loki finally says something.

“No dessert before dinner, put the cookies down.”

“Or what?” You challenge the god.

Loki raises a brow at you and levels you with a glare.

“Put them down.”

You suck on your gums and squint at the god as you put the cookies on the table.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“Ok, first of all, you like everyone so I don’t see the point in saying that. Second, how have you told Loki you like him before me? We all know I’m the favorite around here.” Tony scoffs while aggressively stabbing a broccoli floret.

You take your seat next to Loki and that’s when it’s asked.

“Is your boyfriend even real? Or are you gifting yourself all these things so you’ll make one of us jealous?” Clint asks in a normal voice, he really doesn’t mean it to be mean.

You stop smiling at Tony and frown at Clint.

“He’s real.” You say a little hurt.

“I mean it just seems a little fishy.”

You pout at Clint.

“I could look into her purchases and see if she bought it herself.” Tony rouses from the other side of the table. He’t totally joking but Steve doesn’t take it that way.

“Tony! That’s private, you can’t just do that!” Steve tries protecting you.

You start to get a little angry.

“He’s real. If you don’t think he’s real then that’s on you. I know he is and that’s all that matters.” You reason, more for yourself than anything else.

Under the table you feel Loki’s hand squeeze at your thigh.

“Just give us something to let us know he’s real.” Tony pushes.

You slam your hands on the table and stand up so fast the chair you were in topples over.

“Stop!” Loki yells, in a quick move he stands and puts an arm in front of you, not to protect Tony but to stop you before you did something you regret.

The room is silent save for your rough breathing.

“It’s me.” Loki harshly says, glaring at Tony and Clint.

“You don’t have to cover for her, it’s embarrassing but-”

“Shut up!” You scream at Clint.

“I’m not trying to cover for her. I’ve been dating her for the past month and a half. I did not want her to tell you because I wasn’t sure how all of you would react.” Loki gets out then turns and brings you to him so he may kiss you.

Loki makes it a show for the team, relaxes as you lean into him, your hands wrapping around his neck and tugging at the nape of his neck. He pulls away before you can lose yourself in his kiss and looks at the team with a raised eyebrow as if asking ‘Is that enough for you?’.

Finally Thor peeps in between a big bite of his food. “Ay, Loki is telling the truth, those are Serinakakers, an Asgardian delicacy my mother used to make us.”

Loki rolls his eyes at his brother’s really bad timing and then looks back down at you, you’re still wrapped around him, now with a tiny smile on your lips as you look at him.

“Ok, darling?” Loki asks anyways.

“I’ll be happy if you let me take those cookies and eat those for dinner in my bedroom.”

Loki brings a hand up and trails a finger from the back of your jaw to your chin, going up to touch your bottom lip. “Only if you promise to make those sweet sounds every bite you take.” Loki whispers.

“Ok this is seriously gross, I’m literally gonna throw up.” Tony says with a fake gag.

You laugh and pull from Loki who glares at Tony. You point at Tony, then at Clint. “Don’t think you two are off the hook, I’m still royally pissed, you’re just lucky when I’m around Loki I can’t stay mad.”

You make your way around the table, Loki following, dinner forgotten, and pick up your cookies. Then, you head towards your room.

Halfway to the elevator Loki grabs your hand and doesn’t let go until you’re both laying on your bed enjoying your cookies. Talking about everything and nothing.

#loki x reader #loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #reader insert #my writing #i had this idea a few days ago and didn't have any time to really write it out #i feel i could have done more but my mind is working at like ADD mode right now #my adderall is wearing off cuz i took it early #so idk if ill get to write more or not #but hopefully i can ^^#also my transitions could use a little work i apologize about that i try not to make them so generic and like next #this happens #or like then he #and on this day #i just have trouble of thinking of good ways to transition sorry

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benjaminthewolf · 2 years ago

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Waf-FULL: Story Edition

So uh...if y’all don’t know what the Waf-FULL ads were, well then...well just see for yourself.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njV0nFaulUg

Anyway, the waffle does apparently have a name, he was the Eggo mascot for a while back in the day, so he was called “Eggoman”. I’m mostly just doing this so I don’t have to refer to him as “The Waffle” every single time he’s mentioned.

The instant I got the ask for this I knew it was my destiny to do this. All of my life choices have meticulously led me to this moment. To posting a fucking Waffle pred vore story on my Tumblr vore blog. And I regret none of it.

****

“Oh, sweet, naïve Strawberry Filling. All so blissfully unaware that this day shall be your last.”

Strawberry Filling wasn’t expecting this day to be different from any other day. I mean, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. The busy city streets held perhaps hundreds of bustling, noisy pedestrians along the paths of their daily commutes, the sky was its usual light blue in color, and the sun was shining down its warm, sunny rays up above it all, as was perfectly normal, while Strawberry Filling continued strolling down the concrete suburban streets, well on their merry way over to the CD store, the forms and shadows of the much larger human passer-bys towering o’ so casually above them as they went.

One form that did not plan to loom so harmlessly, however, was Eggoman. The sentient waffle had just barely managed to lock down sight on Strawberry Filling through the crowd as the city bus he had just departed from revved back into its carbon-fueled action behind him. Eggoman was rather intent on following Strawberry Filling wherever they might be planning to go today, and in this case, that meant the CD store. As such, as Eggoman kept a comfortable, unassuming distance between himself and his prey, his non-existent eyes stuck firmly on the form of that fat, jucy, simply delectable Strawberry Filling, and found it nearly physically impossible to look away.

Once the two of them entered the CD store, that’s when things really began to ramp up. Eggoman knew quite well that if he had a visible mouth, he would be drooling just about now. With his stomach waiting ever so patiently to be stuffed positively silly with all the absolutely gooey, fruity slush of that Strawberry Filling’s body, Eggoman began to hungrily snoop around, making many anticipatory, gluttony-induced murmurs and groans along the way; until finally, at long last, he found the opportunity to strike. With Strawberry Filling thoroughly distracted by the music blaring within the store headset they had on, Eggoman knew that now was his time.

Leaping straight over the display counter and into the next isle, poor Strawberry Filling was taken completely and utterly off-guard as the comparatively gigantic, full-force weight of the sentient waffle’s ravenous being toppled them over and onto the floor, where no amount of writing, struggling, or fighting would have any effect on the ultimate outcome of this encounter. Enjoy the world while you can still perceive it, Strawberry Filling, because the last thing you’ll ever see before you succumb to unconsciousness will be the expanded, jiggly stomach walls of the sentient waffle who just jumped you. Say goodbye to your hopes and dreams. The only dream getting fulfilled today is Eggoman’s dream to be full.

Eggoman continuously had to force Strawberry Filling’s head and body down to the floor as their being was mercilessly slurped up through his non-existent maw, the contents merley phasing through his waffle being and into the ecstatically overjoyed, yet patient chamber within, where the tongue sloshed the contents around in a spinning whirlpool of saliva before being hurled to the back of the throat, where the mushy, sappy contents were shoved down the sentient waffle’s throat and down towards his eagerly awaiting belly, that which began accepting the former filling’s contents with a fervorous euphoria that only grew greater and greater as more and more filling continuously poured through Eggoman’s lower esophageal sphincter and into his ever-expanding belly, the walls growing rapidly in order to satisfy their newfound need to somehow fit all this delectable filling within its walls.

At last, Eggoman burped. Strawberry Filling was gone, and all that remained of them was Eggoman’s brand-new, rotund, gurgling, sloshing belly, that which he made jiggle for a few seconds by bouncing it in his hands. Now at last, there was nothing left to do but for those hands to rest delightedly on his enlarged, swollen stomach that so blissfully slushed and churned the contents of what was once Strawberry Filling into a delicious, not-so-nutritious soup that would go on to be pumped through the living waffle’s intestines.

Eggoman could suddenly feel the music that was blaring from Strawberry Filling’s headphones start back up again, leaving him slightly confused for a while before he reached up and felt that exact pair of headphones lying on his head. He pulled them down over his non-existent ears as such, and the music became even louder, causing Eggomman to start rhythmically drumming his fingers on his belly to the beat, the very last piece of music that Strawberry Filling ever heard before their death.

****

“Nowhere is safe, Blueberry Filling. Not even your own property.”

Like Strawberry Filling before them, Blueberry Filling felt absolutely no worry or fear as they casually slid off their arm-chair from within their house and picked up a bag of bird seed before at last opening the main door, that very same blissful glow of sunlight dousing their own being with warmth as they strode across their asphalt driveway and up to the birdhouse lying in the grass.

What Blueberry Filling was expecting to see inside that birdhouse was, well, birds. But instead, what they got in reality, was nothing short of horror-inducing. Having only been given enough time to scream in terror, Bluebery Filling was mercilessly snatched up by the ruthless, glutenous waffle that was the Eggo company mascot within, before they were yoinked straight into the birdhouse, dropping the bag of bird seed behind them as such.

Blueberry Filling had absolutely nowhere to hide, and was now stuck completely and utterly helpless inside Eggoman’s pitiless trap, the sentient waffle’s eager being firmly grasping onto Blueberry Filling’s panicking form as he began to suck up the poor filling’s body through his non-visible maw and straight into the hidden chamber within as such, salivating greatly at the awaited arrival of his prey.

Eggoman’s tongue merely savored the terrified filling’s flavor for a few seconds before swishing the contents around and eventually towards the back of the maw, where said contents made their same journey down into the sentient waffle’s stomach that Strawberry Filling had taken not too long ago. They dripped and poured down his esophagus in a marvelously satisfying stream of sugary goodness.

At last, Eggoman could feel his stomach starting to bulge once more, his gut rapidly expanding as it now gained the need to store all of Blueberry Filling’s former being within its confines, a need which was satisfied in seconds as the tiny, wooden birdhouse at last toppled over and the sentient waffle burped once more, picking himself up from the ground and out of the way of the wooden shards of the former birdhouse as he bounced his overstuffed, rumbling stomach in his hands once more, the contents of what was once Blueberry Filling continuously sloshed around inside.

Eggoman knew quite well that these contents would only meet the same fate as Strawberry Filling’s contents before them. They were his contents now, and his contents that his body was prepared to use to the absolute fullest, just as he was right now.

Eggoman could only stand there and let the joy wash over him as he continuously rubbed over his great growling gut, the very same one that had been used to bring both Strawberry and now Blueberry filling away from this world forever.

Eggoman chuckled slightly as he at last looked up from his gut and made sudden visual contact with a car. The utterly unaware form of Apple Cinnamon Filling passed him on by via car as they happily meandered along the neighborhood streets.

Eggoman rubbed his ever-prepared hands together in anticipation before letting out a few ravenous, excited murmurs under his breath. He knew exactly what commercial he was going to film for the Eggo company next.

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another-miracle · 3 years ago

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Nobody actually told Obi what exactly happened to make Shirayuki leave Tanbarun (now on AO3)

Leave it to Sarah to know the exact “right to the good part” scenario I needed to scratch my writing itch. This one’s for you @claudeng80 :) Set before Eisetsu arc when Shirayuki, Obi and Ryuu are still travelling on the road together.

Dinner starts off as a simple affair. Miss cooks up half the dishes while Obi settles the other half in the in-built kitchen of a decidedly-not-small room they’ve found themselves in (wonders what accommodation one affords with all that sweet Wisteria cash; they are delegates after all). A trade-off that they’d agreed on so that they could cook and have dinner in the same space they would reside for the night - instead of going down to the common area. Ryuu sets the table as best he can.

Eventually, they settle down to eat. The conversation steers towards Miss’ early days in the pharmacy - Ryuu still a boy who hid under tables, a fact present-Ryuu did not appreciate being brought up - and Miss still desperately trying to find her footing in a foreign land. It’s new to Obi, to hear of their endeavours before his arrival to Clarines, and he finds himself enjoying the journey down memory lane. That is, until Miss drops a wayward comment that catches the both of them off guard.

So casual, she says, “It’s so funny. And to think I’d almost had to live my life as Raj’s concubine.”

Ryuu freezes and his eyes dart over to Obi. Similarly, Obi’s glass has paused over his lips. It feels like the air in the room has been abruptly sucked out. The word ‘concubine’ rings in his ears as Miss continues to laugh between bites.

“What do you mean concubine?” Obi asks carefully. He’d thought she’d been invited to the palace to be a princess, or perhaps a lady-in-waiting. To be seen, not...

“Oh yes,” Miss shares, something almost fond lining her lips. “Raj and Sakaki-san had pretty wild ideas back then. Sent me poisoned apples and everything.”

“Miss-what?”

Shirayuki looks up, only now noticing Obi’s tone. Next to him, Ryuu lowers his utensils down and places them on either side of his plate. Obi immediately fixates on Miss’ form. His eyes dart down to her arms, searching for any scars, mind desperately rifling through memories of when they first met, whether she had been constantly wearing long sleeves. She’d worn leggings all this while hasn’t she? Obi resists the urge to bend down to look under the table.

“Oh,” Miss starts again, startling Obi’s gaze back to hers. “Oh! He didn’t get to me- I mean, he did. It’s a funny story actually- Zen ended up being the one eating said apple and getting poisoned. I’d only followed to get the antidote, but thankfully-” she glances at Ryuu, “Zen has had quite a resistance against most poisons, and he was fine.”

The sentence is met with tense silence. Ryuu seems to be staring at his plate as if the peas could conjure up a response. A part of Obi wants to shake the boy and tell him not to worry, to crack a joke to diffuse the air. The other part is blinded by red hot anger. The urge to retrieve his knives and march right up to Tanbarun to commit regicide thrums wildly in his temples.

Friend of the Crown? What on earth was Master thinking - working with someone like that. What on earth was he thinking? He’d spent every afternoon for a month, watching, not knowing, as the two - kidnapper and concubine-to-be - traipsed through the gardens of Tanbarun castle, sat next to each other for hours in the libraries. He’d carried the man on his fucking shoulders.

A touch to his hands and his eyes fly open. Miss’s hand is placed on his, on both of their hands. A small smile plays at her lips. Obi turns to Ryuu. The boy looks frustrated enough to cry.

Miss gives a small laugh. “Hey, it’s over alright? I didn’t bring it up to see you guys upset. It was just in passing. And look, we’re all here now. Royal delegates, serving the Wisteria Crown for the greater good of her people!”

Miss glances up at him, then flicks her gaze at Ryuu. Obi suddenly remembers how distraught Ryuu was when they returned to Clarines after their visit to Tanbarun, having only received news that Miss had been kidnapped. He also remembers the fear in his eyes when both he and Shirayuki succumbed to the then-Lyrias disease.

Obi sighs.

His hand reaches out to ruffle Ryuu’s hair. “Yeah,” Obi says, “Miss wouldn’t let something like that get her down. She’s strong, isn’t she, Little Ryuu?”

Ryuu stares up at him, unshed tears, his gaze darting between the both of them. Obi gives him his best reassuring smile; he knows Miss does too, even if he doesn’t look at her.

The boy sniffs. “Yeah- she is. Yeah.”

--------

Later when the plates are cleared and Ryuu has fallen asleep, exhausted from the additional emotional tirade he had earlier, Obi finds Miss by the window. She sits with her feet propped on the sill, arms wrapped around her knees, gaze focused on the distant horizon. The moon is out, deciding to grace Miss in all the splendour and glow her countenance deserves. If Miss thinks he looks good by the firelight, then it should be of no consequence for him to say-

“You look good in the moonlight, Miss,” Obi tells her, holding out a cup of tea and sitting down by her. Miss accepts the drink with a smile before looking out again. She is quiet - more so than usual. Obi sips his tea and waits.

She thumbs at the rim of the cup, looks down, then up at him. With a sheepish smile, she says, “I wonder if that’s something I might have heard from...men...if…”

She trails off, bringing the cup to her lips, the picture of grace and relief. Obi, on the other hand, is struck frozen for the second time this evening. That’s not what he meant. That’s not what he meant.

“Miss-”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Miss rushes out. “That wasn’t fair- it’s just- it’s my fault, I’d brought it up. I don’t mean to say that you’re like any of them- I don’t-”

Miss breathes, a shaky exhale. Obi watches as she struggles with something bigger than her, bigger than the both of them. It’s something more immense than even the distance between two countries, if he’s honest. His heart pulls toward her; the burden she has been carrying for almost two years - the shame, the fear - feelings he has no way of possibly understanding in this lifetime. He aches to reach out for her, but he’s not sure- in that moment, he rehashes every single touch between the two of them. Belatedly, he also finally understands why she’d run when Master kissed her.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, an assurance that falls flat in the space between them. Miss hums in response, forcing out a smile at him in apology. And- Obi doesn’t want that. How many smiles has she hidden behind? Sweet words that fall from her lips - not just to him, but to the very people who’d wanted to kidnap her, to turn her into an object of possession, to reduce her brilliant mind and her wonderful soul and the endlessly faith-bearing light in her eyes into a mere ornament to be gawked at, prodded until nothing is left. What has he been doing? What have they all been doing?

Obi places his mug down on the table before sidling up to the sill, back to the scenery, hands clasped in front of him. He notices Miss is looking at him curiously. Obi sets his gaze on the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the concrete. He doesn’t do this- doesn’t offer more than platitudes to soothe, doesn’t give others more than he should, more than he can spare another human being. But- he thinks of the broken smile on Miss’ face-

“I’d almost lost my life once,” Obi tells the ceiling. “Thought myself hot shit and went around accepting jobs that were clearly beyond my pay grade. Risked my life because I’d thought it a resource to be utilized when needed - as long as it puts bread on the table, money in my pocket.”

Obi turns down and gives Miss a wan smile. “And it’s funny, because that was me when I met you. You, with all your incredible courage, this red-haired girl who’d walked forward in face of an arrow shot at her. Who’d saved an entire colony in face of a disease no one knew. Who’d jumped off a tower. Who’d walked straight back into the place she’d been running from, head held high, into the den of the very person who’d deigned her an object.

Miss flinches at this. And Obi aches.

“And-” Obi pauses. Breathes. “So much of me just wants to ride down the South back to Tanbarun, go up to Raj’s door and wrangle his neck - him and Sakaki both. But beyond that, Miss-”

Obi stares at her, willing the words, “You are beyond what anyone says of you, beyond whatever value anyone places on you. You’re not some object that someone just picks up and calls their own. Because whatever that’s in there,” Obi jabs his thumb against his chest, “it’s not something that can be assigned by anyone else. You are your own person, Miss. You belong to you. And it’s this you who has toppled boundaries, created antidotes, you and your brilliant mind, and your wonderful soul and everything that is you.

“And-” Obi wrenches his gaze from her, hand coming up to push down on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine myself without you. I’ve changed, because of you. Myself and many other people you’ve met in Clarines - Little Ryuu, too. So please-

“Don’t think you are anything less than who you have made yourself to be. Don’t let anything cause that- not Raj, not Master, not Izana, not even me. You are yours, Miss.”

Obi says it quietly, a whisper taken by the wind into the meadows ahead of them. But he knows Miss hears it all the same. Obi lets the words take up the silence, let them take root. He hopes, desperately, that in between the awkward cadence and messy phrasing, Miss may find some comfort in them. An unspoken assurance that he is on her side - always have, and always will be.

Sneaking a glance at her, Obi is startled to find Miss’ head buried in her knees, shoulder shaking.

He jumps up and immediately frets. “M-miss, ahh- I didn’t mean to make you upset! I’m sorr-”

In an instant, Obi’s hand is enclosed between both of hers, warmth effusing through skin. A warbled laugh escapes her and she looks up from her knees up at him. Arrested by the tears in her eyes, Obi watches as she smiles that broken smile again - only this time, he knows it isn’t forced. She brings his hand close to her, and places the back of it against her forehead. Obi’s hand twitches, almost aching to cup her face and rub the tears trickling down - but clearly Miss is having a moment as she closes her eyes and breathes.

“Thank you, Obi,” Miss tells him, words entangling around his fingers. “It never gets easier- I don’t think it will, but-”

She takes his hand and cups it against her cheek anyway, collapsing all his walls. “You, being here. You remind me that I’m worth more.”

He can’t resist his fingers running across the apples of her cheekbones. He wipes away every tear that falls and bends down close, leaning his forehead against hers. There are no words to describe the monument of a woman before him now, and as he draws strength from this little form of comfort he’s offered, he only hopes she receives the same.

It will not be easy, probably never will, as Miss says.

But Obi will be damned if she ever faces it alone again.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #this has to be one of the most emotionally exhausting fics i’ve ever written #yixin’s fic

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vidalinav · 3 years ago

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post the 20k you have bestie!

Unfortunately, the way I write is that I write every single scene until it gets to the last few paragraphs and then I move on to another scene. So there's nothing complete to post. All of it "written" but none of it is finished.

But here's a snippet so you can want something you don't have yet.

The bookshelves are lined up like dominoes and they might fall if one tips over. Nesta never does finish the A’s.

“Do you think you’ll ever leave this place?” she asks, hoping for an answer.

Gwyn's smile is sure, “I will.”

Nesta can only count on one hand when she’s ever been sure of anything. Laying across Cassian’s body made her sure. Giving her powers away to Feyre took away the guilt. Screaming at the top of her lungs for Elain gave her purpose. Accepting the mate bond made her nauseous, but at the end it calmed her more than she could comprehend.

Gwyn clears her throat, setting the book back into its slot.

“You’re leaving,” she says, and it isn’t a question.

Nesta doesn’t know what to say. So Nesta moves to the railing, peers below to level seven where the House greets her in inky darkness.

Gwyn let’s out a breath and Nesta thinks of the desperate gasp of air someone takes when they’re drowning. “You knew this day was coming... Someday we all have to leave.”

“I’m not a priestess.”

“But you’re here for the same reason as us.”

And here’s another for posterity’s sake.

Nesta doesn’t know why she does it, but she slams the door when they make it back to the House of Wind. Cassian isn’t far behind, following her as he watches her kick off her shoes and head straight for the library.

She topples onto that armchair, taking up the entirety of the space—every space that can be covered by her small frame and her lilac-colored dress, because she doesn’t need him to take up room.

Nesta grabs the book she’d left on the table and opens it to a page—any page, she doesn’t care.

“You’re upset,” Cassian states as if he doesn’t already know.

“No,” she says, but they both know she’s lying.

“It's just a house, Nesta.”

“It’s my life, Cassian!” This time she roars it. She can’t keep it in. If the House has a heart, then her lungs have a chimney, and smoke is pouring out of mouth. Fire rages in her gut and he doesn’t know that he’s feeding the flames. He wants to burn her, wants the whole house to crumble to ash.

Cassian shuffles and somehow, she thinks of matches.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says as if she should care. As if she should cater to him because he’ll be gone for who knows how long this time.

“Go then.”

But Cassian doesn’t listen. Cassian pulls up a seat, and he places his hands gently where she grasps the book open. He lowers them to her lap, and Nesta wants him to touch her even now. Even when she feels the bitterness sweet on her tongue like a poison, she gladly swallows.

“When I get back, I’m going to take some time off and I want us to have some time together,” he says as he tucks her hair behind her pointed ear, “If you aren’t busy that it.”

She untucks it from his grasp. “You know I’m not.”

Cassian frowns at the words, and she knows what he’s thinking—it's what they’re all thinking. Nesta who has nothing. Nesta who does nothing. Nesta who feels nothing.

“I'm happy here,” she says, but it sounds too empty. Unconvincing. Like she’s trying too hard.

“I’m not good at knowing what you need.” She can feel his hand graze her hand with his thumb. “But I know something is... off.”

“I don’t like you leaving so often.”

“I have to. I’m a soldier, Nesta.”

I’m a soldier, too, she wants to say. But that is not true. Nesta doesn’t know what she is. She cannot be wife if her husband is not there. Not a mother because she has no children. Not a lady because she holds no court. Not a soldier if she’s not willing to lose her life or her soul.

She is a toppled deck of cards. Empty rooms waiting to be filled. A house she can’t leave.

What is she but wasted wishes on frivolous dreams?

“I’m worried every time I leave you,” he admits. It’s only a whisper of words, but she hears them clearly. Her eyes sting as she notices his are red.

“What for?” She asks cruelly, “That I’ll go to a bar and drown myself while you’re away. I’m allowed to. Remember? If I make it down the stairs, I might even deserve it.”

“You don’t have to live here.”

“Where else will I go?” Who else will I be?

“You can go anywhere.” You are magic made flesh.

Cassian shakes his head and takes her hand and Nesta wants to pull it away, but he clenches it tight in his own. “You get... quieter when I come back.”

You don't leave the house. The silent words are a question that Nesta will not claim are false or true. Say it with words if you want to know, she thinks. If she does not hear them, they do not exist.

“I’m fine.”

She can tell she's infuriating him. His nostrils flare as he looks as if he might sigh and thinks better of it. Get tired of me.

Tire of me, so that I might be free.

Nesta doesn’t know where that thought comes from, but she swallows it down. Her eyes stinging on their own. Nesta blinks it away, but the thought aches and it screams.

Would she be free? If Cassian no longer loved her, would she be free?

Say it, she demands, say it.

It's not bad bad. It's more hurt comfort. I think y'all are expecting like irate Nesta leaving completely. Saying screw everyone. But it's not. It's Nesta sticking up for herself in a sense, but to her own mind. To Cassian who is both great and sucks in this fic. (Just like canon). LOL. She's complicated and her love of the House is complicated. So I made this fic COMP-LIC-ATED.

#nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #vidalinav writes snippets #and never the whole fic #like EVER

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missinghan · 4 years ago

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caged in this lullaby ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : assassin au; cop au; action; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 7,2k.

❖ warning : explicit language, mentions of blood, arson & violence

❖ summary : felix ultimately lets go of all and allows himself to drown in the ashes of bitter tragedy to see what stays. the last thing he’d expect is a stranger with his greatest secret.

❖ dedicated to @blueprint-han : a continuation of aria of an assassin. song used — the lullaby by sophism, all credits to the owner.

prologue.

Fire cares not for the time it vanishes, only that it gives the world heat and light.

The entire building burns deeply in red, orange, and yellow. The cries of the neighborhood echoes into the night with sirens blaring in the background. Your frozen figure can only watch in terror as glowing embers dance and twirl, searing through the ground, ripping through the roof in despair. Tendrils of smoke are reaching into the sky desperately as if attempting to escape the blazing inferno below.

“Kid, I wanna have Chinese for dinner today.”

“Okay, and I should care because…?”

“Because I’m housing your ungrateful ass.”

No. No!

You drop the plastic bags in your hand, your muscles move before your mind can register what’s happening. The next thing you know, you’re racing to the heart of danger, utterly unfazed about the fact that fire is the most beautiful weapon of them all. Powerful. Destructive. Heartless. In mere moments, everything you love can be reduced into nothing but sheer ashes.

“But we always have Chinese!”

“Who’s paying again? Was it you? No, I don’t think so.”

Tears blur your vision and you elect to ignore every white noise buzzing at the back of your head. Each step you take is rather a negotiation than an order. Your limbs move like they never belonged to you. This agony has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at your stomach and searing inside your rib cage. Your body concedes to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into consideration. The entirety of your existence yearns to curl into something fetal, something primeval, and all while the pain burns and radiates.

“Officer! Stop her! She’s running into the fire!”

“Child! What are you doing?! It’s dangerous!”

But what you’re going through is nothing compared to his torment. He’s in there. Writhing and suffering alone. It must be so painful, so cold despite the enraged flames around him.

When a strong pair of arms slip around your body and every motion comes to a stop, there is a scream of the mouth and lungs, the sound of his name lingers on the tip of your tongue. Because a response is impossible, there comes a scream of the eyes and soul, the kind that bypasses the ears and speaks right to the heart.

You forget how to scream from that day on because you are either left with dead silence or punished with cruelty.

Because you couldn’t save him.

one.

The housekeeper wakes with a tight knot in her stomach. Her body topples the sheets over to reach for her nightstand, flickering on some source of light. Only silence accompanies the hard throbbing inside her chest until a loud thud comes from the hallway. Her body jolts up instantly, a hand over her chest as a soft string of melody saunters into the emptiness of the night.

“When the night is falling, and you have lost your way.”

Her quivering figure quickly exits her room with a flashlight. Her right hand clutches at her other one as an attempt to stop the shaking as adrenaline sears through her vessels. With dreaded steps, the housekeeper manages to reach the staircase, approaches the end of it, and proceeds toward the living room.

“When the rain is storming, and your world’s turned to gray.”

The voice smoothly slips through the chilling nightfall like an allure yet there’s nothing musical about it. The lullaby sometimes goes off-tune or comes out in broken waves as though whoever’s singing genuinely doesn’t care. They sound more dead than angry, more tired than irate, making her innards shift uneasily.

“When the wolves await outside, and you feel like you’ve nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, just remember. Remember when I said.”

And they stop. The housekeeper musters up every bit of courage left. A breath in. A breath out.

In the darkroom, even the ticking clock has a relaxed feeling, as if it’s merely a heart-beat at rest. She feels as though the air moves like cool water and the aroma of the house owner’s scented candles infuse her far more deeply than it did in the light of day. The hollow space is etched with charcoal, the fabrics are muted hues as if they too await dawn to ignite their colors for all to see. The moment she heaves a sigh of relief, her eyes make the mistake of averting to the ceiling, unveiling a scene of unimaginable terror.

Fear floods her system, it pumps and beats like it’s trying to escape. Her heart might as well explode right now because even her jaw is shaking non-stop. Her body urges her to either run fast, away from the horror laid out flat in front of her eyes, or to stay quiet and do the right thing, calling the police. But instead, she remains where she’s standing.

There is Mr. Yuuki, the house owner she’s been working for over three years, hung upon the crystal chandelier. His limp body lets its limbs stick out awkwardly, white eyes rolled to the back of his head as blood drips to the floor, forming a dark pool. The flashlight drops to the floor, and so does her trembling gaze. She gasps sharply when a thick smear of crimson is splattered across the wooden tiles, sinking into the cracks like poison.

Her adrenaline surges so fast she almost vomits, she can taste saliva thickening in her throat and beads of sweat trickling down on her forehead. At some point, she’ll have to move and risk the chance of getting herself killed.

Just then, a shadow comes into view and her legs go weak, letting her body collapse to the ground like a crooked puppet. Incoherent pleas pour from her lips as she screws her eyes shut, bracing herself for whatever comes next. “Please! I’ll do anything! I won’t call the police! Just don’t kill me, please! Please!”

Footsteps are advancing toward her, getting louder by the tick of the clock. They echo listlessly until the sound slowly fades away, only a soft response comes afterward.

“Greetings to his boss for me.”

two.

The mansion has been his home for decade upon decade, embraced by nature on the outskirts of the city, away from all the noises, the buzzing flow of time people have signed their souls up for. It is all concrete and tall glass windows that give overlooking views of the clear horizon, a chance to relax and take in the changing of the seasons from the comfort of an easy chair.

Yet coming from the hollow building is a strange sound, a melodic voice of pain and sorrow, of heartache and loss. The tune is soft, like grass on a summer day, or the tenderness in the air in which only spring possesses. It can fill one with warmth while weaving a sad tale of indescribable, rather forgotten memories.

“Darling, close your weary eyes. Everything will be fine.”

“Let the breeze wipe away your tears. There is no need to cry.”

He’s seated at the edge with his back straight, he no longer feels dwarfed by the grand piano as he used to as a kid. His fingers are limber as they glide on ivory first and ebony after, his neck slightly bent down, tousling his hair to the front while his eyes flutter shut in serene.

“You can lay down. No one will hurt you.”

The music stand lies empty, has been so for years. He only ever reads the notes within his mind because he goes as far as playing the instrument to this day for this peculiar lullaby. Slowly, the music seems to fill the room to the brim, then spills out through doors and windows and the cracks in the walls, while at the source trembling fingers dance sweetly on.

He knows that he needs to calm down.

“Let your fears be carried by the streams. The twilight gleam watches over you.”

In his head, he reads through the music scrupulously as though he’s practicing during the old, innocent days, beat by beat, bar by bar, note by note. His fingers know precisely where to go and how each key reacts when he applies the same, adequate amount of pressure. It’s as though he can make the hammer hit each string in a way to resonate with the most beautiful of sounds.

The thought of playing as a kid eases the spike in his heartbeat and clears his mind. He can still vividly remember the first time he got lifted onto the bench on his sixth birthday, his tiny legs dangled over the edge and his figure completely overwhelmed by the mammoth-sized instrument. His arms could barely span the length of the keyboard, his feet could only do so much as graze the pedal below.

“And when the morning arises…”

He recalls the mounts of sheets cluttering his father’s old bookshelves in such ways that he himself can’t remember their initial color. He recalls the tall figure seating beside him each time, guiding his hands across the keys, ones that were unfamiliar to music and the swell it can bring to one’s chest. He recalls those starry eyes staring down at him, the outburst of laughter, and the cat-like smile that brings love and harmony to his fragile soul.

“I shall be by your side…”

Yet he never recalls a proper goodbye, only tears.

“Minho.”

The melody pauses sharply, his body stiffens at the name. Minho isn’t here.

“Minho, is that you?” Minho isn’t here, a voice inside him snaps.

A deep breath. He elects to ignore the strings that are bound to break inside his chest before pushing himself off the wooden bench. With a swift turn, he sees Mrs. Lee standing by the door with her hair in her face, her soulless eyes lighting up once they graze the sight of him. “Minho, my sweet child. You’ve come home. You’ve finally come home!” Her voice echoes in joy, a hand clamped over her mouth as her eyes brim with tears.

Minho isn’t here! His heart yells aloud, yet his mind can’t comply.

He doesn’t know what’s urging him to approach her, to let her lean on him. Perhaps, it’s guilt. Or the yearning for the warmth of a mother who abandoned him long ago. “Yes, mother, I’m home,” he sighs softly when she clutches at his shirt. “I’m never going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here.”

Hurried footsteps flood the hallway rapidly until the housekeeper barges through the door, simply breaking the agonizing silence. “Good gracious, Mrs. Lee! Goodness, she must have forgotten about her sleeping pills again.” She then hastily rushes to his side, supporting Mrs. Lee by her waist while bowing continuously. “Young Master, please, allow me.”

“It’s alright, you’ve done enough,” he waves his hands with a small smile. “I’ll tuck her back to bed, today is my day off anyway. You may go home and rest now.”

He can’t forget how much lighter Mrs. Lee has gotten, how paler her face has been. He’s afraid that one wrong movement and he might send her frail body flying to the floor. Only when she’s fully covered by her blanket, the stars come out to play and the evening takes on the aroma of a breezy night. He likes this, the softness, the quietness of the sense of resting. Moonlight is streaming through the windows yet his mind, clouded with grey, throbs uncontrollably when he realizes the sudden pang inside his chest.

It’s been fifteen years…

His phone rings. “Sergeant Lee Felix, Seoul P.D,” he keeps his voice from shaking. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide. “I’ll be there.”

And I still couldn’t do anything for you.

three.

Light fog seeps into the depthless night when Felix exits his car, throwing on his blazer in a hurry as he staggers toward a water fountain. There’s barely any vehicles operating at this hour, leaving the streets chilling and empty. He quickly checks his watch one last time. One AM on the dot. Another sleepless night.

“Lix! Over here!”

His blank expression breaks into a grin when two familiar faces come into view. “Changbin? Hyunjin? You both got called in too?”

“Yeah, can’t believe the Chief had the audacity to interrupt my beauty sleep for a simple homicide,” the taller officer, Hyunjin, has his face contorted in faint annoyance, brushing through his long locks of hair with his gloved hand.

“The night duty squad is handling another case on the other side of the city. We know the neighborhood like the back of our hands,” Changbin gives him a hard smack on the chest, only to wince quietly later to himself. Ugh, I’m so out of shape. “If anything, we have the best chance to catch up to the culprit.”

Hyunjin protests with a forced smile, “Shut up, Lieutenant, I know that.”

“Alright, let’s review,” Felix hops into the conversation, clasping his hands together in feigned excitement. “Someone dialed 911 with a murder case on the line. The culprit, escaped or not, we’re still uncertain of. But they did leave behind a witness.”

His coworkers nod simultaneously as he recaps what Seungmin told him on the phone earlier and the three of them find themselves standing right before the provided address. The house seems oddly quiet for someone getting murdered. “Right, chances are they’re still in there. We’d better-”

The front door comes flying open. A woman dressed in her nightgown collapses to the ground instantly, fear echoing through the rumble of her voice. “Help! P-Please! Mr. Yuuki! He-He’s dying! Please, I beg you! Save him!” With her face buried in her hands, a wave of laughter bubbles up her windpipe, shaking her core tremendously. “They did it again! They’ve claimed another victim!”

Changbin is the first one to step up, helping the housekeeper to her feet. “Miss, please try your best to stay calm. Everything is alright now, we’re here because you did the right thing of calling us. You’re safe with us,” he gently supports her by the shoulders, his voice soft but serious. “If it’s okay for me to ask, what exactly happened to Mr. Yuuki? Is there anyone else inside?”

The housekeeper seems to still be shaken. Tears are threatening to fall but she bites them back, shaking her head to answer the second question first. “N-No, Mr. Yuuki has a son but he’s currently studying in Europe so I’m the only one other than…”

Her voice trails off, the pools of tears in her eyes are clouded with those moments of horror she wishes she could erase forever. “It was horrible! I-I was having trouble sleeping before a strange sound woke me up completely. Someone was singing. Th-The culprit was singing. And there was s-so much blood. Mr. Yuuki was hung upon the chandelier when I went downstairs! So-So much blood. I didn’t know how- or why- I- I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Miss, please try to stay calm. I won’t ask you any more questions, I am not here to interrogate you,” Changbin exhales deeply, looking over at his underlings. “Hyunjin, go check up on Mr. Yuuki. Felix, look for the culprit. I’ll call Seungmin for more back-ups.”

The two officers comply, “Roger that.”

Entering the house, Felix is bathed in a whirlwind of chilling silence and utter darkness. The smell of blood makes something inside him twitch, prompting him to look over at his friend. “I’ll go upstairs, you stay down here and handle the body until Jisung or Seungmin comes.”

The Sergeant advances up the long flight of stairs with his gun clutched between his hands. Almost immediately, he takes notice in the stream of moonlight illuminating the end of the hallway and rushes toward the wide-opened door. His figure barges into the room with caution and is met with the night breeze kissing his face and white curtains fluttering gently.

Just then, a loud bang is heard in the distance.

Felix feels himself tense up, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of finding- there! On the rooftop from across the streets.

In a heartbeat, he picks up his transceiver and speaks, “I have eyes on the suspect. Pursuing on foot.” With his feet on the window frame and his arms on the tiles of the roof, he manages to lift himself while his muscles contract in pain. Facing forward, Felix begins to sprint.

The wind screams into his ears, his feet flying over steel and leaves. His shoes pound heavily across the hard surface, causing what’s remaining of the downpour this morning to slash up his legs. From one rooftop to another, his calves burn tremendously yet he keeps darting past houses, buildings, and trees with his eyes glued onto the shadow before his eyes.

Adrenaline courses throughout his system; he can feel his whole body working, his leg muscles running warm, a thin layer of sweat covers his nape. The cold air keeps biting at his blood and lungs but he keeps his breaths as steady as he can, pushing harder and going faster. For a split moment, his foot slips when his mind is frantic with cloudy thoughts. How is it possible for one to move this fast?

The hooded figure a few feet ahead of him speaks volumes in the silence; they’re running. They’re running like the devil himself is in pursuit. Only it’s worse because the felon is flesh and blood and means to send people straight to hell just the same way. His breathing quickens at the thought process, trying to appease his need for oxygen.

Several thuds of footfalls later, he finally decreases the proximity although fresh air now shocks his lungs, making him want to spurt and pass out in exhaustion. His body trembles from the consistent pace he’s forced himself into, yet his hands lift the firearm swiftly, his gaze shaking with the pounding inside his chest.

It only takes so much strength to pull the trigger. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. Felix stops himself completely, regains his composure, and raises his gun once again. He elects to ignore the blood roaring in his ears, the throbbing of his anxious heart, and squeezes the trigger.

The bullet cuts through air and comes flying toward the wanted figure, missing them by a strand of hair. His face contorts in anger as he mumbles out a curse word. He missed. He shouldn’t have. He can’t miss. Missing isn’t an option.

Felix pumps his legs, gaining momentum with each push. But it feels gut-wrenching all of a sudden after a few thrusts forward—his body is giving in. He watches the culprit quicken their pace until their steps turn into leaps. Just a few more feet and they’ll jump the other side of the neighborhood.

He won’t make it in time.

Three. Two. One. The figure gathers enough strength and takes one final leap into the night. His heart immediately drops to the pit of his stomach, every movement comes to a full stop like the sudden stretch of silence within his rib cage.

“Shit!” He perks up at the scream and glass shattering. “Ow! Ah! Ouch! Ugh…” And...dogs barking?

“Oh come on!”

four.

His feet slip outwards on the wet autumn leaves as he rounds the corner, his breaths coming out in spurts, hot and nervous as he inhales deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shoots ankle to knee, ankle to knee. Perhaps jumping off someone’s rooftop in a time crunch wasn’t the smartest decision.

“Give me a break. Do you have any idea how much time it took me to outrun those dogs?”

“I won’t let you slip away. It’s best for either party if you cooperate. Don’t do anything foolish and mercy might be an option,” Felix clicks a bullet into the chamber, gaze falling onto the hooded figure.

In the dim light that oozes through a narrow gap lies the alleyway. It's the underworld of any town: gloomy and unpleasant. Darkness is lurking in every corner inside the labyrinth of narrow passages and dead ends. Litter is dumped on the street and birds nest amongst the sprawling rot. Moonlight lights up the pathway for him, making it easier to back the felon up into the corner.

“One more step, officer, I dare you.” A warning like poison pours into his ears.

Although something seems different this time. They sound more frantic. Is there something that’s bothering them? “You just committed murder, you filthy scumbag. One more step, I dare you.”

“Oh, you’re so unoriginal,” they clutch their right arm and chuckle lightly. Felix squints his eyes with the limited source of light; inevitably, they go wide upon seeing crimson dripping to the ground. But as the second ticks by, less and less blood pour from the wound as though the muscles and skin are simultaneously closing up the seams.

What the hell am I looking at?

A smirk. “Don’t mind if I do.”

What are they... Wait, shit-

At the kind of speed he never thought humans could acquire, the hooded figure approaches him in what seems like seconds. The sudden whiplash blows the hood back and allows them to bathe in the moonlight raw.

“Say, what are you going to do with a filthy scumbag like me again?” Something sharp and shiny comes into contact with the warmth of his flesh but he can’t bring himself to register or counter it.

Your features flash before his eyes, glowing from within, leaving him in complete awe. Although you’re talking nothing but venom, pain is evident in the crease of your lovely brows and the way your lips are pressed into a straight line. Your eyes are deep pools of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. There’s something so damn familiar about you. Felix almost finds himself resonating within your agony. He almost gasps.

In this growing light, your dark silhouette becomes full colors.

But why aren’t you moving? He’s completely open like this.

“You!” Your voice suddenly trembles and so do your pupils. “You-You’re-”

Snapping back to his senses, Felix leaves no time for you to finish your sentence and grabs your armed limb with one hand while striking a harsh blow at your stomach with the other. You let out a hushed wince at the impact, falling to the cement ground along with the blade in your palm. He swiftly flips you over, cuffs your hands, and puts his gun at the back of your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Oh, spare me, Robin,” you involuntarily snort. “I’ll be gone before you can finish reading my rights.”

He nearly sneers, “Move an inch and I’ll put a bullet through your head. Your hands are cuffed, don’t you try to make your face worse than it already is.”

“I’m an Ace, darling. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me.”

His grip on the gun grows a fraction tighter, his heart starts beating faster at the name. “You work for the House of Cards?” The name rolls off his tongue bitterly, leaving a lick of fury consuming the rational side of his brain.

House of Cards—thieves, terrorists, assassins, dealers—the largest criminal organization that has been the dread of the country for decades. Just like the playing cards, the organization consists of four main groups: Diamonds, Clubs, Hearts, and Spades. The Kings and Queens lead these groups for they’re either new or incompetent for the higher ranks. The Jacks come second in commanding and are often advisors while the Jokers remain anonymous to all as messengers. The four Aces are the most trusted by the chairman and only take orders from him themselves.

“I do,” you reply flatly, a sigh going unnoticed. “Shouldn’t you be fleeing by now upon receiving this information?”

“A murder. A gunshot right across the street. A living witness,” he grits with a timid smile. “All that and you call yourself an Ace? We’ve encountered worse than amateurs like you. You’ll be rotting behind the bars before you know it.”

“I like your optimism, officer. Genuinely, it's a blessing for you to bring us light in this time of darkness,” you turn sideways, smirk, and make sure that he sees it. “Ignorance is truly bliss sometimes.”

Something inside him snaps, water overflows the cup and he instantly grabs you by your head, burying it further into dust and cement. “I don’t know who you think you are. But you clearly don’t know what I’m capable of and the fact that I will stop at nothing to bring your boss down. I will make him face justice as you’re hearing it from the news in prison. I’ve promised. I’ve sworn.”

“Oh?” You dare to glance at him again. “I never knew cops detested my boss so much. Or is it just you? Is your hatred personal? You’ve broken a protocol from the get-go, haven’t you? Is it the reason why you even became an officer in the first place?”

Shit, Felix curses inwardly as your words stab him in the chest, twisting the tip of the blade deeper and deeper as though you’re not allowing him to breathe properly. His hands start shaking; the vibration against your nape makes you exhale, drawing yet another grin on your lips. “Tell me, who did they kill?”

To hell would he ever tell you.

“A family member?” Focus.

“Your loved one?” Cover your ears.

“Or a close friend, perhaps?” One wrong move.

His shaking freezes midway, his voice comes out monotonous. “Shut up.” And you’ll die.

“Bingo,” you feign excitement before clearing your throat. “Also, I wouldn’t pull the trigger if I were you. Because I am your best asset to get to my boss. You and I aren’t so different, trust me. After all, we both want his head.”

He yelps in surprise when you twist your back slightly, swinging your arm and elbowing his jaw while disarming him simultaneously. With a swing of your leg, he loses his balance on the knees and lands harshly on his back.

With your knife pointed at his neck, your orbs bore onto his like you’re about to set him on fire. He gulps nervously, “What? How did you?”

“Listen up, I have a deal for you.”

You were injured, how could you risk tearing your wound up like that? His chest rises then falls inconsistently, eyes darting to your forearm. It’s no longer bleeding. There’s no way!

“...what are you?”

“Call me what you want. Murderer. Killer. An assassin. A monster.”

Felix squirms under your grip, spatting in aggression, “If so, you’re daydreaming if you have the audacity to believe that I will get my hands bloodied with you.”

“I’m not telling you to pick a side, officer. I’m just trying to say that I know something you don’t and you know something I don’t. If we pool our information we might actually have a good shot at capturing the bastard. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me. But if you pretend like our encounter never happens, you’ve got yourself a new partner.”

“What feud do you have with your boss so bad that you’re willing to work with a police officer like me?”

“I never considered him as my boss. I never considered the organization as a place that I belonged to. No one knows who the leader is. I’ve been tracking him down for years already.”

“...what? That’s-“

“They killed someone very important to me, too.”

five.

Chan murmurs tiredly at the knock on his door, “Who’s there?”

“Sergeant Lee’s present to report on the assassin from last night, Chief.”

“Come in.”

Chan fixes his collar as Felix closes the door shut, strides straight into his office, and collapses on the nearest armchair. Usually, he’d be complaining about the lack of sunlight in the Chief’s working space. Because like any other civil office, there are enough windows for one not to choke to death but Chan has made a habit of keeping them close. Now, he decides to open the blinds and lets the light in completely, prompting Felix to throw an arm over his eyes dramatically.

“Shut it. The lights are killing me,” he groans aloud, forehead creasing in frustration. Focus.

Chan says pointedly, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms, “But you look like shit.”

“Of course I look like shit. You should try chasing down an Ace yourself some time. Really, it’s been a pleasant distraction from my unfinished paperwork and impotent stress,” the junior officer mumbles, dropping his arm and staring blankly at the space ahead.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Chan sighs, sitting back. “It just makes sense, you know. Yuuki and his neighbor were moles the Yakuza planted in that filthy organization. No wonder their leader had to send one of the four Aces to finish him off.”

Felix closes his eyes for a moment, resting his arms on his knees, the muscles are still aching from last night’s incident. His fingers unconsciously reach for his bare neck, tracing the shallow cut as goosebumps bubble upon his skin. Focus. “Enough being mopey,” Chan grins and slaps something cold against his cheek, causing his friend to jolt up in surprise. “Aren’t you here to report?”

He flashes Felix a cheeky smile when the younger clenches the cold towel on his face in annoyance. Nonetheless, there’s a twinge of faint nostalgia and affection lighting up inside his stomach—the kind that comes from long-time friends. “Alright, I gotta come back to my desk before Changbin goes off about my productivity anyway.”

“Good, elaborate,” Chan whips out a pen with his crusty notebook, eyes narrowing and turning serious.

“The Ace escaped,” Felix starts, “After checking in with Yuuki’s housekeeper, Hyunjin and I went inside the house. He handled the body while I was heading upstairs. I pursued them as soon as I heard the gunshot from across the streets. I only managed to wound them from afar, but it’s not enough to slow them down. They were too fast so I was outpaced at the end.”

The Chief raises a dark brow, eyeing the cut on his throat, “I can see that you’re injured, too. Did they shoot you? Seungmin only found a semi-auto pistol next to the second victim.”

“No… I did this to myself during the chase,” Felix touches his wound again, gulping, “They only carried a knife, of all the things.” Don’t be obvious. You can’t risk getting them to suspect you.

“You couldn’t get close enough to see if we’re dealing with a man or a woman, right?” Chan then casts a meaningful look at the mountain of unfiled paperwork upon his desk, feigning interest in the light reading that awaits him for the rest of the day.

“Unfortunately, no. They have a good physique, clearly well-trained and more skilled than the little fries we’d managed to throw behind the bars,” Felix shakes his head, eventually pushing himself off the black armchair. “What about the housekeeper? According to what I’m able to recall, she did, in fact, see the Ace.”

Chan wants to scream at the mention, fingers massaging his temples. “That woman is far too traumatized to even speak a word right now. She’s been giving Seungmin headaches all morning.”

“Yeah, about that...sorry, I couldn’t be more helpful,” Felix bites his lips as he can feel his own lies suffocating the space around him, filling his lungs with water and squeezing at his windpipe. He needs to get the fuck out of here.

The Chief chuckles lightly and waves his hands, “No, no, we’re all kinda impressed, actually. No one has ever been able to propose a mere chase with them before. It’s already a miracle that you came back alive.”

His heart instantly sinks, his fists curl up unconsciously. Felix could have died. He should have died last night. But you hesitated. Why? Why would you spare him? And why were you looking at him like that? “Hey.” A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of it. “Don’t worry about it. You should take a day off today. You look unwell.”

“But-”

A figure lands soundlessly on Chan’s balcony, swiftly turning around to face Felix.

His brain stutters for a moment and his eyes take in more light than they should, still, they widen when shock riddles his senses. Every part of his body tries to catch up and his thoughts go on a dreadfully long pause. It’s you. Standing in broad daylight without anything to cover up. Distanced a few feet from his grasp.

One shout and you’ll be cuffed in mere moments. It’d be insulting if a pair of handcuffs and your scrawny little ass could stop me. His precinct has been desperate, ramming into one dead-end after another for a single lead to House of Cards.

Felix can turn you in right here. Right now. If you brought me back to headquarters now, I’d escape either way and you’d get nothing from me.

“That is an order, Sergeant,” Chan grins, not noticing how pale his friend has gotten in such mere moments. “You’ll collapse the moment you head out for patrol, trust me.”

“No, Chan! You don’t understand, I-”

“Do it,” you mouth, sealing his lips instantly.

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night. I’ll take a nap in the infirmary.” You slap on a devilish smile at his words, wiggling your phone high enough for him to see.

As soon as Felix closes the door behind him, the spike in his heartbeat finally falls with the stiff smile on his face, his breaths short and uneven. The urge to punch something is cut short when his phone vibrates timely. A message from an unknown number: “Ten PM. The waterfall in Yellow Woods. You’ve got one chance.”

six.

Felix has underestimated the cold since nightfall. His muscles ache and shiver all at the same time, momentarily yelling at him to turn around to head back to the comfort of his family’s mansion. Yet the dark Yellow Woods seems to silence time and space, only leaving him with the urge to march forward.

He lied to Chan about your encounter, lied to Changbin so he wouldn’t have to go on his night shift, lied to Hyunjin that he’d go home and rest like his friend always told him to. Humans have been taught not to lie but deception still exists and one cannot escape its grasp. Even Felix never knew there would be a day where he’d become this desperate. Just thinking about it makes him want to vomit, utterly disgusted.

Clutching his gun tightly, he begins walking faster into the light fog.

“My my, look who it is.” His frantic steps come to a halt, his head snapping back immediately. “Someone was so hellbent on giving me a headshot the last time we met. What changed?”

Felix raises a brow in confusion. “What the- Didn’t you ask me to meet up at the waterfall?”

“The waterfall is the other way, you fool,” you jerk your head back, clearly unimpressed.

“Cut me some slack, my phone was dead! Wait, how did you- were you stalking me?!”

You can’t help but stifle a chuckle; his face is priceless. “Tracking sounds more appropriate, don’t you think?”

“You-”

“You’d better pick up the pace if you want to survive this little partnership of ours, officer.”

Eventually, he complies and stumbles through the woods with you, his feet feeling like they’re being dragged across cement. During the day, Yellow Woods is alight with the serenity one yearns for at their lowest, birds chirping and leaves rustling to one united song of Mother Nature. In contrast, it is now hollow, colorless, almost empty to a sense with all this darkness around him.

“I never said that we had a deal,” Felix says while trailing after you, cautious not to trip over any branches.

You turn around for a meager moment, giving him that sly grin of yours. “Suppose that you do, we need a contract. Some simple protocols between comrades. What do you expect from me? Keep it simple. Excessive details bore the shit out of me.”

“First, no with-holding information. If you know something, I need to know it and vice versa. Second, no personal questions. I don’t want you in my life nor do I want me getting my hands dirty with you.”

You hum in response, “Hmm, short and sweet. But I have my own as well.”

He gulps, “Go on.”

“I don’t work with dogs. I don’t care if it’s licensed as emotional support. I won’t hesitate to shoot if you even let one do so much as breathe in the same room as me.”

“...that makes way too much sense.” So that explains why-

“What about you? Afraid of the dark?”

“I wasn’t born this morning.”

To the East lies the waterfall you’ve mentioned this morning, which you lead him down a dirt road and right behind it, straight into a small cave. There are two paths diverged that catch him by surprise but there’s nothing he can do other than taking the left side, hastily following the source of light from your phone. Your final destination unveils before his eyes as a small, underground lair.

Felix suddenly feels cold for no reason. “How do you even sleep?” He scrunches his nose while rubbing his hands together.

“I don’t,” you say without looking at him, exhaling and shrugging off your coat. “Make yourself at home. I’ll go heat up some tea before you freeze to death.”

Not knowing what to do with himself, his eyes roll around the seemingly confined but commodious space in curiosity. Your working desk is as big as the one in the conference back at headquarters, mounted with an overwhelming amount of files. To the right, the wall is lined with weapons, target boards, and rag dolls; you seem to prefer blades over firearms. The whole place is lighted up with candles all around, giving it that eerie feeling like something straight out of an old movie.

Still, not bad.

His careless feet drag him across the concrete, subconsciously reaching out for the files on your desk. He can’t fight the urge, he can’t resist it. Before his mind can register and his conscience can yell at him, the plastic binder is already yanked open. Experiment #180108–Y/N, it reads. “What the hell… Enhanced strength and agility… Instant self-healing… Metamorphosis? Is this what they’ve been doing under our noses all this time?”

“No, only my parents.” Your voice snaps him out of it, prompting him to drop the files. “Your office was giving me anxiety, by the way. Thank god for home sweet home.”

“What the hell were you doing in my-“ A dagger flies past his head, missing him by a strand of hair and ending up embedding itself on the bull’s eye of a nearby target. “Daughter of a bastard,” he breathes out in disbelief, eyes boring holes on you. “What kind of tea was that?!”

“Lee Felix. Only son of the Prime Minister. Ranked Sergeant at the eighth precinct, Seoul P.D. The precious heir to one of the five great families.” Words leave you. You only stare into those bright, brown eyes burning with anger, his heart almost falling silent. “Gosh, you’ve got quite the profile. Shouldn’t you be worried about the image of your family instead of shaking hands with the devil like this?”

Felix clenches his jaw, everything is slow and warbled as he looks down, shaking violently. “And yet you still thought I’d be crazy enough to make a deal with an Ace?”

“You’re not crazy,” you sigh, grinning internally. “Just extremely desperate-“

“I am not desperate!” A lie spats out, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste. “I have no reason to be.” Focus.

A mocking shrug. “Right, you’re not desperate. You just followed me all the way here without taking out your gun or rambling on with your boring death threats. Like a little, perfect pet. Exactly what I needed.”

“Death threats don’t work on monsters,” he croaks, fists balled and eyes wide. Even so, the way you gaze darken still goes unnoticed. “I’ve seen your kind kill anyone without hesitation. Getting blood on your hands without even blinking. You, all of you, aren’t humans anymore. You’re all a complete write-off of a species.”

Felix lifts his head, pupils trembling at the sight in front of him. For a moment there, you look sad and broken. Raw, naked, and vulnerable like the rest of humanity. It makes him ponder, how can humans be so weak yet so cruel at the same time?

“...why? Why are you doing this?” he inquires shakily, head racing with a thousand thoughts. “I don’t understand. Actually, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about you.” No! Focus, you idiot!

“You don’t have to.” Finally, you speak after the long dread of silence, combing a hand through your hair tiredly. “You know. It’s funny how the same thing happened to us. And now look at where we ended up individually.”

His brain pauses and chokes up. “What are you saying?” Cover your ears. Do not be misled!

You look away, simply knowing that you won’t be able to hold it in if you’re making eye contact. “I know you’re not the rightful heir of the Lees. You weren’t part of the bloodline in the first place. You’re simply a replacement. A second option. Nothing but an afterthought-“

“No! Shut up! Just shut u-“ Cover your ears. Do not trust anyone!

“—the real heir supposedly went missing during the Eiji Station tragedy where my organization ordered a bombing fifteen years ago. It’s been over a decade and they’ve already concluded his death even though a body was never found. Am I right, officer?”

Choose the wrong path.

Felix buries his face into the palms of his hands as streaks of silvery tears burn his cheek. His exhausted shoulders shake in each rake of emotion through his frame, the fire of anger and despair boils past the seams he can no longer hold together. With his knees weak, he can only sob and drops down on his knees, screaming with all his might.

And you’ll die.

But even you, the devil itself, can’t save the man who’s drowning himself in his own tears of hell.

“Welcome to the team. The name is Y/N,” you offer him a hand, blankly eyeing his quivering figure. He finally picks himself up with difficulties, eyes glowing with tears and fury. After a split moment of hesitation, his hand reaches for yours, firmly clasped and sealing your deal.

Because he’s falling down the same bottomless abyss with you.

Because you both couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Minho.

epilogue.

__ fifteen years ago

“Hey, Minho, you’re really good at playing the piano. Are you gonna be a musician?”

“Hmm, I do like music. But I’d rather become a police officer.

“Why? Didn’t you say that you like music?”

“I’ll become anything for my mother.”

“Then, I’ll be a doctor when I grow up! And we can save people together.”

“Okay. It’s a promise, Lix.”

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keouil · 3 years ago

Text

how you forget to be human

“so is she like,” scott hesitates. “cap’s first lady or something?” rated t. 2k+. steve/nat. also on ao3 / twitter / cc

Scott hasn’t been with the team for a long time, but he thinks he at least has enough working knowledge of how everyone operates.

The Winter Soldier—Bucky to Steve, James to anyone who dared—quite frankly still scares the living shit out of him, and that’s Magneto on a good day. It didn’t take much to deduce he seemed wholly uncomfortable in his own skin, his jaw coiled perpetually tight and the rigid set of his shoulders always in alert. It was uneasy just being around him, his discomfort bleeding over others and charging the air around his space with its own brand of disquieting; but always, without fail, Steve cushioned whatever apprehension anyone aimed toward his bestfriend.

Most of it came from Sam, and almost always in good nature as if to ease the brainwashed supersoldier into some semblance of normality; and Scott would fear for Sam’s life every time he opened his mouth, were it not for the also very obvious fact the Falcon held his own and didn’t appreciate handouts and the three of them seemed to be getting along uniquely (if not a little oddly) well enough.

The witch was a small problem, however. Simply for the fact she was a witch and Scott is wary because history taught him they burned all of them down in Salem.

He sees her wiggling those voodoo fingers around sometimes, almost unconsciously, and feels the hairs on his arms rise with every flick of her wrist. The energy around her isn’t suffocating the same way Bucky’s is. It was more a subtle nervous tingling; like she herself was afraid of the gravity of her own powers she had yet to have complete reigns on. Scott is oddly humbled by the fact and even empathises with her a little.

Steve keeps an eye on her and doesn’t bother hiding it, but it’s the archer who gets past her when it really counts. Clint Barton, who, surprisingly is the one he’s on the most similar wavelength with out of all of them: family man and all.

Clint Barton whose also friends with Natasha Romanoff.

Hawkeye who has simultaneously the most complex and impossibly simple relationship with Black Widow.

“I swear to god if you ring me up next time you’re out of goddamn Fruit Loops,” Natasha warns, digging through one of the five grocery bags on the kitchen island. She fishes for a few more seconds, before popping a colourful cartoon box out from under the bag and tossing it to Barton. “I’m bringing you in for real.”

Clint scoffs, placing the carton on the top shelf. “How many times have I heard that before?”

“Apparently not enough,” Natasha glares at him from her peripheral, scooping out Nutella and a pack of store-bought pryanik to lay on the table. Russian biscuits. For Wanda. “If I’m still stopping by an abandoned boarding house in the slums of Siberia every other week. Y’all grown men can’t do grocery shopping by yourselves?”

Scott blinks from his spot by one of the stools.

Of all the things he expected to wake up to in hiding from 117 countries from possible charges of aiding and abetting a war criminal, Black Widow casually arranging and organising their weekly rationale was nowhere near the top of the list. She did this all the while supposedly fighting for the other team.

This one needs no introduction.

Scott knows who Black Widow is. Scott knows Captain America, after all.

You don’t grow up in the land of the free without knowing his legacy even in minute passing. The man has been plastered on nearly every surface of the continent since the dawn of America. Scott has seen the news footages, read the official accounts, willingly devoured every single documentary or biopic helmed in honour of their nation’s greatest hero: he knows, down to the bone, the star-spangled man with a plan.

A forgotten and revered and rebirthed war hero.

How he came to know of her, however, is an entirely different story: because come the news footages, zoom in close enough you’ll see the infamous shield covering a much smaller and daintier figure; go over the accounts with a fine-toothed comb, they speak of a levelled dynamic between a commanding officer and a shadow leader; and, lest history not forget, the documentaries: Peggy, because behind every great man is a woman, Natasha.

“Now why would we do that if we got you?” Sam. He comes up from behind the hallway to playfully grin at Natasha before enveloping her in a small hug. She returns it easily.

Scott braces himself for what’s to come, because they came in a pair, and so: “Nat,” Steven Grant Rogers, in the flesh himself, pokes his head in not a moment later with a barely indisputable frown on his face. “You came here again?”

Natasha clicks her tongue at him. “Someone had to make sure you boys were fed.”

“That’s not— We can—” Steve stutters as he strides in, and Scott has to very carefully school his features into nonchalance because Captain America does not stammer. He sighs deeply before settling next to her, nudging her with his hip. “Tony atleast know you're here?”

Natasha gives him a pointed look. “Who do you think paid for all this?”

Scott watches their silhouettes grow smaller and smaller by the distance.

Even from afar, he can make out Steve’s absolute hulk of a frame: back impossibly straight in a way that bespoke authenticity, years of rigid military training drilled into his bones; only he seemed to mellow, somehow and very slightly, the fine lines of his shoulders angled in the direction of her voice. And Natasha: brave and lithe, nearly a head shorter and so much more smaller, facing forward in full confidence and a leisurely stride in her steps.

Siberia has a biting night air that seeps deep into the bone. But it’s also comforting somehow; all of them knowing, in one way or another, what it was like to be iced out from society.

They were all huddled by the makeshift campfire Barton fashioned out of some wooden logs and a matchstick. Sam, in charge of roasting marshmallows, was gently coaxing Bucky into eating one and promising him it’s not poisoned. Wanda was handing out steaming cups of hot chocolate brewed from the pack Natasha brought in a few hours ago, a staple in her weekly grocery runs because apparently the kid witch liked sweets.

Scott gingerly takes a sip from his mug, some of the warmth seeping into liquid courage he was building up for weeks now. He takes a deep breath before plunging himself into the waves.

“I can’t be the only one worried that the enemy has infiltrated our territory, right?”

To their credit, neither of them kill him on sight.

Wanda pauses in levitating one of the wooden logs above the hearth, a single bark of kindling hovering uncertainly over the air. Bucky has an unreadable expression on his face when he regards him. A look passes between Sam and Clint, betraying nothing of their inner thoughts at his outburst.

The fire is nice and toasty, but the air is stifling now and Scott has never felt more the outsider than at that very moment.

Until Sam breaks into a hearty laugh. “Widow?” he shakes his head amusedly. “No, man, Steve and Nat are tight. They’re past stuff like that.”

Scott furrows his eyebrows in concern. “But isn’t she—”

“On Tony’s side?” Clint quips, poking at one of the planks. Wanda finally drops the floating bark, and Scott doesn’t miss the flash of something in her eyes when she glances at him from the other side of the fire. He thinks he saw a spark of red for a second. “Sure, I guess. Technically she’s Team Iron Man or whatever that means. But Natasha is also fiercely loyal, especially when it comes to Steve.”

“What does that mean?” Scott asks in genuine confusion.

Sam opens his mouth to elaborate, words already forming on his mouth; before he seems to come to a belated realisation, blinks, and manages a nonchalant shrug. "Damn if I know,” he admits, turning over a puffy mallow and watching the crackles of fire burn its edges. “But she’s good for him. That’s all I care about.”

“And he’s good for her,” Clint returns easily, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “Maybe sometimes it’s just that easy.”

They hear the crunching of footsteps on snow creeping up behind them, and Scott takes this as his cue to stash the conversation for another time.

He watches them stroll in together carefully.

Steve holds the gate open for her and places a small hand on her back as they advance in the small patch of woods by the backyard. Natasha settles next to Wanda, hands going up and down her arms to warm the younger girl despite being the one having only just gone out for a walk in the middle of Russian winter: because, and at this Scott is now confident, the jacket resting on her shoulders three times her size was keeping her warm enough.

The quinjet doesn’t start up right away.

Scott is slowly panicking, because the realisation that he was truly out of his depth at fighting in the next greatest civil war of the century notches above his pay grade only viscerally begins to take hold.

He has a family back home, pets to feed, a little life saving every now and then; but never this colossal of a scale, never with the stakes stacked up so high against them, that it really could only ever be toppled down by the likes of fucking Iron Man and Captain America.

But Steve is still confident.

It’s so bloody obvious he was always going to keep at it, gunned down the concrete walls of the airport and clawed his way out of it brick by brick if need be. He was really and truly the good man underneath it all, and at the back of his mind, Scott still finds himself awed at the fact.

But he doesn’t know how on earth the man came out of that airport not visibly rattled, not at all unlike how Scott was currently feeling; and, as he processes the rest of their wayward expressions, he knew he wasn’t alone in thinking so.

“Cap,” Sam wheezes by the floor, fighting to labor his breathing with a hand clutched on his dislocated shoulder. “I still got the jeep parked outside. It’s not too late. We can hike the rest of the way.”

“No,” Steve replies, an edge of conviction in his voice. There is not a single tremor in his stubborn hands gripping the wheel. “That’s gonna hold us back days. We just need to be up in the air for now. We need—”

“A woman to come to your rescue again?”

This time, it’s Scott who sighs in deep relief at her voice. This time, Scott doesn’t fight the churn in his stomach at the prospect of having someone who nearly nicked him lifeless not even hours ago this close a range with them again. This time, she is not Black Widow, but simply Natasha Romanoff; Steve Rogers’ friend.

This time, Scott thinks, he will let them be easy just like that.

There was no more a sign of tremble in his voice or hands the entire battle, but at the lilt of her voice, he just crumbles.

“Nat,” Steve breathes out when he turns to her, hands fisting at his sides in an attempt to regain control. Just like that, he unravels; so easily and without preamble in the face of her steeled strength. “I can’t get it to turn on— And I— We have to get Bucky—”

“Work through it, Steve,” she cooes in probably the most placating voice he’s heard of her, but she doesn’t move to touch him when she comes close. Her hands are going a mile a minute over the control panel, pushing buttons and lifting levers. Steve is hovering by her side like it's the only thing holding him together. “You know how to fly this thing, right?”

Steve is visibly taken aback and angles his body to face her. “You’re not coming with us?”

The question hangs in the air.

It charges the silence around them and quells any of their growing uncertainty, because, clear as it was of Steve’s well-founded and undeniable leadership skills: they also knew, intimately, she anchored him through it all.

Sam was putting pressure around Bucky’s human arm as he looked back and forth at them tensely. He could feel Wanda hitch her breath behind him.

Natasha’s fingers keep flying away at the keyboard, until they feel the telling signs of an engine rumbling underneath and the overhead lights spurting back to light. The whole jet roars to life in the next second, heating fans whizzing and technical sounds beeping. She shifts some gears around and locks in a destination with the GPS navigation.

When she turns to look at Steve, it is then Scott forces himself to pry his eyes away and not bear witness to this part of his already over documented life. In that single moment of uncertainty, the what does that mean is meant like this: an intimate baring of a soul, heart, trust: in a way no words could ever begin describing or should even attempt to put to paper.

It is friendship at the most intimate level, it is soulmates on the most soul-crushing departure, and it is the everything else that comes after.

“Not this time, Rogers,” he hears her say, and Scott doesn’t have to imagine the slight fracturing of his iron-clad footing in the world swaying ever so slightly, when he replies with: “Then I guess I’ll see you around, Romanoff.” .

“So is she like,” Scott hesitates. “Cap’s first lady or something?”

They’re some seventy feet off the air above the Pacific Ocean, the moisture from the ocean drifting up to the open barracks and making the air glisten around them. Bucky is fast asleep somewhere down the lower levels with Wanda keeping watch over him, upon the fervent insistence of Steve arguing he needed rest. It came as no surprise that he also self-assigned himself the first watch of the night.

Sam is sharpening his knives, the grating sound of sandpaper slicing over iron piercing through the silent hum and drum of the night.

“Please,” he scoffs, looking over at him. “If anything, Steve is her first lady.”

#romanogers #stevenat #fic #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #romanogers fi #stevenat fic #marvel fic

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wulfies-kpop-fanfics · 3 years ago

Text

The Rest is History → Jeon Jungkook

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/Reader

↳ Word count: 1,679

↳ Notice: Italic sentences are spoken in English.

⁙ Summary: Jungkook comes up with a plan to get you back after your best friend comes to Korea for a vacation, stealing you away in the process.

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

Jungkook stirred awake as bedsheets rustled and his arm suddenly was no longer draped over your side. He groaned, turning over and huddling into himself, wedging his hands between his knees. It wasn't until he heard the soft click of his bedroom door that he fully woke up, curiosity outweighing his fatigue.

His eyes fluttered open and a yawn escaped his mouth. "(Y/N)?" His voice was met with no answer, and through the darkness, he felt that your side of the bed was empty. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Maybe you had just gone to the bathroom, but when he checked the time, he wasn't so sure. 3 AM.

Jungkook had realized more than once that you had gotten up at this exact time in the middle of the night; every single day for the past month. He had let it slide, never suspecting much because he trusted you. Today, however, he was determined to find out why this was always happening. He peeled the blanket from his body and stood up from bed, quietly making his way out of the bedroom.

Across from the bedroom door was the door to the computer room, where you and Jungkook had desktop elaborate setups and nerdy decorations sprawled about. You had a keyboard and Jungkook had his own mixing station as well, the room a safe place to think and compose. Jungkook smiled when he saw light coming from the bottom of the door, immediately knowing you had gone in there.

He approached the door and furrowed his eyebrows when he heard you giggle, a little lost on who would be discord calling you this late at night. Ever so gently, he turned the doorknob and pressed the door open, hoping that you wouldn't be startled. He almost didn't notice that he was holding his breath, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy and worry in his chest.

All of his tension was released into a sigh when he saw you, curled up in a star wars blanket and sitting cross-legged in your gaming chair, laughing quietly at a video feed of your best friend, who was cloaked in daylight. He smiled, leaning against the door frame and watching the two of you talk. He worried for nothing, but he still got to see how adorable the two of you were while you were interacting. He couldn’t catch all of the English you were speaking to the monitor, but he still found it all so endearing.

He had seen Rhiannon a few times but had never met her in person. You talked about her all the time, how she was sweet, funny, smart, and always there for you even when you had decided to move to Korea on a whim. You had told Jungkook once that Rhiannon was actually the one to convince you to follow your dream, and as a result, met and fell in love with him. Rhiannon was still attending college in Canada, having taken a longer course than you had. Jungkook's eyes widened and he began to blush wildly when he realized he was standing where the webcam could pick up his image and now Rhiannon was pointing at her screen, causing you to turn around and see him standing in the doorway.

"Hey baby," you say sweetly. "I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

"Not really," Jungkook said quickly. "I was wondering why you were awake, though."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Here, let me leave the call." You turned around, facing your monitor. "Sorry, Rhi, but Kookie woke up. I should go back to bed. Talk soon,"

"So this is why you're always getting up at 3," Jungkook softly says as you hang up and shut down your computer, turning back around and standing. Quickly you move across the room to embrace your boyfriend, who immediately melts into the hug and sighs.

"Yeah," you say softly, "she gets home from work around now and... I miss her a lot. I'm sorry if I woke you up, I don't mean to."

"It's okay, baby," Jungkook runs his hands up and down your back. "Let's go back to bed. Do you think that maybe she can get some time off of work?"

You begin to follow him back to your bedroom, "What do you mean? I guess I can ask her, but why?"

"Well, I have a few extra bucks… maybe she can come for a visit. It's summer vacation for her college, right?" Jungkook smiled down at your shocked face.

"Y-yeah! Are you sure?"

"Anything for my baby and her best friend."

After weeks of planning, Rhiannon had gotten two weeks off of work and gotten the most obscure flight possible so that Jungkook could accompany you to the airport. You had even prepared a silly rainbow sign with her name on it to greet her when she got off the plane.

"There it is, that's the flight from Toronto!" You grabbed Jungkook's hand and began pulling him to the exit gate before he could react, excitedly jumping about as you walked. The two of you waited for a little while by the exit gate until the passengers began to file out from the check-in stations. Sign be damned because as soon as you saw Rhiannon's face in the small crowd, you dropped it and took off running.

Jungkook couldn't help but smile beneath his face mask as he stayed behind to avoid the crowd. Jungkook watched you essentially pounce onto your best friend, toppling both of you over into a giggling mess of hugs and noogies. That was how the rest of his day went, watching quietly as you and your best friend wreak chaos wherever you were; as you collected her luggage, walked through the airport, drove home and settled her into your guest room.

On the third day of Rhiannon's visit, you had spent so much time with her that Jungkook had actually begun to feel a little jealous. You had taken her into the heart of Seoul, to a mudflat and to an NCT concert all in the first few days she was here. Even though Jungkook knew you hadn’t seen each other in a long time, he still wanted you to himself for a little while. So, he devised a plan. The first step of that plan was eavesdropping.

Jungkook had been in the kitchen making a sandwich on the morning of the fourth day, yawning and feeling a little lazy when he heard the giggling. He was almost used to it at this point: girls will be girls. What he found interesting however was the faint mention of Yoongi. With a mischievous grin, Jungkook set down his sandwich and began making his way to the door of the guest room. He pressed his ear up against it, listening.

"This is another picture of Kookie and I while they were filming a bangtan bomb- and there's Yoongi in the back. I have no idea what kind of expression that is, but it's a goal of mine to find an excuse to use it as a reaction image one day." Jungkook smiled when he heard you speaking.

"Ah, you're so lucky you have so much time to spend with them!" Rhiannon responded. "You're just lucky in general."

"Hm, I suppose, but hey, once you graduate you'll be able to find a bomb job too, right?"

"Yeah," Rhiannon agreed softly. "Let's keep looking. What other Yoongi pictures do you have saved?"

Yoongi. Jungkook caught the name, even if it was in English, and he grinned mischievously. That was going to be his angle. Licking his lips, he stood up straight and rapped his knuckles on the door.

"You girls okay? I can make you a snack if you'd like before I head to dance practice," he called sweetly. "Unless… you wanna come with me." Jungkook already knew he had won when Rhiannon was the one to open the door a few seconds later, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"You'd really take us to dance practice?" She asked, her voice nearly reaching a squeal. You appeared behind her, searching Jungkook's expression.

"Yeah, why not?" Jungkook tilted his head toward the front door of the apartment. "Better choose quick cause I gotta leave in a few."

With that, Rhiannon was already bolting past him with a giddy smile on her face.

You took Jungkook's hand, smiling and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing," Jungkook said with a laugh. "Nothing at all."

Jungkook wasn't one to outright call himself a genius, but he certainly felt like one. He introduced Rhiannon to everyone once you both had followed him up to their practice room, and before the music started you all shared a small snack. Yoongi already seemed taken with Rhiannon's polite yet giddy attitude, smiling brightly at her with a blush as soon as she began making conversation. It was almost too easy.

Jungkook danced with confidence, making sure to shoot plenty of confident smiles and winks your way, but blushing as soon as you crossed one leg over the other, raising one eyebrow at him.

When it was time for a break, you got up and passed Jungkook his bottle of water. "Those two are really hitting it off," you comment idly, latching onto your boyfriend in a hug.

"Yeah, they are," Jungkook agreed. "It's really cute,"

"Did you plan this, you little sneak?"

Jungkook nearly burst into laughter. "Maybe a little bit, but I wasn't expecting them to glue themselves to each other," he nods in their direction, your eyes following his gesture. "I just wanted you all to myself again."

Rhiannon and Yoongi were practically glued to each other, chatting away quietly. The ways they looked at one another reminded you of you and Jungkook when you first met.

"Seeing that look from the outside is really endearing," you comment, pressing your ear against Jungkook's chest, listening to his heartbeat. "If they start being like that so quickly,"

Jungkook grinned triumphantly, "the rest will be history."

#jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #reader insert #kpop imagine #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic #bts #bts imagine

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thecat-isblogging-blog · 3 years ago

Text

Two Tales of Banners

Summary: A one-shot of the Gryffindor common rooms at different eras. Contains swearing

Entering the Gryffindor common room, Harry felt as if the burst of energy and noise could topple him right back out. He straightened back up and grinned at the celebration in front of him. Butterbeers and Pumpkin juice were towered magically onto a table, piles of sandwiches, sweets and Cauldron cakes layered another. If the corners of the room weren't taken over by the sounds of laughter, then the blasting music was. Harry had a feeling McGonagall was going to let them have this one.

'Harry, our boy!' The twins shouted and walked up to him, Fred pushing a Butterbeer into his hand. 'Welcome to the greatest celebration of your life.'

'You've peaked, this is it,' George said in a serious tone and held him out at arm’s length. 'Nothing could get better than the Quidditch cup.'

'Yeah - probably,' Harry agreed with a chuckle, and ducked underneath his arms. He pushed through the crowd of Gryffindors who were congratulating him and looked out for his own friends. Over in the armchair, he saw Oliver sobbing into a decorative pillow.

'You okay, Oliver?' He asked.

The Quidditch captain lifted one single thumbs up but began sobbing even harder.

Harry awkwardly moved on. 'Yeah, okay then.'

He caught sight of Ron's tall arm waving out to him, grinning he walked towards it. Hermione, who had already hugged him multiple times, came in for another. Ron's face beamed, face paint still intact in red and yellow. Neville on the other hand, was trying to flatten his hair where tufts of it stuck out from all the tugging during the match.

'Harry! The cup, mate, the damn Quidditch cup!' Ron said squeezing his shoulder.

'Yeah,' Harry said shaking his head in disbelief, he didn't think he would ever stop smiling and for a second thought of grabbing a pillow and joining Oliver. He twisted the cap of his Butterbeer open and lifted it into the air. 'To Gryffindor, I guess.'

They clinked their glasses together, and lifting up the bottle to his mouth, Harry frowned at the sight on the walls. Only now taking notice of the celebratory decorations the Weasleys had put up, Harry whirled around and saw that almost every inch of the common room walls had some horrible looking banner hung up. He had never seen them before, each one tattered and yellowing at the edges, drooping and patched up with Spellotape. Harry adjusted his glasses and noticed each one had some misshapen animal drawn on them. Judging by the words ‘Go Gryffindor’ he could only guess they were lions.

Being much too amused at the banners, Harry paid no attention at Ron and Ginny going over the highlights of the match. He took another sip of his Butterbeer and turned around towards the twins - who were busy trying to get Oliver to take a drink of water before he dehydrated.

'Hey, did you two make these?' Harry pointed up at the walls, laughing. 'Maybe stick to Quidditch guys - are those supposed to be lions?'

George looked up and grinned, looking around the common room as if seeing it for the first time. 'Brilliant, aren’t they? We found a bunch of them in the storage room behind the tapestry.'

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Sarcasm, right?'

'We thought they had a quaint, vintage charm,' Fred said getting up and placing his hands on his hips as if admiring great works of art.

Harry looked at the banner above Ron’s head where this particular lion was roaring fire out of its mouth.

'Yeah - charming,' Harry said grinning.

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

'James... what in Merlin's severely, baggy, off-coloured, left n-'

'Sirius,' Lily warned hastily.

Sirius imitated a bow. 'Pardon me, m-lady, James what the fuck is that?'

'A lion you imbecile, look at the mane,' James said looking at him incredulously.

Sirius bit the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. 'Yes, of course, my mistake.'

Remus, who sat over the armchair - long legs dangling over the edge, peered over to the banner James was working on and threw his head back laughing loudly. 'Yeah, dammit Sirius, look at the mane.'

'If I could have a smidge of support from my friends - I would greatly appreciate it,' James straightened up and looked at his work, cocking his head left and then right. Frowning, he looked over at Lily who sat beside him cross-legged. 'You can see the lion, right?'

Lily looked down at the drawing and nodded slowly. 'Stick to Quidditch.'

Dragging his hand through his hair, James sighed and slumped his shoulders in defeat.

'At least the 'Gryffindor' part is clear,' Peter chimed in. 'You can read all the letters.'

'Great, thanks Peter, I can spell.' James mumbled.

'Here, let me try something,' Lily took the marker from his hands and bent forwards onto the banner. 'There - now it's a lion.'

Sirius looked over her shoulder and barked out a laugh. 'Whiskers don't make a lion, Lily.'

'Of course they do,' She said snapping the lid back onto the marker.

James scratched his chin. 'Wormtail has whiskers.'

'And a lovely set,' Peter said from behind his astronomy textbook.

'I have an idea,' Rolling up his sleeves, Sirius picked up the red marker and knelt down over the banner. After a couple of seconds he sat back up and gestured towards it proudly. 'Look - a Gryffindor.'

'It's ruined.' James said finally.

Sirius stood up, pointing his wand at the banner. 'I think you mean - it's better now.'

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. 'You can't just draw flames out of its mouth and call it a 'Gryffindor'.'

He tutted at Lily while levitating the banner up onto the wall.

Remus looked up. 'Ah yes, behold the legendary Gryffindor - a dragon with kitten whiskers.'

Lily covered her mouth, the corners curling up and she gently squeezed James' shoulder. 'Sorry, we made a real mess of it.'

'It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen,' James pushed his glasses back up, studying the banner and grinned at his friends. 'Let's make ten more.'

Author notes: I’ve had this idea for a while but felt a little nervous about writing it. I’ve never written for James or Lily - but the idea wasn’t going anywhere so I needed to get it out. I always wondered if Harry stumbled upon anything that was left behind by his parents: gum under the desk, writings on tree trunks, a lost pen that rolled under a sofa in the common room, discarded banners.

#Harry Potter Fandom #marauders era #HP fanfiction #Gryffindors #quidditch #James Potter #lily evans #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #peter pettigrew #I'm probably going to edit this again #Oneshot

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queenk00k · 4 years ago

Text

red wine lips part 1 // rafe cameron

Warnings: alcohol, drug use, sexual content

Word count: 2000

PART 2 NOW UPLOADED

PART 3 NOW UPLOADED

FINAL PART NOW UPLOADED

fic idea from my ship with rafe from @socialwriter

moodboard idea from @harrysbbby

You were going to be late.

Correction: You and Rafe Cameron were going to be late, and it’s all his fault for hosting a party the night before, in what you assumed was an effort to impress you (which, by the way, didn’t work) and you were pissed.

You had overslept and Rafe, having been preoccupied with multiple bags, hadn’t slept at all.

“Rafe!” You yell. “We’re going to be late, and I will not have you turning up to this thing in anything less than a suit. Get dressed and hurry the fuck up!” You hop across the first-floor landing, pulling your heels on as you made a beeline for Rafe’s bedroom.

Not bothering to knock (when had you two had any manners towards each other anyway?), you push open the heavy wooden door to see Rafe bent over his dresser, half dressed in navy suit pants and an open white shirt. He’s surreptitiously cutting the last of the night’s supply into neat lines with his black AMEX card, tapping his foot absentmindedly.

“Keeping the party going, are we?” You ask, folding your arms across your satin clad chest.

Rafe doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he finishes what he was doing before you interrupted, snorting his line and wiping his nose as he turns around.

He smirks. “Looking good, Y/N. That dress would look better off you though.”

You roll your eyes. “Firstly, keep it in your pants, and secondly, you better not be thinking about bringing coke to the tour. We’re being classy today, Cameron,” you say, using the nickname only reserved for when you were annoyed at your long-time friend.

Rafe chuckles and starts buttoning his shirt, stepping towards you as his brows furrow in concentration. “I’ll behave.”

You look up at him incredulously.

“Promise,” he says. “I’ll just get drunk today. That’s what wine tastings are for, right?”

You figured him being drunk was the best-case scenario. At least you could guarantee the absence of Pogues – no fighting today.

“I’ll take it. Come on, we need to go. Our driver’s outside.”

You turn to leave, but Rafe grabs your wrist suddenly, holding you back. “Wait, wait.” Rafe’s blue eyes stare down at you intensely and, you’re ashamed to admit, you think they’re actually quite pretty. “I do really think you look nice today. Red’s your colour.”

There’s a brief pause as you wait for the usual sexual remark, but a beat passes without one and you’re pleasantly surprised.

“Thanks, Rafe,” you reply with a smile as you head out the door, but before you fully leave you pop your head back through the frame.

“Oh, and Rafe?”

“Mm?”

“Wear a red tie.” You wink before turning on your heel, swooping the dress behind you as you make your way downstairs.

There’s excited chatter amongst your group as your driver pulls up to the iron gates of the most prestigious winery in the Outer Banks and you gaze out the window at the vines spread out across the field.

The car comes to a stop and Rafe jumps out before you, impressing you by taking your hand and helping you step out of the vehicle onto the gravelled road. You look up at him and think to yourself how handsome he looks and, not to mention, how good you both look together in red.

You and Rafe first met as kids, when you were both left at the country club’s “kidZone” whilst your mums sipped champagne and got uncomfortably close to men who weren’t their husbands. Since then, your families were always close and you and Rafe became good friends, bonded by your love of two things: money and having a good time.

There was underlying sexual tension between the two of you since you were old enough to wear a bra and Rafe was old enough to notice, but neither of you had ever acted on it.

Sometimes the fun was left in the unknown, the untouched possibilities, the lingering gazes and suggestive comments.

“Like what you see?” Rafe teases, snapping you out of your reflective state.

You chuckle. “What if I do?” You walk away without giving Rafe a chance to reply, feeling his wandering eyes burn a hole in your back as you make sure to swing your hips in a way you know will have him distracted for the rest of the day.

Like you said – sometimes all the fun was in the chase.

Maybe this time he could catch you.

_______________________________________________________________

“So this one here is our flagship viognier – it’s a full bodied white wine, and because it’s been aged in oak like our chardonnay, it’s a very rich taste and you’ll be able to taste notes of vanilla,” the sommelier explains as he pours an annoyingly small amount of wine into your glass before moving onto Rafe’s next to you.

You notice he’s gone light on the wine as he’s serving to your group, clearly uncomfortable with the raucous group of barely legal 21-year-olds.

Rafe swirls the wine around his glass and says “how much for a bottle?”

You scoff. “You haven’t even tasted it yet. See if you like it first.”

“Don’t be so bossy, Y/N,” he replies before downing the wine in one gulp, much to the horror of your sommelier.

You quickly follow suit, taking a bit longer to savour the taste of the wine before you swallow completely. You actually enjoy this wine stuff, taking the time to learn about different types of grapes before you organised this trip for you, Rafe, Topper, Kelce and your group of girlfriends from college. You notice Rafe watching you as you tip your head back, his blue eyes following the curve of your neck, his jaw clenching as you swallow.

No prizes for guessing what he’s thinking about you swallowing instead.

After a few more glasses as you make your way down to the final bottle of wine, you feel yourself getting dizzier and your friends are speaking louder and louder until Rafe finds it necessary to bring his lips to your ear every time he wants to speak to you.

“You know, you and I….we could have some fun together,” Rafe says as he trails a finger up your thigh.

You slap his hand and move it off you, bringing your gaze to his face which is tantalizing close to yours, willing yourself not to bring your gaze to his lips which are stained ever so slightly with red.

“You said you were going to behave, Cameron,” you remind him, raising your eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

“What, I can’t treat my princess to something I know she’s been waiting for all these years?” Rafe looks at you expectantly.

“Your princess?”

“You been cosying up to anyone else today?” Rafe points out, fingering the collar of his suit jacket that’s been draped over your bare shoulders at some point in the afternoon.

Fuck, he’s right.

“…I was cold,” you say, witty replies be damned.

“Mmhm.”

You stare at each other for a beat, before Rafe spins in his seat (almost toppling off) and faces the bar.

“How much is a bottle of the merlot?” He asks the sommelier.

You see the guy purse his lips.

“It’s our most expensive bottle.”

Rafe scoffs. “Weird price. How much is it?”

The sommelier furrows his brows and looks around the room, his gaze falling upon Topper and Kelce who were talking animatedly, their ties hanging loose around their necks.

“Where are your parents? Maybe you should wait for them to get here and they could pick something out for you?”

Oh boy, you think. Not difficult for you to predict how Rafe was going to react to that comment.

True to form, Rafe pushes back from the table and stands up, his jaw clenched and his large frame towering over the server, who at least has the common sense to look intimidated.

“Do you know who I am, bro?”

“Don’t answer that,” you warn him with a wave of your hand. “Better to just let him tell you.”

You had seen Rafe on power trips like this in the past when his influence has been questioned. It proves troublesome when whoever he’s talking to just isn’t having it, but usually you find it pretty hot.

Rafe places his hands on the counter and leans over to look the server in the eyes.

You do him a favour by holding his tie back, so it doesn’t take a dip in the cabernet sauvignon.

“I’m Rafe Cameron. Do you know who my father is? Yeah,” Rafe says as the sommelier gulps, “Ward Cameron. We basically own this island. Do you own an island?”

The server shakes his head in defeat.

“I didn’t think so,” Rafe says, standing up straight again and shooting you a brief smirk as you take your hand off his tie.

You figure he’s grateful.

“Now, my group and I here would like 10 bottles.”

The sommelier clears his throat before replying. “Of course, sir, which 10 bottles would you like?”

Rafe chuckles as he flashes his AMEX. “Oh no, you misunderstand. I want 10 bottles of every single wine you have.”

Your painted lips curl into a smile.

It was going to be a good afternoon.

_______________________________________________________________

Before you know it, you’re sitting next to Rafe at a table in the courtyard, your leg moving dangerously closer to his, his eyes grazing over your chest intermittently.

Topper is telling a story about his ex-girlfriend Sarah, who he insists he’s “completely over” (yeah right) and you’re barely listening, your eyes glazed over as you bring the crystal glass to your lips absentmindedly.

Hard to concentrate on anything when Rafe Cameron’s hand is inching closer up your thigh, pulling the satin fabric up with it until your leg is almost completely exposed to the cool afternoon air.

You’re thankful for two things.

One, the fact that you had the foresight to shave that morning.

And two, the biological blessing that was your ability to hide how completely and utterly turned on you are in that moment.

You start squirming in your seat, clearing your throat as you become increasingly aware of how flushed your cheeks feel, warmth pooling in your belly as you swallow thickly and turn to Rafe.

He looks at you expectantly and in a daring move, presses his lips to your neck softly.

Completely out of character for Rafe, it’s almost sweet and doesn’t do your state any favours as you squeeze your thighs together, wetness already starting to spread to your underwear.

Goddamnit, you think. You look up at Rafe through your long eyelashes, and bring your lips to his ear to whisper “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Rafe looks at you excitedly, and you figure it wouldn’t hurt (too much) to drag out the inevitable just that bit longer.

“Do not even think about following me,” you say as you stand up, praying your arousal hasn’t started to show on your dress. You picked a good day to wear satin, for goodness sake.

Rafe looks hurt as you walk into the ladies’ bathroom, not doubting that he will follow your wishes. He may be a sexual deviant but he’s not one to cross boundaries, especially yours.

You brace yourself on the porcelain sink, breathing heavily as you look at yourself in the mirror. You look frazzled and flushed, all because of Rafe.

You have an idea, and smirk to yourself as you prepare to leave.

You make your way out of the bathroom, walking slowly back to the group, stopping where only Rafe can see you.

You don’t have to wait long for Rafe to look up and catch your eye. It gives you some sort of satisfaction to see his face change from confusion to shock, and you know you’ve got him hooked.

You’re holding your red lace thong in your hand, winking as you stuff it discreetly into your clutch. You’ve never seen Rafe look so impressed.

Game on.

_______________________________________________________________

tag list my beautiful bbys: @letsgofullkook @stargazingstarkey @hoeforpankow @harrysbbby @ptersparkers @socialwriter @thatjohnd @ssjiara @jjsmentalpolaroids @bailspogue @jjmaybankx @jjtheangel @jjmeybank @drewstarkey @obx-direction-sos @sortagaysortahigh @pixelated-pogues @jjmbanks @ims0golden @obbx-tings @honeyycheek @softstarkey

please let me know your thoughts and if you’d like a part 2!! (planning on it)

#i would love any comments/reblogs/feedback pls #im proud of this one #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader

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spencers-dria · 4 years ago

Note

Congratulations on almost 150 love! So I just recently watched Suburban Gothic and I fell in love. So I was linking maybe you do a Raymond X Reader? Raymond and reader get a case but Raymond doesn’t know Reader is pregnant ((they are married for about 2-3 years)). Raymond is confused as to way every ghost he encounters is over protecting his wife the reader, becuase I like to believe spirits can sense things like souls of babies and such. So when the evil spirit goes to harm Reader the spirits block and protect her. After they finish she finally admits she’s 1-2 months pregnant and wanted to surprise him. The baby will be born on Halloween and gets Raymond’s abilities. Maybe Reader and Raymond also get a black cat? If not Halloween then I was thinking maybe reader gives birth on Friday the 13th under a blue moon in October? Just a thought!

Little Pumpkin

🎉150 Follower Celebration Day 5!

Raymond x fem reader

Pure Freaking FLUFF

Warnings: mentions of spirits/hauntings, pregnancy and birth related topics

A/N: due to the timeline covered in the request I couldn’t fit it all in but would be willing to consider covering the rest in a part two if you’re interested and enjoy this one. I hope this is what you were looking for and that you enjoy it!

—————————————————————————

The first time it happened, Raymond thought nothing of it. It was a normal house call, and the family had been haunted for months. The house had a chill, but this was expected in February weather. Y/N had descended into the basement first, per their usual routine with Raymond following cautiously behind, peeking over her shoulder in a child-like fashion. That’s when it started. Lights flickered, their candles blew out by a mysterious draft, and just spooky business in general. They knew immediately there were dark spirits residing there. A dark tendrils of smoke emerged on the steps, creeping their way towards Y/N and wrapping around her legs. What they didn’t expect was the second presence that appeared. The smoky fingers quickly withdrew. They couldn’t see much, but they could hear the fight occurring around them. They waited on the basement steps until things calmed down, before a faint figure of a young woman appeared, shooting a quick wink to Y/N before disappearing back into the darkness of the basement. Raymond and Y/N shared a quick look of confusion before checking the basement and the rest of the home for stragglers and were surprised to find it now “ghost-free.

As they walked out hand in hand, Raymond commented “you know I can honestly say that was a first for me.”

“What? Having a ghost wink at you?”

“Oh no. I was quite the phantom’s man back in my single days. It was just my first time going into a dark, spooky basement without screaming like a little girl.”

The sincerity in his statement only made Y/N giggle harder. She loved her quirky, charming husband.

Raymond was lucky enough to have a family business, which meant he and Y/N always worked as a team. A few years into the marriage and they had really hit their stride. He would do a lot of the research on the location, past owners, local legends, etc. and whatever else he could find to figure out just what it was they’d be walking into. But Y/N, she was the “muscle” so to speak. She was much braver than he, and he loved her for it. They would take time to sit down with the owners together and do their best to determine just what was plaguing that home. Sure they’d find the occasional raccoon in the attic or something of the like, but surprisingly most of their calls were genuine. Together they ran a very successful and popular business.

——————————————————————————

The second time it happened was around the end of March. It was starting to warm up again, which mean Raymond was back in his rompers and boots, which Y/N loved. For some reason unbeknownst to him, she could not keep her hands to herself when he wore them. They had just begun to ascend the stairs of a very worn down home. Y/N kept teasing him, turning around to blow kisses or wiggle her hips a bit more than usual with each step. She got a little too distracted, tripping on a loose board and falling straight back. Before she could topple straight into him, she seemed to stop in midair, before slowly returning to an upright position.

“Was that- did they just catch you?”

She nodded, speechless.

They shared a look of surprise before continuing up to the attic. An hour or so later they had helped the spirit to find a lost heirloom it simply could not move on without.

That night in bed, Raymond simply couldn’t shut his mind off. Something was going on and it seemed to center around Y/N. He curled up tighter in his alien bed sheets, which he insisted on keeping despite a few eye rolls from the missus. Raymond turned on his side to find his wife also wide awake.

“Can’t sleep huh?” she asked, reaching out to stroke a thumb over his cheek.

He closed his eyes and hummed and the sweetness of her touch before opening his eyes again to meet her gaze.

“Yeah there’s just a lot on my mind lately. The ghosts have been- weird around us. Well, around you really. The kind ones never harm us but, they seem to be going out of their way to help you. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised though. You’re absolutely wonderful.”

He says the last statement so matter-of-factly there’s no doubt in her mind of his sincerity. She scoots closer until their noses are touching, as she continues to rub her hand across his face and through his hair.

“I was waiting for the right time to tell you” she whispers, a mysterious twinkle in her eye. She takes his hand and lays it gently over her belly, his long delicate fingers splayed over her skin.

“You’ve got a little one on the way.”

His brows knit in confusion. Surely she can’t mean…

“Raymond, you’re gonna be a daddy.”

His eyes grow big as his mouth opens, but no words come out. His face reads of pure adoration and joy, as he looks down, rubbing his fingers across what is soon to be her baby bump. When his eyes return to hers, they both share laughter of pure joy and disbelief.

“You’re sure? There’s really a baby in there?”

He stares at her belly with such awe. Y/N already knows he is so in love with their child. She couldn’t ask for a better father for her baby.

After much kissing and many giggles, Y/N rolls over as Raymond pulls her back against his chest, snuggling into her shoulder. He grabs her hand and places it back on her belly, before sliding his gently on top. They fall asleep together with sweet dreams of a future family.

———————————————————

Now that the secret is out things have gotten quite interesting. The spirits have been much more blunt with both of them. They were getting unsolicited but much appreciated advice from the most unexpected places.

An old woman haunting her granddaughter's house told them all the best foods and vitamins to help nourish the baby while still in the womb.

The spirit of a farmer’s wife told them all about the best birthing positions.

Spirit’s of two young ladies, sisters, helped teach them about the different options between breast feeding, pumps, and formula.

Several delightful young girls haunting a school have them lots of good ideas for names.

—————————————————————

They found out from the doctor that they’d be due in October, and the couple was absolutely ecstatic. A Halloween birthday for their first born. They couldn’t ask for a more perfect way to start their family.

Raymond began shopping accordingly as soon as he received the news. This included baby onesies which read: wicked cute, little pumpkin, and baby boo. Y/N just knew he’d go even more overboard with the newborn pictures.

“Look at this one though!”

“Raymond we have more baby clothes than they will ever be able to wear!”

He held up a little hat, knit look like a pumpkin, with a little green stem and leaves on top. As he held it up to his face, he gave his wife the saddest of puppy dog eyes.

“The hats pretty cute.” She leaned in and kissed his nose. “But you’re cuter. This is the last one though, Raymond. I mean it!”

It wasn’t.

—————————————————————-

Then one day it happened. They were helping with a haunting of a local business owner. Once again, the spirit was giving some input on what to expect, since they’re expecting.

“Oh and don’t worry, it shouldn’t take too long before you’re able to tell them apart.”

The wide eyed and confused glance shared between the couple told the haunt all it needed to know.

“Oh I’m sorry. I thought you knew… you’re having twins!”

After the initial shock and excitement wore off, Raymond turned to his wife with the biggest smirk.

“Looks like we’ll need more baby clothes after all.”

#suburban gothic #MGG #Raymond suburban gothic #fluff #pregnant reader #spooky #halloween fic

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akawrites000 · 4 years ago

Text

Red

The night breeze whisked past Villain, caressing their cheeks and making them feel colder than they were a minute ago.

"Ugh..." they groaned, pulling their red scarf further up so that it covered a better part of their chin. The fabric felt soft and warm against their cold fingertips, and it reminded Villain of Hero's cape. They had never thought that they would admit to liking how warm the cape felt, when Hero had covered them with it during one particularly cold night, quite like this one, and they were sitting on a high roof, facing the skyscrapers- Villain hadn't expected it to be that cold, so they hadn't worn any clothing that were designed to keep them warm. They were extremely grateful for that warm cape, much like it's owner and ended up buying a scarf that had the same shade to remind themselves about it (they would never tell Hero that though).

They smiled, the memory making them feel a little warm as two shadows zipped past them in a speed that didn't belong to a normal human. From the corner of their eyes, they caught sight of something red before it disappeared around the street corner. And who else other than Hero would wear bright red like that in the middle of the night , moving at a superhuman speed? It was definitely Hero, and they were chasing someone who wasn't them? That fact alone didn't sit well with Villain so they decided to follow them.

There have been new villains popping up here and there around town, not to mention the Supervillain as well... Villain mused, I'll just go take a quick look and then leave, it's not like I'm worried or anything... (Villain was dead set on denying it).

They turned a street corner there, and one more, leading to an alleyway with a dead end. It was pitch dark and the only source of light was a dilapidated lamp barely hanging onto the wall. Villain looked up to find some moonlight but nope, it just had to be a new moon night. They sighed, straining their eyes to spot even a glimpse of the two blurry figures that they had seen earlier and heard a loud crash to their left. They turned towards another lonely alleyway and followed it, heart hammering in their chest.

They hid themselves at the corner and peeped in, definitely not interested in getting involved in some unnecessary scuffle. They could see a figure slumped against a toppled trash can, trash littered eveywhere- so that's where the crashing sound came from. There was another figure looming over them, and even from there, Villain could feel bloodlust washing over their senses, making them freeze on spot. They pitied the person on the ground, unable to imagine the terror that must be coursing through their veins.

This alleyway had better lighting so Villain was able to see their faces a little better- the looming figure was definitely the Supervillain, that bloodlust was a dead giveaway. The slumped figure looked up and glared at the supervillain, eyes defiant and fierce, a symbol that they weren't going to give up that easily and Villain could feel their throat closing up, anxiety flaring up and burning their insides.

Hero... they knew, from the glimpse of red they knew from the start, a tiny inkling that it could've been Hero rushing through the streets in the dead of the night, chasing some terrible foe. Villain knew... but right now they wished that they were wrong, so wrong, because never did they really expect their foe to be the Supervillain. Villain had seen their powers firsthand and it had made them shiver, tremble to their bones. Never had they felt anxiety slap them in their face like that before. And now Hero was there, facing that devil with defiant eyes and a brave heart and Villain's chest almost felt full with something alien to them... was it pride?

Villain was jolted out of their thoughts by a scream that shattered their soul- it sounded so painful, wrecked, and hopeless and with every passing second, Villain thought that it sounded like Hero. They stared at the scene in front of them, immediately wishing that they didn't.

Red... why is there so much red?

To the Villain, red had become something that they associated with Hero- red cape, crimson cheeks, fiery passion, a warm heart, kind touches, sunny smile, and finally, the way they loved -it would put even Aphrodite to shame. Villain knew that too well, after all, they were the only recipient of that love. Hero was their lover and always will be.

Which only made their heart twist and turn with increasing agony because Hero's costume looked redder than usual and Villain refused to accept that it was blood- Hero's blood, their lover's blood.

You shouldn't do this.

Don't lose your cool.

If supervillain finds out that you've betrayed them, and worse, that you're in a relationship with their mortal nemesis, you're done for.

Don't worry, Hero will be fine.

They will be fine.

They-

Villain looked at Hero once again- bruised cheeks, a huge gash in their gut, bleeding out, shallow breaths, their head now leaning completely against the wall for support and Villain waited a couple more seconds, but Hero made no move to get up. And now there's more red, red... red... red... everywhere.

Before Villain could even think about reasoning with themselves again, their limbs moved and in a flash they stood in between their lover and Supervillain, whose face switched from surprise to amusement, as if they couldn't decide on which emotion to portray.

"Well well, Villain. What a pleasant surprise." Supervillain drawled and dread settled into Villain's veins- cold, gripping, merciless. They heard slight movement from behind them and glanced back coyly. Hero was looking at them, surprise written all over their face. Then they smiled (or at least tried to), to Villain, it looked more like a grimace. But they looked more alive than they did just a moment ago, and that single fact was enough to wash away the pooling dread and replace it with something else- courage.

Now, Villain was never a person who would do something so reckless, they were always the brains of their duo while Hero was the power, brains and power. That's how they had always worked together- and thanks to that, Villain got to know that Hero did not possess a single shred of self preservation whatsoever. It made their stomach crawl to think about how many times they had saved Hero from imminent death and Hero would just smile, all sweet and sunny, like they hadn't just almost died a second ago- and that's what they were doing now.

Ugh, the things I do for love, Villan mused, rolling their eyes at Hero.

"Ahem Villain, you alright there? You've been staring intensely at our nemesis for quite a few seconds now."

Villain heard a wheeze from Hero, which was probably meant to be a chuckle.

"Oh sorry, I was just distracted thinking about the numerous ways in which I could kill him."

Careful me. Supervillain cannot know about us- that would be like digging a grave and burying ourselves six feet deep in the ground. Careful.

Supervillain laughed out loud, acting like Villain had just told them the joke of the century and Villain had to hold themselves back from rolling their eyes at them.

" That's my Villain, always thinking about the best possible ways to kill someone."

Hero coughed abnoxiously and Villain wanted to smack them in their face- now is not the time to be getting jealous, idiot.

Supervillain glared at Hero and Villain subtly moved so that they were now blocking Hero completely from Supervillain's view. "I don't see why you have to think that much though, Hero looks like they're going to kick the bucket any minute."

The colour red flooded Villain's vision, making them stagger on their feet. How many more times did they have to see their lover dyed in red before the world would be satisfied?

"V-villain?" Hero croaked weakly and Villain flinched, feeling physical pain as if somebody had stabbed them. They stood back up straight, hoping that Hero got the message. They were okay. Now was no time to be getting distracted, they had to get Hero away from here, away to a safer place.

Supervillain crooked his head at Hero lying behind Villain, suddenly curious. Villain tensed, mind racing to bring back all of Supervillain's attention back on them. Look at me, don't look at them. Look at me, only me.

" Supervillain, I don't appreciate you giving that lowly Hero more attention than to me, you act as if I don't exist." Villain sneered, making their voice sound as deadly as they can. They desperately hoped that their voice didn't tremble.

"Oh, forgive me, I didn't mean to do that." Supervillain said but there was not a single ounce of sincerity in that. Villain simply glared, gaze sharp and cruel.

"Ouch, if only gazes could kill, I would certainly be dead right now Villain, I'm hurt." Supervillain mocked and Villain's brain was working overtime, trying to comprehend the change in Supervillain's attitude- why are they acting like they know something that I don't, they seem cockier than usual.

Villain decided to take a chance, "Why are you acting like this Supervillain, are you perhaps, hiding something from me? Some part of a plan that you don't want me to know about?"

Supervillain chuckled dryly, and Villain felt the temperature drop a few degrees at once, bloodlust making itself known once again. Hero whimpered from behind them and Villain's heart cried out.

"You tell me who's the one hiding things, Villain."

Villain barely had any time to react, their mind knew what was happening, but their body was too slow to comprehend.

A huge blast of power left the Supervillain's palm- right towards Hero.

Move... move... MOVE!!!

Villain was never in their life more thankful for their superspeed as they turned around, grabbed Hero in their arms and zipped past the blast, just as it connected with the concrete behind them, blasting it into pieces. Villain ran as fast as their legs could carry them, trying not to jostle the hurt Hero in their arms too much. They were going to turn around the next corner when they felt something digging into their side. They refused to acknowledge it, continuing to speed away, the only thing on their mind being getting Hero to safety.

Supervillain's coarse laughter echoed from far behind them, as they sped away.

"Llain... Villain... VILLAIN!!!"

Villain was forced to stop, crashing into a concrete wall. They made sure to turn around in the last second, so that their back came into contact with the wall and not Hero who they held in their arms.

Villain gasped out loud, any air residing in their lungs evicted, suddenly feeling more tired than they have felt in ages. They heard shuffling and peeked an eye open to see Hero crawling up to them- all bloody and bruised. Just stay put, idiot, you're hurt, they wanted to say but their voice refused to work.

"You're bleeding!" Hero wailed as loud as they could in their current state, but it sounded more like a whisper to Villain- am I becoming deaf?

Hero finally made it to them, hands clutching onto their leg and slowly pulling themselves up, touching everywhere and spreading warmth with their fingertips. Villain looked up at them from their bed of concrete, "You're so warm, Hero."

And Hero cried and cried and cried, fat tears rolling down their cheeks, just like the way they would cry after waking up from a nightmare (and oh how badly they wished that this was just another bad dream). Villain smiled at them and they cried more. Villain didn't want them to cry.

"S-stop crying, s-silly", Villain somehow managed to wheeze out, their body aching everywhere. Hero bent down, warm fingers touching their eyelids, cheeks and then lips. The next thing Villain could feel was a pair of lips on theirs, Hero's lips, warm just the way they remembered, kissing them like it was the last time they would ever get to do it. Hero pulled away, looking into Villain's eyes and began muttering strings of "sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" and Villain wanted to keep staring at them but they just felt so tired.

They wanted to bring up their hand and wipe away those tears that had no business on their lover's face but their hand wouldn't move. They couldn't do anything.

"G-go and get yourself checked *cough cough* at a h-hospital okay?" Villain wheezed out, struck by another coughing fit.

And Hero just smiled, looking like the happiest person in the world which Villain scrunched their nose at because they were bleeding and this was no time to be happy.

" I will *wheeze*, I love you Villain, so so much." They burst into tears again.

"I l-love-

Villain closed their eyes.

Hero finally let themselves fall on their lover's bloody body- cold, lifeless, unmoving. They couldn't hear the heartbeats that they fell asleep to every night anymore. They knew that they themselves were beyond saving, and so they cried and wailed, wanting to spend the last moments of their life grieving- grieving for the only person who loved them and saw them for who they really were, not just as a hero.

"You kept worrying about me till your last breath huh? You were always too good for me Villain, you loved me too well, too much."

"Maybe if you didn't love me, you would still be alive."

Tears mingled with blood as Hero's warm hands found Villain's cold ones, interlacing their fingers together.

"So this is what they mean by being together until your last breath huh? I never really thought that it would happen to me because love just seemed like too good of a dream to be true."

Hero smiled, heart feeling full because they knew that they had the best lover that they could have ever asked for. And everything that had happened between them was true in every way.

"At least now, we don't have to see each other bleeding out and fighting to stay alive."

T-T

hero and villain really just wanna live life / but no, I had to go and make it angsty / I swear though, this was not how it played out in my head/ why do I do this to myself- /me playing with the word lover because it sounds so good / also let me know if you guys want an alternative HAPPY end for these two in the comments/ if you're okay with this, that's cool too.

#heroes and villains #prose #villain/hero #hero/villain #hero x villain #villain x hero #hero #villain #creative writing #writing #my writing #snippet #writing snippet #angst #im sorry #i made myself cry #writers on tumblr #writer #writeblr

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